Fire watching

I have just been watching a programme about the London Blitz. In particular the night of 29th December 1940. This I well remember because it was my first time of fire watching.


We lived in a tall house close to the south side of Westminster Bridge. There was a basement which served as an air raid shelter and three floors above. We lived on the middle floor. The stairs led upward, past the top flat and up to a door which gave on to a flat roof. This was where we used to do our fire watching looking out for incendiary bombs.


There was a rota kept of all able-bodied residents and neighbours who took it in turns to watch for bombs. We were armed with a stirrup pump, abucket of water and a bucket of sand. i don't remember anyone telling me what to do but I was up there ready to do it! Fortunatelyfor the safety of the building and the occupants no incendiaries ever landed on the roof while I was on watch though they rained down all around.

The other watchers with me were Jock, a steward on the train "The Flying Scotsman" and usually well fortified with his native brew and Jack aged about the same age as I was to whit 17.



On this night the shrapnel from the anti-aircraft guns was rattling down all around us Thankfully I had my Civil Defence tin hat on. Not so the others, so Jock decided he would go down and look for something for them (and, incidentally stoke up with some more Dutch courage,I expect) He let the door bang to, and when Jack and I decided it was getting too dangerous and we had better take cover, to our horror, we found we could not open the door. No one could hear our agitated banging because of the noise of the raid. Not a moment too soon the "All Clear" sounded and somebody came up to see where we were We made sure , in future, that the door was propped open. Being brave was all very well but there are limits!

More Tea

Yesterday I had a surprise present. It was a tin of tea. Since the packer had omitted to in clude a message I had to surmise who the donor was. No need to call in Poirot. It was, of course, my tea drinking friend from Tokyo. Now for the second surprise. The tea was grown in England!
If Cousin Carole is reading this she no doubt knows all about it as the Tregothnan tea is grown on the Boscawen estate near Truro in Cornwall. Tregothnan is believed to be the only commercial tea plantation in the U.K. It has secured a large order to export its quintessentially English tea to Japan. It already exports to China and India.
The estate has been the home of the Boscawen family since 1335. Enough information?
To get down to drinking the tea! I have to report that is bright, refreshing with the slightest hint of a perfume. I recommend it.

Idle thoughts of an idle lady.

I have just read a letter from a man whose lock on his bathroom door does not work so he has taken up whistling pro tem. When we were viewing a house prior to purchase the vendor said the lock on the loo door was broken so you had to sing "God Save the King".

I notice that a number of Air Lines are advertising very cheap one way tickets to various exotic destinations.
Paddy to Mike "Where is your brother?"
Mike "He won a one way ticket to Singapore".
Paddy "Did he have a good holiday?
Mike "I don't know yet. He is waiting to win a ticket home".

Despite the gloomy forecasts of the weather men of an impending Ice Age I have for the past four days enjoyed sitting in the conservatory in brilliant sunshine with beautiful blue skies. I have to admit it is autumnal outside. Regular readers will have gathered that the conservatory is one of my blessings even though , like me, it is getting on a bit If, as seems likely, it was built with the house it has stood there since 1873!

Redecoration

Our house painting is finished and it all looks beautiful. The scaffolding has been taken away. Fortunately our neighbours did not need, like Charles Saatchi (Nigella's husband)to send in their own workman to take it down. We shall miss our friendly builder who has been here for some weeks and is almost like one of the family.

On the subject of scaffolding I have been told that the scaffolding is customarily left in place until it is needed for another job. It saves on transport and storage I suppose. There are tricks in every trade.

Letters

On Saturday last I reached a pinnacle of fame. Little Maisie Ellis from Lambeth got a letter published in the posh peoples' paper "The Times". (Don't tell the Editor but I don't even take The Times)I occasionally read my daughter's copy. I am a Telegraph person.

I have, in the last two years, had four letters published in the Telegraph after many frustrated efforts. I have decided that it is all due to e-mails. When a letter arrives by snail mail the subject has either been done to death or some earth-shattering event has overtaken it. With e-mail one's response is immediate and one's letter doesn't necessarily end up in the WPB.

Cousin Madeline rang me to tell me the good news. What price fame? Who cares about the X Factor or Strictly when you get your name in The Times?

A View from the Conservatory

From where I sit no houses can be seen,
Just puffy clouds ride the bright blue sky.
The world outside is encompassed in green.
The noisy street outside passes me by.

Who would think that lorries, cars and buses
Hurtle past our front door to the town?
From Hove station down to the Marina
The number seven bus speeds up and down.

Here at the back garden all is quiet.
Just the soughing of the warm wind in the trees.
The tall and graceful eucalyptus sways,
The bamboo rustles gently in the breeze.

The pretty leaves of ever-changing green
Of the false acacia please the eye.
A crow swoops low, he's come in search of food,
Then swiftly flies away with raucous cry.

The constant voice of seagulls fills the air.
I hear them calling, calling to each other.
The mournful cry of one low-flying gull
Sounds like a small child crying for its mother.

The rushed and busy world I do not heed.
I sit here idly musing in the sun.
I realise that I have all I need.
I count my many blessings, one by one.

TEA

I do drink quite a lot of tea. At the moment it is Twining's Breakfast Tea which is not too strong. My brother used to like "builder's tea" where the spoon practically stood up in the cup. My mother, who had a saying for everything, used to say it was "the cup that cheers but does not inebriate".

We have just had a visit from two more members of our Danish family. Throughout their childhood the photographs of Ernie and his crew were on show in their living room alongside photos of their own family. For new readers see www.ee138.net They were delightful compay and really enjoyed our tea! They were intrigued to see MIF (milk in first).

Our friend in Tokyo writes wonderful blogs about tea. She is on a very restricted diet so a pot of tea is a real treat but I am amazed at how much some teas can cost.

Further to the above there is an article in today's Daily Telegraph about tea in China. The price of one particular variety has soared to levels only rivalled by the finest wines. It is called Dahongpao. On line traders are selling a single kilo for more than £1,000. Do you drink it or put it in the bank's vaults?
Tea is important in Chinese culture and Dahongpao was planted to serve the Emperors of the Ming Dynasty (1368 - 1644). My Tokyo friend mentions tea from the Yunnan province which has also risen dramatically in price. I hope she can still afford it.
My humble tea costs less than £5 for 250 grammes but it does say on the box "By appointment to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the second".