A Holy Island Pilgrimage

An account of a weekend spent on the Holy Island of Lindisfarne....




Back last evening from a very enjoyable long weekend break at the Holy Island of Lindisfarne. Feeling very relaxed but a bit tired after a lot of unaccustomed exercise, and the stimulating and lively company of 10 adults and 19 children, from our parish church.

Holy Island has long been a favourite spot for a good long run out from the City, 50 or so miles to the North and set in lovely, tranquil scenery. Because of the tidal restrictions with the causeway closed twice in every 24 hours, this has always been a "Day Trip" excursion, so when last year the notice of a long weekend came up, we were first to put our names down.

We invited my cousin Helen, who was widowed last year. She has a large family and is well supported by them, but needed a bit of a break from the daily round and the stimulation of others to ease her from her grief. She literally blossomed over the weekend, and kept us two company when the younger element hared off on more adventurous pursuits.

Our accommodation was the Saint Vincent de Paul "Ozanam" Centre, basic and a bit Spartan, but perfectly adequate and in the main, quite comfortable. Being easily the oldest, we 3 were feted and allocated twin and single rooms respectively. The layout was "Cloister like" with the rooms and connecting corridors forming a square. Dot, ("Dorothea") our organiser, quietly moved the groups of children who had "bagsied" the rooms on either side of us, to help keep the noise levels in check. The Centre's lady in charge, Sr.Josepha, gave us a welcoming talk, outlining the "Do's and Don'ts" for a safe holiday. When she got to the bit where "Swinging from the roof beams was not allowed", everyone looked at us 3 'oldies' and general merriment broke out! That set the tone for the rest of the holiday and groups of children would warn us daily about the dangers of swinging from the beams!

After a packed lunch which we had been advised to bring, the first organised ramble to the dunes was soon under way. Before we left,however, the "Country side Code" ( Take only photos, leave only footprints) was stressed and each child given a number on leaving the Centre and had to answer to that number at the various "head counts" during and after each stage of the afternoon's activities. With the children's ages ranging from 8 to 18yrs, it was quite an eclectic group, but as most were related to each other the natural big brother / sister care took over, helping the group leaders Julie,Lawrie, Sean, Dot, John and Carolyn, to keep the party together and prevent stragglers from getting lost.

The only thing which could not be planned for was of course the weather. It could easily be summed up as "Cold and Grey" with the North East Coast in, its 5th day of a total 10/10ths cover of sea fret, propelled by a strong East wind. But we were well wrapped up ( with notable exceptions of two of the more hardy breed of teenagers) against the worst the the weather could throw at us and luckily the rain kept away. Walking boots were the favourite amongst the adults, but a lot of the girls were shod in Wellies which seem to be produced today in a riot of glorious colours.





Once on the beach, the wellies and other footwear were quickly abandoned and 'The Great Sand Castle Competition' began. As I have no family connections in the parish, I was a true "independent" and was asked to adjudicate on the creations which were going up at great pace around me. Without showing fear or favour, but allowing the fact to escape that I could be bought, if only they could all come up with a decent single malt, I applied myself diligently to the task . Sadly there were no offers of a 'bung', although Sean did venture the opinion that I may become incorporated into the beach scenery, if certain favours were not forthcoming!



The older boys literally threw themselves into their sand sculpture. It started out with epic proportions and at one time the casual observer could be forgiven on assuming that this was the Northern entrance to the Channel Tunnel! Owen took a bearing on what turned out to be the far off figure of Lawrie who was rock hunting in the shallows, and was soon several feet down. Opposite him, Thomas took a 180 degree back bearing and the race to link up a tunnel was under way

I left them to their labours and took the opportunity to wander up the other end of the beach, to check on mesdames Helen and Marjorie, who had declined to descend and preferred to sit at the top of the cliff and smile benevolently upon the scene of frenzied activity below.

Upon my return the boys had suffered a mini catastrophe! Tunnel cave in had occurred when Owen's original bearing on Lawrie turned out to be movable and he changed the angle of attack of his face work. OR, was it that Rachel had stumbled (accidentally of course!) on the top of the project, bringing down the roof. The Board of Enquiry which was convened quickly exonerated Rachel of all blame, but for her penance she had to suggest what the boys could turn their ruined tunnel into. The result is shown in one of my many pics which can be seen here.




........ Now we've heard of Medieval burial grounds but this one was bang up to date! For shame Rachel!


A Torchlight Ramble was next on the agenda and with everyone grasping a multi various collection of electric illuminants (some with a wind up rechargeable batteries), we set off towards the old Missionaries Causeway in the gathering gloom. This original track, which is picked out with a long row of poles stretching across the sands into the West, was used by the missionaries and early Island inhabitants long before the modern road, was built on a higher elevation. By the time we got down to wet sand and sea weed, it was "Black Dark" and the torches became vital. The tide was just on the turn, "Slack water" having been reached about an hour before our arrival. Groups of welly booted children splashed about in the inch or so of water, and it was less than 30 minutes before Lawrie blew on his whistle to shepherd all the excited children back on to comparatively dry land once more The necessary head count took place once we had gained the modern roadway, and with flashing torches, we set off back to the SVP Centre and hot mugs of cocoa / Horlicks all round. Julie was "Duty House Mother" and went round all the rooms checking that all was in order and that everyone was tucked up for the night.

The "boys" led by Sean and Lawrie sidled out of a side door and were later to be found by John and I, actually imbibing strong likker and a place called a "Public House". Expressing our shock and horror at this disgraceful behaviour took John and I all of 3 seconds, and then we were told that the next round was on us! Sr. Josepha had said that 'Lights Out' for adults was to be at 11.30 so we made haste to keep on the good side of the good Sister!

The children had other ideas and a "Midnight feast" was in full swing!
Bottles of 'Pop' and choccy bars were being scoffed and the popping of blown up crisp packets was at full throttle! It was nearly 12.30 when the noise eased off and we could get some rest!

Saturday morning dawned with the same grey overcast but most of the children and all of the adults seemed to have benefited from a good night's sleep and no one seemed to mind the cool weather. Breakfast was served, with the usual cereals etc, and then to cheers from the Ex- Forces amongst us Sr Josepha started ladling out baked beans to go with the sausage , egg and bacon! Toned down for the children and the good sister, the old marching chorus of...

"Oh the Navy Gets the Gravy
But the Army Gets the Beans!
Beans Beans Beans!
Nothing but Beans!"

... made for much merriment amongst the children.


By 10 .30 all were assembled in the dining hall and Dot gave the itinerary for a walk to the opposite end of the Island. Carrying the very well labelled packed lunches , Tuna & Mayo, Cheese Savoury, and even a "Nut allergy" and Vegetarian option, the essential "Numbering" took place on exit from the Dining hall . Marjorie had to be restrained by Helen on her exit and told that " No dear, this isn't an audition for Mamma Mia!" (Poor old thing, she doesn't get out much you know!)

The morning's route took us past our night time rambles and it was fascinating to see just how far we'd walked, before the now retreating tide had washed our footprints away. Turning sharp right of the main causeway brought us to a farm track headed due North, with our destination the ancient ruins of a Saxon Village "Greenshiel" (See photo of plaque), situated at about 3 miles to our front. Lawrie, John and I set a fairly gentle pace and Helen, Marjorie and Sean in his fluorescent tabard brought up the rear. Stopping for a breather, Sean pointed out a Lark on its busy flight. All except me could clearly hear its high pitched twitter, and this was the first time an old "townie" like me had ever witnessed such a rare sight.

I apologise for the tiny photos shown here, but "Blogspot" seems to be having a few techie troubles in the photo sizing department. I will wait patiently for the next 3 seconds for signs of improvement then seek an alternative host site.

Photos here.....

http://picasaweb.google.es/abueloeddie/AHolyIslandWeekend?authkey=Gv1sRgCNyzkcipnrCYtQE#

Rock Ape's Return.....

Right! I'm back! :-)

No excuses, no names, no pack drill, just the plain unvarnished truth, I've been too bone idle to post!.

However, just received a lovely story from a friend, and as it's Easter Monday and I'm at my computer I thought I'd share this story with the throngs of eager Blog readers (?) How are you both keeping, by the way?

Myriads of events have gone unreported, and if they are depending on my memory to get reported, then they have no chance!

One does stand out, probably because it happened yesterday

Father Philip started his sermon with his usual funny story...

A priest was visiting an old lady in her home, and asked if she believed in the "Hereafter"

"Oh ! Yes!" came the reply. I often go from dining room to kitchen, to bedroom to garden and back to the living room again, thinking "Now what am here after?!"

A look forward to the weekend when we join other parishioners in a pilgrimage to Lindisfarne ( Holy Island). Situated about 45 miles to the North of us here in "Sunny Blyth", this ancient site has been a place of pilgrimage since the very early days of Christianity in these Islands ... A click on the following URL will bring you a flavour this special place.

http://www.lindisfarne.org.uk/

Bright sunshine greets us this morning but a cool breeze keeps us from flocking to the coast to besport ourselves in our bathing costumes. That kind of thing is best left to the younger element, and anyway on inspecting my bathing costume I find a large hole in the elbow, so that 's out!

There has been much striding purposefully around the golf course, gaining nothing else but muscle tone and losing a few pounds in weight, plus several golf balls. Played into the teeth of a force 'ever so strong' gale last week on the links course at Newbiggin-by-the -Sea.

Scores after the first nine holes were low to non-existent, but at the turn, with a 50 mph gale behind most shots, scores improved to such a degree that most of us high handicappers were in mortal danger of receiving the dreaded "Handicap chop" ! On one hole, aptly named " Prevailing Wind" a 360 yard, par 4, with a green which is hidden by large dunes, the fairway traverses a "col" or valley between two dunes. My tee shot edged left as per usual and disappeared from my sight amongst the low rough high up on the left dune. All four of us went into "Search mode", head down, scan ahead, then to the side, carry on pacing, for the obligatory 5 minutes. I reached the top of the col and looked towards the green. 200 yards away, a solitary ball was lying on the green about 20 yards past the pin. I immediately dismissed this as being mine, it was just too far, and selected a replacement from my bag, and resignedly added a penalty 2 to my score. Just as I was lining up this my fourth shot, a cry from one of my playing partners, "Ya ower heor, hinny!" ** . I looked up and my friend was pointing to the solitary ball, and waving me down. Sure enough it was mine. Wind and ground shape assisted, the ball had travelled more than 370 yards, easily my longest drive to date!

** "Geordie Speak" for "You are over here, young Sir!" :-)

Jasmine - A nice story!!

Jasmine - A nice story!!

Marco Michael and Joshua Hit Town.

A Cunningham family gathering took place this afternoon at young brother Mike's home outside Durham City. With his youngest, Alice, just back on holiday from Australia where she's learnt to say "Higher Gown?", ( think about it!) when her two brothers Sean and Mark turned up to welcome her home. They in turn brought their two sons Joshua (11 months and 3 weeks) and cousin Marco Michael ( 1 year and 1 week) and of course the boys' proud mums, Angela and Carol.

Marjorie and I turned up as Marco was being comforted by happily besotted Granddad Mike, who although well practised with his own 3, seemed to have lost that certain touch when it came to quietening a just over one year old who is teething! With parents Mark and Angela out checking into a local hotel, Marco was passed around and eventually it was with a decisive swoop that Marjorie took over and showed the lad the big wide world from Mike's front door! Marjorie evidently does have that certain something and it wasn't long before the lusty howls died away, and he was soon sound asleep, but grasping Granddad's big finger tightly with his tiny mitt.

The rest of the family group then arrived from nearby Esh Winning, Sean and Carol and young Joshua . Very much quieter than his slightly older cousin and giving every one of these strangers a grave inspection before responding with wide grins and then helpless giggles as his dad tickled him. Good to see the babies exerting a close feeling on all, especially Gran who suffers from a long term illness of the mind. She evidently enjoys the sights and the sounds of the babies and responds to their boisterous play, and was smiling happily as they rolled around her feet. Alice is very much the career girl, but she too was seen to be having a fond smile at the boys' antics......

A few pictures of a very happy afternoon..












A

Spring is Sprung ( Well, nearly!)

More in the way of chit - chat on how life is treating me.

'Not too badly' is the short reply.

The rejected Bike shed was duly re-packed and made ready for pick up. Not having access to a banding machine we (M.and I) set ourselves to using all the packaging materials in which the shed had been delivered. The results were not at all bad and 3 large string and sticky taped bundles waited over last weekend for collection on Tuesday. As previously mentioned we await the refund with bated breath!

The weather over the North Eastern Coast of the UK has had a very welcome and marked change for the better, with the prevailing Westerlies bringing a milder if slightly moister air to help the drying of the winter floods. Being in what I learned as an 11 year old, the "Rain Shadow" of the Pennine chain of mountains, which run in a roughly North / South direction, from the Scottish Borders to the Peak District, we "East Coastal Dwellers" benefit from the dryer air as it leaves much of its rain to fall on the Western slopes. The local Council's annual display of daffodils which line the approaches to "Sunny Blyth" are about to blossom and are a real sign that Spring is just around the corner.

This drying out of the ground is much more noticeable at my golf course which last month had to call in the heavy gang to drain the soggy fairways. Nature has combined with Man in removing several hundred tonnes of standing water from the surface of the course, and has provided a much harder and dryer ground over which we stride in our ceaseless quest for that perfect golf shot!

The kinder weather has encouraged me to extend even further my cycle rides, and yesterday I achieved the summit of what is probably the only hill within several miles. Now we're not talking of the Mountain Section of the "Tour De France" here , merely a 50- 60 foot gentle rise over about a mile. The Cycle Path is good smooth tarmac and set to one side of the main road leading away from the East Coast and as such, presented a personal goal which I set myself awhile ago. Selecting a medium / low gear at the bottom of the slope I got about half way up before engaging an even lower gear and arrived triumphantly at the top just as the ache in my legs was becoming a bit too much to bear! A rest was indicated and I parked the bike against a fence and swapped pleasantries with an elderly horse which was cropping the grass nearby.

Looking across the fine view to the coast I recalled a 'Walkers' pamphlet which described that very same vista only 50 years ago, as being completely obliterated by the smoking pit heaps of the coal mining industry which polluted the entire area from Seaton Delaval in the South, to the banks of the Blyth River and beyond, to the North. Today those spoil heaps are long gone as is all of the old mining Industry in this Island, which , it was once said, was "Built on Coal" The only relic left standing is the Woodhorn Colliery near Ashington, about 10 miles from Blyth. This now serves as a museum to show our children how "King Coal" once ruled in England.

See here......
http://www.experiencewoodhorn.com/colliery.htm

A Coastal Bike Ride

Well, the Bike Shed has been packed and is ready for pick up next week. I'm promised a refund as soon as it is accepted back to the suppliers, and I look forward to reading the most beautiful sentence in the English language..." .....Our cheque is enclosed!....."

The bike is still being used in a daily attempt to reduce my girth, and today's fine, bright, but chilly weather, tempted me to extend my ride from just a quick, token whiz round the houses, to far off places with strange sounding names, like "Seaton Sluice" and "New Delaval" .

En route I paused to watch members of a model aeroplane club flying their radio controlled models into the light airs above the dunes. The cycle track opens onto the club's designated area and I was intrigued to see a row of metal benches, lining the "Apron". On closer inspection, I discovered that each of the half dozen or so benches had a small plaque which dedicated the seat to the memory of a late and presumably much lamented member of the Flying club. How nice, I thought, for your fellow club members to mark your memory in this way . I've seen this kind of memorial bench, of course, placed by a tee box or a particularly fine view, in golf clubs around the world. But this was completely unexpected, and left me in a rather peaceful mood as I continued with my ride.

Helping to ease the stresses of the cycle ride, I carried the latest technological gizmo that has taken my fancy. My mobile phone has an MP3 feature and keeping up with the youth of today I have a selection of "tunes" which were successfully downloaded ( Oh! I know all these modern "buzz words" !). The headset used to listen to the music is a very neat piece of design. Twin earpieces are connected by an elegantly curved "Alice Band" like apparatus which neatly houses a re-chargeable battery, a discrete "tell tale" light which changes colour according to the status or function of the headset and a simple Off/ On switch. Cleverest of all though is the method of connection ,which is "Bluetooth", so that I can enjoy my music piped in stereo to my ears without any wires, or cables to get in the way. If the outside world wants to contact me, I'm able to take or summarily dimiss the call with a press of a button! So with my mobile stored safely in the cycle's secure frame bag, Bizet's "Carmen Suite No.1" ( Aragonaise) playing in both ears and the gentle breeze behind me, I reach my first port of call...... The Waterford Arms, Seaton Sluice, in very good order. A swift half pint later and I was on my way home!

The Bike Shed Saga..( continued)

A return visit to the DIY section....

Avid readers will be on tenterhooks to know what became of the Great Bike Shed Project that was put on hold last week for want of an undamaged side panel..... Now it can be revealed. Not a lot!

The replacement panel arrived as promised yesterday,and I set to work to erect this Taj Mahal of Bike Sheds! (Not!) Ably assisted by SWMBO I connected the rear two panels together and then both the left and right side panels were securely screwed to the rear panels forming an open box shape. The instructions then called for the base to be nailed through the overhanging 1/2" of the sidewalls. On attempting this I discovered that either the base was one half inch too small or the joined panels were 1/2 " too big. By a bit of juggling I managed to centre the panels on to the base so as to leave the extra width equal at each end, and continued work to construct the door frame, which lent a certain rigidity to the structure, but, as the man said... "Not a Lot!"

By this time I was becoming aware of the obvious shortcomings of this self assembly kit, as the poor quality of the timber panels, so obviously warped and knotted, was reflected in the choice of inferior metal used for the hinges and especially the hasp. It looked like 2mm thick tinplate which could easily be bent and when I saw that the screws by which one was supposed to affix the hasp were 3/4" x 8s, I stopped work in assembling the shed and contacted the makers. Keeping it all very amicable I set out to assure the young lady that I was rejecting the shed as a viable and secure storage for my cycle, and claiming a full refund.

After a bit of resistance and an offer of a partial refund being rejected by me, we got down to the "nitty - gritty and I quoted the UK's Consumer Law applicable in this case, by declaring the shed to be 'Unfit for Purpose' and citing its obvious deficiencies with the phrase " Not of Merchantable Quality".

Confirmation of my rejection came this morning and all I have to do now is to "disarticulate" the shed and have it ready for collection at some date in the near future, and then wait for my bank account to show the reimbursement .

...A Pinch and a Punch...

A Pinch and a Punch for the First of The Month! ( All together now, "White Rabbit, White Rabbit, White Rabbit!")

Is there anyone who still keeps these old childhood sayings?

When we were kids, the first of the month was routinely celebrated this way, a liberal pinch on the upper arm, swiftly followed by a solid punch on the opposite arm, and then an equally rapid "disclaimer" of "and NO returns!", shouted by your assailant as he hared off to attack some other poor unsuspecting urchin at the far end of the playground. Immunity from attack was claimed by crossing the large fingers of both hands over the forefinger next to it and shouting "I've got skinchers!" If the punching became a bit too enthusiastic, and was returned, then the cry of "Hook!" "Hook!" went up and a circle quickly formed around the struggling pair of blue blazered and grey shorts wearing combatants.

I was thumped a few times in this manner, but being used to this kind of rough play with my brothers, didn't take too much notice and rarely retaliated. One fine morning though, a particularly vigorous attack got to me and I turned "inside" his next swing and thumped him mightily on the end of his nose, producing a most satisfactory spray of blood . Immediately the cry of "Hook!" went up and we pair were surrounded by a cheering ring of our school mates all keen on seeing just how long we would provide them with this free entertainment. Heroically sniffing the dripping blood back up his nose, this lad then went for me and landed a good right on my left cheek, and knocked my specs flying into the crowd. The impact jarred me and the sudden loss of vision made me hesitate. My opponent seized the initiative and pressed forward, fists flying, all caution thrown to the winds. An odd calmness came over me, and probably for the first time ever, I controlled my temper, allowing this lad enough room to charge past me when I simply picked my target and landed a hefty thump onto his right ear,which sent him sprawling in to the open arms of our Form Master. A sudden deathly hush fell over the crowd and it began to melt away like ice cream in Summer. "You two! Head's office! Now!" The three commands rapped out like a sudden hailstorm on a tin roof, and we pair shuffled off to join the small bunch of other miscreants already "Tapping the boards" ( waiting for the Head Master's Punishment). The odd feeling of detachment was still gripping me, and knowing that our Head Master was a stickler for a smart turn out, I sauntered along to the washroom and scrubbed as much of the dirt off my flushed face as could be seen and replaced my specs. which had been caught by a friend and were miraculously undamaged, and casually sauntered back in time to face the music.

Time, nearly 60 years, has more or less obscured the rest of the day's happenings but I do recall the parting words of the Head....." Don't you ever let down your proud family names again, boys! "

A History Lesson

..... I thought I'd share this recently received and fairly plausible list of how some names and sayings came about.

In The 1500's



The next time you are washing your hands and complain because the water temperature isn't just how you like it, think about how things used to be. Here are some facts about the 1500s:

These are interesting...

Most people got married in June because they took their yearly bath in May, and still smelled pretty good by June. However, they were starting to smell, so brides carried a bouquet of flowers to hide the body odor. Hence the custom today of carrying a bouquet when getting married..


Baths consisted of a big tub filled with hot water. The man of the house had the privilege of the nice clean water, then all theother sons and men, then the women and finally the children. Last of all the babies. By then the water was so dirty you could actually lose someone in it. Hence the saying, Don't throw the baby out with the Bath water..


Houses had thatched roofs-thick straw-piled high, with no wood underneath. It was the only place for animals to get warm, so all the cats and other small animals (mice, bugs) lived in the roof When it rained it became slippery and sometimes the animals would slip and fall off the roof. Hence the saying It's raining cats and dogs.



There was nothing to stop things from falling into the house.. This posed a real problem in the bedroom where bugs and other droppings could mess up your nice clean bed. Hence, a bed with big posts and a sheet hung over the top afforded some protection. That's how canopy beds came into existence.



The floor was dirt. Only the wealthy had something other than dirt. Hence the saying, Dirt poor. The wealthy had slate floors that would get slippery in the winter when wet, so they spread thresh (straw) on floor to help keep their footing.. As the winter wore on, they added more thresh until, when you opened the door, it would all start slipping outside. A piece of wood was placed in the entrance way. Hence the saying a thresh hold.



(Getting quite an education, aren't you?)



Sometimes they could obtain pork, which made them feel quite special.. When visitors came over, they would hang up their bacon to show off. It was a sign of wealth that a man could, bring home the bacon. They would cut off a little to share with guests and would all sit around and chew the fat..



Those with money had plates made of pewter. Food with high acid content caused some of the lead to leach onto the food, causing lead poisoning death. This happened most often with tomatoes, so for the next 400 years or so, tomatoes were considered poisonous.



Bread was divided according to status. Workers got the burnt bottom of the loaf, the family got the middle, and guests got the top, or the upper crust.



Lead cups were used to drink ale or whiskey. The combination would sometimes knock the imbibers out for a couple of days . Someone walking along the road would take them for dead and prepare them for burial. They were laid out on the kitchen table for a couple of days and the family would gather around and eat and drink and wait and see if they would wake up. Hence the custom of holding a wake.



England is old and small and the local folks started running out of places to bury people.. So they would dig up coffins and would take the bones to a bone-house, and reuse the grave. When reopening these coffins, 1 out of 25 coffins were found to have scratch marks on the inside and they realized they had been burying people alive. So they would tie a string on the wrist of the corpse, lead it through the coffin and up through the ground and tie it to a bell..
Someone would have to sit out in the graveyard all night (the graveyard shift.) to listen for the bell; thus, someone could be, saved by the bell or was considered a dead ringer.



And that's the truth...Now, whoever said History was boring ! ! !

Where has all the money gone?

I understand this financial crisis less and less as it drags on from day to day with tales of gargantuan Bank losses, and seemingly concurrent astronomical pay and pension payouts to men who are amongst the authors of this total mess.

Back in the old days ( was it only last year?) the defence of the high pay structures amongst the exalted was, "Pay peanuts and you get monkeys" So what was it they got by not paying peanuts? Criminals? Highly paid clever monkeys?

If the UK's interest rate is at its lowest since the year dot, and the cash ISA which last year paid out a 2 figure sum on my modest savings balance, now pays out the same 2 figure sum in pence not pounds, why is my CC company still saying that their interest rate is 19%?.....Answers on a postcard......!

A Blast from the Past...

I make no apology for stealing, lifting, absconding with, or otherwise purloining, the following from my younger brother's long standing Blog. ( http://mikecunningham.wordpress.com/)

It is, perhaps one of the funniest bits of writing that I've ever come across and well up to his usual high standard of raconteur (ism) !

It's long, but well worth the read..... Take it away Mike!....

A friend and I were idly discussing the one happening in our lives which truly stands out and sticks in our memories. For him, it was watching his son being born; for me, as I was far too chicken to even contemplate viewing any of my own children arriving in this world, it was an episode from my sea-going days.

Our ship was a general cargo jobbie, running out of Liverpool, through the Med., to Greece, Turkey, Romania, Bulgaria and then back home to Liverpool. The scene was the Mediterranean on a Saturday morning, after a cold breakfast, which was the starting point for what became known as “The Galley Stove clean-up”. Our galley-boy, a Barnardo’s orphan, had signed on with our ship as his first trip to sea, and he was always getting into scrapes; not, I would think, intentionally; everything just turned to crap in his fingers! If there was something to be spilled over the food, or kicked off balance, he would do it, he was a natural disaster area! Canny enough lad, not an ounce of harm in his make-up, you just had to watch him like a hawk when he was in the vicinity! He had persuaded firstly the chief cook, then the chief steward and lastly the chief engineer, who really should have known better, that the exhaust pipe leading away from the oil-fired galley range was choked with soot, thus reducing the draught available to let the range get hot, and he was the person to arrange a thorough cleaning of the afore-mentioned stack-pipe!

His preparations were thorough, with all food placed in freezers and fridges, lots of old sheeting placed strategically over flat cooking surfaces to avoid contamination, and in general following the plan agreed between the chief cook and chief steward. Now his plan was truly simple, in that there was to be a hose-pipe connected to the compressed air cylinder in the engine room, the other end of the pipe would be shoved up through the range and into the base of the stack, the air would be turned on and the air would evacuate the choked-up soot from the pipe. In theory, nothing could go wrong, but we, the engineer officers, reckoned we knew better and prepared for some gentle humour! The final phase of the genius’ planning was to unroll the rubber pipe, have it taken along and dropped through the engine room access. The junior engineer on watch was waved across, and the galley boy uttered the immortal words, “The chief engineer says you have to connect this to the compressed air connection.” Now the words which our hero was supposed to have told the junior were ‘Connect to the LP compressed air connection!’ To the uninitiated and non-engineers among my readers, an LP or Low Pressure connection ranged from 14 pounds per square inch (atmospheric pressure) to forty p.s.i., which is a little above the pressure held in a car tyre! The junior attached it rather firmly to the HP or High Pressure connection, rated at 600 p.s.i. which is what we used to start the engine with! Nothing of course is turned on, as yet!

Back at the galley entrance, our hero gets the hosepipe set firmly into the base of the galley stack, the chief and second cooks are standing back towards the rear of the space, and the rest of us are grouped further back on deck, ready to watch the fun! Two deck-hands were positioned at the doorway of the deck and the engine-room access, and at the signal, the call went out, “Open the valve” Now a small engineering lesson is due, in that compressed air valves, by the very nature of what they are holding back, are rather tightly closed, and when the air is required, a pipe-spanner is placed on the wheel rim, and the full weight of the operating engineer swings the valve open, thus ensuring a full blow of, in this case, compressed air at six hundred p.s.i. The junior, who was the only person not in the know about what was happening on deck, duly swung the valve wide open, the air comes blasting along, and the whole of the galley disappeared in an impenetrable black cloud. As we fell about in hysterics, this totally black vision, which turned out to be the chief cook, stumbled out of the galley, swearing vengeance on the galley boy. Behind him came the second cook, who had had the foresight to turn away and close his eyes, which were the only white things on him, and last but definitely not least, the galley boy, also like ‘the Black and White gang’ crawled out on his hands and knees. No-one present would ever forget the immortal words of the second cook, a ‘Scouser’ or native son of Liverpool, spoken five minutes after the disaster after most of us had stopped laughing, when he said, “I’ve been many things in my time, but it’s the first time I’ve ever been second man on a bag of soot!”

Pioneering Spirit... To Boldly Go! (Etc!)

Aha! Good to see that my friends in another forum have caught the Blog Bug and that one of them has consolidated we three pioneers into one posting thus reminding me of the web address of the third, much more prolific Blogger, Scatts.

This young , (well, younger and better looking than me!) Englishman has settled in Warsaw, married a stunning Polish girl and between them, produced the fair " Zosia".. Now, ALL children are beautiful, but Zosia! She takes any of our original standards of beauty and leaves us all gasping in her wake. The Spanish have a word which fits Zosia to a"T".... "Preciosa"

I did warn Scatts, that on his recent holiday in Spain he would have a job to extract Zosia in one piece from her devoted admirers, (hotel staff, people in the street, just about everybody, really!) but judging from his latest photos, he has managed quite well!

Being a very new blogger around these parts, I'm a bit wary of publishing the blog sites of my 2 forum friends without their specific permission. So I'll hold fire with linking their blogs in here until I get that permission .

Nature Notes.....

On my regular golf game this morning, a rare sight of two young roebuck, galloping across the fairway from left to right. They burst out of the woods on our left and must have been so intent on the game of "Chasy" or "Tig" that they were almost upon us, but very late in their run, they suddenly jinked away to their left, and within seconds they were gone! They looked like a pair of very naughty boys out for what ever mischief they could find!

The two mature swans who have taken up an almost permanent residence on the nowadays quite large pond, are great favourites with the golfers and are fed by most of us as we pass by. The male came out to meet us this morning and as my tee shot had landed within 20 foot of his domain, he looked as if he was going to dispute possession! I dug into my bag and tossed a crust of bread to one side, diverting his attention long enough for me to complete my second shot to the green. I was satisfied with my shot and the swan was happy with his bread, so honours even, we passed on our separate ways.

Thanks to a lot of effort by the Greens Staff in draining the recent floods, our course is drying out quite well, and the extra "run" which the hardening ground gives to the ball is a very welcome bonus to we "all year round" golfers. The current spell of comparatively mild, dry weather helps a lot, but there are still some low lying parts of the course which are holding on to the surface water and about to claim the attention of the drainage crews.

The Bike Shed. Or.....

Authorised Erections on the Lawn (Department of.)


On my return home I saw that my bike shed had arrived.....

Secure storage space is at a premium here. I'm the non-too proud possessor of the Smallest Garage in the Western World ,which, when my current buggy, (a Citroen C5 ) is in residence, allows for not a lot of room to put anything else beside it. As I'm currently in an "Exercise Mode" as part of my weight loss programme, regular bike rides have become part of my daily routine. Hence the need to be able to store a bicycle securely and not have to move several pieces of gardening equipment each and every time the bike is needed. Enter the new shed, delivered as a self assembly kit, complete with instructions and diagrams on how to assemble it.

I made a start by unpacking and checking over this quite large plastic wrapped parcel and reading the quite well written instructions. They called for 4 slightly raised and level wooden battens to support the shed's floor section clear of the ground. Not having any suitably sized timber about my person. I turned to my modest collection of house bricks which have been stored in the garden,just waiting patiently for me to "Get a round to them". Selecting 16, I laid them out in 4 rows of 4 and then set to with a will to level them off, Two hours and at least a gallon of hot coffee later the bricks were level ( or as near to level as a blind man on a galloping horse would be able to judge!)and my back was killing me! In the local vernacular, I gave my self a "Sharp Lowse" (To knock off work early) and will continue tomorrow....


Work on the shed progressed well until the time came to attach the side walls. One of them was found to be cracked right through the side frame, where the 1" x 1" softwood batten, was cracked just where a huge knot takes up all of the width and depth of the batten, rendering it useless. The break is just where the lower hinge of the door is designed to go, so something tells me to be very aware of further problems in the quality control department .

Way back in the time of Noah when "Aah wuz nobbut a lad" my foreman in the Carpentry shop impressed up on me the need to take a good while to select timber for any job and to discard anything with knots in it at once, especially if the timber was to be load bearing. These days, that advice would seem to have been long forgotten.

A telephone call got an immediate offer of a replacement, so the shed will have to remain un -erected for now.

'Miss Blyth' Arrives for Lunch

An absolutely pristine morning up here in the far North East of England. One of those brilliantly clear, rain washed skies which wipes away all the memories of the cold, cloudy gloom that we've had for such long time. A light Westerly wind picks the temperature up from an early morning 5C., to the heady heights at noon of 13C!!. Already the locals are responding to the bright weather, on the way to church I spotted 2 open topped cars,with the drivers looking a bit self -concious but at least they're making the effort!.....

The sun streamed through the church's new Rose Window, dramatically illuminating the fair hair of an acolyte as he held the Bible for the Priest, prompting the good Father to remark with a smile, "and the sun shines on the righteous!" :-)

Esther...... Please Sir! Can I have some more?

We're looking after "Miss Blyth"again today. This is Esther, who at 92 lives in sheltered accommodation in town, and has been a long term visitor to us for Sunday lunch. A broken hip last year has slowed her up a lot but has certainly not affected her very healthy appetite. Marjorie and I serve her with a traditional English Sunday Lunch, a roast plus 3-4 fresh vegetables, gravy and the essential ingredient, a Yorkshire pudding. This is followed by an apple tart or if we are really in luck one of Marjorie's "Specials" a fruit crumble "to die for!" We're presented with two completely cleared plates and a bright smile of thanks at the end of the meal. She then returns to her favourite armchair to read the Sunday papers and just maybe "rest her eyes,"( momentarily, of course!)

The Cunningham Brothers

We Three. Self--Mike--Pete.











Peter caught in an interrogative glance at Mike














A benevolent Mike

Introducing Marjorie.......

My wife of almost 28 years ( on 21st March), Marjorie has put up with my tiny foibles in her own inimitable way. (Two words of the wrong sort from me, and it's a swipe with a wet dish cloth !)

Calm and the epitome of dignity, she has kept me solvent and sane since that evening in 1975 when we met........


Ah yes ! I remember it well!



Marjorie






Cue for a song?

He:	She:
We met at nine.	We met at eight.
I was on time.	No, you were late.
Ah yes! I remember it well.
We dined with friends.	We dined alone.
A tenor sang.	A baritone.
Ah yes! I remember it well.
That dazzling April moon!	There was none that night,
	And the month was June.
That's right! That's right!
	It warms my heart to know that
	you remember still the way you do.
Ah yes! I remember it well.
How often I've thought of that Friday,	Monday
night,
when we had our last rendez-vous.
And somehow I've foolishly wondered
if you might by some chance be
thinking of it too?
That carriage ride.	You walked me home.
You lost a glove.	I lost a comb.
Ah yes! I remember it well.
That brilliant sky.	We had some rain.
Those Russian songs.	From sunny Spain.
Ah yes! I remember it well.
You wore a gown of gold.	I was all in blue.
Am I getting old?	Oh no! Not you!
	How strong you were,
	how young and gay;
	A prince of love in every way.
Ah yes! I remember it well

(Acknowledgements to ....... Alan Jay Lerner / Frederick Loewe / Gigi 1958)

Introducing my Family

Only daughter ( by a previous marriage) is Alexandra, and she and her daughter Elaine live in Southern Spain with Husband Roberto.





Here a few pictures taken in December '07 at Alex's Umpty umph birthday! She doesn't look a day over 21!) ;-)


Alex and Roberto run "Los Molinos" Swimming Pool Bar at La Manga Club during the summer months and have themselves a well deserved break during the winter season.

Elaine is nearly 13 and attends the "English School" within La Manga's extensive grounds.


She is very artistic and gained first prize in a province wide art competition with this illustrated short story.

Her Junior School published the results in her "Year Book", and I show it below.........

It translates into English as :-

"The Secret of the Water lilies"

Lunch with Brenda and Bert

One of life's little rewards came our way today.

A while ago I heard of a "Damsel in Distress" living not too far away from me.

The older sister of an Internet forum friend, was, according to her "little brother" Bert, having problems shifting her old washing machine. He lived way "darn sarf", and when I read Bert's posting, which described the way modern life was treating his sister, I made a few indiscreet enquiries and found that "Big Sister" lived just a few miles away from me, here in "Sunny Blyth"

After establishing what the problem was.... The Big, Bad, household goods company were willing to deliver a new washing machine to the lady, but because the wicked "Elf 'n' Safety" Ogre had laid a curse upon the delivery men if they so much as looked at the old machine, never mind disconnect and shift it, a state of impasse existed and Brenda looked like having to pay for the wicked Ogre to lift his curse!

So, girding my loins, ( I've often wondered, does a man gird left over right and a lady right over left? ) I sought the necessary permissions and after a couple of telephone calls which established my "Bona Fides" ( Latin for 'Fido's Bone', innit?) and a few days later, I met Brenda and surveyed the scene of the impasse.

The old machine was 'plumbed in' below the kitchen bench, hard up against the right hand wall on one side and the cooker on the other. Tool selection came next and I reached for my trusty seven iron, ( no, I was not about to emulate Tiger or Sevvy, merely that past experience with my washer, had taught me that an old club's angled face and long handle was just the job for "teasing" the heavy machine out from it's niche in the kitchen's built in 'White Goods' line up)

A couple of tentative wiggles secured the club's head below the machine's leading edge and then a more positive heave succeeded in lifting the machine and levering it out sufficiently for me to grip the top and ease the machine fully out. The water pipe connections were next in line and they came off and the loose ends plunged into a bucket to collect any dribbles. A couple more man sized heaves allowed me to reach the electrical connection, which was (thankfully) a simple removal of a plug from its socket....

Subsequent removal was fairly straightforward, "walking" the machine ( tip the machine back towards oneself so it rests on one lower edge, then tip further up until it rests on one corner. Then swing the machine around and forward and you are "Walking" a washing machine!).

Job done, I had a nice cuppa and a chat with Brenda and I took my leave, reporting success to Bert through the forums. A few days later came an invite for lunch at a time which would co-incide with Bert's next visit to the Frozen North.

Today was picked as suiting all parties and my wife and I had the pleasure of meeting Bert for the first time A very convivial afternoon followed an excellent lunch and the four of us chattered away as if we'd known each other for years.

The DPA and its effects .

Thanks to friends in another forum, and also through a telephone chat with the Head Archivist at the Discovery Museum, my question posed in posting number two has been answered.

Church and Registry Office records, ( Hatches Matches, and Despatches) are already in the public domain and are free to be read by anyone. School Records, Attendance, Medical,and Punishment Books (!!), etc., are obviously more sensitive and could in some cases contain information which could be used against a person. Problem solved.

PC in a museum.

A strange case of PC reared it's baffling head yesterday.

My wife and I visited the Discovery Museum at Blandford Street, Newcastle on Tyne. There she headed straight through the crowds of school kids to the Archives Section and I followed dutifully behind, pausing only to admire the sleek lines of the "Turbinia" once the fastest vessel in the world, which is given pride of place at the entrance.

With 'SWMBO' settled at a microfiche viewer scrolling industriously away through her ancestors' records, I took a browse through the map and street indices of the 40's and 50's. Locating my five homes across Tyneside was easy , and only confirmed what I already knew, that all but the first had been demolished long ago.

Then a thought struck. Why not see if the records of my old Secondary school were held amongst the vast filing systems? A pleasant young lady assistant took my request and promised to bring the records to me. She later appeared with a large book opened at a page and there was my name duly registered as joining the School on the 4th Sept, 1950 and leaving on the 23rd July 1954 . At the end of the line was the curt comment "Completed Course"

Pleased to have found this solitary record of my education, I made to look through the rest of the book, but was firmly refused permission by this still smiling young lady. Her reason? The Data Protection Act of 1972 forbids anyone from perusing those records. Anyone, that is, apart from a policeman bearing a search warrant or a person like myself who could only look at their own name! I copied the sparse information down and handed the bulky volume back to her feeling a bit frustrated. This feeling was not alleviated when I realised that my wife was still scrolling through several hundred copies of Birth and Baptismal certificates and there was no one denying her in her searches. All are allowed free and unfettered access to literally thousands of names and full addresses, names of parents, god-parents, occupations and status. Yet the microscopically brief details of my classmates and I are held for posterity under close guard!

..In The Begining

Welcome to my view on the world.

Starting today, I've decided that I'll post a little of theway I see things.

You may agree with me or you may disagree. Which ever way my postings and views take you please answer and let me know just how much or how little my views are received .

Thank you.