St Bede's "Do" Paris Day 2

Versailles

St Bede’s ‘Do Paris’ …. Day 2, Sunday 24^th Oct

Our first full day in Paris dawned bright and clear, especially in the 14th Arondissiment, where we Happy Campers from St Bede’s had laid our weary heads overnight. All were ‘present and correct’ at the hotel’s buffet type breakfast serving at 8 am sharp. Even though there was not a ‘Full English” in sight and some unaccustomed meats and cheeses were on offer, we all seemed to be well satisfied and tucked in accordingly.

After a brief bus tour of the City, we arrived at the Church of St George, situated near to the Geographic centre of Paris, L’ Arc De Triomphe, just in time for the Morning Mass. St George’s is the main Anglican Church in Paris, and we were led into a large subterranean Chapel constructed ( or so it seemed at first glance) entirely of bricks. Altar, Reredos, domed roof, supported by slender pillars and the floor, were all made of a deep red brick giving the whole place a solid and reassuring feel. Concelebrated Sung High Mass began with a small but tuneful choir aided by an organ and string ensemble. Not for the first time I was struck by similarity of the Form and Order of Mass to that which I am more accustomed to in the Roman Church. A very welcome drink in the refectory on the upper floor followed, then it was off on our travels again with the exciting destination of Versailles ahead of us.

The ornate Palace of the Sun King turned out to be just too popular for our tastes,long, long queues at all points, so on arrival we decided just to go as far as the gold leafed gates and railings and content ourselves with the photos in the guidebooks. As my little digital camera had seriously malfunctioned en route, I was left with the built in camera on my phone. Not ideal, but enough to capture some decent pictures to place on my Blog.

Strolling on into Versailles in warm 

sunshine we stopped to look inside the local parish Church. Later we found a little restaurant and dined quite well on a veal and ham pie and assorted vegetables. Answers to couple of French Language questions from Fr. R’s ongoing quiz, were discovered during a halting conversation with the Restaurant owner’s son. He went to tremendous lengths with his i Phone to translate our answers.

An early return to the hotel to allow those who were going to the ‘Paradis D’Amour” night club to get their glad rags on, also allowed those who like me, enjoy a mid afternoon snooze, to have plenty of time to themselves. When we first looked at the cost of this extra, Marjorie and I both thought it was a bit on the pricey side. But after checking with my cousin Helen, who had been a few years ago with her late husband, and was determined to go again, we decided to lash out and go. We’re very glad that we did. At £78.00 each it was expensive, but worth every penny.

Although a little cramped (squeezed shoulder to shoulder and facing your partner across long narrow tables, stretching the length of the main auditorium) we soon realized that the idea was that you took up as little space as possible. The meal started with a selection of Hors D’Oeuvres and a free half bottle of wine, served up by a person who looked a bit like Julian Clary. Whilst he was mincing around, others of a more acceptable appearance (waitresses wearing less make up than our Julian,) served up the main course… Chicken with veg. It all went down well helped by the ‘free’ wine.

An attractive young lady began circulating taking ‘happy snaps’ with a very serious looking camera. The results were on offer later and I have to say that they were very respectable. Long ago, far away and definitely pre - digital age, I made a fair amount of Pin Money doing the same thing in and around Army camps.

The lights then dimmed and all attention was turned to a large white screen, which was descending from above. The show then started with film clips of old Paris ending in a ‘still’ which was then enlivened by real people on stage.. a tableaux of brightly lit dancing girls, high kicking and posing with feathers and frills, plus of course, a couple of obligatory ‘saucy’ nudes….. It was very pretty if a little ‘sanitized’

An MC introduced the acts with the usual razzmatazz in an accent which you could cut with a knife. The best of these could be classed as circus acts. All young men and all highly talented. A very laid back juggler, an absolutely incredible uni -cycle act and the finale was a hair raising trapeze artiste. His ‘mount’, at the start of his act, was to ascend a vertical rope with a one handed climb. Starting from the very centre of the auditorium he very slowly, demonstrating breathtaking strength, gripped the rope between his thighs, kept his legs parallel with the floor and languorously reached upwards with his right hand, gripped the rope in his palm and then slowly and seemingly effortlessly, ascended, foot by foot, to a trapeze, suspended from a sturdy looking steel gantry, half hidden in darkness above him.

His act, which consisted of an astounding series of twirls, and tumbles in which he oscillated wildly above our heads, held everyone’s rapt attention.

His finale could be truly called hair raising! He swung himself up to a tiny ledge high above and to one side of the proscenium arch and then gripping a single rope, simply swung across to the diagonally opposite position, clearing our heads by scant inches! He did this four or five times bringing screams of fear and delight from the audience.

More frothy dances and songs brought the show to an end and a well-deserved standing ovation.

Dorothy Helen & Marjorie
Auditioning for next performance?

Outside once more in the clear cold air of a Parisian night we airily discussed plans to go ‘clubbing’ but in reality it was back to the hotel to have a nightcap and then retire gracefully to bed!

To Be Continued….

Lest We Forget

A late invite came on Saturday evening from my RE (Amph.) colleagues to join the Wreath laying ceremony this morning at Newcastle's Eldon Square Memorial.

A bright, but cold morning saw us safely parked up out of the way. Marjorie. took over the camera to record the proceedings and I joined the rapidly growing throngs of blazered and be - medalled Royal British Legion and Veteran. organisations. Some 500 of us formed up in 4 ranks, not the usual 3 ( in order to fit us in the space allocated to us) and set off at the modified marching pace for the Vets. Normal Army marching pace is 120 beats per minute but today our martial music was being provided by a Highland Regiment Pipe Band who march at 112 BPM. Stately and dignified and more in keeping with our physical abilities!

As we rounded the corner formed at the junction of Percy Street and Blackett Street, we were met by rousing cheers and a sustained burst of applause by the already large numbers of spectators lining the perimeter of the Memorial Garden. The Garrison Sergeant Major brought us to the Halt, then gave 'Parade will Advance' 'Right Turn' to bring us correctly occupying the Northern boundary of the Gardens. We faced into a very bright sun and the 'Stand at Ease', 'Stand Easy' relaxed us all. Generous applause came from all around, and some very welcome cups of coffee were quickly "organised" from a coffee shop behind us. There were of course, those amongst us who preferred a stronger libation and several surprisingly large hip flasks were rapidly produced and their contents used to toast "absent friends".

As the Parade gradually formed and filled all sides of the Square, and the Band of the Northumberland Fusiliers played appropriately sombre airs, the civic dignitaries moved into position. The Garrison Sergeant Major's crisp command instantly quelled the chatter and we looked up to watch the four Sentinels posted at the Memorial corners go into the "reverse arms" stance. A Naval Rating moved across to begin untying the Union Flag's halyard, and the time gradually moved to the Silence. The single round of gunfire signifying the start was a shock and sent the hundreds of pigeons who reside in the Square, flying out in alarm.

The only sound was the muted whooshing of the Shopping Centre's air-conditioning, and the faint cries of the babies and young children around us. We hope that these children will continue with this honourable tradition but equally hopefully that their names will never need be inscribed on its memorials.

The pigeons were disturbed once again when the gunfire cracked out and the Service of Remembrance began with the 'The Last Post' Two rousing hymns.. "Guide me, O thou great Redeemer" and "Jerusalem" opened and ended the service. The March off was led by the Regular Army troops and when the Cadet forces moved off in their wake, we Vets. were set off by the GSM to parade past the saluting dais( (EYES RIGHT!) at Grey's Monument, along Blackett Street and left up Northumberland Street, applauded and cheered every step of the way.

We then turned into Northumberland Road, halted and were then properly dismissed..... "Officer on Parade!" ... "Fall OUT!"..... our cue to turn right, salute, and march 3 paces forwards and then relax!

I've reckoned up and that has to be my 50th Remembrance Day parade. My first was in 1960 in Gibraltar and today was my first in my own home town of Newcastle.

St. Bede's "Do" Paris

Day 1.... Saturday, 23 Oct. 2010.....

Despite gloomy reports via the Right wing press in UK., on the the revolting students in Paris and the effects that their actions were having on the travelling public from UK and elsewhere, our long awaited parish trip to the French Capital got off to an early start from Newcastle's Central Station last Saturday.

All 49 of us clambered aboard the East Coast train which had conveniently arrived fresh from the engine sheds at Heaton, 20 minutes ahead of schedule. This early arrival gave us more than enough time to get ourselves, plus our luggage into the pre-booked carriage and it wasn't long before we settled down in our reserved seats. Promptly at 0730, the train slid smoothly out of the station and over the King Edward VII Bridge to begin the 270 mile run South to London. Reaching its maximum speed of 125mph as we flashed through Co. Durham, the ride was as smooth as butter with just an occasional lateral sway as we rounded a curve.

Helen & Dorothy, London bound.

Things have improved immensely over the 35 years since my journeys to and from the capital and beyond on Army leave, most of which were jolting, halting, long drawn out experiences.

The advent of the wheeled suitcase has brought relief to many a weary traveller, and it was with the noise of many hundreds of small plastic wheels on the smooth concrete of the long King's Cross station platform that we made our way next door to St. Pancras station, there to split up into little groups to await check-in for the next part of our journey, Eurostar. The concourse was crowded and the armed police patrols were quite evident, a regretful but necessary sign of the times. After a wander around I spotted 3 of our group getting into the Continental mood by sipping large G&Ts outside a concourse pub. I got a large glass of a very acceptable Rioja and joined them, just to make sure that they didn't get left behind, you understand!

Dorothy, Helen, and Marjorie

Jean, Roland, Ann, and Terry

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Katherine, Florence, Dorothy and Ken.

Pat, Jane, and Margaret, all awaiting the call!

We passed through the security screen displaying varying degrees of panic.. "Will my replacement kneecaps set off the alarms yet again?" and "Did that nice lady have to place that detector wand as far up as that? Eventually we settled down to wait for the call from above ( No, not THAT call, Father R,) the one which told us that the Eurostar was awaiting us.

Above us the quarter mile length of train was indeed raring to go and the more muscular types set to work, heaving the luggage into its quite capacious racks. We were all together again and it wasn't long till the air was filled with spicy aromas as the hungry travellers broke out their 'take away' lunches from Marks and Spencers.

Spot on the dot of 13:04 the trained eased out of the Station and once again with an uncanny smoothness set out on a Northerly heading across the unlovely graffiti covered environs of North London at rooftop level. These were quickly blotted out as the train glided into the long looping section which takes it South East below the Thames and out into the driving rain of South London. With large chunks of Kentish scenery hurtling backwards every second we were soon crossing the river Medway and scant minutes later we dived headlong into the Channel Tunnel itself. Emerging the other side to more grey skies and soggy fields, prompted the thoughts that twice, just out of living memories, our fathers and grandfathers fought one of our European neighbours, Germany, over possession of these lush green fields.

Our tour guide Bernadette (who hails from Heaton , Newcastle) had introduced herself as we left London and now came around the group with essential information on negotiating our way out of the Gare Du Nord and into the tour coach. This was accomplished in very short order and then we were off into the sheer lunacy that passes for everyday driving in France.

When I was "nobbut a lad' many years ago, I learned in our Physics lessons that some clever clogs of long forgotten name gave that name to a Law of Physics which stated that " no two bodies shall occupy the same space at the same time" This Law evidently does not apply in France and especially on its Capital's roads. 'Survival of the fittest' would seem to sum up the mayhem, with "Devil take the hindmost" as a good second choice. At one light controlled crossroads we were held back by the red light as was the traffic in the road from our right. A car passed us on our left, went straight through the red light and stopped right in front of the two lanes of traffic. He then forced his way past the first row of cars, on to the pavement and then abandoned his vehicle right in the middle of a pedestrian refuge.

Paris' traffic in the rain.

The tour coach finally deposited us and our luggage outside the Hotel Alesia and Bernadette was soon distributing room key cards and dispatching us aloft in groups of four to the floors above via the three lifts in Reception. A quick 'demo' by Bernadette on the operating system of these lifts showed up the technophobes and technophiles amongst the group, as we grappled with the electronic vagaries of the key card operated lifts. Noticeable amongst us was the way the younger ones mastered the system a lot faster than the majority of the more mature. Alexandra and brother Dominic popped the card into slot, selected their floor and disappeared upwards triumphantly, leaving their grandparents, and we of similar age, still wondering if we could trust this new fangled method!

To be continued..........

Fence, sanding & painting, BEGIN!

The Bank Holiday DIY bug bit me yesterday M. decreed that the back fence, unpainted for 18 years, was " a disgrace"| I concurred, but citing badly back, and the fact that we can't see the rear face of the fence as it faces the public footpath behind the line of houses, it did not have a great deal of priority in my book. Well, those arguments were promptly shot down in flames, and yesterday saw me with a Bosch belt sander on full throttle attacking 18 years growth of moss, lichen, and weathered timber.

In the style of Tom Sawyer, painting his fence in far off Mississippi, I gathered an audience of passers by, mostly urchins from the nearby estate, some of them asking... "Gizza go mistah!" Altho' tempted (just to ease my aching back, you understand) sanity prevailed, and urchins moved on. A Bosch sander is quite a lively tool to control and without the necessary muscle to stop it, it will suddenly take off, and I didn't want to become the centre of attraction for all the wrong reasons.

Any road up, the fence was three quarters finished when the dark shower clouds gathered from the North West and with me working with a power tool at the end of a long extension lead I thought it prudent to finish off until the showers eased. Well that temporary break lasted till this morning and after I've posted here I'm off again to do battle with the remaining 10 foot or so of fence. The painting will probably start around midday, and M. is claiming that this is where she comes in (or goes out if you understand).... ::)

Much later.... A fair division of labour resulted in a well painted back fence, ready to withstand the icy blasts for the next 18 years.

Marjorie being a right hander worked from the left hand edge towards the middle and I, being a 'south paw' with all tools and brushes, started at the righthand edge. Meeting in the middle we celebrated by a quick check on the missed bits left behind on each other's portion. Honours even, we stood back and surveyed our masterpiece feeling like Michelangelo and the unknown urchin or who ever it was who held the Maestro's paint bucket!

As access to our back fence was gained after a 200 yards walk around the block ( we could have shinned over it but didn't want to provide the neighbours with any more free entertainment(!) when all of the tools, ladders paint pots etc., were handed back over the fence from me to M. in our back garden, the job was done!

Wilf R. RIP,

Today I attended the funeral of a good friend of mine whom I'd known for more that 45 years..

I've put together a little obituary for him and his widow Carol, whom I first met when I was about 18, ( and that's a long time ago!)


1957, was the year we moved as a family to live in a pub at the centre of a mining village near Crook, in Co Durham

A youth club had started in a neighbouring village and it was there I met this tall, slim redhead with a ready smile and a friendly disposition. There was never anything romantic about our friendship, just good fun and happy times with her and her 2 brothers, joining in the dances and other quite innocent social activities of a group of 'Fifties' teenagers.

2 years later I was in the Army and receiving a regular weekly letter from Carol, full of news and chat from our village. I married and returned to the UK but it was only this morning that I learned that during that time she was also writing to another squaddy, this time in Hong Kong, and when his Regiment returned they met and married. I was pleased for Carol when I met Wilf , who when rigged out in his dashing Cavalry Regiment's No 1 dress uniform with its ceremonial chain mail over one shoulder, was, in the Army vernacular of the time, "As Smart as a Carrot!"

The second son of a family of 13, Wilf was the "strong silent type" and a complete opposite and perfect foil to Carol who was described by none other than my first wife as "La Mariposa" ( The Butterfly ) . My late father called her "as dizzy as a spinning top", but Carol and Wilf confounded them all by staying madly in love for over 46 years.

They set about raising a family and I was next to meet them in a really surprising way.

Late summer of '64, I was sat sitting in the middle a hillside above the Pied Piper town of Hameln ( Hamelin). I was attached to the advance party of my regiment ,which was tasked to erect the 250 x 6 man tents in preparation for the arrival a the main body of the Engineer Regiment and then join in the annual fun and games of a 6 week "Bridging Camp"

A field telephone connected by a long cable to the Bridging camp's tiny admin office shrilled around noon on that brilliantly sunny Sunday and jerked me from my day dreaming siesta. " A personal call for Sapper Cunningham"! was the terse message from the "Orderly Scorpion" about half a mile away.

Thoroughly mystified I waited until the telephone shrilled again and a strange male voice with a familiar North east accent sounded in my ear... it was Wilf, telling me that Carol was in the local 'Frauenklinik'( German Maternity hospital) in Paderborn after having delivered their first born, Simon, a full 2 months prematurely.

As my duty was just about to end, I was into civvies and heading for the Hauptbahnhof ( Main Railway station, in just a few minutes. The German 'Personenzug' (passenger train) got me to the centre of Paderborn 50 or so miles away to the West in about an hour and at 3 pm I met Wilf outside the Maternity ward and in we trooped to see Carol. Young Simon was in an incubator and looked to be about the size of a 2 lb of sugar bag. Tubes entered his tiny body at one end and left at the other and leads and connectors covered it seemed every available square inch of what was left! But he proved to be a fighter and was soon back home to Carol and Wilf's MSQ near Paderborn .

That was all 44 years ago and today Simon's a tall slim young man looking every inch his father's double. and ready to take over the role of head of the family

The funeral service was taken by a Methodist Minister who gave a great eulogy for Wilf. Speaking in a strong yet sympathetic voice he outlined Wilf's adult life in front of a packed chapel before sending the coffin behind the curtains to the strains of of Elgar's 'Nimrod'.. And so back to the little village tucked away in the foothills of the Pennines for the traditional 'cuppa' and buffet lunch for all family and friends

RIP Wilf . A good life, well lived, by a man who was truly loved by his wife and all of his children

Paris 2010

That's the title I gave to a Savings Account set up last year specifically for that purpose.. to pay for a 4 day trip to Paris in late October this year. Almost exactly a year since it started, the account has accumulated sufficient funds plus a little bit over and the balance was sent off in good time to meet the deadline of the end of this month. This is probably the very first time that we have taken holiday after having saved up for it first, and I have to say that now that the main expense is paid I feel quite virtuous! Nowadays when we're on two fixed incomes, our days of running up a Credit Card bill with nary a thought on repayment are long gone ( TG)

We, all good people from M.'s parish Church, are to travel overland and then under the land / sea by Eurostar with the Gare du Nord as our ultimate rail destination. Then on to the hotel belonging to the Ibis chain, named 'Paris Alésia' in Montparnasse. Looking at the Travel Company's glossy brochure, I see that the 4 days are packed with tours, trips, visits, and there's even an evening at a Cabaret with 3 course meal for good measure.

Last year we had a great trip to Bruges and were looked after in grand style by the same tour Company, Riviera. So it is with high hopes that we'll set off in a couple of month's time for what will be my first real stay in Paris. Much more later. If anyone reading this is more of a Francophile, and has any tips or even dire warnings, on the Big City, please feel free to post in here.

Monty Solves the IT problems

Assuming his usual pose after grappling with a rather complicated file search on Marjorie's PC.