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

.

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.

Home Alone

That's a full week, well 6 days actually, that I've been at home,alone, in sole charge of house, cat, and TV zapper!

This is a regular feature of our year, when Marjorie visits her sister and her family in the Midlands. When the children were young, ( wasn't that just yesterday?) M,'s visit was ostensibly to give the hard pressed parents, both in full time employment, a bit of a break. These days with both children well able to fend for themselves, I think that Great Aunt Marjorie enjoys her time to herself, just as much as I enjoy the experience of just being by myself. I think it has something to do with the fact that we know that the separation will end and we'll pick up our joint lives again quite soon.

The week has just flown by. Three golf matches, a planned visit to the car dealers to get t'buggy MOT'd** ( passed with flying colours!), a re-start to this blog, and generally keeping myself to a normal routine. Although I can cook a simple meal ( meat,& veg,) I soon get tired of the same old, same old, and last evening decided to ring the changes and visit a local restaurant which specialises in 'Mediterranean' cuisine.

It was 'party night' last night, and a noisy 'hen party' was in full swing. Apart from the noise, the rest of the diners were well entertained by some of the antics of the assembled guests. The fashion these days seems to centre on all the female guests of the bride to be, dressing up in some outlandish 'Themed' fancy dress. Last night was 'Cowboy' (or cowgirl) theme, and the sight of several very well endowed young ladies in brief skirts, high heeled boots and 'weskits' which revealed more than they covered, was a fascinating glimpse of "how the other half live!".

I had just done justice to the starters,( calamares, whitebait, and 'pulpo' (octopus), served 'Tapas' style), when the room was literally taken over by a tall young man dressed in a fire fighters' outfit and wielding a large fire hose nozzle. This was of course the male stripper whose manly physique did not a lot for me but sent the already high decibel level from the 'ladies' up to stratospheric altitudes. There are times when it's handy being deaf, and last night was one of them, for with a touch on the "off" button on my hearing aids, all the noise went quiet and I was left to 'enjoy' the rest of the proceedings in utter peace!

Back home to be greeted by 'Monty' our new cat, provided by the Cats Protection people to replace our beloved 'Oscar' after his tragic death last March.

Monty is a dark tabby with green eyes which regard us at times with barely concealed disdain.
He's a silent animal, lithe and very active, with lightning reactions to all stimuli, both real and imagined.

"**MOT'd" for my readers outside the UK ( at last count there was only you Charlie!) ::) refers to the annual roadworthyness test compulsory for all UK cars over 3 years old.

A re-start to blogging

Over a year has gone by and my blog just sat there, waiting like a faithful hound for my return. Well, now I'm back, a bit older but it would seem no wiser or in any way better looking!

A year of highs and lows, all unreported, except to a select company of people on a web forum. The highs included a visit to my family in Spain where my granddaughter is growing rapidly into a beautiful young lady.

Elaine at 13 years

The lowest part of the year had to be that dreadful day, March 4th, when I reversed my car over our pet cat, Oscar, killing him instantly.





I don't want to dwell on that for obvious reasons, suffice to say that the phrase "If only" was getting to be used an awful lot across the weeks that followed.

Those two extremes apart, my 14 months of blog abstinence has passed very quickly, and life continues to treat me well.





Oscar.

 

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......!