There is an immense difference in games that children currently play and those played when I was a child. Obviously technology plays a not inconsiderable part in all walks of life today including children's games. Obviously there are things like Xbox, Nintendo etc but even simple games such a Battleships is now controlled by a little electronic chip. Back when I was a kid there was no such thing as chips unless they came from the local chippy at 3d a bag - that about 1.5p in today's terms!
So what sort of games did we play? Most were very simple and required a minimum of things for the players to acquire. The simplest were sometimes the best and could be played impromptu because all they required was just some other kids! One such was a great favourite of mine, British Bulldog. For those unfamiliar with the game it required no set number of players and just some open space either outdoors or in a lrge indoor area such as a school hall. One player was initially selected to be the bulldog with object of catching one of the others as they all attempted to run past. Any caught player then joined the initial bulldog until all had been caught then it started again ad infinitum, usually until most of the players were called home by their parents or there was an excess of casualties to render ant further paly impossible. Needless to say most participants often bore some evidence of having played this boisterous game in the form of assorted grazes, bruises or torn clothing!
Ice hockey was very popular post-war with quite a few professional teams in Britain. Naturally many youngsters liked ice hockey even if they had never seen it and wanted to play their own version. One inherent problem was the obvious lack of a suitably frozen area for the majority of the year especially in the long school summer break. The next ideal place was a school playground but they were mostly out of bounds outside school hours and also invariably with locked gates. Nothing else for it but to play in the street then. Equipment was simple, most had roller skates, not of the rubber wheeled variety which were a luxury and only for rich kids but of the steel wheeled kind which were very noisy on any hard surface.
The other essentials included a stick which was generally a domestic broom unless your Dad made one for you from an old broom handle and a piece of wood for the blade. The final necessity was a puck which inevitably was a round two ounce tobacco tin which were always fairly esaily available.
The teams would be picked and play would begin, in my case on the road outside where I lived. The goals were in the ubiquitous form of two coats placed some feet apart at either end of the deemed playing area. A referee never figured in the game, decisions being made by popular opinion according to local rules. The reader is best left to imagine the amount of noise generated by some dozen or more pairs of steel wheeled skates; an empty tin being whacked around sliding on the road surface and the inevitable yelling and shouting that accompanied play. The duration of the game was often determined by the noise level tolerance of those who lived either side of the pitch!
Games involving a tennis ball were perennially popular because the basic equipment need could be carried about in a pocket. Dancing Dollies was quite popular if there was a blank wall available, preferably not the end of house otherwise play could well be foreshortened by the irate inhabitants. One player was selected as the thrower, the rest lined up against the wall. When play was signaled those against started dancing about with the object of avoiding being hit by the ball from the thrower. Those hit withdrew until that game was over until there was only one left against the wall, that player then became the thrower and play recommenced.
An all to obvious game to which I shall briefly allude was football using a tennis ball wit the advantage that it could be played almost anywhere. Not liking football I was never involved thankfully!
There was a hybrid game of football and cricket that I enjoyed, again requiring just a tennis ball, some players and again a blank wall. A crude representation of cricket stumps would be chalked on the wall and a bowling crease at a pre-determined distance. Despite shortages of many things and rationing still in force there never seemed to be a hint of a chalk shortage. Two teams were picked and tossed to determine which side would bat, often the toss was not made with a coin as most if not all of us would not have such a thing so a cigarette card would suffice. The 'batsman' stood in front of the wicket, when the ball was bowled the idea was to try to kick the ball away and make runs between the wicket and the bowling crease. Again, umpiring decisions were made by popular opinion and local custom. The innings was ended when the last man was out then the erstwhile bowling side would bat. Game was over when local residents had had enough, too few players being left due to having been called home or a more interesting attraction appealed, often a steam lorry delivering coal, the dustmen or a motor car which were quite uncommon then.
Another favourite was a local version of tennis, the game being known due to one or two households in the street having the luxury of a television set and their kids having seen Wimbledon on it. The street again was the favoured playing area and the only equipment needed was a tennis ball and a skipping rope, the latter usually being begged, stolen or borrowed from one of the player's sisters. The rope was used to denote the net when laid across the road between the kerbs. Court boundaries were the kerbs and twitems of clothing placed on the kerbs at either end. Hands were used as bats, play started and points awarded for your opponent failing to return the ball or hitting same out of play. The official tennis coring system was an utter mystery to all of us so we scored on the basis of table tennis to twenty one points.
In our particular street new sewers had been recently laid in the centre of the road with nice new tarmac laid to cover the trenches and interspersed at regular intervals by big, shiny, round manhole covers. Shortly after completion of these works it was obvious that not only had new sewers been laid but also our very own race circuit à la Ben Hur so the first races were naturally enough roller skates again. When local intolerance to the noise became too great we retrieved our bicycles and tricycles and hod our very own cycle speedway track.
Another game was particularly popular during winter and short daylight hours, that of Knock Down Ginger. For those unfamiliar with the concept one the gang would knock on a door, run away and hide with rest and observe the hapless house owner's reaction. Greater sport was to be had by knocking on the same dorr a number of times but there was the hazard of increased possible retribution.
It is quite sad that many of these games are no longer played for reasons of security of youngsters playing out in the street or safety considerations by various authorities. A sad indictment of modern times when was had in very simplistic ways.
An occasional rambling of unrelated events, thoughts and trivia ... Please feel free to leave comments as you wish!
Saturday, 23 October 2010
Friday, 22 October 2010
Hold very tight please ...
In a previous blog there has been mention of a conductor who would do anything to avoid doing a full days duty, well, here's another classic from Douggie's fertile yet devious imagination.
Two thirds the way through our duty for this day Douggie decides he doesn't fancy doing all of the last trip. En route we should pass our change over point where we will be relieved on our return, the journey beyond and return is only about thirty minutes in total. It's a nice easy run from Stamford Hill to Finsbury Park and back. Douggie's latest devious scheme is unknown to me as we ease away from Aldgate bus station on the edge of the City of London towards north London.
W've pulled up at the stop outside the Case is Altered pub in the Whitechapel Road, almost opposite the renowned London Hospital. As I glance into the nearside mirror I see my conductor alight and head towards shops adjacent to the pub, I assume that he has gone to buy essential supplies in the form of twenty Embassy cigarettes. A minute or so later he returns leaving me waiting for the double bell start signal.
Whilst waiting I have a quick look in the nearside mirror again and see passengers alighting from the platform, not just a few but every single one as a glance through the bus shows. 'Here we go again' I thought wondering what was happening this time. Said conductor appeared at the front of the bus and leaned on the bonnet, I opened the cab window and was told that we shall have to wait here until all of our passengers have been transferred to another bus as ours is unfit for service due to vomit on the stairs.
A peremptory inspection of the stairs showed indeed that that the great British traveling public could not ride on our bus. Shortly all passengers had been transferred so my conductor wandered off to phone our home garage to appraise them of the potential delight awaiting the cleaning crew on our return. During his trip to the phone box a Revenue Inspector from another bus came up and asked waht was the problem. He seemed reluctant to accept my version and just had to go and check for himself. My scheming crewmate returned to find the Revenue man throwing up on the stairs saying that our instructions were to take the bus to Ash Grove garage, about halfway between our location and our home garage at Stamford Hill.
Having arrived at Ash Grove our next task is to find the cleaning crew or anyone on the inside staff for that matter, not easy seeing as it is now their official meal relief. Having been told in various ways, polite or otherwise, to go away and wait for about half an hour there was only one thing to be done - retire to the canteen for a cuppa.
Thirty minutes or so elapsed and the inside staff drifted back into the garage. The shift foreman came to assess our problem and stated in no uncertain terms that his men would not clean the offending mess oon the stairs as it was not one of their buses and that we were to return to our home garage. Thus we did as bid and set off on the road again.
Our arrival at Stamford Hill garage was greeted with an air of total indifference by the inside staff who were adamant that the matter of cleaning should be reported to the garage foreman. Eventually this lofty representative of engineering authority was located and acquainted with our dilemma whereupon we were instructed to retire to the canteen and would be told when the vehicle was again fit for service.
Some twenty or so minutes nd yet another cup of tea later the message came that we should return tour bus and continue on our way. So, we dparted from the garage and drove to Stamford Hill Broadway which was the nearest inspector's point to the garage where we needed to seek his decision as to the remainder of our duty. We were now almost an hour late of our scheduled finishing time so were instructed to return to the garage and find the crew due to take over this vehicle which we duly did.
The outcome of Douggie's little scheme was not that we finished early but an hour late. Naturally this extra hour was overtime so we happily took the proffered overtime docket payable at time and a half and handed it iin to the traffic office. End of another interesting day ...
Not the end of the tale however. Just before I went to my car in the car park my mate let me in on a secret. When he had alighted in the Whitechapel Road to purchase what I assumed to be cigarettes was not in fact so. What he had actually bought was a jar of Heinz Vegetables in Gravy baby food and ditributed the contents over the stairs!
Two thirds the way through our duty for this day Douggie decides he doesn't fancy doing all of the last trip. En route we should pass our change over point where we will be relieved on our return, the journey beyond and return is only about thirty minutes in total. It's a nice easy run from Stamford Hill to Finsbury Park and back. Douggie's latest devious scheme is unknown to me as we ease away from Aldgate bus station on the edge of the City of London towards north London.
W've pulled up at the stop outside the Case is Altered pub in the Whitechapel Road, almost opposite the renowned London Hospital. As I glance into the nearside mirror I see my conductor alight and head towards shops adjacent to the pub, I assume that he has gone to buy essential supplies in the form of twenty Embassy cigarettes. A minute or so later he returns leaving me waiting for the double bell start signal.
Whilst waiting I have a quick look in the nearside mirror again and see passengers alighting from the platform, not just a few but every single one as a glance through the bus shows. 'Here we go again' I thought wondering what was happening this time. Said conductor appeared at the front of the bus and leaned on the bonnet, I opened the cab window and was told that we shall have to wait here until all of our passengers have been transferred to another bus as ours is unfit for service due to vomit on the stairs.
A peremptory inspection of the stairs showed indeed that that the great British traveling public could not ride on our bus. Shortly all passengers had been transferred so my conductor wandered off to phone our home garage to appraise them of the potential delight awaiting the cleaning crew on our return. During his trip to the phone box a Revenue Inspector from another bus came up and asked waht was the problem. He seemed reluctant to accept my version and just had to go and check for himself. My scheming crewmate returned to find the Revenue man throwing up on the stairs saying that our instructions were to take the bus to Ash Grove garage, about halfway between our location and our home garage at Stamford Hill.
Having arrived at Ash Grove our next task is to find the cleaning crew or anyone on the inside staff for that matter, not easy seeing as it is now their official meal relief. Having been told in various ways, polite or otherwise, to go away and wait for about half an hour there was only one thing to be done - retire to the canteen for a cuppa.
Thirty minutes or so elapsed and the inside staff drifted back into the garage. The shift foreman came to assess our problem and stated in no uncertain terms that his men would not clean the offending mess oon the stairs as it was not one of their buses and that we were to return to our home garage. Thus we did as bid and set off on the road again.
Our arrival at Stamford Hill garage was greeted with an air of total indifference by the inside staff who were adamant that the matter of cleaning should be reported to the garage foreman. Eventually this lofty representative of engineering authority was located and acquainted with our dilemma whereupon we were instructed to retire to the canteen and would be told when the vehicle was again fit for service.
Some twenty or so minutes nd yet another cup of tea later the message came that we should return tour bus and continue on our way. So, we dparted from the garage and drove to Stamford Hill Broadway which was the nearest inspector's point to the garage where we needed to seek his decision as to the remainder of our duty. We were now almost an hour late of our scheduled finishing time so were instructed to return to the garage and find the crew due to take over this vehicle which we duly did.
The outcome of Douggie's little scheme was not that we finished early but an hour late. Naturally this extra hour was overtime so we happily took the proffered overtime docket payable at time and a half and handed it iin to the traffic office. End of another interesting day ...
Not the end of the tale however. Just before I went to my car in the car park my mate let me in on a secret. When he had alighted in the Whitechapel Road to purchase what I assumed to be cigarettes was not in fact so. What he had actually bought was a jar of Heinz Vegetables in Gravy baby food and ditributed the contents over the stairs!
Wednesday, 20 October 2010
Problems ...
It seems that Britain is not the only country suffering domestic difficulties in these financially austere days. The ministerial statement in the mother of parliaments today seems not to have quelled potential disquiet in various sections of the electorate.
There is a similar situation currently here in France and for a somewhat similar reason, the government wishes to raise the retirement age by two years, yes, two whole years! This has brought about a series of fairly devastating one day strikes each week since the beginning of September as yet to little avail. Naturally, as is the way with such things when a lack of progress is made, the strikes and protests escalate. During the past couple of weeks fuel supply depots have been targeted throughout the whole of the country with the inevitable fuel shortages resulting. Currently some forty per cent of all filling stations are reported as having run out of supplies. Thankfully, as I write, our region has barely felt the effects so far.
The government have decided that blockading supplies is not on so have sent in the CRS, that's the French police heavy mob, to persuade the picketers to desist from their chosen action. Yesterday three fuel depots were recipients of the attention from the CRS, all three depots resumed supplying retailers.
Will the government eventually cave in over the proposed changes? Possibly as historically there is not a one hundred per cent record of forcing change when faced with protest and civil unrest. I suspect that that government hesitancy owes not a little to the events of 1789, the time of the French Revolution.
There is also a supply problem with other carbon fuels, particularly heating oil something which is commonly used for central heating systems due to a fairly sparse national gas network. The further north in country is obviously a little colder than here in the southwest and its citizens are naturally feeling the combined effects of winter's onset and a lack of fuel. Gallic people are not without resourcefulness and solve this lack of warmth by going out onto the streets. Surely that defeats the object of attempting to stay warm, does it not? No, is the answer. The simple solution is to gather in neighbourly groups and stand around a nice blazing fire in the middle of the road created by setting fire to the odd car or two!
Who knows how and where this present dispute will end, my euro is not on the side of the government.
There is a similar situation currently here in France and for a somewhat similar reason, the government wishes to raise the retirement age by two years, yes, two whole years! This has brought about a series of fairly devastating one day strikes each week since the beginning of September as yet to little avail. Naturally, as is the way with such things when a lack of progress is made, the strikes and protests escalate. During the past couple of weeks fuel supply depots have been targeted throughout the whole of the country with the inevitable fuel shortages resulting. Currently some forty per cent of all filling stations are reported as having run out of supplies. Thankfully, as I write, our region has barely felt the effects so far.
The government have decided that blockading supplies is not on so have sent in the CRS, that's the French police heavy mob, to persuade the picketers to desist from their chosen action. Yesterday three fuel depots were recipients of the attention from the CRS, all three depots resumed supplying retailers.
Will the government eventually cave in over the proposed changes? Possibly as historically there is not a one hundred per cent record of forcing change when faced with protest and civil unrest. I suspect that that government hesitancy owes not a little to the events of 1789, the time of the French Revolution.
There is also a supply problem with other carbon fuels, particularly heating oil something which is commonly used for central heating systems due to a fairly sparse national gas network. The further north in country is obviously a little colder than here in the southwest and its citizens are naturally feeling the combined effects of winter's onset and a lack of fuel. Gallic people are not without resourcefulness and solve this lack of warmth by going out onto the streets. Surely that defeats the object of attempting to stay warm, does it not? No, is the answer. The simple solution is to gather in neighbourly groups and stand around a nice blazing fire in the middle of the road created by setting fire to the odd car or two!
Who knows how and where this present dispute will end, my euro is not on the side of the government.
Tuesday, 19 October 2010
Useless
Just fell to wondering how many useless things there are around.
A farmer friend many years ago would express a useless item thus "'Bout as much use as udders on a bull!". Very fair comment methinks.
Of course there are the more common allegories alluding to assorted chocolate items including teapots, teacups and fireguards. Another is suggesting that an ashtray on a motorcycle is somewhat redundant, always assuming that the rider is a smoker.
I've encountered a goodly number of useless things during my life. One that comes to mind was once actually very useful. When moved to France we brought all manner of things with us including a paste table. Very useful you may say but not in our current house. We live in a delightful, four hundred year old stone pigeonnier whose original purpose was to house homing pigeons. The only problem is that not only is the house of stone construction with walls some eighteen thick, very picturesque indeed but the interior walls are also stone of assorted sizes. Wallpaper? You must be joking!
Other useless impedimenta that I have purchased over the years includes quite a few kitchen items, I love cooking and am a sucker for kitchen gadgets. A few have proved very useful, some even indispensable but the majority have found their way to the dustbin.
Today I encountered another really useless item, well, two in fact. Quite costly too at some five billion pounds sterling for the two. The items in question are two new aircraft carriers for Her Majesty's Royal Navy neither of which will be equiooed with aircraft for at least ten years, in fact one will be mothballed as soon as it is completed.
Anyone want to buy an aircraft carrier, delivery mileage only, one careful owner Offers to Liam Fox, defence Secretary, Whitehall, London, SW1.
A farmer friend many years ago would express a useless item thus "'Bout as much use as udders on a bull!". Very fair comment methinks.
Of course there are the more common allegories alluding to assorted chocolate items including teapots, teacups and fireguards. Another is suggesting that an ashtray on a motorcycle is somewhat redundant, always assuming that the rider is a smoker.
I've encountered a goodly number of useless things during my life. One that comes to mind was once actually very useful. When moved to France we brought all manner of things with us including a paste table. Very useful you may say but not in our current house. We live in a delightful, four hundred year old stone pigeonnier whose original purpose was to house homing pigeons. The only problem is that not only is the house of stone construction with walls some eighteen thick, very picturesque indeed but the interior walls are also stone of assorted sizes. Wallpaper? You must be joking!
Other useless impedimenta that I have purchased over the years includes quite a few kitchen items, I love cooking and am a sucker for kitchen gadgets. A few have proved very useful, some even indispensable but the majority have found their way to the dustbin.
Today I encountered another really useless item, well, two in fact. Quite costly too at some five billion pounds sterling for the two. The items in question are two new aircraft carriers for Her Majesty's Royal Navy neither of which will be equiooed with aircraft for at least ten years, in fact one will be mothballed as soon as it is completed.
Anyone want to buy an aircraft carrier, delivery mileage only, one careful owner Offers to Liam Fox, defence Secretary, Whitehall, London, SW1.
Monday, 18 October 2010
Lunch
After the family the next most important thing in France seems to be lunch. It is a quintessential component of everyday life, generally being taken as the main meal of the day rather than dinner later in the day.
Yesterday we had lunch in the village hall with our local Troisiéme Age which is our equivalent of the UK's University of the Third Age albeit with a more social aspect rather than learning one. There was a wonderful atmosphere right from the beginning with some hundred and twenty participants chatting with groups of friends. Socialising is an essential thing and although the do was scheduled for mid-day nobody was seated until an hour or so later.
Almost any sort of social function inevitably begins with an aperetif often of kir, a white wine with a dash of blackcurrant juice - if you have never tried it then please do, a subtle blend of two flavours that tickles the palate.
Starter was cream of asparagus soup, still have yet to discover where on earth asparagus is found at this time of the year because very little is imported and is in season only during the spring. I'm not a lover of that vegetable but in all fairness the soup was very pleasant, in fact I enjoyed it!
Second course was sole meuniére, that's poached dover sole in a lemon butter sauce. Since childhood I have never been a fish lover and passed on this offering despite being assured by all that it was excellent. The meat course of spit roasted veal followed accompanied by sauté potatoes and stuffed tomatoes, all superbly cooked and full of flavour. To my great surprise, and probably many others too, the ubiquitous french beans were not on offer!
Next to arrive was the cheese, brie, roquefort and chevre (a goat's cheese) with the usual lettuce in a vinaigrette. Dessert then followed, which is slightly cart about horse to British minds used to cheese to finish. The menu declared it to be Omelette Norvegiénne that translates literally as Norwegian Omelette which would seem a little odd for a dessert. The term norvegiénne usually indicates a fish dish often salmon in some form but neither fish nor omelette are involved, instead the nearest it can be likened to is an unrolled and flat Arctic Roll. Whatever it was it was delicious and not enough of it.
The final parts of the lunch were brandy and coffee. Forgot to mention that unstinting measures of wine was served throughout the meal, red and rosé.
There was entertainment between courses of a female singer with traditional French songs, she had a superb voice and was very well received. Finally we said farewells some five hours later, returning home well fed and content with the world at large. Oh, I forgot to mention the cost, it was an excessive €9!
Yesterday we had lunch in the village hall with our local Troisiéme Age which is our equivalent of the UK's University of the Third Age albeit with a more social aspect rather than learning one. There was a wonderful atmosphere right from the beginning with some hundred and twenty participants chatting with groups of friends. Socialising is an essential thing and although the do was scheduled for mid-day nobody was seated until an hour or so later.
Almost any sort of social function inevitably begins with an aperetif often of kir, a white wine with a dash of blackcurrant juice - if you have never tried it then please do, a subtle blend of two flavours that tickles the palate.
Starter was cream of asparagus soup, still have yet to discover where on earth asparagus is found at this time of the year because very little is imported and is in season only during the spring. I'm not a lover of that vegetable but in all fairness the soup was very pleasant, in fact I enjoyed it!
Second course was sole meuniére, that's poached dover sole in a lemon butter sauce. Since childhood I have never been a fish lover and passed on this offering despite being assured by all that it was excellent. The meat course of spit roasted veal followed accompanied by sauté potatoes and stuffed tomatoes, all superbly cooked and full of flavour. To my great surprise, and probably many others too, the ubiquitous french beans were not on offer!
Next to arrive was the cheese, brie, roquefort and chevre (a goat's cheese) with the usual lettuce in a vinaigrette. Dessert then followed, which is slightly cart about horse to British minds used to cheese to finish. The menu declared it to be Omelette Norvegiénne that translates literally as Norwegian Omelette which would seem a little odd for a dessert. The term norvegiénne usually indicates a fish dish often salmon in some form but neither fish nor omelette are involved, instead the nearest it can be likened to is an unrolled and flat Arctic Roll. Whatever it was it was delicious and not enough of it.
The final parts of the lunch were brandy and coffee. Forgot to mention that unstinting measures of wine was served throughout the meal, red and rosé.
There was entertainment between courses of a female singer with traditional French songs, she had a superb voice and was very well received. Finally we said farewells some five hours later, returning home well fed and content with the world at large. Oh, I forgot to mention the cost, it was an excessive €9!
Saturday, 16 October 2010
Honesty
To use a hackneyed cliché 'honesty is the best policy', oft quoted in my formative years by parents and family. As a child the truth in that phrase was obvious and just one of the many dictums with which I was brought up. that particular ethic was fine until one day found me in hot water at school, not with authority, but with some classmates because when asked of any knowledge of a particular incident I was honest. Much to my chagrin I was ostracised by a number of them for several days until the episode faded into relative oblivion.
Soon came the realisation that on occasion a half truth or a little white lie was a better option in avoiding potential conflict and given that no harm was caused by them then that was acceptable.
Many of the sports headlines today are about the Arsenal manager Arsene Venger who has publicly admitted lying about team matters. Apparently he has on aoccasion suggested that players have had minor injuries and are unable to play due to those injuries. Some of these statements he now admits were lies because he wanted to 'protect' players, presumably from unwanted media attention and speculation because they needed some personal space for purely private reasons.
This admission in itself is very honest and admirable and must surely be applauded because he is being truthful. The question is now will media opinion in particular turn against him for his honesty in telling the truth about lies?
What a dichotomy - the poor man has been castigated for lying and could now well be treated in the same undeserved manner for being honest and truthful. That is a grossly unfair way in which to treat anyone let alone someone who stands out as a well mannered and reasonable man amongst his peers.
Soon came the realisation that on occasion a half truth or a little white lie was a better option in avoiding potential conflict and given that no harm was caused by them then that was acceptable.
Many of the sports headlines today are about the Arsenal manager Arsene Venger who has publicly admitted lying about team matters. Apparently he has on aoccasion suggested that players have had minor injuries and are unable to play due to those injuries. Some of these statements he now admits were lies because he wanted to 'protect' players, presumably from unwanted media attention and speculation because they needed some personal space for purely private reasons.
This admission in itself is very honest and admirable and must surely be applauded because he is being truthful. The question is now will media opinion in particular turn against him for his honesty in telling the truth about lies?
What a dichotomy - the poor man has been castigated for lying and could now well be treated in the same undeserved manner for being honest and truthful. That is a grossly unfair way in which to treat anyone let alone someone who stands out as a well mannered and reasonable man amongst his peers.
Friday, 15 October 2010
Genealogy
Now that sounds dry and boring does it not? OK, let's call it something else - how about Family History instead, beginning to sound less uninteresting is it not? I used to think that genealogy was the dry stuff of academics and for royalty and toffs but my opinion has changed diametrically. The BBC series of WHo Do you Think You Are whilst interesting and some cases almost compelling has not really influenced my awakened interest in the subject. The awakening was brought about by my wife and curiosity about her parents and background. The most obvious facts and events were known as far back as her grandparents but there was an impenetrable veil beyond that generation.
The problem was where to begin, there is just so much advice on the Web which can be confusing to the novice. The first essential is to choose a suitable site that specialises in family history and research and allows the building of a family tree to record your research. Then begins the interesting bit, doing the actual research.
Generally it is much easier to trace a family tree backwards from the present time rather than the reverse. There is however a difficulty with uncovering facts from the last one hundred years or so. Agreed that records of births , marriages and deaths are readily available but the information gleaned from those sources may be a little sparse.
The most commonly used resource are UK national censuses which contain much useful information, unfortunately the latest available is the one conducted in 1911 as later censuses are still inaccessible due to the law restricting some information less than one hundred years old.
A good source of information is within the family itself from older relatives but with my wife's family there was very little forthcoming as like many families there was reluctance to talk about "things". SO it was down to searching online via census records.
We knew where her parents were born and when, although her mother had knocked ten years off her age which did not initially help! Within a few weeks we had managed to go back about six generations and unearthed all sorts of things. Distant relatives include several of the Tolpuddle Martyrs who stirred the beginnings of the Trades Union movement and were transported to Australia for their ideals. The earliest ancestors have been traced back to the early 1500s in the Dorset area, there is more to discover but the further back the reasearch the more difficult it becomes but that is the joy of the challenge.
As to my side of the family there were splits and schisms from the time of my parents going back several generations so little was known as one party did not talk to others and vice versa. Rumour abounded with dark hints of skeletal remains in cupboards, initially potential research looked difficult because there was little hard information as an actual starting point. After many false starts the right trail was finally discovered and although it is a very ordinary family the history is fascinating as there is a real insight as to many facets of ancestor's lives.
For quite a while there was a brick wall that seemed impossible to break through then suddenly there was contact from a fellow subscriber of a genealogy website. The actual information was not in itself earth shattering and seemed unimportant at the time. What I had actually been given was a metaphorical key to a door, all that remained was to find the door that the key fitted.
Some weeks later the door was found and the key fitted. As a result I have now definitively traced my blood ancestors back to the year 1010 AD living in Normandy, France backed by documentary evidence. This person was known as le Compte d'Oise and is recorded as having been part of William the Conqueror's invasion force in 1066.
More recent ancestors have largely lived in a small area of Suffolk until the mid-nineteenth century when there was a considerable population migration from the land to London due to the expansion of the railways and better paying work there.
Much more remains to be discovered and with the approach of winter it is a great way to spend time delving into the past.
The problem was where to begin, there is just so much advice on the Web which can be confusing to the novice. The first essential is to choose a suitable site that specialises in family history and research and allows the building of a family tree to record your research. Then begins the interesting bit, doing the actual research.
Generally it is much easier to trace a family tree backwards from the present time rather than the reverse. There is however a difficulty with uncovering facts from the last one hundred years or so. Agreed that records of births , marriages and deaths are readily available but the information gleaned from those sources may be a little sparse.
The most commonly used resource are UK national censuses which contain much useful information, unfortunately the latest available is the one conducted in 1911 as later censuses are still inaccessible due to the law restricting some information less than one hundred years old.
A good source of information is within the family itself from older relatives but with my wife's family there was very little forthcoming as like many families there was reluctance to talk about "things". SO it was down to searching online via census records.
We knew where her parents were born and when, although her mother had knocked ten years off her age which did not initially help! Within a few weeks we had managed to go back about six generations and unearthed all sorts of things. Distant relatives include several of the Tolpuddle Martyrs who stirred the beginnings of the Trades Union movement and were transported to Australia for their ideals. The earliest ancestors have been traced back to the early 1500s in the Dorset area, there is more to discover but the further back the reasearch the more difficult it becomes but that is the joy of the challenge.
As to my side of the family there were splits and schisms from the time of my parents going back several generations so little was known as one party did not talk to others and vice versa. Rumour abounded with dark hints of skeletal remains in cupboards, initially potential research looked difficult because there was little hard information as an actual starting point. After many false starts the right trail was finally discovered and although it is a very ordinary family the history is fascinating as there is a real insight as to many facets of ancestor's lives.
For quite a while there was a brick wall that seemed impossible to break through then suddenly there was contact from a fellow subscriber of a genealogy website. The actual information was not in itself earth shattering and seemed unimportant at the time. What I had actually been given was a metaphorical key to a door, all that remained was to find the door that the key fitted.
Some weeks later the door was found and the key fitted. As a result I have now definitively traced my blood ancestors back to the year 1010 AD living in Normandy, France backed by documentary evidence. This person was known as le Compte d'Oise and is recorded as having been part of William the Conqueror's invasion force in 1066.
More recent ancestors have largely lived in a small area of Suffolk until the mid-nineteenth century when there was a considerable population migration from the land to London due to the expansion of the railways and better paying work there.
Much more remains to be discovered and with the approach of winter it is a great way to spend time delving into the past.
Thursday, 14 October 2010
Soon
Earlier this year we had to to have our cat Socks put to sleep because of an inoperable tumour. She was fifteen years old, we'd had her since she was about a year old and was a sweet, affectionate cat with very much her own personality and character.
Almost a year ago our other cat Smudge went out late on afternoon, never to return. We searched for her, placed posters locally, all to no avail.
Both were and are very much missed as we both are very fond of cats because they are great company, amusing, sometimes annoying and almost part of the family.
Once various short trips away are over we shall be able to settle down for the winter. Then we shall be able to begin looking for two more cats, preferably kittens from the same litter so that they can grow up together with us. Those of you who have or appreciate cats will understand, those who do not just do not know what you are missing!
Almost a year ago our other cat Smudge went out late on afternoon, never to return. We searched for her, placed posters locally, all to no avail.
Both were and are very much missed as we both are very fond of cats because they are great company, amusing, sometimes annoying and almost part of the family.
Once various short trips away are over we shall be able to settle down for the winter. Then we shall be able to begin looking for two more cats, preferably kittens from the same litter so that they can grow up together with us. Those of you who have or appreciate cats will understand, those who do not just do not know what you are missing!
Tuesday, 12 October 2010
Universities and the current crisis
Not often that I commit thoughts of a vaguely political nature to the unsuspecting world at large but today is one of those occasions.
The opportunity for me to go to university arose almost unexpectedly when I was in my late forties thanks to a unique combination of circumstances, an opportunity for which I was very grateful. Albeit I was somewhat of a late starter as my school headmaster tried to persuade me not leave at the end of the lower sixth form. That as they say is history.
To come up up to date there is now a furore in full flow as to how higher education should be funded, should it be the taxpayer or the student are the only two realistic sources. Currently the talk is that future students might be faced with a university debt of anything up to sixty thousand pounds, not necessarily even on graduating because a number will drop out before the end of their studies.
How on earth did this crazy situation arise? Debate currently centres around the belief that there may be an excess of university aspirants causing the problem allied with a cut in state funding. SO far so good perhaps but the beginning of this fiasco lies a little further back in time. Tony Blair in his vision of equality for all decreed that at least fifty per cent of all school leavers should benefit from a university education, in itself a seemingly wonderful ideal. It does not, however, take much cerebral power to question this proposed golden future as to the viability of the 'one size fits all' approach. Prior to this pronouncement by the way only five percent of people in Britain were graduates, shortly to be superceded by half of the population.
The first and most obvious matter is the logistics of this utopia, how will it be funded, from where will the additional accommodation and staff magically appear. Given that this particular obstacle is successfully overcome then the next problem is where are all the jobs requiring a degree to be found or created, certainly not within the present and near future framework of the national economy.
A further and almost insurmountable problem is that because of a flood of graduates into the employment market potential employers will obviously be faced with better qualified candidates for all vacancies. No longer will applicants with several A Levels be considered for jobs as there are better qualified alternatives available. The domino effect is obvious for all to see. For example whereas once upon a time little if any qualification was required to stack tins in a supermarket there is a possibilty that many better educated folk will be doing that same job because the "better" jobs are not there for the asking. Competition for vacancies will increase and many will be disappointed eventually pondering whether the time and expense of gaining a degree was really worth the time, trouble, expense and effort.
SO why his specific current problem? Political expediency, short-termism and possibly self interest. What a way to run a country.
The opportunity for me to go to university arose almost unexpectedly when I was in my late forties thanks to a unique combination of circumstances, an opportunity for which I was very grateful. Albeit I was somewhat of a late starter as my school headmaster tried to persuade me not leave at the end of the lower sixth form. That as they say is history.
To come up up to date there is now a furore in full flow as to how higher education should be funded, should it be the taxpayer or the student are the only two realistic sources. Currently the talk is that future students might be faced with a university debt of anything up to sixty thousand pounds, not necessarily even on graduating because a number will drop out before the end of their studies.
How on earth did this crazy situation arise? Debate currently centres around the belief that there may be an excess of university aspirants causing the problem allied with a cut in state funding. SO far so good perhaps but the beginning of this fiasco lies a little further back in time. Tony Blair in his vision of equality for all decreed that at least fifty per cent of all school leavers should benefit from a university education, in itself a seemingly wonderful ideal. It does not, however, take much cerebral power to question this proposed golden future as to the viability of the 'one size fits all' approach. Prior to this pronouncement by the way only five percent of people in Britain were graduates, shortly to be superceded by half of the population.
The first and most obvious matter is the logistics of this utopia, how will it be funded, from where will the additional accommodation and staff magically appear. Given that this particular obstacle is successfully overcome then the next problem is where are all the jobs requiring a degree to be found or created, certainly not within the present and near future framework of the national economy.
A further and almost insurmountable problem is that because of a flood of graduates into the employment market potential employers will obviously be faced with better qualified candidates for all vacancies. No longer will applicants with several A Levels be considered for jobs as there are better qualified alternatives available. The domino effect is obvious for all to see. For example whereas once upon a time little if any qualification was required to stack tins in a supermarket there is a possibilty that many better educated folk will be doing that same job because the "better" jobs are not there for the asking. Competition for vacancies will increase and many will be disappointed eventually pondering whether the time and expense of gaining a degree was really worth the time, trouble, expense and effort.
SO why his specific current problem? Political expediency, short-termism and possibly self interest. What a way to run a country.
Monday, 11 October 2010
Hot from the grapevine
Well, actually from Bergerac, the airport that is rather than the grapevine. Read on because you just ain't gonna believe this ...
Bergerac airport is closed today for all flights. No, not because of the general, one day strike of civil servants protesting about possible retirement and pension changes, that' this coming Wednesday. This time it is an air traffic control dispute.
Bergerac airport has one, yes just one, air traffic controller. He decided this morning that he is withdrawing his labour due to a recently introduced flight landing at 0730 a.m. and is objecting to being forced to get up early because of this new arrival. As yet it is unclear as to the possible duration of this independent action, potentially could last days ...
Aha, I hear you cry! He is surely in breach of contract and therefore should be dismissed from his position. Good thinking Batman - unfortunately this guy is a fonctionaire, a civil servant, and as such dismissal is as likely as Ed Balls becoming Prime Minister tomorrow. Should dismissal occur then the possible wave of sympathy strikes is too awful to even contemplate virtually ensuring the lone strikers job security.
Of course there are and will be knock-on effects. A flight due in from Southampton at 1300 this afternoon has been diverted to Bordeaux airport some 120km west of Bergerac. Unfortunately there is not a landing slot available there until midnight tonight so coaches will be provided to transfer hapless passengers to Bergerac airport arriving there around 0130.
What a way to ru(i)n a country ...
Bergerac airport is closed today for all flights. No, not because of the general, one day strike of civil servants protesting about possible retirement and pension changes, that' this coming Wednesday. This time it is an air traffic control dispute.
Bergerac airport has one, yes just one, air traffic controller. He decided this morning that he is withdrawing his labour due to a recently introduced flight landing at 0730 a.m. and is objecting to being forced to get up early because of this new arrival. As yet it is unclear as to the possible duration of this independent action, potentially could last days ...
Aha, I hear you cry! He is surely in breach of contract and therefore should be dismissed from his position. Good thinking Batman - unfortunately this guy is a fonctionaire, a civil servant, and as such dismissal is as likely as Ed Balls becoming Prime Minister tomorrow. Should dismissal occur then the possible wave of sympathy strikes is too awful to even contemplate virtually ensuring the lone strikers job security.
Of course there are and will be knock-on effects. A flight due in from Southampton at 1300 this afternoon has been diverted to Bordeaux airport some 120km west of Bergerac. Unfortunately there is not a landing slot available there until midnight tonight so coaches will be provided to transfer hapless passengers to Bergerac airport arriving there around 0130.
What a way to ru(i)n a country ...
It's coming ...
... winter that is. Not yet but all the portents are here, trees and bushes turning from their summer greens into a wonderfully diverse palate of reds and browns that are truly magnificent. Makes a Dulux colour chart look almost monochrome by comparison.
Local farmers are harvesting the last of summer's crops particularly sunflowers and maize, much ploughing, harrowing and other activity is going on too with winter wheat and barley being sown. Some are preparing deep litter byres so that cattle will be sheltered from the worst of winter's elements, I shall miss seeing those wonderfully huge Aquitaine Blonde cows in their pastures.
Several species of birds have already migrated for warmer climes in particular the spectacular looking hoopoes with a red crest that looks something akin to a miniature Marigold glove. Others are returning to overwinter, already the robin that lives in our hedge is back as are some great, blue and coal tits. Must remember to stock up on fat balls for them, they enjoy pecking at them and we love watching them on the bird feeder.
Little furry things are also preparing for the cold season. There are fewer mole hills being thrown up around our house now, our neighbours cats are catching fewer mice, voles and shrews as they are getting winter quarters ready. It is also the time of year that edible dormice are seeking snug places to retreat into, they just love domestic roof spaces. Several have tried to lodge in our upper bedroom roof in the past week but we have managed to thwart them so far by leaving a radio playing loud French pop music all day in the room. They are nocturnal and hate being disturbed during the day and find any sort of noise particularly a nuisance. If the loud sound of the radio were to be insufficient in itself then French pop music will certainly have the desired effect - it is dire, seriously awful even by comparison to the Anglo-American fare.
The French government was recently very concerned at the state of their popular music industry because listeners and buyers express an overwhelming preference for non-domestic genres and issued a decree that every music radio station must play at least ten minutes music from the home industry every hour! Protectionism or desperation?
Time too to put away summer clothing for warmer things, put the carpet back down in the sitting room, winterize the rest of the house, start getting a supply of good books and jigsaw puzzles in which will all be in turn swapped amongst friends winter progresses.
The good thing is that winter does not really begin here until mid-late November and is usually done by the end of February. We live in a very rural and sparsely populated area where it is not only the wildlife that hibernates but the population as well except for the odd essential foray to the shops.
The final event that evidences the onset of winter is arriving hopefully tomorrow in the form of a farm wagon load of oak for our fuel store. There is nothing quite like a gorgeous, roaring and blazing log fire to make a person feel snug and contented along with a decent cuppa nd the odd medicinal brandy.
Happy winter everyone ...
Local farmers are harvesting the last of summer's crops particularly sunflowers and maize, much ploughing, harrowing and other activity is going on too with winter wheat and barley being sown. Some are preparing deep litter byres so that cattle will be sheltered from the worst of winter's elements, I shall miss seeing those wonderfully huge Aquitaine Blonde cows in their pastures.
Several species of birds have already migrated for warmer climes in particular the spectacular looking hoopoes with a red crest that looks something akin to a miniature Marigold glove. Others are returning to overwinter, already the robin that lives in our hedge is back as are some great, blue and coal tits. Must remember to stock up on fat balls for them, they enjoy pecking at them and we love watching them on the bird feeder.
Little furry things are also preparing for the cold season. There are fewer mole hills being thrown up around our house now, our neighbours cats are catching fewer mice, voles and shrews as they are getting winter quarters ready. It is also the time of year that edible dormice are seeking snug places to retreat into, they just love domestic roof spaces. Several have tried to lodge in our upper bedroom roof in the past week but we have managed to thwart them so far by leaving a radio playing loud French pop music all day in the room. They are nocturnal and hate being disturbed during the day and find any sort of noise particularly a nuisance. If the loud sound of the radio were to be insufficient in itself then French pop music will certainly have the desired effect - it is dire, seriously awful even by comparison to the Anglo-American fare.
The French government was recently very concerned at the state of their popular music industry because listeners and buyers express an overwhelming preference for non-domestic genres and issued a decree that every music radio station must play at least ten minutes music from the home industry every hour! Protectionism or desperation?
Time too to put away summer clothing for warmer things, put the carpet back down in the sitting room, winterize the rest of the house, start getting a supply of good books and jigsaw puzzles in which will all be in turn swapped amongst friends winter progresses.
The good thing is that winter does not really begin here until mid-late November and is usually done by the end of February. We live in a very rural and sparsely populated area where it is not only the wildlife that hibernates but the population as well except for the odd essential foray to the shops.
The final event that evidences the onset of winter is arriving hopefully tomorrow in the form of a farm wagon load of oak for our fuel store. There is nothing quite like a gorgeous, roaring and blazing log fire to make a person feel snug and contented along with a decent cuppa nd the odd medicinal brandy.
Happy winter everyone ...
Friday, 8 October 2010
Retirement, pensions et al ...
When I was a child the majority of boys, when asked what they would like to be said "An engine driver". It seemed so exciting that perhaps you could drive a huge, shiny monster engine like the famous Mallard. Sadly today the most common response to the same question is the ambition to be a celebrity or in common parlance 'a sleb' with a spaceman trailing a distant second. Presumably the overwhelming reason for the former choice is to lead what is seen as a glamourous and wealthy lifestyle.
Pose the same question here in France today and an overwhelming seventy nine per cent of youngsters want to be a civil servant - a fonctionaire. Why on earth would moat youngsters desire a civil service job? Simple answer really, retire at fifty five years of age with a superb indexed pension. That luxury not only includes the pen pushers but military and emergency services, health staff and professionals and local government employees as well. The number employed in these sectors is immense, currently just over twenty per cent of the working population.
There are rumblings of discontent in the UK, mainly from the trades unions, about possible proposed changes to the retirement age and the future value of pensions. It is obvious that change must happen and soon, given the usual apathetic attitudes of the population at large the proposals will be enforced with just a few minimal changes.
Here, over the channel, similar changes are being mooted by Sarkozy and company with the inevitable clamour from the trades unions and those with vested interests in maintaining the status quo. There is a fundamental difference however between the two countries, already there has been three separate days of national strikes bringing the country to a standstill. Allied with these strikes are demonstrations throughout the country with up to three million workers out on the streets each time. There are more to come, the next within a few days.
Historically concerted civil action has resulted in changes to the proposed new regimes whether mildly diluted or abandoned totally, sometimes in almost indecent haste as happened several years ago with proposed changes to under 25s employment policy.
Why does popular opinion often seem to carry the day? Maybe French politicians are more aware that re-election is not guaranteed if the electorate are displeased. There is another reason often quoted that there was major civil unrest many years ago in 1789 when the French Revolution toppled the then existing hierarchy of nobility, church and state. This fait accompli by the bourgoisie is thought to lurk in the inner recesses of the collective political mind which has little appetite for such another upheaval and thus propsed poitical excesses may be tempered.
Popular opinion seems to indicate the belief that the severest excesses of the new proposals on pensions and retirement age will at worst be more than somewhat amended, at best swept under the carpet never to be seen or heard of again.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not openly advocating a people's revolution in Britain but perhaps a little less overall apathy and acceptance might not be such a bad thing ...
Pose the same question here in France today and an overwhelming seventy nine per cent of youngsters want to be a civil servant - a fonctionaire. Why on earth would moat youngsters desire a civil service job? Simple answer really, retire at fifty five years of age with a superb indexed pension. That luxury not only includes the pen pushers but military and emergency services, health staff and professionals and local government employees as well. The number employed in these sectors is immense, currently just over twenty per cent of the working population.
There are rumblings of discontent in the UK, mainly from the trades unions, about possible proposed changes to the retirement age and the future value of pensions. It is obvious that change must happen and soon, given the usual apathetic attitudes of the population at large the proposals will be enforced with just a few minimal changes.
Here, over the channel, similar changes are being mooted by Sarkozy and company with the inevitable clamour from the trades unions and those with vested interests in maintaining the status quo. There is a fundamental difference however between the two countries, already there has been three separate days of national strikes bringing the country to a standstill. Allied with these strikes are demonstrations throughout the country with up to three million workers out on the streets each time. There are more to come, the next within a few days.
Historically concerted civil action has resulted in changes to the proposed new regimes whether mildly diluted or abandoned totally, sometimes in almost indecent haste as happened several years ago with proposed changes to under 25s employment policy.
Why does popular opinion often seem to carry the day? Maybe French politicians are more aware that re-election is not guaranteed if the electorate are displeased. There is another reason often quoted that there was major civil unrest many years ago in 1789 when the French Revolution toppled the then existing hierarchy of nobility, church and state. This fait accompli by the bourgoisie is thought to lurk in the inner recesses of the collective political mind which has little appetite for such another upheaval and thus propsed poitical excesses may be tempered.
Popular opinion seems to indicate the belief that the severest excesses of the new proposals on pensions and retirement age will at worst be more than somewhat amended, at best swept under the carpet never to be seen or heard of again.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not openly advocating a people's revolution in Britain but perhaps a little less overall apathy and acceptance might not be such a bad thing ...
Tuesday, 5 October 2010
Ding, ding, hold very tight please!
One conductor that I worked with for a while was always looking for any way to avoid actually doing what he was employed and paid for - collecting the appropriate fare from passengers and ensuring that his end of the bus was conducted in an orderly fashion!
This particular day saw us at Hammond Street about six miles north of Waltham Cross. There was about ten minutes stand time before we were due off again so time for a quick cuppa from the ancient Transit mobile caff that was there during the day. I wandered and got the teas in while Dougie went to view the countryside about a hundred yards away from the other side of the hedge. A few minutes later he rejoined me and we sat slurping and chatting until our departure time.
As i walked round the front of the bus to get into the cab it seemed to have a slightly lop-sided appearance, closer investigation revealed that the offside front tyre was flat. Obviously a phone call to the engineers at Ponders End Garage was needed so ambled off to the nearest phone box at the Rising Sun pub a good quarter of a mile away.
The conversation with the engineering foreman was the usual terse affair with me being told that we would have to wait as the early engineering shift was about end and the late shift had yet to start work.
Having broken the good news to Dougie we adopted Plan B, have another cup of tea, a fag and wait patiently in the warm afternoon sun, Dougie seemed to have a slight incontinence problem that afternoon and ambled off to admire the countryside again. He reckoned that it was a stroke of good fortune that the tyre was flat at the very time that the early and late engineering shifts were changing over and that we would be further delayed because of this inconvenience. He then just dropped into the conversation that as we were due to finish our duty at Ponders End on the way back from our destination at Warren Street, near the GPO Tower, that with a bit of luck, there would be insufficient time for us to go anywhere apart from back to the garage.
Some fifty minutes elapsed before the repair crew arrived in a type of bus that was not used on this particular route so we could not swap vehicles and continue on our merry little way. A very large trolley jack and spare wheel was unloaded and the mechanics jacked up the front of the bus and then looked slightly perplexed.
"Where's the wheel brace," asked one.
"Dunno, you chucked it on" came the reply.
A search of the other bus revealed no trace of the missing tool.
"Better phone the shed then" said one, so they drove their bus down to the pub to make the necessary and probably slightly embarrassing call. It is probably discreet not to speculate on the actual dialogue during this interaction as it may well have contained what is politely known as 'industrial language'.
A polite enquiry upon their return elicited the fact that another bus was being despatched from the garage with a wheel brace, Again it would be impolite to my readers to quote the reply verbatim.
Around thirty minutes later yet another bus of unsuitable type arrived with a driver and his mate. Why two fitters you may ask? Simple, the bus was of a traditional London open platform type and the second employee was aboard to ensure that potential passengers did not leap aboard at traffic lights etc and also ensure that the wheel brace did not fall of the back of the bus.
A further twenty minutes elapsed before we were able to continue our interrupted journey. Eventually we reached our home depot to be told by the inspector on duty that it was pointless resuming our duty as there was insufficient time left to achieve anything useful. So we knocked off twenty minutes early and celebrated with another cuppa in the canteen. Whilst enjoying the delights of London Transport tea Dougie took out his diary along with which a tyre dust cap complete with valve key on the end fell to the floor. I retrieved it and just smiled as I handed it back to him ...
This particular day saw us at Hammond Street about six miles north of Waltham Cross. There was about ten minutes stand time before we were due off again so time for a quick cuppa from the ancient Transit mobile caff that was there during the day. I wandered and got the teas in while Dougie went to view the countryside about a hundred yards away from the other side of the hedge. A few minutes later he rejoined me and we sat slurping and chatting until our departure time.
As i walked round the front of the bus to get into the cab it seemed to have a slightly lop-sided appearance, closer investigation revealed that the offside front tyre was flat. Obviously a phone call to the engineers at Ponders End Garage was needed so ambled off to the nearest phone box at the Rising Sun pub a good quarter of a mile away.
The conversation with the engineering foreman was the usual terse affair with me being told that we would have to wait as the early engineering shift was about end and the late shift had yet to start work.
Having broken the good news to Dougie we adopted Plan B, have another cup of tea, a fag and wait patiently in the warm afternoon sun, Dougie seemed to have a slight incontinence problem that afternoon and ambled off to admire the countryside again. He reckoned that it was a stroke of good fortune that the tyre was flat at the very time that the early and late engineering shifts were changing over and that we would be further delayed because of this inconvenience. He then just dropped into the conversation that as we were due to finish our duty at Ponders End on the way back from our destination at Warren Street, near the GPO Tower, that with a bit of luck, there would be insufficient time for us to go anywhere apart from back to the garage.
Some fifty minutes elapsed before the repair crew arrived in a type of bus that was not used on this particular route so we could not swap vehicles and continue on our merry little way. A very large trolley jack and spare wheel was unloaded and the mechanics jacked up the front of the bus and then looked slightly perplexed.
"Where's the wheel brace," asked one.
"Dunno, you chucked it on" came the reply.
A search of the other bus revealed no trace of the missing tool.
"Better phone the shed then" said one, so they drove their bus down to the pub to make the necessary and probably slightly embarrassing call. It is probably discreet not to speculate on the actual dialogue during this interaction as it may well have contained what is politely known as 'industrial language'.
A polite enquiry upon their return elicited the fact that another bus was being despatched from the garage with a wheel brace, Again it would be impolite to my readers to quote the reply verbatim.
Around thirty minutes later yet another bus of unsuitable type arrived with a driver and his mate. Why two fitters you may ask? Simple, the bus was of a traditional London open platform type and the second employee was aboard to ensure that potential passengers did not leap aboard at traffic lights etc and also ensure that the wheel brace did not fall of the back of the bus.
A further twenty minutes elapsed before we were able to continue our interrupted journey. Eventually we reached our home depot to be told by the inspector on duty that it was pointless resuming our duty as there was insufficient time left to achieve anything useful. So we knocked off twenty minutes early and celebrated with another cuppa in the canteen. Whilst enjoying the delights of London Transport tea Dougie took out his diary along with which a tyre dust cap complete with valve key on the end fell to the floor. I retrieved it and just smiled as I handed it back to him ...
Monday, 4 October 2010
Missing Things
No, I haven't lost anything specific despite what some may say or think ...
This is more about things that I thought that I might miss once we had made the move to France and things that I actually miss now that we have lived here for almost six years. The difference between thought and reality can sometimes vary quite a lot.
Things that I thought that I would miss:
Roast potatoes - I just love roast potatoes along with a Sunday roast and leftover roasties cold from the fridge for breakfast the next day;
Fish & chips - Oh god I adore battered cod & chips;
Public Library - obviously provides a good source of English reading material;
English television - particularly motorcycle racing and F1 GP, apart from anything else it helps keep in touch with the UK;
Motorcycle racing - been involved one way or another for very many years;
Decent pint of real ale - what else is there to say;
Easy shopping - shops open virtually 24/7;
Friends and family - obviously;
What do I actually miss?
Friends and family, not as much as I thought I might because many make the trip to stay with us occasionally which is great!
Roasts etc - silly me. Why on earth did I think that there would be no more roast dinners? Just because roast dinners are virtually unknown to the French does not mean that we go without!
Public Library and books etc - This turned out to be the silver lining within a grey cloud because I rapidly improved French reading ability due to an interest in the French WWII Resistance and the occupation of France. There are just so many books etc available about the subject which I devoured quite rapaciously, now reading in the local language is almost as easy as reading English. We have a daily local newspaper and occasional magazines too;
Fish & Chips - Deliciously sorted! We have become friends with an English couple who run a bistro, gites, B&B and camping site nearby. Back in the UK they were senior managers for a well known pub chain and have fish and chip evenings which are better than many fish shops back there. Additional bonus is that there are also regular Indian and Chinese nights too;
English television - not a problem as we have a Sky Box with FTA reception. Added bonus is that we also have French tele as well:
Shopping - Shops here close 12 - 3 for lunch, all closed by early evening, very few open on Sundays and a number remain closed on Mondays as well. Took some getting used to and needed almost military planning for the first year or so. Now not a problem, in fact we prefer it because we are not rushing about for every little item that we may have forgotten as back there;
Motorcycle racing - yes, I do miss that as we can only get to one or two meetings each year due to distances involved here. But I have a treat at the end of each season and travel to UK for a superb end of season meeting and catch up with friends there. Sometimes less can be more!
Real beer - again not a problem because I have discovered the joys and delights of Chimay Blue Label beer from Belgium, truly nectar of the gods. Speaking of which I am about to open one now - cheers!
This is more about things that I thought that I might miss once we had made the move to France and things that I actually miss now that we have lived here for almost six years. The difference between thought and reality can sometimes vary quite a lot.
Things that I thought that I would miss:
Roast potatoes - I just love roast potatoes along with a Sunday roast and leftover roasties cold from the fridge for breakfast the next day;
Fish & chips - Oh god I adore battered cod & chips;
Public Library - obviously provides a good source of English reading material;
English television - particularly motorcycle racing and F1 GP, apart from anything else it helps keep in touch with the UK;
Motorcycle racing - been involved one way or another for very many years;
Decent pint of real ale - what else is there to say;
Easy shopping - shops open virtually 24/7;
Friends and family - obviously;
What do I actually miss?
Friends and family, not as much as I thought I might because many make the trip to stay with us occasionally which is great!
Roasts etc - silly me. Why on earth did I think that there would be no more roast dinners? Just because roast dinners are virtually unknown to the French does not mean that we go without!
Public Library and books etc - This turned out to be the silver lining within a grey cloud because I rapidly improved French reading ability due to an interest in the French WWII Resistance and the occupation of France. There are just so many books etc available about the subject which I devoured quite rapaciously, now reading in the local language is almost as easy as reading English. We have a daily local newspaper and occasional magazines too;
Fish & Chips - Deliciously sorted! We have become friends with an English couple who run a bistro, gites, B&B and camping site nearby. Back in the UK they were senior managers for a well known pub chain and have fish and chip evenings which are better than many fish shops back there. Additional bonus is that there are also regular Indian and Chinese nights too;
English television - not a problem as we have a Sky Box with FTA reception. Added bonus is that we also have French tele as well:
Shopping - Shops here close 12 - 3 for lunch, all closed by early evening, very few open on Sundays and a number remain closed on Mondays as well. Took some getting used to and needed almost military planning for the first year or so. Now not a problem, in fact we prefer it because we are not rushing about for every little item that we may have forgotten as back there;
Motorcycle racing - yes, I do miss that as we can only get to one or two meetings each year due to distances involved here. But I have a treat at the end of each season and travel to UK for a superb end of season meeting and catch up with friends there. Sometimes less can be more!
Real beer - again not a problem because I have discovered the joys and delights of Chimay Blue Label beer from Belgium, truly nectar of the gods. Speaking of which I am about to open one now - cheers!
Sunday, 3 October 2010
Sales Rep's Story
For a number of years I worked very happily as a sales rep in the retail motorcycle trade in and around the London area, it was great fun and ended when the recession of the early nineties blew in and blew out many jobs.
Whilst waiting for the stores manager in a dealers in NW London I was smoking the inevitable cigarette and drinking coffee. The sales assistant and I were chatting when a motorcycle courier breathlessly rushed in. "Got any bungee straps?" he asked the assistant.
"How long do you want it?" was the reply.
"Nah, wanna keep it mate!"
_____________________________________________
Another dealers and yet more coffee and nicotine. Enter another courier minus jacket and helmet with very oily hands. "Got an adjustable spanner?"
"Yeh, metric or imperial?" came the response.
"Dunno, it's for a Honda."
"Right it's metric that you want then."
The assistant wandered off into the stores at the back of the shop, returning a minute or so later with the requested item and placed it on the counter. "There you are, that'll be £7.27, you want a bill I suppose?"
"Course I do" said the oily handed one.
Money and receipt changed hands, then the assistant said "By the way, it's your lucky day mate, that's the last metric one we had in stock!"
Exit one grateful courier leaving me in helpless giggles ...
____________________________________________________________
Sitting in my rep's car in the Marylebone Road one morning, the traffic was almost solid and barely moving. The lane to my offside was going slightly faster than the one I was in but I decided to stay in that lane.
IN my offside mirro I saw a rather battered Renault Fuego creeping past. One headlight was broken and the nearside headlight was broken. As it slid further past the nearside looked as though it had been made from corrugated iron sheeting, multi-coloured and rusty.
Once past me I saw that the rear bumper was missing and one rear light was broken. Then I noticed the sticker in the rear window, it read:
"IN GOD WE TRUST"
Right made my day that did!!!
_____________________________
Finally, yet again in a traffic queue, this time in Great Portland Street I noticed a large luton van parked in the kerb. The back was very grimy underneath which was a closed roller shutter. Inscribed in the dirt on the shutter was the following: "Beware, Bulk Marmalade Delivery".
_____________________________
Whilst waiting for the stores manager in a dealers in NW London I was smoking the inevitable cigarette and drinking coffee. The sales assistant and I were chatting when a motorcycle courier breathlessly rushed in. "Got any bungee straps?" he asked the assistant.
"How long do you want it?" was the reply.
"Nah, wanna keep it mate!"
_____________________________________________
Another dealers and yet more coffee and nicotine. Enter another courier minus jacket and helmet with very oily hands. "Got an adjustable spanner?"
"Yeh, metric or imperial?" came the response.
"Dunno, it's for a Honda."
"Right it's metric that you want then."
The assistant wandered off into the stores at the back of the shop, returning a minute or so later with the requested item and placed it on the counter. "There you are, that'll be £7.27, you want a bill I suppose?"
"Course I do" said the oily handed one.
Money and receipt changed hands, then the assistant said "By the way, it's your lucky day mate, that's the last metric one we had in stock!"
Exit one grateful courier leaving me in helpless giggles ...
____________________________________________________________
Sitting in my rep's car in the Marylebone Road one morning, the traffic was almost solid and barely moving. The lane to my offside was going slightly faster than the one I was in but I decided to stay in that lane.
IN my offside mirro I saw a rather battered Renault Fuego creeping past. One headlight was broken and the nearside headlight was broken. As it slid further past the nearside looked as though it had been made from corrugated iron sheeting, multi-coloured and rusty.
Once past me I saw that the rear bumper was missing and one rear light was broken. Then I noticed the sticker in the rear window, it read:
"IN GOD WE TRUST"
Right made my day that did!!!
_____________________________
Finally, yet again in a traffic queue, this time in Great Portland Street I noticed a large luton van parked in the kerb. The back was very grimy underneath which was a closed roller shutter. Inscribed in the dirt on the shutter was the following: "Beware, Bulk Marmalade Delivery".
_____________________________
Saturday, 2 October 2010
Further Tales of an Old Bus Driver ...
One of my favourite routes as a driver was the 217 road out of Ponders End Garage that ran between Turnpike Lane Underground Station and Upshire, a 1960s housing development on the edge of Epping Forest and beyond Waltham Abbey. It was an enjoyable route because from a semi-rural setting it gradually became more urban the nearer Turnpike Lane became.
So there was my conductor and I sitting inside the bus at the outer end of the route waiting for our departure time, some ten minutes or so away. We were the only ones on board then my conductor had an idea which I agreed to. Jock, my crewmate and I swapped uniform jackets complete with appropriate PSV badges and I also donned his ticket machine, harness and cash bag then we sat down again and continued chatting inconsequentially.
Departure time - eight or nine individual passengers seated in the lower saloon where we were when I said "Jock, what's it like to drive one of these?"
"Easy" he said, "Why?"
"Don't suppose there's a chance that I could have a go? Nobody will know ..."
"We'll have to swap uniforms," Jock replied.
So that's what we did accompanied by odd looks from some of the passengers. A quick lesson from me how to use the ticket machine was followed by a reciprocal one about the controls in the driver's cab. I went round to the front of the bus and was helped into the cab and given a little more 'tuition'.
Ding, ding went the bell and of we went. At our destination we went into the staff canteen for a quick cuppa where Jock said that there was obvious concern by the passengers from some of remarks that he overheard. A few minutes later and we were away again on our happy way.
The following Friday morning at the garage and the garage manager wanted to us both, individually. My turn first, knocked on his office door and a gruff voice bellowed "Come." I entered, went to sit down and was promptly told "Driver, you do not sit down unless asked and even more so when you are in trouble."
My best air of injured innocence was adopted and said "Trouble guv? Me?"
Several sheets of paper were picked up from the manager's desk and quickly shuffled through, it appeared that there had been several public complaints about our little stunt, can't imagine why even now. My version of events was sought and given, after all it could not be denied. The guv's face was becoming redder, his breathing a little harder and his humour was certainly not improving when he leapt from his chair and shouted that he had never in all of his LT career heard of such a thing.
At this outburst I became just a tad worried wondering what the penalty might be for this prank. Ernie, for that was the governor's name, just as suddenly sat down again behind his desk. Clasping his hands he stared quite long and hard at me, then his expression relaxed a little. Drawing a deep breath he suddenly broke out into a great gale of laughter which took me by complete surprise as you may imagine.
"Driver," he said after regaining a little dignity, "Consider yourself well and truly bollocked. My report will say that you have received a verbal reprimand. Now get out of my office!"
Having muttered thanks I did as bid and retreated hastily, once outside I drew a great breath of relief.
Jock had a very similar interview with Ernie and the same outcome thankfully. We both retreated to the security of the staff canteen and our workmates for breakfast as well as a cuppa or two.
Just another eventful epîsode in the life of a London bus driver. Happy days ...
So there was my conductor and I sitting inside the bus at the outer end of the route waiting for our departure time, some ten minutes or so away. We were the only ones on board then my conductor had an idea which I agreed to. Jock, my crewmate and I swapped uniform jackets complete with appropriate PSV badges and I also donned his ticket machine, harness and cash bag then we sat down again and continued chatting inconsequentially.
Departure time - eight or nine individual passengers seated in the lower saloon where we were when I said "Jock, what's it like to drive one of these?"
"Easy" he said, "Why?"
"Don't suppose there's a chance that I could have a go? Nobody will know ..."
"We'll have to swap uniforms," Jock replied.
So that's what we did accompanied by odd looks from some of the passengers. A quick lesson from me how to use the ticket machine was followed by a reciprocal one about the controls in the driver's cab. I went round to the front of the bus and was helped into the cab and given a little more 'tuition'.
Ding, ding went the bell and of we went. At our destination we went into the staff canteen for a quick cuppa where Jock said that there was obvious concern by the passengers from some of remarks that he overheard. A few minutes later and we were away again on our happy way.
The following Friday morning at the garage and the garage manager wanted to us both, individually. My turn first, knocked on his office door and a gruff voice bellowed "Come." I entered, went to sit down and was promptly told "Driver, you do not sit down unless asked and even more so when you are in trouble."
My best air of injured innocence was adopted and said "Trouble guv? Me?"
Several sheets of paper were picked up from the manager's desk and quickly shuffled through, it appeared that there had been several public complaints about our little stunt, can't imagine why even now. My version of events was sought and given, after all it could not be denied. The guv's face was becoming redder, his breathing a little harder and his humour was certainly not improving when he leapt from his chair and shouted that he had never in all of his LT career heard of such a thing.
At this outburst I became just a tad worried wondering what the penalty might be for this prank. Ernie, for that was the governor's name, just as suddenly sat down again behind his desk. Clasping his hands he stared quite long and hard at me, then his expression relaxed a little. Drawing a deep breath he suddenly broke out into a great gale of laughter which took me by complete surprise as you may imagine.
"Driver," he said after regaining a little dignity, "Consider yourself well and truly bollocked. My report will say that you have received a verbal reprimand. Now get out of my office!"
Having muttered thanks I did as bid and retreated hastily, once outside I drew a great breath of relief.
Jock had a very similar interview with Ernie and the same outcome thankfully. We both retreated to the security of the staff canteen and our workmates for breakfast as well as a cuppa or two.
Just another eventful epîsode in the life of a London bus driver. Happy days ...
Friday, 1 October 2010
Franglais
Miles Kington I hear you say and his wonderful series of Franglais books published in the 1980s. Not so in this case! For just over a year now I have been organising a French/English conversation group in a local village and we began our new year a couple of weeks ago.
The basic idea is obviously gaining practice in speaking and understanding our mutual languages in a friendly atmosphere. Allied with the former skills the group also improves accent, pronunciation, written and grammar skills and above all gaining confidence in the use of another language. Given regular attendees a superb rapport has grown and now the evenings are as much a social event as a learning one.
The ideal evening is a more or less equal number of both French and English folk seated two by two at tables, that is generally the norm. That is the usual Plan 'A'. Last night some minutes after the due start time I was faced with somewhat of a problem in that there were twelve eager English people and just three French. It will be appreciated that this is somewhat of an imbalance in numbers to the optimum.
Plan 'B' was put into motion - wait a couple of minutes more to see if more Français arrive ...
Hmmm, after said couple of minutes the situation had not improved.
Time for Plan 'C' as matters had degenerated further with the arrival of two more UK expats. Thus a start was made in trying to arrange suitable groupings of four which meant there was a ratio at each table of 3:1 in favour of the expats.
Quick scratch of the head, think on feet, can't let the evening go further downhill. The assembled an eager throng were asked if anyone had any surplus French bods about their persons but sadly was met with a negative response.
Emergency Plan 'Z' was ultimately deployed. Several Anglais, whose French skills are reasonable, were signed up as honorary Français for the duration. Thus the session commenced.
There was a certain confusion at some stages of the evening due to minor unforeseen language difficulties from the honorary number, however the volume of chatter and giggling during the evening seemed to indicate that everyone had enjoyed themselves despite the initial problems. Let's hope that our absent friends find their way back next week to this local seat of learning ...
Having returned home and had a medicinal Armagnac or two I mentally picked through the wreckage of what seemed at the time like a minor train crash. Evidently most if not all had enjoyed the evening, had learnt various facets of each others language and departed happily.
Anyway have any spare French folk stashed away surplus to requirements?
The basic idea is obviously gaining practice in speaking and understanding our mutual languages in a friendly atmosphere. Allied with the former skills the group also improves accent, pronunciation, written and grammar skills and above all gaining confidence in the use of another language. Given regular attendees a superb rapport has grown and now the evenings are as much a social event as a learning one.
The ideal evening is a more or less equal number of both French and English folk seated two by two at tables, that is generally the norm. That is the usual Plan 'A'. Last night some minutes after the due start time I was faced with somewhat of a problem in that there were twelve eager English people and just three French. It will be appreciated that this is somewhat of an imbalance in numbers to the optimum.
Plan 'B' was put into motion - wait a couple of minutes more to see if more Français arrive ...
Hmmm, after said couple of minutes the situation had not improved.
Time for Plan 'C' as matters had degenerated further with the arrival of two more UK expats. Thus a start was made in trying to arrange suitable groupings of four which meant there was a ratio at each table of 3:1 in favour of the expats.
Quick scratch of the head, think on feet, can't let the evening go further downhill. The assembled an eager throng were asked if anyone had any surplus French bods about their persons but sadly was met with a negative response.
Emergency Plan 'Z' was ultimately deployed. Several Anglais, whose French skills are reasonable, were signed up as honorary Français for the duration. Thus the session commenced.
There was a certain confusion at some stages of the evening due to minor unforeseen language difficulties from the honorary number, however the volume of chatter and giggling during the evening seemed to indicate that everyone had enjoyed themselves despite the initial problems. Let's hope that our absent friends find their way back next week to this local seat of learning ...
Having returned home and had a medicinal Armagnac or two I mentally picked through the wreckage of what seemed at the time like a minor train crash. Evidently most if not all had enjoyed the evening, had learnt various facets of each others language and departed happily.
Anyway have any spare French folk stashed away surplus to requirements?
Wednesday, 29 September 2010
At last ...
... another exciting episode! Lack of content was due to having relatives from UK stay for a few days and very agreeable it was too. Good company and conversation as well as several excellent meals out.
At last, also, it seems that use of a workshop at home is becoming a strong possibility, something that I have missed very badly since we moved here from the UK over five years ago. Back then many happy and some frustrating hours were spent building scale working models of boats, particularly Thames Sailing Barges in half inch to the foot scale - the end product being some forty to forty five inches in length.
There is a local equivalent of the Thames barge in our area known as a gabarre with a single square set sail which were used for taking wine from the region down the rivers Dordogne or Garonne to Bordeaux for shipping mainly to England but other countries as well. Today the surviving few gabarres are used to provide visitors with trips on the rivers with a guide pointing out items of interest as well as offering an excellent lunch during the trip.
A gabarre may well emerge from the workshop at some future date to be taken to our local lake for its maiden voyage. Fortunately there are a good number of plans to work from available on the Web as well as excellent photographs to add realistic detail. Should keep me out of mischief for a while ...
However I am in advance of myself, because firstly a workbench is more than necessary. Fortuitously Lidl have an offer tomorrow of two steel foldng trestles for less than twenty pounds which will make excelent supports for a kitchen worktop currently on special offer at a local DIY shed. No, at the offer price I don't give a damn what colour it is!
So back to making woodshavings and sawdust in the near future and losing all sense of time in a renewed hobby ...
"Oi! Yer dinner's ready"
"Yes dear"
Two and a bit hours later ...
At last, also, it seems that use of a workshop at home is becoming a strong possibility, something that I have missed very badly since we moved here from the UK over five years ago. Back then many happy and some frustrating hours were spent building scale working models of boats, particularly Thames Sailing Barges in half inch to the foot scale - the end product being some forty to forty five inches in length.
There is a local equivalent of the Thames barge in our area known as a gabarre with a single square set sail which were used for taking wine from the region down the rivers Dordogne or Garonne to Bordeaux for shipping mainly to England but other countries as well. Today the surviving few gabarres are used to provide visitors with trips on the rivers with a guide pointing out items of interest as well as offering an excellent lunch during the trip.
A gabarre may well emerge from the workshop at some future date to be taken to our local lake for its maiden voyage. Fortunately there are a good number of plans to work from available on the Web as well as excellent photographs to add realistic detail. Should keep me out of mischief for a while ...
However I am in advance of myself, because firstly a workbench is more than necessary. Fortuitously Lidl have an offer tomorrow of two steel foldng trestles for less than twenty pounds which will make excelent supports for a kitchen worktop currently on special offer at a local DIY shed. No, at the offer price I don't give a damn what colour it is!
So back to making woodshavings and sawdust in the near future and losing all sense of time in a renewed hobby ...
"Oi! Yer dinner's ready"
"Yes dear"
Two and a bit hours later ...
Saturday, 18 September 2010
Further Tales of an Old Bus Driver
Just picture, if you will, Camden High Road in North West London on a dreary, grey, damp autumn day at around mid-day. Heading towards Waltham Cross from Warren Street, near the Post Office Tower, the driver began slowing to stop at a temporary bus stop. Temporary that is because the normal stop was out of use due to deep sewer works alongside the pavement and was situated some thirty yards beyond the normal one, just outside Marks & Spencer.
So, the bus wasedtraveling at about 15mph and just passing the out of use stop the driver checks the nearside mirror only to see a figure leap from the rear platform. Nothing unusual in that because passengers like the older type buses with a conductor and open platform because they can hop on and off at will, albeit a somewhat dangerous practice. Presumably the escapee thought that the bus was not going to stop and took what he probably considered appropriate action. Unfortunately there was an intervening trench some two feet in width and about six feet deep between the bus and the pavement delineated by the usual assortment of bollards, cones and rails and the hapless chap disappeared from view in a downwards direction in the mirror.
A few seconds later the bus halted at the temporary stop with the driver just a little concerned if not annoyed because due to that idiot's actions it would mean filling in an accident form back at the garage. Said driver descended from the cab, walked to the rear of the bus finding the conductor in a state of helpless laughter with tears rolling down his face. Turning to the muddy trench with some six inches of water in the bottom he saw this bedraggled, muddy figure endeavouring to climb from the hole, he was almost unrecognisable as a well dressed, middle class gent, because that is what he turned out to be.
By this time a small crowd had gathered, amidst laughter there was the inevitable gratuitous advice, none of which seemed to be appreciated by the hapless ex-passenger. Suddenly, like the Red Sea parting a gap appeared in the crowd and an authoritarian voice enquired as to what the denizen of the trench was doing and was he alright. The reply from the depths was neither polite nor complimentary making some of the female onlookers just a little embarrassed. The voice said that he would return in a few seconds, true to his word the policeman came back bearing a short ladder which lowered to the side of the trench. The victim of his own misfortune climbed the ladder and gained the relative safety of the pavement, refusing to give any details to either the constable or conductor. He was last seen heading somewhat unsteadily and with a slight squelch towards Chalk Farm Road.
The final insult that poor chap suffered was, having been asked by the conductor to wait until the bus stopped and choosing to ignore well meant advice, was for the guardian of the platform to suggest that this may have been the last occasion on which he might tell a conductor to "fork off"!
Might there be a further tale soon?
So, the bus wasedtraveling at about 15mph and just passing the out of use stop the driver checks the nearside mirror only to see a figure leap from the rear platform. Nothing unusual in that because passengers like the older type buses with a conductor and open platform because they can hop on and off at will, albeit a somewhat dangerous practice. Presumably the escapee thought that the bus was not going to stop and took what he probably considered appropriate action. Unfortunately there was an intervening trench some two feet in width and about six feet deep between the bus and the pavement delineated by the usual assortment of bollards, cones and rails and the hapless chap disappeared from view in a downwards direction in the mirror.
A few seconds later the bus halted at the temporary stop with the driver just a little concerned if not annoyed because due to that idiot's actions it would mean filling in an accident form back at the garage. Said driver descended from the cab, walked to the rear of the bus finding the conductor in a state of helpless laughter with tears rolling down his face. Turning to the muddy trench with some six inches of water in the bottom he saw this bedraggled, muddy figure endeavouring to climb from the hole, he was almost unrecognisable as a well dressed, middle class gent, because that is what he turned out to be.
By this time a small crowd had gathered, amidst laughter there was the inevitable gratuitous advice, none of which seemed to be appreciated by the hapless ex-passenger. Suddenly, like the Red Sea parting a gap appeared in the crowd and an authoritarian voice enquired as to what the denizen of the trench was doing and was he alright. The reply from the depths was neither polite nor complimentary making some of the female onlookers just a little embarrassed. The voice said that he would return in a few seconds, true to his word the policeman came back bearing a short ladder which lowered to the side of the trench. The victim of his own misfortune climbed the ladder and gained the relative safety of the pavement, refusing to give any details to either the constable or conductor. He was last seen heading somewhat unsteadily and with a slight squelch towards Chalk Farm Road.
The final insult that poor chap suffered was, having been asked by the conductor to wait until the bus stopped and choosing to ignore well meant advice, was for the guardian of the platform to suggest that this may have been the last occasion on which he might tell a conductor to "fork off"!
Might there be a further tale soon?
Friday, 17 September 2010
Tales of a an old London Bus Driver
Way back, well in the late 60s anyway, I achieved one of my childhood dreams and became a real London bus driver. Oh what dizzy heights of attainment!
This is not going to be a diary of events and boring trivia but hopefully setting out some of my exploits, believe me there was quite a lot of fun to be had ...
Picture a warm, Sunday spring afternoon on the outskirts of London, well Stanmore really. Perched atop quite a long hill outside Stanmore lies the Royal Orthopaedic Hospital in an almost countrylike setting served by just one bus route from a connection Edgware Underground station.
Perhaps a little insight into the way things worked, or not, at Ponders End Garage where I was working at the time may help. Inevitably from the garage fleet some buses were in better condition than others having benefited from fairly recent complete overhauls, whilst others were wheezing and rattling their way to being refurbished. Those that were almost due for overhaul were scheduled on 'short working', i.e. routes that ran past the garage every thirty minutes or so which meant that in the event of a breakdown the mechanics did not have too far to travel.
With a 56 passengers and 5 standing picked up in Edgware we were heading towards the hospital atop Brockley Hill. Already there were doubts that this particular was in the best of health having struggled up the other side of the hill towards Edgware, it was only too evident that a 'short working' vehicle had been wrongly allocated that day. Brockley Hill is about a mile long, starting gently, steepening towards the top and about a third of the way up first gear was already being used creeping upwards at little more than walking pace. Just over halfway up and the poor old thing could go no further and just ground to a halt. The conductor agreed that he would ask those that were able to finish their journey to the hospital on foot. Whilst waiting for the start bell most foot passengers began passing the front of the bus carrying seat cushions! Ding, ding. The ailing bus moved off slowly not able to get out of first gear and struggled and wheezed its way to the bus lay-by outside the hospital gates, finally arriving in clouds of steam from the engine.
Meanwhile passengers were breathlessly arriving, having walked about half a mile, some carrying seats with them. While the conductor was replacing the seats onto the bus water was needed for the radiator. After prolonged searching a watering can and convenient tap was found to assuage the poor beasts thirst. Enquiries to the conductor revealed that he asked passengers to walk to the top of the hill and that would those capable of carrying seat cushions to please do so. The explanation offered for this tactic was to make the vehicle even lighter and thus ease the way to the summit!
Fast forward from Sunday to the next Friday at the garage. Friday was always a day busy at any London Transport bus garage because it was pay day. It was also the day that the garage union rep was available, the social club organising raffles etc and for defaulters to be interviewed by the garage manager. Following a pay packet instruction I ventured into the governor's office to be told that public complaints had been lodged by sundry passengers from the previous Sunday and several accounts narrated by him. Having agreed that was probably a true account of events it just remained for a signature to be made in the staff record that a verbal warning had been received.
Possibly more to follow ...
This is not going to be a diary of events and boring trivia but hopefully setting out some of my exploits, believe me there was quite a lot of fun to be had ...
Picture a warm, Sunday spring afternoon on the outskirts of London, well Stanmore really. Perched atop quite a long hill outside Stanmore lies the Royal Orthopaedic Hospital in an almost countrylike setting served by just one bus route from a connection Edgware Underground station.
Perhaps a little insight into the way things worked, or not, at Ponders End Garage where I was working at the time may help. Inevitably from the garage fleet some buses were in better condition than others having benefited from fairly recent complete overhauls, whilst others were wheezing and rattling their way to being refurbished. Those that were almost due for overhaul were scheduled on 'short working', i.e. routes that ran past the garage every thirty minutes or so which meant that in the event of a breakdown the mechanics did not have too far to travel.
With a 56 passengers and 5 standing picked up in Edgware we were heading towards the hospital atop Brockley Hill. Already there were doubts that this particular was in the best of health having struggled up the other side of the hill towards Edgware, it was only too evident that a 'short working' vehicle had been wrongly allocated that day. Brockley Hill is about a mile long, starting gently, steepening towards the top and about a third of the way up first gear was already being used creeping upwards at little more than walking pace. Just over halfway up and the poor old thing could go no further and just ground to a halt. The conductor agreed that he would ask those that were able to finish their journey to the hospital on foot. Whilst waiting for the start bell most foot passengers began passing the front of the bus carrying seat cushions! Ding, ding. The ailing bus moved off slowly not able to get out of first gear and struggled and wheezed its way to the bus lay-by outside the hospital gates, finally arriving in clouds of steam from the engine.
Meanwhile passengers were breathlessly arriving, having walked about half a mile, some carrying seats with them. While the conductor was replacing the seats onto the bus water was needed for the radiator. After prolonged searching a watering can and convenient tap was found to assuage the poor beasts thirst. Enquiries to the conductor revealed that he asked passengers to walk to the top of the hill and that would those capable of carrying seat cushions to please do so. The explanation offered for this tactic was to make the vehicle even lighter and thus ease the way to the summit!
Fast forward from Sunday to the next Friday at the garage. Friday was always a day busy at any London Transport bus garage because it was pay day. It was also the day that the garage union rep was available, the social club organising raffles etc and for defaulters to be interviewed by the garage manager. Following a pay packet instruction I ventured into the governor's office to be told that public complaints had been lodged by sundry passengers from the previous Sunday and several accounts narrated by him. Having agreed that was probably a true account of events it just remained for a signature to be made in the staff record that a verbal warning had been received.
Possibly more to follow ...
Tuesday, 14 September 2010
The News Media and Non-News
It seems to me that increasingly of late the majority of news media, be they radio, television or newspapers are not reporting news. Much of the 'news' content is now speculation concerning things that may happen rather than actually reporting events that have actually taken place.
Just consider the following: in recent days media providers have been commenting on the cuts that may be made by HM government in order to assuage the current national financial deficit. To date no details of cuts have been announced (bar one 'accidentally' leaked several days ago) and none will be made public until the statement by the Chancellor of the Exchequer in the next few weeks. From this, therefore, it is obvious that whatever is reported as to where cuts will be made is purely specualtion and that in itself is not news.
One UK Chief Constable is widely reported with his belief that there could cuts enforced upon the police service in the region of 25% overall. He speculates that there could be an increase in crime, there could be a breakdown of civil order, that Britain could turn into a dark, dangerous place.
An influential trade union leader has said that as a result of cuts there cold be civil disobedience, large scale strikes and a descent into chaos. Others are pursuing a similar theme, none of which is fact, just supposition, speculation, scare-mongering and just not actual news.
This manner of presenting so called news could have a somewhat negative effect on the general population at large in that compounds existing concerns and fears as to both the immediate and long term future for individuals, families, business, the economy and the country's international position. Possibly the only certainty is that a negative effect is created.
News reporting by itself is naturally to some degree is bad news encompassing travel disasters, economic gloom, unemployment, assorted ongoing conflicts and politics. Seldom is good news actually newsworthy except in a few instances. Even just reading, watching or listening to the news could be depressing and might lead to even deeper personal and national despair. Unfortunately this could lead to a downward reiterative cycle which might become an actual self-fulfilling prophecy.
Let's have an end to all this 'might be', 'could do', and 'possibly will' culture, it could be depressing and might be very damaging. Let's have real news returned to the media as a whole which could possibly engender some positive feelings for a change.
Just consider the following: in recent days media providers have been commenting on the cuts that may be made by HM government in order to assuage the current national financial deficit. To date no details of cuts have been announced (bar one 'accidentally' leaked several days ago) and none will be made public until the statement by the Chancellor of the Exchequer in the next few weeks. From this, therefore, it is obvious that whatever is reported as to where cuts will be made is purely specualtion and that in itself is not news.
One UK Chief Constable is widely reported with his belief that there could cuts enforced upon the police service in the region of 25% overall. He speculates that there could be an increase in crime, there could be a breakdown of civil order, that Britain could turn into a dark, dangerous place.
An influential trade union leader has said that as a result of cuts there cold be civil disobedience, large scale strikes and a descent into chaos. Others are pursuing a similar theme, none of which is fact, just supposition, speculation, scare-mongering and just not actual news.
This manner of presenting so called news could have a somewhat negative effect on the general population at large in that compounds existing concerns and fears as to both the immediate and long term future for individuals, families, business, the economy and the country's international position. Possibly the only certainty is that a negative effect is created.
News reporting by itself is naturally to some degree is bad news encompassing travel disasters, economic gloom, unemployment, assorted ongoing conflicts and politics. Seldom is good news actually newsworthy except in a few instances. Even just reading, watching or listening to the news could be depressing and might lead to even deeper personal and national despair. Unfortunately this could lead to a downward reiterative cycle which might become an actual self-fulfilling prophecy.
Let's have an end to all this 'might be', 'could do', and 'possibly will' culture, it could be depressing and might be very damaging. Let's have real news returned to the media as a whole which could possibly engender some positive feelings for a change.
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