A very happy and peaceful Christmas to all my readers. I hope your stockings were full of all the things you wished for, if not, remember it is more blessed to give than to receive!
LOL (I'm really with it) Jess.
Sunday 25 December 2011
Tuesday 20 December 2011
Winter
We wait for winter's icy fingers
Remembering last winter's snow.
The leaf upon the bough still lingers
As if reluctant to let go.
The collared dove searches for seeds
Carelessly dropped by the smaller fry.
The seagulls circle hopefully
Joining the crows in noisy cry.
A morning of continuous rain.
I sit, imbued with melancholy.
Will it ever be spring again?
One has such a short memory.
I cheer up when the postman comes
With greetings from my absent friends.
To be remembered every year
All gloomy thoughts this now transcends.
I hear from daughters of my friends,
The ones I shall no longer see.
How nice that in their busy lives
They find time to remember me!
Soon we will hear "Carols from Kings"
Remembering our Saviour's birth
And most joyfully we'll sing
Goodwill to men and peace on earth.
We'll thank the Lord for mercies given
And strive to earn our place in Heaven.
Remembering last winter's snow.
The leaf upon the bough still lingers
As if reluctant to let go.
The collared dove searches for seeds
Carelessly dropped by the smaller fry.
The seagulls circle hopefully
Joining the crows in noisy cry.
A morning of continuous rain.
I sit, imbued with melancholy.
Will it ever be spring again?
One has such a short memory.
I cheer up when the postman comes
With greetings from my absent friends.
To be remembered every year
All gloomy thoughts this now transcends.
I hear from daughters of my friends,
The ones I shall no longer see.
How nice that in their busy lives
They find time to remember me!
Soon we will hear "Carols from Kings"
Remembering our Saviour's birth
And most joyfully we'll sing
Goodwill to men and peace on earth.
We'll thank the Lord for mercies given
And strive to earn our place in Heaven.
Sunday 18 December 2011
The Wireless
Christmas letters and preparations and shopping have swallowed up the last few days. I always look forward to our family Christmas. It looks as though we shall be having a lovely time despite a few absentees.
In between times I am listening to my books from Calibre. At the moment I am on the Jalna novels by Mazo de la Roche. I devoured all these in my youth and remember being very upset when she died as it meant no more stories about the Whiteoak family. Now I am enjoying them all over again.
There is a newspaper report lauding the merits of Faith schools. I have always been glad my mother sent me to a Church of England school where the dedicated teachers expected you to do your best and behave properly, and so we did. It was probably easier then as there were fewer distractions. I always wondered how children did their homework with the record player going full blast. I was allowed to listen to "Children's Hour" and heard my name called out on my birthday. I have a 2LO badge from the days when the broadcasts were made from Savoy Hill. Uncle Mac was my favourite announcer and Toy Town my favourite programme. I suppose 2LO was the name of the radio station. Somewhere I also have a certificate for an essay I wrote for a competition from Children's Hour. I liked to write even then.
The news announcers were anonymous until the war broke out. Then we were told their names so that we could distinguish them from any enemy broadcasters. One was called Alvar Lidell. I always thought he was called Al Barley Dell which I thoght was rather nice! The calm voices of familiar announcers was very reassuring when the blitz was at its worst. No one was allowed to talk when the 9 o'clock news came on. How we relied on the wireless for news, entertainment and advice on rationing, shopping, cooking and keeping safe. They talk now about the "Nanny State" then we were advised, warned, encouraged, cajoled, heartened, reassured and threatened in equal measure. Not that it was all gloom and doom. There were some splendid comic programmes and Christopher Stone was always there with his gramophone records to fill in the gaps with inspiring music. Ah! those were the days.
In between times I am listening to my books from Calibre. At the moment I am on the Jalna novels by Mazo de la Roche. I devoured all these in my youth and remember being very upset when she died as it meant no more stories about the Whiteoak family. Now I am enjoying them all over again.
There is a newspaper report lauding the merits of Faith schools. I have always been glad my mother sent me to a Church of England school where the dedicated teachers expected you to do your best and behave properly, and so we did. It was probably easier then as there were fewer distractions. I always wondered how children did their homework with the record player going full blast. I was allowed to listen to "Children's Hour" and heard my name called out on my birthday. I have a 2LO badge from the days when the broadcasts were made from Savoy Hill. Uncle Mac was my favourite announcer and Toy Town my favourite programme. I suppose 2LO was the name of the radio station. Somewhere I also have a certificate for an essay I wrote for a competition from Children's Hour. I liked to write even then.
The news announcers were anonymous until the war broke out. Then we were told their names so that we could distinguish them from any enemy broadcasters. One was called Alvar Lidell. I always thought he was called Al Barley Dell which I thoght was rather nice! The calm voices of familiar announcers was very reassuring when the blitz was at its worst. No one was allowed to talk when the 9 o'clock news came on. How we relied on the wireless for news, entertainment and advice on rationing, shopping, cooking and keeping safe. They talk now about the "Nanny State" then we were advised, warned, encouraged, cajoled, heartened, reassured and threatened in equal measure. Not that it was all gloom and doom. There were some splendid comic programmes and Christopher Stone was always there with his gramophone records to fill in the gaps with inspiring music. Ah! those were the days.
Wednesday 7 December 2011
Lists
It's that time of year again where I start making lists. I have already received a few Christmas cards from my usual early birds so must get my skates on. I have finished the two jerseys for my little French grandsons. I have probably said that this mostly enjoyable task developed into a bit of a marathon. It took me much longer than it should have done because I don't see so well. I used the same pattern for one jersey that my mother used for my son in about 1960, then I made it for my eldest grandson in about 1984 and I have made it again in 2007 and 2011. Good value from a pattern that cost sixpence in old money.
My address book has so many crossings out it is hardly legible. People move around a lot more than they used to do. I remember my sister-in-law grumbling "Amanda has moved so many times she has messed up my address book". I am now resorting to using a rather nice leather one, hardly used. It has a very nice inscription from my husband.
Now that so many people use electronic lists of addresses that are updated on screen I think we are in danger of losing a bit of history. Glancing through this address book there are people and houses I had almost forgotten. Oh! so that was where the Vicar moved to when he retired; and that was cousin Cissie's house she had built in Ryde next door to the cemetery. She said she had very quiet neighbours! Cousin Beryl's flat on the Isle of Wight which we inherited when she died. The pretty cottage Cousin Madeline lived in for many years. Uwe's address in Frankfurt when he was very young. (He has just been to visit us from the USA with his family). All this history that is precious to me. I am so glad it has not disappeared.
My address book has so many crossings out it is hardly legible. People move around a lot more than they used to do. I remember my sister-in-law grumbling "Amanda has moved so many times she has messed up my address book". I am now resorting to using a rather nice leather one, hardly used. It has a very nice inscription from my husband.
Now that so many people use electronic lists of addresses that are updated on screen I think we are in danger of losing a bit of history. Glancing through this address book there are people and houses I had almost forgotten. Oh! so that was where the Vicar moved to when he retired; and that was cousin Cissie's house she had built in Ryde next door to the cemetery. She said she had very quiet neighbours! Cousin Beryl's flat on the Isle of Wight which we inherited when she died. The pretty cottage Cousin Madeline lived in for many years. Uwe's address in Frankfurt when he was very young. (He has just been to visit us from the USA with his family). All this history that is precious to me. I am so glad it has not disappeared.
Thursday 1 December 2011
Medical Matters
I, or I should say, we spent most of yesterday at the Eye Hospital. Despite the threat of Hospital workers being on strike the hard working and lovely staff at the Brighton Eye Hospital were all present and correct. After a test and another scan it was time for me to see the Consultant again. He decided I neede another injection so after a brief dash home for some coffee Mike and I set off again for the hospital. We had a long wait as I was the last on the list. A somewhat painful session this time. I see a different doctor for this each time so it varies. However, I am glad to have it done. Not able to read much today but I listen to the radio and my audio book and I am doing lots of knitting. The words on the computer screen are waving up and down so shall stop.
Tuesday 29 November 2011
Moving On
I have lost my Guardian Angel who saw me safely across the road near my home. The drinking school have been moved on. I suppose they caused offence to the respectable citizens of Hove although I always found them polite enough. One day they took up residence on a seat across the road but that was outside someone's window so they have now disappeared altogether.
When I lived in Canterbury we used to have a middle aged Polish lady who would come and sit on our front garden wall. She would occasionally shout out something but whether it was a greeting or a curse at the rotten hand fate had dealt her I never knew. My German neighbour used to try to talk to her and gave her some food but she did not seem very appreciative.
My mother as a child witnessed a whole family with their belongings being turned out into the street in the rain. This made a great impression on her and she said to me "Whatever you do always make sure you can pay your rent so that you have a roof over your head". I have grown up with the belief that one of the worst things that can happen to you is to have no home even if it is your own fault. Count your blessings!
When I lived in Canterbury we used to have a middle aged Polish lady who would come and sit on our front garden wall. She would occasionally shout out something but whether it was a greeting or a curse at the rotten hand fate had dealt her I never knew. My German neighbour used to try to talk to her and gave her some food but she did not seem very appreciative.
My mother as a child witnessed a whole family with their belongings being turned out into the street in the rain. This made a great impression on her and she said to me "Whatever you do always make sure you can pay your rent so that you have a roof over your head". I have grown up with the belief that one of the worst things that can happen to you is to have no home even if it is your own fault. Count your blessings!
Monday 21 November 2011
Down on the Farm
To continue the theme of my last two posts I met my husband, Don, at a village hop at the church hall in the village of Cranleigh in Surrey. I lived in London , he lived in Aldershot. It came about in this way.
After the war there was a great shortage of shipping which meant that imports of food were very limited. Everyone was encouraged to grow as much food as possible. Farmers needed extra labour so Civil Servants like me were given an extra week's leave added to our annual leave (at that time 2 weeks) if we spent a week working on a farm. Being young and ready to try anything my friend and I volunteered. We were met at the railway station by a lorry and driven a short distance to a tented camp. Two big army marquees, one for men and one for girls and another for the mess hall.
We were told there was a dance in the village that night and so we went. It was a Saturday and we did not start work until Monday. Sitting at the next table were three young men. One came over and asked me to dance. He thought I was a local and when I said I was at the farm camp he said so was he. The three friends were on demobilisation leave from the R.A.F. and had volunteered. We danced together most of the evening and ended up doing the Conga in a long line out of one door, round the Church hall and in at another, holding the person in front round the waist. I didn't know we were going to spend the next sixty years together!
After the war there was a great shortage of shipping which meant that imports of food were very limited. Everyone was encouraged to grow as much food as possible. Farmers needed extra labour so Civil Servants like me were given an extra week's leave added to our annual leave (at that time 2 weeks) if we spent a week working on a farm. Being young and ready to try anything my friend and I volunteered. We were met at the railway station by a lorry and driven a short distance to a tented camp. Two big army marquees, one for men and one for girls and another for the mess hall.
We were told there was a dance in the village that night and so we went. It was a Saturday and we did not start work until Monday. Sitting at the next table were three young men. One came over and asked me to dance. He thought I was a local and when I said I was at the farm camp he said so was he. The three friends were on demobilisation leave from the R.A.F. and had volunteered. We danced together most of the evening and ended up doing the Conga in a long line out of one door, round the Church hall and in at another, holding the person in front round the waist. I didn't know we were going to spend the next sixty years together!
Wednesday 16 November 2011
Parents
Do you know how your parents met each other? After all, it was a momentous occasion for you or you wouldn't be here.
A crowd of us were discussing this some time ago. Our parents were born between 1883 and 1905. One said the parents met at school, another said in the church choir. Yet another that they were next door neightbours. Most couples lived a short walk or bicycle ride from each other. Don did some detective work to discover how his father, George, who lived in Godalming, Surrey met his wife, Elizabeth, who lived in Deal, Kent. George visited his uncle who ran a tobacconist's shop in Deal which was next door to a greengrocer's. The greengrocer had five pretty daughters so George was spoilt for choice. He chose the second daughter Elizabeth.
Cooks tended to marry policemen or postmen or gardeners. Outdoor men who had been offered a cup of tea! It was surprising how many couples met in domestic service, as mine did. We were a proletarian crew except for Joan, a delightful but frightfully posh friend. She trumped the lot of us by saying her parents met at Richmond Tennis Club. Stunned silence!
A crowd of us were discussing this some time ago. Our parents were born between 1883 and 1905. One said the parents met at school, another said in the church choir. Yet another that they were next door neightbours. Most couples lived a short walk or bicycle ride from each other. Don did some detective work to discover how his father, George, who lived in Godalming, Surrey met his wife, Elizabeth, who lived in Deal, Kent. George visited his uncle who ran a tobacconist's shop in Deal which was next door to a greengrocer's. The greengrocer had five pretty daughters so George was spoilt for choice. He chose the second daughter Elizabeth.
Cooks tended to marry policemen or postmen or gardeners. Outdoor men who had been offered a cup of tea! It was surprising how many couples met in domestic service, as mine did. We were a proletarian crew except for Joan, a delightful but frightfully posh friend. She trumped the lot of us by saying her parents met at Richmond Tennis Club. Stunned silence!
Monday 14 November 2011
S.C.D.
The TV programme Strictly Come Dancing doesn't remotely resemble ballroom dancing as I knew it. The waltz is usually fairly graceful but the rest could be labelled Strictly Acrobatic!
I can hear you all saying "Here she goes again" but I must tell you what is was like when I was a teenager. Only we weren't called that. The name hadn't been invented.
We danced to the strict tempo of Victor Sylvester and Joe Loss. Slow, slow, quick,quick, slow. We all said this under our breath as we circled the floor. As we got more adventurous we would tango or rumba to records of Edmundo Ros. The Hammersmith Palais and the Locarno Streatham and no doubt other dance halls stayed open all through the war and were full of people. Servicemen and women of all nations were there. It was good to relax there with the bright lights and the music , one could forget the war. You went with your girl friend and hoped that good-looking sailor would ask you to dance. Girls who were wallflowers would try to look as if they had only come to listen to the music.
Much hilarity was caused by the group dances like the Palais Glide and the Conga and the Paul Jones. Ah, the Paul Jones! The men in one circle, the girls in another. This was a bit of a lottery. When the music stopped your partner might be that chap who looks like Clark Gable. Oh rapture! But after a few steps the music would change again he would be off and the next time the music stopped your partner would be a little chap with two left feet.
The evening would end with lights dimmed and the band playing "Who's taking you home tonight, after the dance is through?" And out you went into the blackout.
I can hear you all saying "Here she goes again" but I must tell you what is was like when I was a teenager. Only we weren't called that. The name hadn't been invented.
We danced to the strict tempo of Victor Sylvester and Joe Loss. Slow, slow, quick,quick, slow. We all said this under our breath as we circled the floor. As we got more adventurous we would tango or rumba to records of Edmundo Ros. The Hammersmith Palais and the Locarno Streatham and no doubt other dance halls stayed open all through the war and were full of people. Servicemen and women of all nations were there. It was good to relax there with the bright lights and the music , one could forget the war. You went with your girl friend and hoped that good-looking sailor would ask you to dance. Girls who were wallflowers would try to look as if they had only come to listen to the music.
Much hilarity was caused by the group dances like the Palais Glide and the Conga and the Paul Jones. Ah, the Paul Jones! The men in one circle, the girls in another. This was a bit of a lottery. When the music stopped your partner might be that chap who looks like Clark Gable. Oh rapture! But after a few steps the music would change again he would be off and the next time the music stopped your partner would be a little chap with two left feet.
The evening would end with lights dimmed and the band playing "Who's taking you home tonight, after the dance is through?" And out you went into the blackout.
Friday 11 November 2011
Remembrance
Another Remembrance Day
and we, who are still here,
Join in the silence today
And cannot restrain a tear.
At this most solemn hour
We think of our young men
Willingly sacrificing all
That the world may live freely again.
and we, who are still here,
Join in the silence today
And cannot restrain a tear.
At this most solemn hour
We think of our young men
Willingly sacrificing all
That the world may live freely again.
Tuesday 8 November 2011
Olympics
Yesterday the Telegraph reported on the route the Olympic Flame would take to London next year. On the day the 1948 Olympics came to London my husband decided that we would get up early to see the torch bearers who were carrying the flame from Dover through Kent and Surrey into London. We rose at 4 a.m. My mother thought we were crazy but she should have been used to her son-in-law doing unusual things. We were young and excited at this great event after all the drabness of the war.
We started off on our bikes at about 4.30 a.m. to cyclethe 15 or so miles from West Dulwich in south east London due south to Godstone in Surrey where there was to be a handover by torch bearers. These runners had been travelling in relays throughout the night and people had left their beds to applaud them as they ran by.
I think we got to Godstone before 6 a.m. (bear in mind these are my memories from more than 60 years ago) and joined the crowd waiting for the runner to arrive. We clapped enthusiastically when he appeared. In a moment the flame had been passed on and it was all over.
We cycled home for breakfast and as my husband had miraculously purchased tickets for the opening ceremony we made our way to Wembley. We probably went on a No.3 bus to Oxford Circus and then on a crowded Metropolitan line train to Wembly. When we reached the stadium there were hundreds and hundreds of people. Everyone was in holiday mood. It was extremely hot. We found our seats. I don't know what the tickets cost.
King George VI and Queen Elizabeth (later known as the Queen Mother) were there and I believe old Queen Mary (George V's widow) although I really only remember seeing the King as he made a speech of welcome. There were lots of speeches then the athletes marched into the stadium. They came from lots of different countries, some in colourful native dress and were mostly men. Guns were fired in salute and then the last torch bearer ran into the stadium. He ran up a huge number of steps with his torch to light the fire in the cauldron at the top.
I suppose today's youngsters would think it was a very tame affair but we thought it was wonderful.
We started off on our bikes at about 4.30 a.m. to cyclethe 15 or so miles from West Dulwich in south east London due south to Godstone in Surrey where there was to be a handover by torch bearers. These runners had been travelling in relays throughout the night and people had left their beds to applaud them as they ran by.
I think we got to Godstone before 6 a.m. (bear in mind these are my memories from more than 60 years ago) and joined the crowd waiting for the runner to arrive. We clapped enthusiastically when he appeared. In a moment the flame had been passed on and it was all over.
We cycled home for breakfast and as my husband had miraculously purchased tickets for the opening ceremony we made our way to Wembley. We probably went on a No.3 bus to Oxford Circus and then on a crowded Metropolitan line train to Wembly. When we reached the stadium there were hundreds and hundreds of people. Everyone was in holiday mood. It was extremely hot. We found our seats. I don't know what the tickets cost.
King George VI and Queen Elizabeth (later known as the Queen Mother) were there and I believe old Queen Mary (George V's widow) although I really only remember seeing the King as he made a speech of welcome. There were lots of speeches then the athletes marched into the stadium. They came from lots of different countries, some in colourful native dress and were mostly men. Guns were fired in salute and then the last torch bearer ran into the stadium. He ran up a huge number of steps with his torch to light the fire in the cauldron at the top.
I suppose today's youngsters would think it was a very tame affair but we thought it was wonderful.
Saturday 29 October 2011
Coincidences
On Friday there were two articles in the Daily Telegraph which caught my attention. I recently wrote about Victorian underwear. Lo and behold there is a picture of Queen Victoria's silk bloomers (definitely OS) which are included in a selection of the Qeen's underwear which is to be sold by auction in Edinburgh.
On Thursday my daughter and I were remembering going shopping when she was a very young teenager. We went to Kensington and found shops selling things young girls like. One in particular was very poorly lit and loud Indian music was being played. I recognised the music. My husband, being an old India hand, played his one Ravi Shankar record interminably. My daughter dived into the darkened shop. I followed more cautiously not sure what I might find but fearing the worst. Just inside the door was a strangely dressed, foreign-looking young man smoking a Hookah!! Oh dear! A second glance showed me he was innocently drinking orange juice through a straw. I have a vivid imagination. As my daughter says "Oh Mummy, honestly!".
To my astonishment the article the next day was about shops selling goods in semi darkness where the patrons are in danger of bumping into one another. With ear-splitting music apparently it is hoped to creat a club-like atmosphere. One mother couldn't find her daughter and had to go outside to phone her. Another clung on to her daughter in the dark saying "Don't lose me". Sounds like another instance of energy saving or more likely conning the customers who can't see to read the prices. Ah well! plus ca change!.
On Thursday my daughter and I were remembering going shopping when she was a very young teenager. We went to Kensington and found shops selling things young girls like. One in particular was very poorly lit and loud Indian music was being played. I recognised the music. My husband, being an old India hand, played his one Ravi Shankar record interminably. My daughter dived into the darkened shop. I followed more cautiously not sure what I might find but fearing the worst. Just inside the door was a strangely dressed, foreign-looking young man smoking a Hookah!! Oh dear! A second glance showed me he was innocently drinking orange juice through a straw. I have a vivid imagination. As my daughter says "Oh Mummy, honestly!".
To my astonishment the article the next day was about shops selling goods in semi darkness where the patrons are in danger of bumping into one another. With ear-splitting music apparently it is hoped to creat a club-like atmosphere. One mother couldn't find her daughter and had to go outside to phone her. Another clung on to her daughter in the dark saying "Don't lose me". Sounds like another instance of energy saving or more likely conning the customers who can't see to read the prices. Ah well! plus ca change!.
Tuesday 25 October 2011
Worry
Mark Twain (and possibly many other people) said" I have had many troubles in my life most of which have never happened". I have found this to be very true. The times I have dreaded something happening only for the feared event to pass off peacefully or, indeed, not to take place at all. Most of us are worriers. The best advice, which I can never remember at the crucial moment, is if you can do something about it, do it now. If it is beyond your control, stop worrying. Easier to say than to do.
Cousin Kath was a worrier. Indeed, an arch-worrier. She went on a tour to Egypt with her sister. One of the arranged excursions was a visit by minibus to a sacred temple in the desert. Their minibus joined three others and they set off. When the buses stopped Kath found visiting the temple in volved quite a walk. As she had a sore foot she decided to stay in the bus until the party returned. After a while she looked up from her book rather apprehensively as her driver opened the door and ushered in three men. They went to the back of the bus and squatted down on the floor talking animatedly. Kath cowered into the corner of her seat wondering how to call for help and where from. She waited for a fate worse than death. .....after some time there was a great shout of laughter and the men rose to their feet and came purposefully towards her. As each one passed he saluted her. Then her driver said to her "You O.K. Missy?" It then dawned on her that the three men were the other three drivers and that they had been innocently playing cards to pass the waiting time.
Cousin Kath was a worrier. Indeed, an arch-worrier. She went on a tour to Egypt with her sister. One of the arranged excursions was a visit by minibus to a sacred temple in the desert. Their minibus joined three others and they set off. When the buses stopped Kath found visiting the temple in volved quite a walk. As she had a sore foot she decided to stay in the bus until the party returned. After a while she looked up from her book rather apprehensively as her driver opened the door and ushered in three men. They went to the back of the bus and squatted down on the floor talking animatedly. Kath cowered into the corner of her seat wondering how to call for help and where from. She waited for a fate worse than death. .....after some time there was a great shout of laughter and the men rose to their feet and came purposefully towards her. As each one passed he saluted her. Then her driver said to her "You O.K. Missy?" It then dawned on her that the three men were the other three drivers and that they had been innocently playing cards to pass the waiting time.
Sunday 23 October 2011
Interviews & Introductions
Watching a politician being beseiged by reporters the other day on TV reminded me of Harold MacMillan. He said you arrive at Heathrow after a long flight looking tired, sleeples, jet lagged and exactly like your passport photograph to be met by an army of reporters asking questions and thinking the old man's past it.
I think the usual questions run something like this:
"How did the meeting go, sir?" "Oh I think it went very well." "Did you reach any conclusions?" "Well, not to say conclusions exactly." "Why did the meeting break down?" "Well, I wouldn't say it broke down exactly, it broke up." "What was the result?" "Well, I would say lessons have been learned." So we are not much the wiser. At least the reporters probably knew who he was.
On the Today programme on Radio 4 they often get the name or job description wrong which can be embarrassing. I,myself, have been variously in troduced as Gerry Bowles, Elsie Bowley and when I was named Thirkettle that led to endless mispronunciations. So rule number one -- get the name right.
Rule numbertwo make sure you know your speaker's subject. No good saying "cooking a gooseberry tart" when the speaker has prepared a talk about her trip to Outer Mongolia.
Rule number three Mind how you say thank you. I was at a meeting where a vicar's wife gave a talk on Queen Victoria's underwear and brought samples (not of the Queen's) of the things Victorian ladies wore under their dresses. At the end the Chairman (Ooh, mustn't say that) the Chair said (though I have never hrard a chair speak) Thank you, Mrs. Brown. for telling us about the underwear. Now ladies next month we are going to have a very interesting speaker ------ That is not what you are supposed to say.
Being interviewed can be nerve wracking but if you have a charming, handsome man asking you questions, as I did, it is amazing what you come out with.
I think the usual questions run something like this:
"How did the meeting go, sir?" "Oh I think it went very well." "Did you reach any conclusions?" "Well, not to say conclusions exactly." "Why did the meeting break down?" "Well, I wouldn't say it broke down exactly, it broke up." "What was the result?" "Well, I would say lessons have been learned." So we are not much the wiser. At least the reporters probably knew who he was.
On the Today programme on Radio 4 they often get the name or job description wrong which can be embarrassing. I,myself, have been variously in troduced as Gerry Bowles, Elsie Bowley and when I was named Thirkettle that led to endless mispronunciations. So rule number one -- get the name right.
Rule numbertwo make sure you know your speaker's subject. No good saying "cooking a gooseberry tart" when the speaker has prepared a talk about her trip to Outer Mongolia.
Rule number three Mind how you say thank you. I was at a meeting where a vicar's wife gave a talk on Queen Victoria's underwear and brought samples (not of the Queen's) of the things Victorian ladies wore under their dresses. At the end the Chairman (Ooh, mustn't say that) the Chair said (though I have never hrard a chair speak) Thank you, Mrs. Brown. for telling us about the underwear. Now ladies next month we are going to have a very interesting speaker ------ That is not what you are supposed to say.
Being interviewed can be nerve wracking but if you have a charming, handsome man asking you questions, as I did, it is amazing what you come out with.
Wednesday 19 October 2011
Schooldays
Harking back to my schooldays the schools I went to were all church schools. They had a good reputation in London. A good basic Christian education with dedicated teachers. From 12 years old I went to a school in Westminster which drew pupils from a wide area. Many of the girl's parents were shopkeepers or small tradesmen. Some were quite well off coming from the Sloane Square area. One girl was the daughter of one of the King's coachmen and lived in the Royal Mews at Buckingham Palace where the Royal Family keep their horses and carriages which are used on State occasions. The coachmen and grooms, with their families, lived in flats above the coach houses and stables. It was very exciting to go there for tea. When the war broke out they were all evacuated to Windsor Castle.
Sunday 16 October 2011
Spuds
When Kitty and I decamped from London to South Mimms during the blitz (see blog for 8/8/2010) Uncle would load us down with eggs and fresh vegetables from his garden. Things which were in short supply in town. We would travel to and fro by Green Line bus. These coaches were much beloved by Londoners. They ran frequently from Central London out into the country - north, south, east and west at a reasonable fare.
On one occasion we were waiting early on Monday morning for the bus back to Victoria laden down with our spoils. A large paper carrier bag was full of small new potatoes. A real luxury. (No plastic bags in those days.) It started to rain. The bus was late and we waited and waited. The rain got heavier and heavier and so did the bag. We finally got on the bus looking like drowned rats. We arrived at Victoria railway station just in the rush hour. We took a short cut through the station Kitty carrying the now sodden carrier bag. As we were crossing the concourse, dodging hurrying commuters, the bottom of the bag finally gave up the struggle and dozens and dozens of small potatoes short all over the ground. Kitty took off her jacket and we started to gather them up into the jacket. I must give those busy Londoners their due. Several people stopped and helped us pick up the potatoes. Looking even more like drowned rats we finally reached Kitty's homewhere the potatoes were greeted with open arms, even if we weren't. I have to say they were delicious cooked with one sausage each which Mrs. Jones had managed to scrounge from the butcher, the tiny ration of meat being kept for Sundays. It is really true what happens in the butcher's shop in "Dads Army".
On one occasion we were waiting early on Monday morning for the bus back to Victoria laden down with our spoils. A large paper carrier bag was full of small new potatoes. A real luxury. (No plastic bags in those days.) It started to rain. The bus was late and we waited and waited. The rain got heavier and heavier and so did the bag. We finally got on the bus looking like drowned rats. We arrived at Victoria railway station just in the rush hour. We took a short cut through the station Kitty carrying the now sodden carrier bag. As we were crossing the concourse, dodging hurrying commuters, the bottom of the bag finally gave up the struggle and dozens and dozens of small potatoes short all over the ground. Kitty took off her jacket and we started to gather them up into the jacket. I must give those busy Londoners their due. Several people stopped and helped us pick up the potatoes. Looking even more like drowned rats we finally reached Kitty's homewhere the potatoes were greeted with open arms, even if we weren't. I have to say they were delicious cooked with one sausage each which Mrs. Jones had managed to scrounge from the butcher, the tiny ration of meat being kept for Sundays. It is really true what happens in the butcher's shop in "Dads Army".
Wednesday 12 October 2011
My Friend Kitty
I find it sad that when I find something interesting and think I must tell so-and-so only to remember a moment later that he/she had died a few years back. That's what happens when you live so long.
This week I read a letter about George Mitchell of the Black & White Minstrels show. A terribly non-PC entertainment modelled on Al Jolson songs etc. which we unsophisticates enjoyed. I'm sure George Mitchell never intended to upset anyone. Anyway this letter referred to his time in the Royal Army Pay Corps. My friend, Kitty, was called up in the 1940s for the A.T.S. (a most unlikely soldier) and worked in the same room as George Mitchell in the City of London and I wanted to tell her about the letter.
Kitty and I met when we were 12 and remained friends until she went to meet her Maker in 2007. I know that's where she went because she was a saint but one with a great sense of humour. Despite her many troubles she never complained.
On the 7th September when the blitz on London began Kitty and I had been swimming at Buckingham Palace Road Baths. We went to her home in Grosvenor Square where her family lived in the basement. Her mother was the housekeeper. Next door lived the Earl of Onslow and we were friends with Bridie, one of the maids. The sirens went as we hurried home. We could hear the planes. We arrived home safely and, of all things, went up on to the roof to see what was happening. We could hardly believe our eyes. Looking towards the East End the whole horizon was red. The bombers had set the city alight to provide a beacon for the planes which were to follow within a few hours with high explosives, The bombing went on for hours. A good job we didn't know about all the nights that were to follow.
This week I read a letter about George Mitchell of the Black & White Minstrels show. A terribly non-PC entertainment modelled on Al Jolson songs etc. which we unsophisticates enjoyed. I'm sure George Mitchell never intended to upset anyone. Anyway this letter referred to his time in the Royal Army Pay Corps. My friend, Kitty, was called up in the 1940s for the A.T.S. (a most unlikely soldier) and worked in the same room as George Mitchell in the City of London and I wanted to tell her about the letter.
Kitty and I met when we were 12 and remained friends until she went to meet her Maker in 2007. I know that's where she went because she was a saint but one with a great sense of humour. Despite her many troubles she never complained.
On the 7th September when the blitz on London began Kitty and I had been swimming at Buckingham Palace Road Baths. We went to her home in Grosvenor Square where her family lived in the basement. Her mother was the housekeeper. Next door lived the Earl of Onslow and we were friends with Bridie, one of the maids. The sirens went as we hurried home. We could hear the planes. We arrived home safely and, of all things, went up on to the roof to see what was happening. We could hardly believe our eyes. Looking towards the East End the whole horizon was red. The bombers had set the city alight to provide a beacon for the planes which were to follow within a few hours with high explosives, The bombing went on for hours. A good job we didn't know about all the nights that were to follow.
Thriller Awards
Last night I watched the ITV3 Thriller Awards ceremony. I was delighted to see the cast of the Danish detective series "The Killing" there and even more delighted when the actress playing the mother got the award for best supporting actress, the female detective was awarded the best actress and the series was the most popular with the viewers. They had to beat some pretty strong contenders so well done them! The famous jumper was also on view!
It was interesting to see the different authors. Most looked very ordinary middle-aged men. Not at all the sort who could dream up all those horrors. I suppose the fascination we have with thrillers and crime novels is trying to work out whodunit before the denoument at the end. I love the way Poirot assembles all the suspects, looks at each one in turn and then swivels round and pounces on the least likely one. (I do sometimes watch more highbrow programmes.)
But there's nothing like a good murder to take one's mind off the horrors of diminishing returns from one's savings.
It was interesting to see the different authors. Most looked very ordinary middle-aged men. Not at all the sort who could dream up all those horrors. I suppose the fascination we have with thrillers and crime novels is trying to work out whodunit before the denoument at the end. I love the way Poirot assembles all the suspects, looks at each one in turn and then swivels round and pounces on the least likely one. (I do sometimes watch more highbrow programmes.)
But there's nothing like a good murder to take one's mind off the horrors of diminishing returns from one's savings.
Monday 10 October 2011
Jumping over the Broomstick
Looking at the pictures of Paul McCartney's wedding at a Registry Office reminded me of the Rev. Francis Kilvert saying that such marriages were like Gipsy weddings where the bride and groom jumped over a broomstick and that meant they were married. I have come across this expression before, either Dickens or Thackeray.
I have just finished listening to an amusing book by Rev. Fred Secombe, brother of Harry Secombe, about his early years as a young curate. Now I am on to letters written by a prolific letter writer, Nancy Mitford of the famous Mitford sisters' fame. All of her family were so interesting, especially her sister Diana who married the Fascist Sir Oswald Moseley. Before the war my brother went to a Peace Rally in Hyde Park. Moseley and his Blackshirts were there and things got rather lively. Frank came home with a black eye. So much for peace!!
I have just finished listening to an amusing book by Rev. Fred Secombe, brother of Harry Secombe, about his early years as a young curate. Now I am on to letters written by a prolific letter writer, Nancy Mitford of the famous Mitford sisters' fame. All of her family were so interesting, especially her sister Diana who married the Fascist Sir Oswald Moseley. Before the war my brother went to a Peace Rally in Hyde Park. Moseley and his Blackshirts were there and things got rather lively. Frank came home with a black eye. So much for peace!!
Wednesday 5 October 2011
Traveller's Rest
On the way home from what used to be a short trip to the shops but is now a marathon I frequently rest on a seat in the sun. I am a great people watcher! I caught it from my mother-in-law. I used to drive her to Hythe for coffee and then we would sit in the car on the sea front criticising the fashion sense of the passers by.
This particular seat is a favourite with young mums who stop to have a crafty fag. One young man sat down beside me and actually asked me if I minded if he smoked. I wonder if I will die from passive smoking. However I don't mean to mock the younger generation. My grandchildren and their friends are delightful company and very forbearing of a garrulous old dear. I have to cross two quite tricky roads to get home. Near one crossing there is a seat where an oddly assorted bunch of characters sit with their cans of beer, their fags and their dogs. If they catch my eye they are always polite and say "Good morning, Ma'am." One day when I was waiting for a gap in the traffic so as to cross safely one of this fraternity, a rather untidy young man, went out in to the middle of the road to stop the traffic and said encouragingly "Come on, Ma, you can cross now." Never judge a sausage by its skin.
This particular seat is a favourite with young mums who stop to have a crafty fag. One young man sat down beside me and actually asked me if I minded if he smoked. I wonder if I will die from passive smoking. However I don't mean to mock the younger generation. My grandchildren and their friends are delightful company and very forbearing of a garrulous old dear. I have to cross two quite tricky roads to get home. Near one crossing there is a seat where an oddly assorted bunch of characters sit with their cans of beer, their fags and their dogs. If they catch my eye they are always polite and say "Good morning, Ma'am." One day when I was waiting for a gap in the traffic so as to cross safely one of this fraternity, a rather untidy young man, went out in to the middle of the road to stop the traffic and said encouragingly "Come on, Ma, you can cross now." Never judge a sausage by its skin.
Friday 30 September 2011
The Chimney Sweep
I recently read of an unfortunate man who died from carbon monoxide poisoning because the chimney sweep had failed to clear a bird's nest which was blocking the chimney. That wouldn't have happened when I was a little girl. The arrival of the sweep was very exciting. Not, I hasten to add, for the housewife who had to take down curtains and pictures and cover everything up. No vacuum cleaner because we had no electricity.
The sweep brought his paraphenalia of rods, brushes, sacks etc. on a small handcart. He would set a frame covered with a cloth with a hole in the middle against the fireplace and push up his rods with a brush on the first one screwing on the other rods as he pushed them up the chimney. It was my job to run outside and make sure the brush could be seen poking out of the chimnet pot. When I came breathlessly in and said "Yes" he would put a sack at the hole in the cloth to catch the soot and, one by one, unscrew the rods and lastly the brush. When he had gone the curtains had to be washed and ironed and put back, the skirting board and picture rail washed and everything tidied up. The room smelt of soot for some time afterwards. Quite hard work for my mother. It was as well to behave yourself on the day the sweep came as tempers were short.
Not everyone could afford sixpence for the sweep. Sixpence would buy a breast of lamb and some vegetables for a family dinner. Some scrag end of lamb and some carrots and dumplings perhaps. Hence there was plenty of scope for "do-it-yourself" jobs. One I well remember. Picture a small block of 15 flats. On the flat roof 5 rows of 3 chimney pots. A lady's two young grandsons offered to sweep her chimney They went up on to the flat roof with a house brick and a long length of rope. Tying the brick to the rope they let it down the chimney and as it went down, thump, thump, thump against the inside of the chimney it knocked the soot down. Granny would be prepared , having cleared the room, taken down the curtains etc. with a sack ready to receive the soot. All was going well. There was just one snag. The boys had chosen the wrong chimney! The soot descended, somewhat unexpectedly, into the sitting room of the flat next door to Granny!
The sweep brought his paraphenalia of rods, brushes, sacks etc. on a small handcart. He would set a frame covered with a cloth with a hole in the middle against the fireplace and push up his rods with a brush on the first one screwing on the other rods as he pushed them up the chimney. It was my job to run outside and make sure the brush could be seen poking out of the chimnet pot. When I came breathlessly in and said "Yes" he would put a sack at the hole in the cloth to catch the soot and, one by one, unscrew the rods and lastly the brush. When he had gone the curtains had to be washed and ironed and put back, the skirting board and picture rail washed and everything tidied up. The room smelt of soot for some time afterwards. Quite hard work for my mother. It was as well to behave yourself on the day the sweep came as tempers were short.
Not everyone could afford sixpence for the sweep. Sixpence would buy a breast of lamb and some vegetables for a family dinner. Some scrag end of lamb and some carrots and dumplings perhaps. Hence there was plenty of scope for "do-it-yourself" jobs. One I well remember. Picture a small block of 15 flats. On the flat roof 5 rows of 3 chimney pots. A lady's two young grandsons offered to sweep her chimney They went up on to the flat roof with a house brick and a long length of rope. Tying the brick to the rope they let it down the chimney and as it went down, thump, thump, thump against the inside of the chimney it knocked the soot down. Granny would be prepared , having cleared the room, taken down the curtains etc. with a sack ready to receive the soot. All was going well. There was just one snag. The boys had chosen the wrong chimney! The soot descended, somewhat unexpectedly, into the sitting room of the flat next door to Granny!
Friday 23 September 2011
Don't Count your Chickens
I congatulated myself too soon after a visit to the Eye Hospital last Tuesday. A nice lady rang to say I have to have another injection so another visit next Monday. The young man who took the pictures did say the eye wasn't any worse but I suppose the Consultant must have decided to have another go.
Another lovely September day, sunny and warm though it gets somewhat autumnal once the sun has gone down. My reverie was disturbed yesterday by the whine of a saw as someone was lopping a tree. All is peaceful today except for the occasional yelp from next door.
I am glad of the lovely soft, warm pashmina my granddaughter gave me a couple of Christmases ago. It keeps my ancient knees warm whilst I am listening to my audio books I have finished Rev. Francis Kilvert's Diaries. There was an interesting link with a TV programme I was watching about the Regency period which was when he was writing around 1790. A friend was in London for the coronation and gave him a first hand account of how Queen Caroline was turned away from the Abbey at George IV's coronation. My word! What goings on!
I rang to ask for a new cheque book as the usual replacement hadn't come. My goodness. The security hoops I had to jump through. You would have thought I was after the Crown Jewels. By the time I had listened to all the buttons I might want to press I had forgotten the first one and had to start again. I think the poet (?) Pam Ayres said the next time she is told "Press one" she is going for her gun. Anyway, a nice lady put me right and promised me a new book "in 7 to 10 days". What do you know? A cheque book turned up in the next post. So the automatic renewal is still working if a little late. I won't upset the nice lady by cancelling my order.
Another lovely September day, sunny and warm though it gets somewhat autumnal once the sun has gone down. My reverie was disturbed yesterday by the whine of a saw as someone was lopping a tree. All is peaceful today except for the occasional yelp from next door.
I am glad of the lovely soft, warm pashmina my granddaughter gave me a couple of Christmases ago. It keeps my ancient knees warm whilst I am listening to my audio books I have finished Rev. Francis Kilvert's Diaries. There was an interesting link with a TV programme I was watching about the Regency period which was when he was writing around 1790. A friend was in London for the coronation and gave him a first hand account of how Queen Caroline was turned away from the Abbey at George IV's coronation. My word! What goings on!
I rang to ask for a new cheque book as the usual replacement hadn't come. My goodness. The security hoops I had to jump through. You would have thought I was after the Crown Jewels. By the time I had listened to all the buttons I might want to press I had forgotten the first one and had to start again. I think the poet (?) Pam Ayres said the next time she is told "Press one" she is going for her gun. Anyway, a nice lady put me right and promised me a new book "in 7 to 10 days". What do you know? A cheque book turned up in the next post. So the automatic renewal is still working if a little late. I won't upset the nice lady by cancelling my order.
Saturday 17 September 2011
The Foundation Girls
I was talking to the young lady who helps me in the house about the cost of school uniforms especially if .as in her case. they can only be bought from one supplier.
How fortunate I was! The school I attended from 7 years old till 11 was started by the wife of the then Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Tenison, in 1706. Its first pupils were 12 poor girls who were given clothes and shoes so that they could go to school. Through the years the school grew and the practice continued of choosing 12 poor girls to receive this bounty. They were known as the Foundation Girls. I was proud to be one of these. We were given a uniform, winter and summer in return our parents had to sign to say that we would attend school regularly, clean and suitably clad: we would say our prayers each day: we would attend Church and Sunday School: we must be baptised and we would be of good behaviour in and out of school.
On Church Feast days such as Ascension Day, we 12 girls would dress in very old costumes and process to church. People would come to their doors to see us pass by. The costume, presumably replicas of the original uniform, consisted of a long faded blue skirt, a white blouse, a sort of frock coat with elbow length sleeves. We wore large white collars like the Puritans wore, a little white bonnet and long lacy ,yellow mittens.
My mother must have been very thankful for this assistance.
I don't have any pictures, more's the pity but in about 1933 British Movietone News came to the school to make a film about us in our costumes. I was told about it by someone who saw the film but I have never managed to track it down.
How fortunate I was! The school I attended from 7 years old till 11 was started by the wife of the then Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Tenison, in 1706. Its first pupils were 12 poor girls who were given clothes and shoes so that they could go to school. Through the years the school grew and the practice continued of choosing 12 poor girls to receive this bounty. They were known as the Foundation Girls. I was proud to be one of these. We were given a uniform, winter and summer in return our parents had to sign to say that we would attend school regularly, clean and suitably clad: we would say our prayers each day: we would attend Church and Sunday School: we must be baptised and we would be of good behaviour in and out of school.
On Church Feast days such as Ascension Day, we 12 girls would dress in very old costumes and process to church. People would come to their doors to see us pass by. The costume, presumably replicas of the original uniform, consisted of a long faded blue skirt, a white blouse, a sort of frock coat with elbow length sleeves. We wore large white collars like the Puritans wore, a little white bonnet and long lacy ,yellow mittens.
My mother must have been very thankful for this assistance.
I don't have any pictures, more's the pity but in about 1933 British Movietone News came to the school to make a film about us in our costumes. I was told about it by someone who saw the film but I have never managed to track it down.
Friday 16 September 2011
Boom Box
Mike sent away for a Boom Box. It has just arrived and means I can listen to my audio books wherever I wish instead of having to sit at the computer. As my friends say "Everyone should have a Mike." It is a very neat little thing and the sound is excellent. So think of me going to bed tonight with Dick Francis- my favourite thriller writer.
Friday 9 September 2011
Another Day Out
Lunch on Wednesday at the Bell at Alresford with our friend from Tokyo who is visiting her family in Bath. S looking well,and surmounting all her difficulties in her usual optimistic frame of mind , was an inspiration to all us moaners.
The party of six was a lively one with much hearty laughter. Jane chose the venue well. The food was delicious and reasonably priced. The service was unobtrusive and friendly. Since my eyesight is fading I have become obsessive about light. As is fashionable the lighting was "romantically low" but as I was seated next to the window I coped. I do hope the way the restaurants have jumped on the band wagon of energy saving (i.e. money saving) will pass and we can go back to the good old days of seeing what is on the end of our forks! I find it is a bit of a lucky dip. However, no grumbling. It was a lovely day and I am grateful to my family for taking me for another nice day out.
The party of six was a lively one with much hearty laughter. Jane chose the venue well. The food was delicious and reasonably priced. The service was unobtrusive and friendly. Since my eyesight is fading I have become obsessive about light. As is fashionable the lighting was "romantically low" but as I was seated next to the window I coped. I do hope the way the restaurants have jumped on the band wagon of energy saving (i.e. money saving) will pass and we can go back to the good old days of seeing what is on the end of our forks! I find it is a bit of a lucky dip. However, no grumbling. It was a lovely day and I am grateful to my family for taking me for another nice day out.
Monday 5 September 2011
Lazy Afternoon
In a somnolent posture, still needing to solve the last four clues to finish the D.T. crossword, I am startled by a sharp yelp. The dog next door has spied a cat. The yelp is followed by a series of barks. I settle back only to be roused again. This time by a loud rattle of raindrops on the conservatory roof. The trees at the end of the garden move wildly about their leaves rustling with quite a clatter. The tall eucalyptus waves to and fro and the bamboo is bending downwards to the earth.. It is just a sharp shower and soon the sky is blue again with white fleecy clouds floating overhead. I was right to go shopping early this morning thus missing the rain.
A hanging basket of the most beautiful fuschias is on the wall opposite my bedroom window. The pelargoniums in the conservatory are in full bloom including one new to me called "Fireworks" which was given to me last year. The garden is looking nice. The sedums, so easy to grow, are just beginning to show pink tips. The pots of herbs on the balcony upstairs are rivalling the pictures of the balcony herb garden sent by our Tokyo friend.
The children are back at school this week including my two little French boys who went back home to Paris on Sunday.
I suppose that means the end of summer but not to despair - we often get lovely weather in September.
A hanging basket of the most beautiful fuschias is on the wall opposite my bedroom window. The pelargoniums in the conservatory are in full bloom including one new to me called "Fireworks" which was given to me last year. The garden is looking nice. The sedums, so easy to grow, are just beginning to show pink tips. The pots of herbs on the balcony upstairs are rivalling the pictures of the balcony herb garden sent by our Tokyo friend.
The children are back at school this week including my two little French boys who went back home to Paris on Sunday.
I suppose that means the end of summer but not to despair - we often get lovely weather in September.
Friday 2 September 2011
Audio Books
I have just received a book from the Calibre Audio Library. This is a charity that posts cassettes, MP3s or memory sticks to anyone who has difficulty reading print. The service is completely free but they do rely on donations.fund-raising events and the work of dedicated volunteers, so that is on my small list of charities from now on.
Don't expect to see a blog for a while as this book is "Francis Kilvert's Diaries" with 16 hours of reading!
When I worked at the Home Office Aliens Department in 1945/6 next door to the Old Bailey Central Criminal Court I enrolled at the City Literary Institute for a Literature course. The subject was "English Diarists" and I have been an avid reader of journals and diaries ever since.
Don't expect to see a blog for a while as this book is "Francis Kilvert's Diaries" with 16 hours of reading!
When I worked at the Home Office Aliens Department in 1945/6 next door to the Old Bailey Central Criminal Court I enrolled at the City Literary Institute for a Literature course. The subject was "English Diarists" and I have been an avid reader of journals and diaries ever since.
The Killing
I have been late to bed for some days as I have been watching re-run of the Danish film "The Killing" which I missed when it was first shown. Although the story is dire I am utterly hooked. The acting is superb. I really live each moment with the characters and I can hardly wait for the next instalment. The detective wears the same jumper from Goodrun & Goodrun of the Faroe Islands each day as the story unfolds. Did the producer think we would not recognise her in another outfit or did the actress just love the jumper?
During the war (my war) I knitted a pair of mitts in that self-same pattern. It was called "snowflake".
I am about to write a protest to the BBC about their proposal to cut down on BBC4. It is so often the only channel worth spending time with. I look at BBC4 programme listings before anything else. Even programmes about which I think are beyond me e.g. "Maths" or Astronomy are so well presented that I find myself watching to the end. Here ends today's rant!
During the war (my war) I knitted a pair of mitts in that self-same pattern. It was called "snowflake".
I am about to write a protest to the BBC about their proposal to cut down on BBC4. It is so often the only channel worth spending time with. I look at BBC4 programme listings before anything else. Even programmes about which I think are beyond me e.g. "Maths" or Astronomy are so well presented that I find myself watching to the end. Here ends today's rant!
Wednesday 31 August 2011
A Day Out
Aren't families wonderful? I spent a delightful day last Saturday in Folkestone with four of my grandchildren and other family members. Despite it being Bank Holiday weekend our travelling went very smoothly. A delicious lunch was provided for all nine of us by my granddaughter in her new house in Sandgate Just up the road from where we used to live. We heard of my 8 year old French grandson's adventures in the French Alps. His first time away from home! He went rock climbing. canoeing, swimming, cycling and camping.
My first holiday away from home was on a school journey to Broadstairs. I was 9 years old and am not quite sure I enjoyed it. I gather most children have mixed feelings about that first time away from all that is familiar. It is supposed to be character-building!
My first holiday away from home was on a school journey to Broadstairs. I was 9 years old and am not quite sure I enjoyed it. I gather most children have mixed feelings about that first time away from all that is familiar. It is supposed to be character-building!
Thursday 25 August 2011
Seeking Directions
I have only to stand still in the street and someone will ask me the way to somewhere. I must look like a local, even in Denmark! My father-in-law had a few tales to tell on this subject.
Ask a vicar the way and he will say "Down this road to St. Peter's Church, turn right when you get to the Baptist Chapel, straight on past the Wesleyan until you get to the Cathedral." Ask Bill Jones and he will say "Go down this road as far as The Red Lion, turn left at The Bull, past the King's Head and it is opposite the Rose & Crown."
In the early days of cycling ladies wore" Bloomers" (named after a Mrs. Bloomer an early cyclist) to save their skirts from getting oily. Two such ladies stopped to ask a farmer for directions. "Is this the way to Wareham?" "Well I don't know" said the farmer. "My missus wears hers under her dress."
Ask the way of a local and he will say "Well if I were you I wouldn't start from here."
Two young men asked the way and the answer was "I don't know." "You don't appear to know much." said one young man rudely. " Mebbe not" was the reply "But I aren't lorst."
Ask a vicar the way and he will say "Down this road to St. Peter's Church, turn right when you get to the Baptist Chapel, straight on past the Wesleyan until you get to the Cathedral." Ask Bill Jones and he will say "Go down this road as far as The Red Lion, turn left at The Bull, past the King's Head and it is opposite the Rose & Crown."
In the early days of cycling ladies wore" Bloomers" (named after a Mrs. Bloomer an early cyclist) to save their skirts from getting oily. Two such ladies stopped to ask a farmer for directions. "Is this the way to Wareham?" "Well I don't know" said the farmer. "My missus wears hers under her dress."
Ask the way of a local and he will say "Well if I were you I wouldn't start from here."
Two young men asked the way and the answer was "I don't know." "You don't appear to know much." said one young man rudely. " Mebbe not" was the reply "But I aren't lorst."
Friday 19 August 2011
The good old days!
Although not all parts of the country have been so lucky (indeed some places have suffered torrential rain and even floods) we in the south east have enjoyed several days of warm sunny weather. I have always hated being cold. Mnd you, I have been very uncomfortable being too hot, e.g. in Sri Lanka. Having stripped to the buff and lying only with one's modesty covered with a thin sarong one can still be too hot. (Now,now no laughing!)
In our geography class at school I got a ticking off for reading aloud "The Japanese warm their houses by means of brassieres." Miss Lucas was convinced I did it for a laugh. How was I to know how to pronounce braziers? I'd never heard of them. The only heating in our flat was a coal fire in the living room and a coke copper in the kitchen. The copper was where we heated the water for our laundry and for our weekly bath. No bathrooms then. A tin bath which hung on a nail on the back balcony was brought in and put in front of the fire, then filled with buckets of hot water from the copper. We took it in turns to bathe. The grown ups were screened by towels hung on a wooden clothes horse.
The laundry was done in bowls in the sink. Bars of Sunlight soap and the clothes rubbed hard on a washboard. This could rub your knuckles sore if you weren't paying attention! Then rinsing and all white things put in a bucket with water and a blue bag, Reckitts Blue. Tablecloths and men's collars were put to one side to be starched with Robins Starch.
Drying clothes was always a problem. If the wather was dry the small back balcony was a trap for the unwary who needed to use the loo which was on the balcony next to the coal cupboard. The wet sheets would wrap themselves around you. If the weather was bad the laundry had to be hung in the kitchen. There was a large wooden mangle in the kitchen. Everything went through the mangle before being hung up. Another trap for the unwary. Fingers could get squashed. When almost dry sheets and pillow cases and hankies would go through the mangle to save ironing which was done with irons heated on the gas cooker and then the irons were put on a silver "slipper" so as not to dirty the clothes.
The ironing was done on a blanket covered with an old sheet on the kitchen table.A lot of the housewife's time was spent doing the laundry. No wonder clothes were only changed once a week unless really dirty, though men usually had a clean collar every day. How times change!
In our geography class at school I got a ticking off for reading aloud "The Japanese warm their houses by means of brassieres." Miss Lucas was convinced I did it for a laugh. How was I to know how to pronounce braziers? I'd never heard of them. The only heating in our flat was a coal fire in the living room and a coke copper in the kitchen. The copper was where we heated the water for our laundry and for our weekly bath. No bathrooms then. A tin bath which hung on a nail on the back balcony was brought in and put in front of the fire, then filled with buckets of hot water from the copper. We took it in turns to bathe. The grown ups were screened by towels hung on a wooden clothes horse.
The laundry was done in bowls in the sink. Bars of Sunlight soap and the clothes rubbed hard on a washboard. This could rub your knuckles sore if you weren't paying attention! Then rinsing and all white things put in a bucket with water and a blue bag, Reckitts Blue. Tablecloths and men's collars were put to one side to be starched with Robins Starch.
Drying clothes was always a problem. If the wather was dry the small back balcony was a trap for the unwary who needed to use the loo which was on the balcony next to the coal cupboard. The wet sheets would wrap themselves around you. If the weather was bad the laundry had to be hung in the kitchen. There was a large wooden mangle in the kitchen. Everything went through the mangle before being hung up. Another trap for the unwary. Fingers could get squashed. When almost dry sheets and pillow cases and hankies would go through the mangle to save ironing which was done with irons heated on the gas cooker and then the irons were put on a silver "slipper" so as not to dirty the clothes.
The ironing was done on a blanket covered with an old sheet on the kitchen table.A lot of the housewife's time was spent doing the laundry. No wonder clothes were only changed once a week unless really dirty, though men usually had a clean collar every day. How times change!
Wednesday 17 August 2011
Dieting
I have been a yoyo dieter for more years than I care to remember. I have now decided that I live in the wrong century. The artist Rubens would have welcomed me as a model. The skinny girls on today's catwalk would not have merited a second glance from him.Oh well! Too late now to do much about it. Here are some things to make all you aspiring waifs cheer up.
Lady speaking to her rather large friend who is about to eat a huge plateful of food. "Why, dearie, I thought you was on a diet" Friend replied "So I am dear. I've had me diet, now I'm having me dinner."
I haven't got the figure for jeans (Mrs. Thatcher.)
Jam doughnuts can be very disappointing. First bite you haven't come to the jam, second bite you've gone past it.
I'm on a seafood diet. When I see food I have to eat it.
Hunger is the best sauce.
The pasta diet will make you lose weight. You walk pasta da bakers, pasta the sweet shop, and pasta the refrigerator.
My mother told me it was a sin to waste food. I try to tell myself that it is better that it goes to waste than it goes to waist. I don't succeed!
Lady speaking to her rather large friend who is about to eat a huge plateful of food. "Why, dearie, I thought you was on a diet" Friend replied "So I am dear. I've had me diet, now I'm having me dinner."
I haven't got the figure for jeans (Mrs. Thatcher.)
Jam doughnuts can be very disappointing. First bite you haven't come to the jam, second bite you've gone past it.
I'm on a seafood diet. When I see food I have to eat it.
Hunger is the best sauce.
The pasta diet will make you lose weight. You walk pasta da bakers, pasta the sweet shop, and pasta the refrigerator.
My mother told me it was a sin to waste food. I try to tell myself that it is better that it goes to waste than it goes to waist. I don't succeed!
Tuesday 9 August 2011
Quotations
I enjoy listening to a sort of parlour game called "Quote, unquote" on BBC Radio 4. Various celebrities talk about their favourite quotations.
My mother's sayings would fill a whole programme. She had something to fit every occasion. The neighbours were often a sore point. "She's no better than she should be" was a mystery to me. Of a crafty one "You have to watch her like boiling milk" Anyone she thought was a bit soft was "Three ha'ppence short of a shilling". Her maxim on sleep was 6 for a man, 7 for a woman and 8 for a fool. You weren't supposed to lie abed. The weather "When the wind is in the east it's neither good for man nor beast". When her grandchildren asked her how old she was she would say "I'm as old as my tongue and a little bit older than my teeth". Ask her to play and she would say "I can't just now, I've got a bone in my leg". I wasn't allowed to be conceited she would say "Self praise is no recommendation" or "Is your trumpeter dead?"
Helping me with my homework it was "I'll try, two heads are better than one , even if they are only sheep's heads". If I should whistle she'd say "A whistling woman and a crowing hen is neither good for God nor men"
She was very strong on morals "Speak the truth and shame the Devil" God pays debts without money" (when retribution strikes). "Patience is a virtue, posess it if you can. Seldom found in woman, never in a man". Always an optimist "When one door shuts another one opens" "Out of debt, out of danger" when she paid a bill. If she did some work on a Sunday she would say "The better the day, the better the deed".
If the boss told you off he would "Have you up on the carpet" presumably his was the only room with a carpet. "The last person to get her tap mended was the plumber's wife". "If you want a job done well do it yourself" If I was cheeky she'd say "You'll laugh on the other side of your face" I'm still working out some of these sayings.
She had the wisdom of Solomon. I remember sharing an apple with my brother. She said he could cut it and I could choose which half to have. You never saw an apple cut so carefully!
My mother's sayings would fill a whole programme. She had something to fit every occasion. The neighbours were often a sore point. "She's no better than she should be" was a mystery to me. Of a crafty one "You have to watch her like boiling milk" Anyone she thought was a bit soft was "Three ha'ppence short of a shilling". Her maxim on sleep was 6 for a man, 7 for a woman and 8 for a fool. You weren't supposed to lie abed. The weather "When the wind is in the east it's neither good for man nor beast". When her grandchildren asked her how old she was she would say "I'm as old as my tongue and a little bit older than my teeth". Ask her to play and she would say "I can't just now, I've got a bone in my leg". I wasn't allowed to be conceited she would say "Self praise is no recommendation" or "Is your trumpeter dead?"
Helping me with my homework it was "I'll try, two heads are better than one , even if they are only sheep's heads". If I should whistle she'd say "A whistling woman and a crowing hen is neither good for God nor men"
She was very strong on morals "Speak the truth and shame the Devil" God pays debts without money" (when retribution strikes). "Patience is a virtue, posess it if you can. Seldom found in woman, never in a man". Always an optimist "When one door shuts another one opens" "Out of debt, out of danger" when she paid a bill. If she did some work on a Sunday she would say "The better the day, the better the deed".
If the boss told you off he would "Have you up on the carpet" presumably his was the only room with a carpet. "The last person to get her tap mended was the plumber's wife". "If you want a job done well do it yourself" If I was cheeky she'd say "You'll laugh on the other side of your face" I'm still working out some of these sayings.
She had the wisdom of Solomon. I remember sharing an apple with my brother. She said he could cut it and I could choose which half to have. You never saw an apple cut so carefully!
Monday 1 August 2011
The Post
I have just sent off some letters by what I have learned to call snail mail. What an appropriate moniker that is! How sad that postage stamps have reached such an astronomical figure and my letters arrive at 1 p.m. if at all. No longer do I sit at breakfast and use the butter knife to open the envelope (how shocking).
As a child I remember lying in bed at 9 p.m. and hearing the rat-a-tat of the postman's knock as he made his last delivery. There were several deliveries a day in London. In the 1930s one could send a letter early in the morning to a London address and get a reply by teatime.
The poor postman carried a very heavy bag, no trolleys in those days. They worked long hours starting very early in the morning. Mind you, the postman was the aristocrat in our street. At a time when unemployment was rife and outdoor workers did not get paid at all if the weather was too bad for them to work the postman had a steady job and a small pension when he eventually retired.
My father-in-law was a country postman and entertained us on many an evening with his stories. On delivering to a large house early in the morning the cook would often provide him with a breakfast and a warm by the kitchen fire. The baker would send him away with a freshly baked cottage loaf "for the missus". He was once given some fish by the fishmonger. He didn't want to carry it around with him so he hid it under a hedge. When he went to retrieve it there was nothing there but the bones. A cat had got there first. Come rain or shine he really enjoyed his work. He was a great talker and I think, like the pedlar of old, people relied on him for the latest gossip.
As a child I remember lying in bed at 9 p.m. and hearing the rat-a-tat of the postman's knock as he made his last delivery. There were several deliveries a day in London. In the 1930s one could send a letter early in the morning to a London address and get a reply by teatime.
The poor postman carried a very heavy bag, no trolleys in those days. They worked long hours starting very early in the morning. Mind you, the postman was the aristocrat in our street. At a time when unemployment was rife and outdoor workers did not get paid at all if the weather was too bad for them to work the postman had a steady job and a small pension when he eventually retired.
My father-in-law was a country postman and entertained us on many an evening with his stories. On delivering to a large house early in the morning the cook would often provide him with a breakfast and a warm by the kitchen fire. The baker would send him away with a freshly baked cottage loaf "for the missus". He was once given some fish by the fishmonger. He didn't want to carry it around with him so he hid it under a hedge. When he went to retrieve it there was nothing there but the bones. A cat had got there first. Come rain or shine he really enjoyed his work. He was a great talker and I think, like the pedlar of old, people relied on him for the latest gossip.
Saturday 30 July 2011
A polyglot lot
This has been a very busy house for the past week. Longstanding friends, a family of five ,visited us from the USA.Their beautiful eldest daughter had her 18th birthday on Thursday. At the celebratory dinner, prepared by Amanda, we drank a toast to her and she, being trilingual, replied in English, German and Japanese. Another guest then spoke in English, French and Vietnamese. A truly global event! The day was declared such a success that the other two daughters, aged 15 and 11, have booked the same venue for their eighteenth birthdays.
Sunday 17 July 2011
Proms
Sorry about the hiatus. My knees, eyes and teeth have been reminding me of how bothersome and fiendishly expensive old age can be. But must press on.The garden is looking nice, the weather has been pleasant (until today that is) and the conservatory has been my refuge, a very present help in time of trouble. My family, as usual, have come up trumps ferrying me around. The papers, again as usual, are full of horrors and scandal so I turn hurriedly to the crossword.
The Proms have started. On Friday when Janacek was announced four Czech soloists with unpronounceable names appeared. At that point the sub-titles gave up! Sub-titles give me endless amusement. One man said of his performance that he would be pleased with "Half a cheer" from the audience. The sub-titles said "he would be pleased with Hertfordshire."
Last evening I listened to part of "William Tell." The tenor was very good and sounded very much like Juan Diego Florez. The very familiar overture was very exciting and it was difficult not to think of "The Lone Ranger."
Lots more lovely music to come.
The Proms have started. On Friday when Janacek was announced four Czech soloists with unpronounceable names appeared. At that point the sub-titles gave up! Sub-titles give me endless amusement. One man said of his performance that he would be pleased with "Half a cheer" from the audience. The sub-titles said "he would be pleased with Hertfordshire."
Last evening I listened to part of "William Tell." The tenor was very good and sounded very much like Juan Diego Florez. The very familiar overture was very exciting and it was difficult not to think of "The Lone Ranger."
Lots more lovely music to come.
Monday 4 July 2011
Language
I was fascinated to read about the very elderly lady who, on recovering from a stroke, spoke not her usual English but talked only in French- - a language she had not used since she was a small child.
I marvel at the way my two small French grandsons switch from French to English and back again according to whether they are speaking to their mother or father. I envy them their opportunities to communicate. It certainly is a lot easier if you are a small child.
My neighbour had three young sons and employed a series of foreign au pairs. I asked if it helped the boys to learn another language. "Oh yes" she replied "They can say shut up in French, German and Spanish".
I marvel at the way my two small French grandsons switch from French to English and back again according to whether they are speaking to their mother or father. I envy them their opportunities to communicate. It certainly is a lot easier if you are a small child.
My neighbour had three young sons and employed a series of foreign au pairs. I asked if it helped the boys to learn another language. "Oh yes" she replied "They can say shut up in French, German and Spanish".
Friday 1 July 2011
A Child's Prayer Overheard
God bless Mummy and Daddy
God bless Granny and Grandpa
God bless all my toys
God bless Sophie, William and Eleanor but
Not Harry because he hit me over the head with his toy engine. Amen.
God bless Granny and Grandpa
God bless all my toys
God bless Sophie, William and Eleanor but
Not Harry because he hit me over the head with his toy engine. Amen.
Marriage
Some quotations on marriage.
A strong marriage requires endless patience on the part of the wife. Everyone could do with a wife but some of us have to put up with a husband.
There is so little difference between husbands you might as well keep the first one.
Husbands are like fires. They go out if left unattended.
A bachelor thinks he is a thing of beauty and a boy for ever.
A woman only worries about the future until she gets a husband. A man does not worry about the future until he gets a wife.
Advice to husbands - if you are wrong, admit it - if you are right, keep quiet.
Advice to wives - don't tell him the boiler has gone out again until he has had his dinner.
A strong marriage requires endless patience on the part of the wife. Everyone could do with a wife but some of us have to put up with a husband.
There is so little difference between husbands you might as well keep the first one.
Husbands are like fires. They go out if left unattended.
A bachelor thinks he is a thing of beauty and a boy for ever.
A woman only worries about the future until she gets a husband. A man does not worry about the future until he gets a wife.
Advice to husbands - if you are wrong, admit it - if you are right, keep quiet.
Advice to wives - don't tell him the boiler has gone out again until he has had his dinner.
Tuesday 28 June 2011
Good News
I received a letter yesterday from the Eye Hospital saying I did not need any more injections at present. I have to go for a scan once a month to see if there is any change. So the macular degeneration has been halted thanks to the skill of the doctors. Until something drastic like this happens one takes one's good eyesight for granted.
My friends and I had a discussion about which century we would have liked to have lived in. I plumped for this one. The wonderful advances made in medical treatment make life a lot better for most of us. As far as I am concerned, the jury is still out when it comes to longevity. Whether, as someone said, it is better than the alternative, I don't know. But let's not be morbid. Today is Good News Day.
My friends and I had a discussion about which century we would have liked to have lived in. I plumped for this one. The wonderful advances made in medical treatment make life a lot better for most of us. As far as I am concerned, the jury is still out when it comes to longevity. Whether, as someone said, it is better than the alternative, I don't know. But let's not be morbid. Today is Good News Day.
Thursday 23 June 2011
Everything all right, Nurse?
I am saddened by stories about the lack of care some elderly patients receive. I think back to the time when I was looking after my 92 year old mother. A lovely District Nurse used to come in to bath her etc. When it all got a bit too depressing she would cheer us up with tales of when she was a probationer. She had us both laughing at this story.She said "The first day I was left in charge of the men's geriatric ward was one I shall never forget. We were, as usual, short staffed so Sister said we must lunch one at a time which meant I would be on my own. She told me to take Mr. Williams and give him a bath and then settle everyone down for their after lunch rest. Sounded fine - piece of cake I thought. Mr. Williams and I set off for the bathroom at the end of the ward. Now poor Mr. Williams had a weak stomach and was no sooner in the bath than he was dreadfully sick. So out he had to come and we started all over again. Now this all took a lot longer than I expected.
I put the old chap - all sweet and clean - in his wheelchair andwheeled him back into the ward. I noticed rather a lot of noise as I opened the door. The scene was reminiscent of a Roman amphitheatre with a dash of Dodgem cars from Butlins. One of the porters was a bookie's runner and Terry and Horace were great students of the Turf. From what I could gather there had been some disagreement between them as to how they should divide up their winnings. Horace (in his wheelchair) chased Terry (in his wheelchair) round the ward bumping into him. Terry retaliated by hitting Horace a sharp blow on the shoulder nearly oversetting him. The rest of the ward were cheering them on. Talk about Gladiators! They hadn't had so much excitement since the window cleaner fell off his ladder.
With some difficulty I managed to calm them down and get them into bed. I tidied up the rest of the beds just as Sister appeared in the doorway.
"Everything all right, Nurse?" she asked.
"Yes Sister" I replied."
I put the old chap - all sweet and clean - in his wheelchair andwheeled him back into the ward. I noticed rather a lot of noise as I opened the door. The scene was reminiscent of a Roman amphitheatre with a dash of Dodgem cars from Butlins. One of the porters was a bookie's runner and Terry and Horace were great students of the Turf. From what I could gather there had been some disagreement between them as to how they should divide up their winnings. Horace (in his wheelchair) chased Terry (in his wheelchair) round the ward bumping into him. Terry retaliated by hitting Horace a sharp blow on the shoulder nearly oversetting him. The rest of the ward were cheering them on. Talk about Gladiators! They hadn't had so much excitement since the window cleaner fell off his ladder.
With some difficulty I managed to calm them down and get them into bed. I tidied up the rest of the beds just as Sister appeared in the doorway.
"Everything all right, Nurse?" she asked.
"Yes Sister" I replied."
Friday 17 June 2011
Chivalry
There have been letters and articles in the press about Chivalry and Benevolent Sexism. I think this is just another name for good manners and politeness.
I took it for granted that a boyfriend would walk on the outside of the pavement, would open the door for me and let me on the bus first and help me off the bus. I accepted these displays of good manners gracefully. These were occasions when I didn't mind being the weaker sex. Oh dear, was I letting the side down? Nobody told me. (I could hold my own in other directions if I chose.)
My husband, Don, stood back to allow a female colleague to enter the lift first. She said to him "We don't want any of that nonsense. You don't have to step aside because I am a lady." To which he replied "I don't. I do it because I am a gentleman."
I took it for granted that a boyfriend would walk on the outside of the pavement, would open the door for me and let me on the bus first and help me off the bus. I accepted these displays of good manners gracefully. These were occasions when I didn't mind being the weaker sex. Oh dear, was I letting the side down? Nobody told me. (I could hold my own in other directions if I chose.)
My husband, Don, stood back to allow a female colleague to enter the lift first. She said to him "We don't want any of that nonsense. You don't have to step aside because I am a lady." To which he replied "I don't. I do it because I am a gentleman."
Wednesday 8 June 2011
The Open Air Class
My attention has been drawn to the publication of the Natural Environment White Paper in which mention is made of teaching children outdoors. In the early 1930s my school, Archbishop Tenison's Girls School in Lambeth, London, had an Open Air Class. Our playground was in the recreation ground known to us all as the Burial because there were tombstones along the walls. It must at one time have been a burial ground. When I was about 8 years old our class spent almost the whole of one year having lessons out of doors.In one corner of the Burial was a large open sided shed. If it rained there were tarpaulin curtains which were let down on to the low wooden sides of the classroom according to which way the wind and rain were coming from. In the summer it was lovely. We were taught about the trees and plants around us as well as all the other subjects. In the winter we wore our coats, hats and scarves and if it was really frosty we were given a blanket to keep ourselves warm. What fresh air there was we got it even though it was mixed with smuts from the steam trains which ran from Vauxhall to Waterloo on an embankment only yards from our desks.
In the picture I am the fair girl with her head on one side looking rather disgruntled. (Can you look "gruntled"?) The teacher was called, appropriately enough, Mrs. Stillwell.
Tuesday 7 June 2011
Climate
I find it difficult to get used to the idea that after this planet has existed for I don't know how many million years this generation is responsible for the change in the climate. I know much cleverer people than my humble self have put forth theories so I will be written off as a foolish old woman but nevertheless I do not see it as a clear-cut case.
When I was young we didn't have "climate". That was a word we learned in our geography lessons. We just had peculiarly variable weather. The seasons sometimes got a bit mixed up. Some Christmases were mild and sometimes we had snow in May. In one's memory summer holidays were always sunny whereas if the truth were told there were a good many August days when I would spend my time looking out of the window at the rain and wishing I could go on the swings in the Rec.
I think the weather is better in many respects. We have made great strides in reducing pollution. Think of the fogs in Victorian days. The Russians, great readers of Dickens, think we still have them. I can vividly remember thick yellow fog in the thirties when it was quite dangerous to cross the road even in daylight.
I quite agree that we must look after our world for our own and future generations by cutting down waste etc. but let's not go overboard. In this lovely country we have weather. Whatever else would we talk about?
When I was young we didn't have "climate". That was a word we learned in our geography lessons. We just had peculiarly variable weather. The seasons sometimes got a bit mixed up. Some Christmases were mild and sometimes we had snow in May. In one's memory summer holidays were always sunny whereas if the truth were told there were a good many August days when I would spend my time looking out of the window at the rain and wishing I could go on the swings in the Rec.
I think the weather is better in many respects. We have made great strides in reducing pollution. Think of the fogs in Victorian days. The Russians, great readers of Dickens, think we still have them. I can vividly remember thick yellow fog in the thirties when it was quite dangerous to cross the road even in daylight.
I quite agree that we must look after our world for our own and future generations by cutting down waste etc. but let's not go overboard. In this lovely country we have weather. Whatever else would we talk about?
Monday 6 June 2011
The Theatre (contd)
My first experience of the theatre was being taken by my big brother to the Pantomime at the South London Theatre near the Borough Market. We all queued at the Gallery door, having first bought a bag of peanuts (in their shells) to sustain us. When the doors opened it was a mad rush to the Box Office and then up what seemed like hundreds of stone steps to get a front seat.
Each Panto had a villain, a Fairy Godmother and a man dressed as an old woman, a Princess and a Principal Boy - a female bouncing around in tights. There was always a magnificent Transformation Scene with fairies and goblins appearing to fly across the stage. Once a black figure with a silver skeleton painted on his costume came on a wire right up to the front row of the Gallery. That was scary. We hissed the villain and cheered the hero and joined in the songs- the words of which were painted on a huge sheet hanging from the flies. What fun it all was! We left the floor knee deep in peanut shells and orange peel.
Each Panto had a villain, a Fairy Godmother and a man dressed as an old woman, a Princess and a Principal Boy - a female bouncing around in tights. There was always a magnificent Transformation Scene with fairies and goblins appearing to fly across the stage. Once a black figure with a silver skeleton painted on his costume came on a wire right up to the front row of the Gallery. That was scary. We hissed the villain and cheered the hero and joined in the songs- the words of which were painted on a huge sheet hanging from the flies. What fun it all was! We left the floor knee deep in peanut shells and orange peel.
Saturday 4 June 2011
The Theatre
I no longer go to the theatre since I have become so deaf. Is it me or does everybody mumble these days? In the 60s a regular afternoon treat was to go to the Leas Pavilion Theatre in Folkestone. This repertory theatre was started by Arthur Brough in 1927. He was later to find fame in the TV series "Are you being served?"
My mother and I went to matinees. In the interval trays of tea were brought round. The second act started to chatter and the rattle of teacups. Rather disconcerting for the actors. On one occasion the leading man stepped forward and shouted "Shut up!". There was instant silence and he walked back and went on with his speech.
Being a repertory theatre the same actors appeared each week in different roles. One old lady, a regular in the front row, said to the actress who was playing the maid and had just answered the telephone at the side of the stage "Not a very big part this week, dear." Once during a thriller the heroine shot the villain who fell theatrically to the floor and, in his death throes, rolled right off the stage into the audience. He then had to pick himself up and get back on the stage and lie down dead. There was some excitement in going to the play in those days. You never knew what might happen. At the end of that particular performance the manager came out to announce next week's play and said "I can't guarantee anybody falling off the apron."
My mother and I went to matinees. In the interval trays of tea were brought round. The second act started to chatter and the rattle of teacups. Rather disconcerting for the actors. On one occasion the leading man stepped forward and shouted "Shut up!". There was instant silence and he walked back and went on with his speech.
Being a repertory theatre the same actors appeared each week in different roles. One old lady, a regular in the front row, said to the actress who was playing the maid and had just answered the telephone at the side of the stage "Not a very big part this week, dear." Once during a thriller the heroine shot the villain who fell theatrically to the floor and, in his death throes, rolled right off the stage into the audience. He then had to pick himself up and get back on the stage and lie down dead. There was some excitement in going to the play in those days. You never knew what might happen. At the end of that particular performance the manager came out to announce next week's play and said "I can't guarantee anybody falling off the apron."
Wednesday 25 May 2011
Thesaurus
English, which draws on a great number of sources for its vocabulary, often provides me with some surprises. On looking through my Pocket Thesaurus I found that a large number of somewhat unpleasant words begin with the letters sn. For example - snag, snap, snare, snarl,snatch, sneak, sneer,sniff, snigger, snip, snivel, snuff, snuffle, snob, snub, snake, and snail. I am sure there are more. I'm sorry to say that many of these words seem to have a Scandinavian origin. I say I am sorry because I count myself as a descendent of the Vikings my family having come from East Anglia.
Saturday 21 May 2011
Memories of Sandgate.
I spent 25 very happy years living in Sandgate - a small coastal village in Kent.
It was Mr. Martin from the sweet shop that I met on the very narrow stairs when the library was above the Old Fire Station. We were both pretty substantial figures and he said "You know, Mrs. Bowler, they say it is bad luck to pass on the stairs - but I think we would be lucky if we could."
One of the vicar's many hobbies was making beer. He suddenly lost a lot of weight and when I asked him how he did it he replied in sepulchral tones "Mrs. Bowler, the vicarage brewery is now closed."
We met Mrs. Jago at the bus stop. She was a stalwart at the scout jumble sales. She mystified my 8 year old son by telling us she had just been to the Scout Hut and bought a lovely gazunda with roses on.
When I was running the Sunday School the youngest child was a little 4 year old girl called Susannah who came with her older brother. The children's favourite hymn was "Sing Hosanna to the King of Kings". It had a rousing chorus. Susannah was too shy to speak for the first two weeks. On the third week I thought I must get her to say something so I announced "I'm going to ask Susannah to choose a hymn. What will it be?" She said, very quietly "Sing Susannah."
It was Mr. Martin from the sweet shop that I met on the very narrow stairs when the library was above the Old Fire Station. We were both pretty substantial figures and he said "You know, Mrs. Bowler, they say it is bad luck to pass on the stairs - but I think we would be lucky if we could."
One of the vicar's many hobbies was making beer. He suddenly lost a lot of weight and when I asked him how he did it he replied in sepulchral tones "Mrs. Bowler, the vicarage brewery is now closed."
We met Mrs. Jago at the bus stop. She was a stalwart at the scout jumble sales. She mystified my 8 year old son by telling us she had just been to the Scout Hut and bought a lovely gazunda with roses on.
When I was running the Sunday School the youngest child was a little 4 year old girl called Susannah who came with her older brother. The children's favourite hymn was "Sing Hosanna to the King of Kings". It had a rousing chorus. Susannah was too shy to speak for the first two weeks. On the third week I thought I must get her to say something so I announced "I'm going to ask Susannah to choose a hymn. What will it be?" She said, very quietly "Sing Susannah."
Monday 16 May 2011
Dinner guests
A new husband discovered that when you invite another couple for dinner you first of all clean the whole house including the upstairs bathroom, hiding the dirty socks. You then pretend that your house always looks so spick and span. The other couple then invite you back and do the same thing in their turn. You can judge my prowess at housework when my husband remarked that it was a good job that we sometimes invited people fordinner!
Monday 9 May 2011
A Pilgrimage
By foreign hands thy humble grave adorned
By strangers honoured and by strangers mourned
Alexander Pope 1688 - 1744.
I have just returned from a visit to Denmark. My third visit to the site where my first husband's plane crashed in September 1943. (New readers see www.ee138.net Click on crew and then on Ernest Thirkettle.) We received a great welcome from the members of the Halkjaer family who have protected and tended the site ever since the crash - nearly 68 years. The plane crashed into a deep bog and, because it could not be recovered, the bodies of the crew remain in the plane so the site is also their grave.On Wednesday we spent the day with Else & Erling Halkjaer in their farmhouse which overlooks the site. A lady was there to interview me for a local magazine. After lunch we went with other members of the family to visit the village church which was beautiful and very old. In the evening we joined the villagers for a musical evening.
On Thursday we went to a ceremony at the crash site. I was asked to make a speech. (Of course at that moment the microphone failed but I soldiered on) Senior officers of the Royal Australian Air Force and the Royal Air Force spoke. We laid wreaths at the memorial which is like a very small garden in the middle of an empty, windswept landscape. Then for the big event. The Lancaster which was seen at the recent Royal Wedding flew four times over the crash site at 500 feet! Two or three hundred people had gathered to watch including many children. Rember this is a small very remote farming community. The Danes remember the sacrifice with gratitude. It was a moment of mixed emotions; sad, thrilling and awe-inspiring to see this enormous plane flying so low over us.
We went to a friend's house for refreshments and then returned to the farmhouse where a journalist came to video an interview with me. Then Else & Erling took us out for dinner.
On Friday we went for a last look at the crash site and then drove to Aarhus where Kirsten, another member of the family, gave us a delicious supper. On Saturday I had lunch with Lis who, as a child of 11, witnessed the crash from her bedroom window in the farmhouse and has never forgotten it. Another nice supper with Kirsten and lunch next day with Lis and husband Ove before flying home. Everyone was so hospitable so you can see why I call them my Danish family. All those years when we didn't know what had happened to our boys they were being cared for by the Halkjaer family.
By strangers honoured and by strangers mourned
Alexander Pope 1688 - 1744.
I have just returned from a visit to Denmark. My third visit to the site where my first husband's plane crashed in September 1943. (New readers see www.ee138.net Click on crew and then on Ernest Thirkettle.) We received a great welcome from the members of the Halkjaer family who have protected and tended the site ever since the crash - nearly 68 years. The plane crashed into a deep bog and, because it could not be recovered, the bodies of the crew remain in the plane so the site is also their grave.On Wednesday we spent the day with Else & Erling Halkjaer in their farmhouse which overlooks the site. A lady was there to interview me for a local magazine. After lunch we went with other members of the family to visit the village church which was beautiful and very old. In the evening we joined the villagers for a musical evening.
On Thursday we went to a ceremony at the crash site. I was asked to make a speech. (Of course at that moment the microphone failed but I soldiered on) Senior officers of the Royal Australian Air Force and the Royal Air Force spoke. We laid wreaths at the memorial which is like a very small garden in the middle of an empty, windswept landscape. Then for the big event. The Lancaster which was seen at the recent Royal Wedding flew four times over the crash site at 500 feet! Two or three hundred people had gathered to watch including many children. Rember this is a small very remote farming community. The Danes remember the sacrifice with gratitude. It was a moment of mixed emotions; sad, thrilling and awe-inspiring to see this enormous plane flying so low over us.
We went to a friend's house for refreshments and then returned to the farmhouse where a journalist came to video an interview with me. Then Else & Erling took us out for dinner.
On Friday we went for a last look at the crash site and then drove to Aarhus where Kirsten, another member of the family, gave us a delicious supper. On Saturday I had lunch with Lis who, as a child of 11, witnessed the crash from her bedroom window in the farmhouse and has never forgotten it. Another nice supper with Kirsten and lunch next day with Lis and husband Ove before flying home. Everyone was so hospitable so you can see why I call them my Danish family. All those years when we didn't know what had happened to our boys they were being cared for by the Halkjaer family.
Saturday 30 April 2011
Royal Wedding
After all the miserable gloomy news in the press and on the radio how wonderful it was to have something nice making the headlines. A handsome Prince in his scarlet uniform and his beautiful bride in the loveliest dress. The bride's sister looking serene as she held the hands of the littlest attendants and all the children behaving beautifully. Prince Harry was in his usual impish mood.
I was glued to the TV. The looks the happy couple gave each other said it all. We wish them well.
The flypast of the Lancaster in the Bomber Command Memorial Flight our family felt particularly moving. The Queen and Prince Philip are amazing. I noticed that the grandparents passed up on the evening disco.
Monday 25 April 2011
Easter
What a glorious Easter! The warm sunny weather continues. I listened to the Easter morning service. I love the rousing traditional hymns. Alleluia! Visits from the younger members of the family. Lunch at the top of the garden. Easter eggs. My first piece of chocolate since the beginning of Lent. Endless games of Rummy in the garden with , I am sure, my grandson adding new rules each time we play confusing his poor old Grandma and causing shrieks of laughter.
Today my son rang from Paris and my youngest grandson wished me a Happy Easter in perfect English and the older grandson has learned to ride his bicycle as well as roller skate. What achievements! Such a lot of nice things to be thankful for.
Today my son rang from Paris and my youngest grandson wished me a Happy Easter in perfect English and the older grandson has learned to ride his bicycle as well as roller skate. What achievements! Such a lot of nice things to be thankful for.
Wednesday 20 April 2011
Centenarians
I read that more people are now expected to live to be 100. Well, I'm doing my best. The trouble is that by the time I am up and dressed and have put some polyfilla on my face so that, as Mrs. Patrick Campbell said, I don't frighten the horses, I am ready for another little nap. Oh well, must press on.
Monday 18 April 2011
Tulips and narcissi filling the kitchen with the sweet scent of spring. The tulips, pink and deep purple,are standing up straight like guardsmen on parade protected by the lovely green sheaves of their leaves. They are in a tall green and white vase thatwas a 21st birthday present. They will last a few more days before, like the beautiful pale pink ones from Mothering Sunday, I shall come in one morning to find them gracefully bending over, almost falling out of the vase, but beautiful still in their old age. I could wish my old age to be like that of the tulips.
Sunday 17 April 2011
Madeline
It is Sunday and I am feeling sad. It is just a year ago that I started my blog with the story of cousin Madeline and the bee. Now I am sorry to say she has died. Since we both were widowed she had often phoned me on a Sunday afternoon to laugh about the silly things one does in old age, to deplore the way things have changed since we were young and generally put the world to rights. I shall miss her.
Tuesday 12 April 2011
88 not out
Another milestone ! Have had a nice birthday with cards, presents and phone calls and a surprise bouquet of spring flowers from family in Denmark. How fortunate I am !
I read that the Bingo callers are not allowed to say "Two fat ladies" any more because of political correctness or some such nonsense. I don't mind, though I am only one!!!
Wednesday 6 April 2011
Poetry
I have been looking at a book of poems for each day given me by my grandson. I think poetry should be read aloud. At school we learned by heart and I can still remember my favourites - "Upon Westminster Bridge", of course as that was close to where I lived. "Ozymandias" and "Abou Ben Adhem" At aged 11 in the scholarship exam I had to put into prose a poem called "The Windmill" which began "Behold a giant am I, aloft here in my tower. With my giant wings I devour the maize, the wheat and the rye" I find I am often put off modern poetry by the lack of rhythm and rhyme. Not all, of course. I love T.S.Eliot's Book of Cats read out loud. Shakespeare's poetry I know best when it is set to music as I learnt at school. On reading Alexander Pope (born 17th century) I was surprised at how many everyday expressions are quotations from his poetry.
- To err is human, to forgive, divine.
- Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.
- Love the offender yet detest the offence.
- Hope springs eternal in the human breast.
- Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel.
- Damn with faint praise.
- You beat your pate and fancy wit will come. Knock as you please, there's nobody at home.
Sunday 3 April 2011
Mothering Sunday
It was once the Sunday in mid-Lent when young people in domestic service living away from home were given a rare day off to go home to visit their families and, with them attend their parish church. Some years ago when I ran the Sunday School we would spend the Sunday previous making Mothering Sunday cards and then on the Day families would come to church and during the service the children would collect a small bunch of flowers from the vicar (provided by the ladies in the choir) and give them to their mothers. It was a very sweet little ceremony. Today I was the recipient of some beautiful flowers and had a very nice lunch with Mike and Amanda. I also received greetings from Tokyo which was so nice. For several years I used to get a card from a French friend addressed to "My English Mummy". I feel sorry that my own mother is no longer with us. She so enjoyed any excuse for a celebration. Her obvious pleasure at receiving a gift, however small, gave pleasure to the giver.
Wednesday 30 March 2011
Love Films
My over-familiar friend at Love Films wanted to know why I had cancelled the subscription. I told him it was because I was too busy. The internet, You Tube and blogging can take over your life !!
Monday 28 March 2011
News from abroad
Still receiving cheerful news from Tokyo. Posters have been put up asking people to share any foods that are temporarily in short supply. I am reminded of the parable of the loaves and fishes. A vicar once told me that if it is difficult to see how 5000 people were fed one should think of it as meaning one should share whatever one has and that this multitude did just that (having presumably brought their lunch).
The Danish TV series "The Killing" has attracted a great deal of attention in the U.K. Orders have flooded in to the company Gudrun & Gudrun in the Faroe Islands for the jumper the female detective is wearing on screen.I am always one to bathe in reflected glory. The husband of the Gudrun who owns the company is the charming director of the TV interview I did in 2008 in Denmark (http://www.ee138.net/) The photo above was taken last year.
Thursday 24 March 2011
Chiropody
I have just been visited by my chiropodist, an extremely tall, handsome young man. He said he wished everyone had an armchair like mine with a footrest as bending over is so bad for his back. Many professions seem to have some drawbacks. My dentist suffered from varicous veins from standing all day as , I believe, do hairdressers and shop assistants and nurses have bad backs from lifting patients.
I once had occasion to take my small daughter to a chiropodist for some minor ailment. He was very nice to her and told her if she saw him in the street she must say hello. He said he would only recognise her if she was walking barefoot.
We had a lovely girl dental student as our Paying Guest (lodger) when we lived in London. She was appalled when her friend gave up dentistry to become a chiropodist. She said "Fancy looking at people's feet all day!" I thought "Fancy looking in people's mouths all day!" It takes all sorts.
I once had occasion to take my small daughter to a chiropodist for some minor ailment. He was very nice to her and told her if she saw him in the street she must say hello. He said he would only recognise her if she was walking barefoot.
We had a lovely girl dental student as our Paying Guest (lodger) when we lived in London. She was appalled when her friend gave up dentistry to become a chiropodist. She said "Fancy looking at people's feet all day!" I thought "Fancy looking in people's mouths all day!" It takes all sorts.
Saturday 19 March 2011
Borrowed Finery
My family have just come back from a short holiday in Devon. I first went to Devon in 1946 with Don on a Youth Hostelling holiday. WE walked from hostel to hostel round the Devon coast and on to Dartmoor.This photo of me was at Hallsands near Start Point where I think much of the village has been destroyed by coastal erosion.
I am wearing apair of men's corduroy trousers, borrowed ! This was not unusual. We became accustomed to such stratagems during the war when clothes and fabric were rationed. One had so many coupons to last the year. They were never quite enough to keep one decently clad so we were reduced to a number of subterfuges. The first was to borrow. My white wedding dress in 1942 was lent to me by my friend Kitty's colleague. My first long evening dress was a beautiful blue bridesmaid's dress borrowed from a friend. We were exhorted by the Government to "Make Do and Mend" A very serviceable overcoat could be made out of a blanket and curtains made a very pretty summer dress. The back and tail of a worn out shirt would be made into an apron. If you could get hold of some white silk parachute material you would be set up in undies for life.
I was the envy of the office when a soldier friend sent me two pairs of silk stockings from Italy. Grandfathers became expert "snobs" an old name for a shoe repairer.
Clothes rationing started in 1941 and ended about 1950. When I married in 1947 I was only allowed to buy 3 sheets ! Clothes and furniture were made to strict utility standards - no frills. We survived.
Thursday 17 March 2011
Update from Tokyo
I look each day for the blog from my friend in Tokyo. She is my daughter's primary school friend who has lived in Japan for nearly 30 years. She says today, that whatever the media say., there is no panic in Tokyo. There is food in the shops. the people have voluntarily cut down on the use of electricity so that there are fewer power cuts than predicted and the trains are running though not quite to schedule. They have become used to aftershocks and are trying to live normally in the present unpredictable situation. It seems the British are not the only ones to keep a stiff upper lip. She says reporters (presumably foreign) say "Why aren't they panicking? Why don't they evacuate?" But Tokyo is my friend's home.
The pictures and stories from the north of Japan make sad reading. My friend's colleagues have families there and have no news of them. Natural disasters cause enough trouble on this earth. Why do men fight each other?
The pictures and stories from the north of Japan make sad reading. My friend's colleagues have families there and have no news of them. Natural disasters cause enough trouble on this earth. Why do men fight each other?
Wednesday 16 March 2011
Midsomer Murders
Political correctness gone mad. Brian True-May, the creator and producer of the Tv series which attracts six million viewers, caused a furore when he said the show had thrived because its all-white cast shows the true English village. Maybe he was stretching things a bit but what does it matter? We all love it for its dottiness. It is surely not meant to be taken seriously?
I love John Nettles. I loved him as Bergerac and as a voice-over and as Barnaby, even if he can't now run as fast as Bergerac. He plays a policeman without a chip on his shoulder or a tragic background. On the contrary, he appears to have a loving family and gets on reasonably well with his colleagues. I know the poliemen tramp all over the clues, illegally enter premises and rifle through private papers. As for the ingenious way people get murdered I can only wonder at the writer's inventiveness. Mind you, I do sometimes have to hide behind the sofa !
Still getting blogs from my earthquake- surviving friend in Tokyo. See her comment on my last blog.
I love John Nettles. I loved him as Bergerac and as a voice-over and as Barnaby, even if he can't now run as fast as Bergerac. He plays a policeman without a chip on his shoulder or a tragic background. On the contrary, he appears to have a loving family and gets on reasonably well with his colleagues. I know the poliemen tramp all over the clues, illegally enter premises and rifle through private papers. As for the ingenious way people get murdered I can only wonder at the writer's inventiveness. Mind you, I do sometimes have to hide behind the sofa !
Still getting blogs from my earthquake- surviving friend in Tokyo. See her comment on my last blog.
Saturday 12 March 2011
Earthquake
I have been reading a blog from my tea-drinking friend in Tokyo. She will forgive me if I paraphrase it. She is an amazing lady. She reports calmly what it was like to be with a friend in a teashop in Tokyo when the earthquake struck. They decided to move outside away from the glass windows where she said the pavements rolled under her feet and made her feel seasick. They went back inside to finish their tea when a second and then a third quake struck
At that point they decided to go home. On the way home they stopped a few times to do some shopping !!! There were no trains so the friend stayed the night. At the flat there was no gas but a phone call from a good Japanese friend told her how to put that right. Nothing surprising there? Except that the phone call was from Hong Kong !
An update says they were woken at 5.15 by the paper boy after a restless night with several aftershocks..The friend managed to get home the next day when the trains were running again.
The north of Japan took the brunt of the earthquake and the subsequent tsunami. The devastation looks truly dreadful. My friend says she feels very lucky.
At that point they decided to go home. On the way home they stopped a few times to do some shopping !!! There were no trains so the friend stayed the night. At the flat there was no gas but a phone call from a good Japanese friend told her how to put that right. Nothing surprising there? Except that the phone call was from Hong Kong !
An update says they were woken at 5.15 by the paper boy after a restless night with several aftershocks..The friend managed to get home the next day when the trains were running again.
The north of Japan took the brunt of the earthquake and the subsequent tsunami. The devastation looks truly dreadful. My friend says she feels very lucky.
Thursday 10 March 2011
Engagement rings.
"Home again, home again, let us all sing.
A boy and a girl and a Bravington ring."
This was an advertisement slogan carried by the tube trains after the war had ended. My beautiful engagement ring was bought at Bravingtons, though prices had doubled in 1946. See below.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/48958592@N05/4639896886/
A boy and a girl and a Bravington ring."
This was an advertisement slogan carried by the tube trains after the war had ended. My beautiful engagement ring was bought at Bravingtons, though prices had doubled in 1946. See below.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/48958592@N05/4639896886/
Tuesday 8 March 2011
Wedding Anniversary
I hear that it is snowing in Greece today ! It was snowing 64 years ago today when Donald and I got married at St. Luke's Church in London. I had planned a spring wedding. We married in a blizzard and I nearly froze to death. The photographer fell down the church steps in the snow. The thirty guests were pleased to have a lunch of hot roast chicken with all the trimmings instead of the planned cold buffet.
The next morning we left for our honeymoon in the south of France. Very exciting as foreign travel was still very restricted because one was only allowed to take out of the country a very small amount of our currency. I think it was £25 per person. We travelled to Dover on the Golden Arrow, a very swish Pullman train.
We were glad to leave the wintry weather behind. It had been a hard winter since January with a lot of snow. Fuel was short and many foods still rationed.
Although Don had travelled all over the world in his six years in the RAF I had never been abroad before. We had a sleeper to St. Raphael and woke in the morning to blue skies. colourfully painted houses and the wonderful scent of mimosa. What more could any girl ask?
Sunday 6 March 2011
Always read the label
Apparently someone has decided that the instructions on bottles of pills are not easily understood so they may be changed.
I was once deputed to look after an elderly aunt at a wedding reception and see that she took her pills. The label on the pill container said they should not be taken with alcohol. Looking at her glass of champagne I said gently "You don't take these with alcohol, do you?" "Oh no, dear" she said "I take them with water and have my drop of whisky afterwards".
I was once deputed to look after an elderly aunt at a wedding reception and see that she took her pills. The label on the pill container said they should not be taken with alcohol. Looking at her glass of champagne I said gently "You don't take these with alcohol, do you?" "Oh no, dear" she said "I take them with water and have my drop of whisky afterwards".
Saturday 5 March 2011
JDF
Today Mike took me to the excellent Hove library and I now have three autobiographies in large print so I am delighted to be able to read more easily. Being at a low ebb this week I have been cheering myself up by listening to my new CD of Juan Diego Florez singing sacred songs. I have also found this video. See below.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QvxLAHcsvRE&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QvxLAHcsvRE&feature=related
Monday 28 February 2011
The Day War Broke Out
You Tube is amazing. I have found a clip of Robb Wilton a comic actor I used to listen to on the wireless. One of his funniest monologues begins "The Day War Broke Out". It still makes me laugh.
As far as I was concerned the day war broke out, 3rd September 1939, found me sitting on a tram going to Brixton Hill in London. Suddenly the most eerie wailing sound filled the air and the tram came to an abrupt halt. The driver, conductor and passengers got off so I thought I had better follow. I was only sixteen . I didn't want to get bombed and anyway I had to get to Civil Defence HQ and relieve my opposite number who had been on duty all night. I was conscientous, I was also scared stiff. I started to run. The idea that the war would not be won unless I was in my appointed place was soon scotched by a tall thin policeman who ordered me to go to the nearest air raid shelter. He wouldn't take no for an answer so I spent the first half hour of the war sitting with a lot of strangers in the basement shelter of the New Century Window Cleaning Company of Brixton wondering if I would be shot for derilection of duty.
After what seemed ages the "All Clear" sounded and I was able to continue my journey to the Brixton College where my opposite number at the telephone was waiting to go home. It was our job to send messages to five south London boroughs so they could co-ordinate their resources, e.g. fire, ambulances. heavy lifting gear etc. in the event of an air raid so that the best use could be made of them by assisting each other.
There was abit of excitement when the telephone warning "Air Raid message Yellow" came through. If a plane flew over London it would be "Air Raid message Red". Yellow was a preliminary warning. Some old sweat from the First World War must have thought yellow meant mustard gas . Panic Stations ! He handed out gas masks saying "Never mind the work,girls, save yourselves" However our young British girls were made of sterner stuff and put on their gas masks and continued working. They phoned the Town Halls wearing their gas masks. This made it somewhat difficult for the operator at the other end to understand what was said and caused further confusion. Fortunately the "All Clear" solved that difficulty.
As far as I was concerned the day war broke out, 3rd September 1939, found me sitting on a tram going to Brixton Hill in London. Suddenly the most eerie wailing sound filled the air and the tram came to an abrupt halt. The driver, conductor and passengers got off so I thought I had better follow. I was only sixteen . I didn't want to get bombed and anyway I had to get to Civil Defence HQ and relieve my opposite number who had been on duty all night. I was conscientous, I was also scared stiff. I started to run. The idea that the war would not be won unless I was in my appointed place was soon scotched by a tall thin policeman who ordered me to go to the nearest air raid shelter. He wouldn't take no for an answer so I spent the first half hour of the war sitting with a lot of strangers in the basement shelter of the New Century Window Cleaning Company of Brixton wondering if I would be shot for derilection of duty.
After what seemed ages the "All Clear" sounded and I was able to continue my journey to the Brixton College where my opposite number at the telephone was waiting to go home. It was our job to send messages to five south London boroughs so they could co-ordinate their resources, e.g. fire, ambulances. heavy lifting gear etc. in the event of an air raid so that the best use could be made of them by assisting each other.
There was abit of excitement when the telephone warning "Air Raid message Yellow" came through. If a plane flew over London it would be "Air Raid message Red". Yellow was a preliminary warning. Some old sweat from the First World War must have thought yellow meant mustard gas . Panic Stations ! He handed out gas masks saying "Never mind the work,girls, save yourselves" However our young British girls were made of sterner stuff and put on their gas masks and continued working. They phoned the Town Halls wearing their gas masks. This made it somewhat difficult for the operator at the other end to understand what was said and caused further confusion. Fortunately the "All Clear" solved that difficulty.
Friday 25 February 2011
Spring
It is almost time to say goodbye to February fill dyke as my mother used to call it. We have had a lot of wet days interspersed with some brilliant sunshine and I shall be glad when March comes.
When I was nine years old our school held a Spring Pageant. Because I had long fair hair I was chosen to be the Spirit of Spring. I was dressed in a sleeveless green dress and had bare feet. (The bare feet worried me rather.) Iwas given some elocution lessons by my teacher. She was hoping to get rid of any traces of Cockney. I said my piece from the Bible.
"For lo, the winter is past.
The rain is over and gone.
Flowers appear on the earth
And the time of the singing of birds is come".
This I said in a cut glass voice. It must have been rather reminiscent of Joyce Grenfell being frightfully posh !
The passage goes on to say "And the voice of the turtle is heard in our land". This mystified me for many years as I tried to imagine what a turtle's voice would sound like. Much, much later I discovered it meant a turtle dove !
When I was nine years old our school held a Spring Pageant. Because I had long fair hair I was chosen to be the Spirit of Spring. I was dressed in a sleeveless green dress and had bare feet. (The bare feet worried me rather.) Iwas given some elocution lessons by my teacher. She was hoping to get rid of any traces of Cockney. I said my piece from the Bible.
"For lo, the winter is past.
The rain is over and gone.
Flowers appear on the earth
And the time of the singing of birds is come".
This I said in a cut glass voice. It must have been rather reminiscent of Joyce Grenfell being frightfully posh !
The passage goes on to say "And the voice of the turtle is heard in our land". This mystified me for many years as I tried to imagine what a turtle's voice would sound like. Much, much later I discovered it meant a turtle dove !
Thursday 24 February 2011
Cats
Reading about the new cat at No. 10 Downing Street reminded me of a handsome black and white Tom who used to stalk majestically through the corridors of the Home Office in Whitehall when I worked there. He was petted and given so many titbits that he would probably disdain to catch a mere mouse. If papers were disturbed and muddled up he got the blame as he loved to curl up on a desk, but like the ginger cat, Macavity, in T.S.Eliot's "Old Possum's Book of Cats" we could never catch him at it.
I have always liked ginger cats. One year on the 1st of August my young daughter was given a little ball of marmalade fur - a ginger kitten. She named him Augustus. Gussie grew into a large, beautiful cat. He also grew into a veritable potentate ! We humans were his slaves ready to feed and pamper him and attentive to every mew, plaintive, demanding, querulous. His was the comfiest chair nearest the fire, the cosiest eiderdown upstairs, the sunniest spot in the garden. He needed one's full attention at all times. Any attempt of mine at writing resulted in him sitting on the notepaper. Knitting was impossible once he was on my lap. He would knead with his paws until he got comfortable regardless of my nylons. My husband, who once professed not to be too keen on cats, would find another armchair if Gussie was esconced in his. Such was his hold over us. Not only over our family but also the two elderly ladies next door who regularly fed him scraps.
On one terrible occasion he contracted cat flu. We sent for the Vet who gave him an injection and prescribed some pills and after a few anxious days he recovered. Our neighbours put his recovery down to their friend who was a spiritual healer and had held Gussie on her lap and laid hands on him. Maybe they were right but I forbore to tell them of the Vet's visit and the £38 fee.
Gussie gave us much pleasure and joy and lived to a ripe old age.
Wednesday 23 February 2011
Replies to correspondents
I have just read Bernard Levin's reply to an insulting correspondent=
"Sir,
I think I should warn you that some dangerous lunatic has gained possession of your headed writing paper".
I've also just read that a banker is someone who lends you an umbrella when it is sunny and wants it back when it is raining.
Money may not solve every problem but it is quite an effective solution to being poor
The rain it falleth on the just
And on the unjust fella
But mostly on the just because
The unjust stole the just's umbrella.
A few things that cheered me up after a miserable visit to the optician.
"Sir,
I think I should warn you that some dangerous lunatic has gained possession of your headed writing paper".
I've also just read that a banker is someone who lends you an umbrella when it is sunny and wants it back when it is raining.
Money may not solve every problem but it is quite an effective solution to being poor
The rain it falleth on the just
And on the unjust fella
But mostly on the just because
The unjust stole the just's umbrella.
A few things that cheered me up after a miserable visit to the optician.
Monday 21 February 2011
The War Years
In these days when everyone seems to have a mobile phone attached permanently to the ear I wondered what had happened to the telegram. Except for wedding celebrations etc. the arrival of the telegraph boy was looked on with apprehension as the bearer of bad news, especially in wartime. My father-in-law started as a telegraph boy aged 12 and worked in the Post Office until his late sixties.
A telegram changed the course of my life. On 1st September 1939 I made my way home from work at the National Savings Bank at Holloway. North London. I had my evening meal and noted that this was the first night of the total blackout. The Government were preparing for aerial bombardment. I went to bed at 10.30 because I had to be up to go to work on Saturday until 1p.m. We worked five and a half days a week then. At about 11p.m. there was a knock at the door. My mother woke me to say there was a telegram for me. I read it sleepily and said "I have to report to Civil Defence HQ at Brixton tomorrow at 11 o'clock" Then I had another look and saw it said 11p.m on Friday, 1st September !
Well mother decided I had better get dressed and go. She didn't like the idea of my going alone in the blackout so she called on our neighbour to escort me. Now Jock, the kindest of men, was a steward on the "Flying Scotsman" (a famous train) and was known to take a little of his native brew - sometimes more than a little ! This was one of those occasions but, nevertheless, he agreed to come with me. So one 16 year old girl and one 40 year old inebriated Scotsman we set off. No street lights, car lights just a glimmer. I suppose it was rather dangerous.
To get to Brixton we had to take a tram. To get a tram we had to get out into the middle of Westminster Bridge Road. The tram lines ran down the middle of the main roads. At last a tram came along and we got on and got off at Brixto Hill. We made our way in the pitch dark to the Day Continuation Centre, a college which had been taken over by Civil Defence. Jock delivered me safely and went home.
Inside all was confusion. Some people had been there all day waiting for their relief shift to arrive. Some telegrams giving people their instructions were not delivered until the next morning by which time the recipients had gone to work and were not expected home until after lunchtime on Saturday. Consequently I found myself still at Civil Defence HQ, ready to man the phones until 1.30p.m. on Saturday September 2nd. I was then given fresh instructions. I was to return at 11.30a.m. on Sunday September 3rd. A truly auspicious day ! But that is another story.
A telegram changed the course of my life. On 1st September 1939 I made my way home from work at the National Savings Bank at Holloway. North London. I had my evening meal and noted that this was the first night of the total blackout. The Government were preparing for aerial bombardment. I went to bed at 10.30 because I had to be up to go to work on Saturday until 1p.m. We worked five and a half days a week then. At about 11p.m. there was a knock at the door. My mother woke me to say there was a telegram for me. I read it sleepily and said "I have to report to Civil Defence HQ at Brixton tomorrow at 11 o'clock" Then I had another look and saw it said 11p.m on Friday, 1st September !
Well mother decided I had better get dressed and go. She didn't like the idea of my going alone in the blackout so she called on our neighbour to escort me. Now Jock, the kindest of men, was a steward on the "Flying Scotsman" (a famous train) and was known to take a little of his native brew - sometimes more than a little ! This was one of those occasions but, nevertheless, he agreed to come with me. So one 16 year old girl and one 40 year old inebriated Scotsman we set off. No street lights, car lights just a glimmer. I suppose it was rather dangerous.
To get to Brixton we had to take a tram. To get a tram we had to get out into the middle of Westminster Bridge Road. The tram lines ran down the middle of the main roads. At last a tram came along and we got on and got off at Brixto Hill. We made our way in the pitch dark to the Day Continuation Centre, a college which had been taken over by Civil Defence. Jock delivered me safely and went home.
Inside all was confusion. Some people had been there all day waiting for their relief shift to arrive. Some telegrams giving people their instructions were not delivered until the next morning by which time the recipients had gone to work and were not expected home until after lunchtime on Saturday. Consequently I found myself still at Civil Defence HQ, ready to man the phones until 1.30p.m. on Saturday September 2nd. I was then given fresh instructions. I was to return at 11.30a.m. on Sunday September 3rd. A truly auspicious day ! But that is another story.
Friday 11 February 2011
At the Hairdressers
Today I went for a second visit to my new hairdresser. (The last one left to work with horses.) I once said to the male owner of a salon that as soon as I get a girl who kmows what to do with my unruly, thick hair she goes off to have a baby. He replied "Believe me, madam, I am not about to do that."
This lady is about 40 or so, is about 5 feet tall and weighs about 6 stone. She wears the briefest of mini skirts, black tights and shoes with 6 inch heels. She makes an excellent job of my wayward hair but I think she suffers from amnesia. She twice asked me if I was going somewhere nice this weekend. I told her I was going to see my grandchildren in Folkestone.
The proprietress couldn't be more different. She is about 6 feet tall wears a long black dress with a fringe at the bottom and sensible boots. What a varied lot we are !
This lady is about 40 or so, is about 5 feet tall and weighs about 6 stone. She wears the briefest of mini skirts, black tights and shoes with 6 inch heels. She makes an excellent job of my wayward hair but I think she suffers from amnesia. She twice asked me if I was going somewhere nice this weekend. I told her I was going to see my grandchildren in Folkestone.
The proprietress couldn't be more different. She is about 6 feet tall wears a long black dress with a fringe at the bottom and sensible boots. What a varied lot we are !
Wednesday 9 February 2011
Nightmares
Ther e is a report in today's paper about the wisdom or otherwise of allowing small children to come into their parents' bed. It is understandable that waking up alone in the dark can be frightening for a child. During the daytime there is always an adult to run to for comfort. What to do?
In order to get some rest we sometimes took one or other of our children into our bed. After some restless minutes my husband would move out and spend the rest of the night in the child's bed. He said it was like acting in a French farce. You never knew which bed you were going to wake up in.
When one child had terrible earache I remember reading chapters of "Three Men in a Boat" to distract him. Funnily enough I repeated this performance with a grandson who was staying with us many years later. A doctor friend said he saw no harm in the practice as long as we stopped by the time our son was eighteen ! Primitive tribes are much kinder to their children.
In order to get some rest we sometimes took one or other of our children into our bed. After some restless minutes my husband would move out and spend the rest of the night in the child's bed. He said it was like acting in a French farce. You never knew which bed you were going to wake up in.
When one child had terrible earache I remember reading chapters of "Three Men in a Boat" to distract him. Funnily enough I repeated this performance with a grandson who was staying with us many years later. A doctor friend said he saw no harm in the practice as long as we stopped by the time our son was eighteen ! Primitive tribes are much kinder to their children.
Monday 7 February 2011
Archbishops
As well as hats Archbishops have been another recurring theme in my life. I started school aged five at Archbishop Tait's Infants School in Lambeth Road in south east London. It was a few minutes walk from Lambeth Palace, the London home of the Archbishop of Canterbury. At seven I moved on to Archbishop Tenison's School for Girls in Lambeth High Street close to Doulton's Pottery. This school had been founded in 1706 by Archbishop Tenison for 12 poor girls.I think there were nearly 100 girls there when I went there.
My brother, Frank, passed the Scholarship at eleven and went to Archbishop Temple's School for Boys which had been built in what used to be part of Lambeth Palace grounds.
Whilst at the Infants' School we were all invited to have tea and birthday cake at Lambeth Palace on the occasion of Archbishop Davidson's birthday. When I was about nine I went on a school journey to stay in Broadstairs and whilst there we were in vited to have tea and cake by Lady Davidson at the Old Palace at Canterbury. You didn't realise this was going to be such a VIP blog, did you? One more bit of name-dropping= Charlie Chaplin went to brother Frank's school.
My brother, Frank, passed the Scholarship at eleven and went to Archbishop Temple's School for Boys which had been built in what used to be part of Lambeth Palace grounds.
Whilst at the Infants' School we were all invited to have tea and birthday cake at Lambeth Palace on the occasion of Archbishop Davidson's birthday. When I was about nine I went on a school journey to stay in Broadstairs and whilst there we were in vited to have tea and cake by Lady Davidson at the Old Palace at Canterbury. You didn't realise this was going to be such a VIP blog, did you? One more bit of name-dropping= Charlie Chaplin went to brother Frank's school.
Sunday 6 February 2011
The Joy of Music
My son rang from Paris to tell me that my grandson , aged 7, recognised music being played on a CD as that of Mozart. Apparently he skates to the music of Mozart !!! This talent must be encouraged and nurtured. What a wealth of pleasure he has ahead of him.
As a child I listened to Caruso, Richard Tauber and Heddle Nash played, somewhat scratchily, on my mother's wind-up gramophone. That was when I fell in love with the tenor voice. This love has stayed with me even into old age despite various deviations into other kinds of music. I grew up with Bing. Sinatra and the Big Band era in the 40s. In the 50s I was probably singing nursery rhymes.
In the 60s my teenagers introduced me to Cliff Richard, the Beatles and Simon and Garfunkle. In return I introduced them to Gilbert and Sullivan. I seem to remember they also liked Handel and Bach so the music in our house was a pretty mixed bag.
These days I listen mainly to Italian opera. When there are only repeats or rubbish on the TV I seek refuge in my DVDs. My favourite being The Barber of Seville. Rossini's music is so clever. I have a DVD where the leading lady sings and acts the whole opera from a wheelchair. having broken a bone in her leg the night before on stage. I bet no one ever says to her "Break a leg".I also love "La Sonnambula" both operas featuring the talented Juan Diego Florez, the Peruvian tenor. Now we are back to where I started with my love of the tenor.
As a child I listened to Caruso, Richard Tauber and Heddle Nash played, somewhat scratchily, on my mother's wind-up gramophone. That was when I fell in love with the tenor voice. This love has stayed with me even into old age despite various deviations into other kinds of music. I grew up with Bing. Sinatra and the Big Band era in the 40s. In the 50s I was probably singing nursery rhymes.
In the 60s my teenagers introduced me to Cliff Richard, the Beatles and Simon and Garfunkle. In return I introduced them to Gilbert and Sullivan. I seem to remember they also liked Handel and Bach so the music in our house was a pretty mixed bag.
These days I listen mainly to Italian opera. When there are only repeats or rubbish on the TV I seek refuge in my DVDs. My favourite being The Barber of Seville. Rossini's music is so clever. I have a DVD where the leading lady sings and acts the whole opera from a wheelchair. having broken a bone in her leg the night before on stage. I bet no one ever says to her "Break a leg".I also love "La Sonnambula" both operas featuring the talented Juan Diego Florez, the Peruvian tenor. Now we are back to where I started with my love of the tenor.
Monday 31 January 2011
Wakey, wakey.
I have just read that there is a campaign called "Pipedown"to get rid of mindless "muzak" being played in shops etc. I hope it also applies to being "on hold" on the phone.
The report ends with the words "put a sock in it". Did this expression come about when a holiday-maker at Butlins could not find his socks? He later discovered that his brother had stuffed the socks into the loudspeaker outside their chalet.
The report ends with the words "put a sock in it". Did this expression come about when a holiday-maker at Butlins could not find his socks? He later discovered that his brother had stuffed the socks into the loudspeaker outside their chalet.
Tuesday 25 January 2011
Trams
I am quite ancient and go back to the days of the London trams. The ones I used to like to ride on as a child were the open-tops. If it rained there was a waterproof apron attached to the seat in front which you unrolled and held across your lap, so you were dry from the waist down. If you wanted to keep your top half dry you put up your umbrella.
This is what my mother did one day when sitting beside a male friend who wanted to smoke his pipe. (You could only smoke on the upper deck) I don't know how many of you are familiar with pipe smokers but in a bit of a wind we reckoned half a box of matches to one pipe of tobacco. Mother's friend struck several matches in an effort to get his pipe going when the man in the seat behind tapped mother on the shoulder and said "Hi, Missus do you know your umbrella is on fire?"
Friday 14 January 2011
Googling
What Jessie says today the Daily Telegraph latches on to some weeks later. I wrote in my blog at the end of August saying that what I read on Google I did not retain as well as when I read things in a reference book etc. I could have saved this chap all the expense of a scientific study . Today there is a report in the paper saying that reading from a computer or a Kindle, which is easier to read than handwriting or print, makes the brain lazy. I must say that one or two of my correspondents don't mean that to happen to my brain.
Thursday 13 January 2011
Umbrellas
A gloomy wet day today though mild. People with umbrellas hurry past to the railway station.
I possess several nice umbrellas but no longer use them as I need both hands to hold on to my 3 wheeled walker.
This story of the 2 umbrellas amuses me. A lady travelling on the Tube placed her umbrella at her right hand side. On leaving her seat she mistakenly picked up an umbrella on her left hand side. A lady next to her grasped her wrist and said "Oh no you don't" The first lady apologised, much embarrassed. She then went on to visit a friend who said "You left your umbrella here last week". So she started for home carrying two umbrellas. Sitting opposite her on the Tube was the lady who had accused her on the outward journey who said "I see you had a good day after all".
Co. Wintle was an eccentric character who was sometimes interviewed on the BBC Today programme. He wore a bowler hat, a monocle and carried a rolled umbrella. He said he used the umbrella to walk with not to keep the rain off. Indeed, if some rascal took his umbrella and unfurled it he would find written on it in huge white letters "Stolen from A. Wintle".
P.S. Hats - I forget to mention that in 1941 I worked for a few days for a Mr. Bowler-Bowler. I thought it was hilariously funny. This was long before I became Mrs. Bowler.
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