Boxing Day

Well, we got through Christmas Day. It's the first time in several years that Carol and I have spent the Festive Season on our own. Daniel has been here, but went back to St Alban's on Thursday afternoon. Sam wasn't here either. Chloe is presumably with Steve. The weather has improved. The past couple of days have been really cold. I'm glad we haven't had to drive anywhere as the roads have been really bad, slippery like glass. We took Daniel into the city centre the other evening, and if we hadn't driven carefully, we'd have gone sideways into a ditch. Not nice. It really was quite dangerous, and even though we were driving slowly, there were several real idiots on the road who weren't bothered about other people's safety. We saw quite a few cars that had ended up in either the ditch or running into lamp-posts.

We didn't buy a 'cut' Christmas tree this year. We decided on a live one with roots, which we got from a garden centre on the A5 near Potterspury. It came in a rather nice pot, not particularly big, and we hope, if we look after it, give it water etc. it might survive and then be  able to use it again next year. We'll have to wait and see. We got battery-powered lights, and decorations from IKEA, which look really good.

Television Walk-On

Yesterday I received an email from Casting Collective to inform me that I have been selected to be represented by them for 2010. It is a month since I went to their offices in London to register, so that is a really great early Christmas present. It will be really exciting to once again be working on television shows, and particularly any films that are being produced. I will let all who read my blog know what happens next, but, as their office is closed until 4th January, there is no chance of me being cast in anything until after that date.

Snow and Ice

We woke this morning to snow and ice. What a surprise! We had been told in the weather forecast on television over the past few days that we could expect snow. It's been really quite cold and it had been building up to a good snowfall. The garden is covered in the stuff. The dogs don't know what to make of it. Carol was hoping that she would get a telephone call from the Academy, to say that school was closed, but it never came. I took her this morning, and the roads were clear, and it looked as if snowploughs had been out and we did see a gritter. After last Winter's conditions, I don't think Milton Keynes Council wanted a repeat, and it seemed that they had made some sort of effort to grit the roads. The road leading into the Academy is quite steep. Well, steep for Milton Keynes. Covered in snow and ice, and it really needs clearing, but we managed to get in to the carpark alright.

Last winter, when I was working for Guardian Homecare, we had real fun. I speak from an ironic point of view, as it wasn't actually 'fun'. We were expected to make all our calls, regardless. Carol came with me to a few of my early-morning calls, one being in Wolverton. We left early enough to take into consideration the road conditions. It took some time just to get out of Crownhill, as the road was really trecherous and icy. At one point the car was going sideways, it was that slippery. In all honesty I should have decided not to have gone, but when you have calls to people who are expecting you, you can't not go. In some cases these people don't see anyone else all day. We got to the roundabout that lead onto Grafton Street and Wolverton, and it looked something like a scene from the Siberian wastes. If you've see the original film of "Doctor Zhivago" with Julie Christie and Omar Sharif, the scene where they get stuck on a train somewhere in Northern Russia, and it's mid-winter, and it's thick snow, well, it was rather like that. There was a slow procession of cars, along a sort of de-iced section of road, with a rather thick bit of snow along the right of the car, and we had to drive really carefully, as there was a real danger that, if we braked, we were likely to slide into the vehicle in front.

On the opposite carriageway, it didn't look as if it had been cleared of snow at all, and at one point the traffic had come to a complete and utter standstill. There were H.G.V. vehicles parked up in a long line, there drivers obviously not risking the road and deciding to just park until conditions improved.

Then we got to the double roundabouts leading into Wolverton. The road goes up and over the railway, near the station. Cars had stopped on the hill as the road was so icy and slippery they just couldn't get sufficient traction to make it up the slope of the hill. We stopped on the roandabout and walked up the road to help people push their cars, but no amount of pushing and shoving would budge one particular car, and we had to give up. There was obviously no way we were going to get into Wolverton.

We got back to the car and decided that there was no way we were going to get back to the centre of Milton Keynes along Grafton Street and at that point I rang the office and was told to 'just keep going'. No 'it's too dangerous' or anything. Or 'sorry' or a word of encouragement. What else was I expecting? Gerrie to arrive in a four-wheeler, a vaccuum flask of soup in one hand and a travel rug in the other? You have got to be joking! Too busy totting up the profits for the day to care for her staff, you can be sure, and sitting in a really warm office, her feet up, eating chocolate eclairs!

We eventually managed to turn the car round, having had to avoid sliding into any number of other cars which had ground to a halt on the roundabout, and headed towards New Bradwell. It was the only other route which looked anyway half clear. But it didn't actually turn out that way, as we eventually discovered. we got through New Bradwell and drove past the Tidy Tip. At that point we were going up a hill, but it was so icy and slippery that other cars had stopped. One man attempted to turn his car round in the entrance to the Tidy Tip, but he made a really poor job of it, basically because he was going too slowly and in the wrong gear, so his car was stuck half-way across the road, which prevented any other vehicle passing. We attempted to give some sort of assistance, but he was rather rude to us, so we went back to our car. Some people don't deserve help, he being one such person. We had to go back through New Bradwell and to the Wolverton roundabout, and eventually went towards Stony Stratford, and we found that the road there was just as clogged up. And virtually no sign that the road had been cleared by snow plough.

We did eventually get back to Crownhill, but all in all our little adventure had taken over THREE HOURS. I decided that I would risk all and go to another call in Bletchley, and Carol said that she wanted to come with me. We got out of Crownhill and onto the main grid road, but then, as I applied the brakes going towards one of the roundabouts, there was a really nasty grinding noise coming from the brakes. I really didn't know whether the car was going to stop, and was concerned that we would run into a car on the roundabout. It was then that I thought that perhaps all the driving in the snow and ice earlier had effected the car's braking system (perhaps ice had got into the discs, considering that in some places the snow was up over the wheels to quite a height, so that some ice and grit had got into the brakes, which was likely to have caused the grinding.) We turned the car round, very gingerly, and was really wary of using the brakes, just in case we didn't stop, and went home. I rang the agency (oh, I mustn't call it that, silly me!) and said that, due to the conditions and what was happening to the car, I wasn't going out for the rest of the day. I got a really negative response,  (what did I expect . . . !) but  all this was from a safety point of view. I wanted to take the car to the garage to get them to check the brakes, which I eventually did and found that there was no real danger. There was some grit in the brake discs, which was cleaned out, but I was certainly not going to risk life and limb until it was checked.

Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday . . .

We didn't do much this weekend. It has been really wet and windy, and very cold. We stayed in the house all Saturday. We did, however, take the dogs to Stockgrove Park for a walk on Sunday. There was someone there selling Christmas trees. All profits are going to Stockgrove Park and these trees are grown locally, so we may buy our tree there next weekend. As we were talking to the man in charge, somehow or other Alfie managed to get off his lead. He must have pulled and pulled and slipped the collar. He ran around and round, and we hadn't noticed that he'd managed to extricate himself. Not a real problem, but this was in the carpark and he has no sense and could have got run over. We walked up over the top of the park, the longest way round and met lots of people exercising their dogs. Alfie has no brakes as regards introducing himself to other dogs. He barges in and sniffs even the biggest dogs. I think that some of these dogs, in particular a couple of really beautiful chocolate-coloured Labradors, were overwhelmed by his antics. We headed down towards the lake and the path round the other side and back to the carpark, but had to put Poppy on her lead as she has a tendency to jump in the lake and have a swim, which wouldn't have been such a good idea as it was so cold. Alfie was alright off his lead. I don't think he'd like the water that much and didn't even look at the lake, or make any attempt to chase the ducks that were on the water. We got back to the car and headed back to the centre of Milton Keynes.

On Monday I had to take the car to be M.O.T'd. I can't believe that it's a year since it was last done. Last year it was failed because there was a tiny chip on the windscreen, right in the line of vision. We managed to get it repaired by someone at the local retail park (where there's Halfords, Comet and other stores.) and they managed to fix it with a liquid solution. I had to go to the garage to book it in and the appointment was at 3 o'clock. The car failed this time because the windscreen washer wasn't working. I sat at the garage from just before 3 until nearly six. Carol telephoned to say that her friend Minette would give her a lift to the garage and she arrived about half an hour later. The garage have told us that they will have to order a new pump for the windscreen washer, and I have since spoken to the garage and they are trying to get this part and that, hopefully, once they have the part they will be able to replace the old pump sometime today.

This morning I have been to the doctor's surgery and had my swineflu lab. I have taken Carol to work at the Academy, and we found that there was frost overnight and had to scrape some ice off the car's windscreen. The first really sharp frost this winter. Fortunately we had a scraper in the glover compartment of the car. I have already had the seasonal flu jab. I fit the criteria to have these jabs as I've had a heart attack. The appointment was for 9.10 and it was rather difficult to park the car as the surgery is right next to a primary school and there were a lot of parents dropping off their children, hence no parking spaces, but I went round the block and came back and then found a convenient space. The surgery waiting room was heaving with people waiting for their doctor's appointments and there were more people there than usual and waiting to have their swineflu jabs. I didn't manage to get into the nurse's room for the jab until around 9.40, but at least it's done. I was told that I ought to wait in the surgery for 10 minutes, just in case there was a reaction, which there wasn't.

The garage has since rung me to say that they aren't going to be able to get the part for the car until tomorrow. So I will have to wait until they ring tomorrow so that I can take the car back to the garage to have the pump fitted.

Trip to Leicester

On Saturday Carol and I decided to go out for the day. It wasn't a really bad day, on the weather-front, when it started, but as it progressed it became really damp and miserable, but we were determined that it wasn't going to spoil things. We weren't exactly sure where we were going, as we drove up the MI. At one point we were going to Lincoln, but then we decided to head for Leicester. This is the area of the country Carol came from, or more precisely she came from a village near Leicester called Thornton. Also, I worked as an A.S.M. at the Phoenix Theatre in Leicester in the early '70's, and the main reason for going was that they have opened a brand new theatre there last year called The Curve, and I'd read quite a lot about it and was interested to pay it a visit. We got to the Park and Ride car park on the outskirts of Leicester and parked the car and caught the bus into the centre of Leicester. We have become quite adept at Park and Rides, as we have used these at several towns and cities that we have visited in England, particularly Cambridge, Oxford, Scarborough, Bath and York. We certainly get around, and it makes life a good deal easier and far more stress-free to use these facilities, to drive somewhere and not have to worry about where to park when you get there. They are generally cheap, and certainly much cheaper than parking costs in the centre of most towns.

Well, I'll be honest and say that I really don't remember much about Leicester, so I didn't recognise anything! It was some 40 years since I worked there, after all. The area we got off the bus looked as if it had been completely rebuilt recently, with a large new shopping centre, very shiny new cinema complex (literally shiny, as it was covered in what looked like mirror tiles) and a branch of John Lewis department store. We then went into a brand new shopping area, which had a lot of what I can only describe as designer shops in it, but not actually somewhere we'd shop as everything is really expensive and over-priced. We had coffee and something to relieve our hunger in a rather nice branch of Carluccio's, and then attempted to find The Curve. I will say, for a multi-million pound theatre complex, they really ought to spend some money and effort with signposts to this theare, as we didn't know exactly where it was, although we had managed to pick up a town centre map which showed it's location, but it wasn't until we got into the older part of the city that we came across a signpost that directed us to it. We eventually found The Curve.

I have to say that at first sight I wasn't exactly over-impressed by the building. The outside has the appearance of some sort of over-sized grill for a heating system. It doesn't exactly fit into the surrounding streetscape and rather over-dominates it, but I have to say that it is a rather impressive structure. We decided to give it a go and go inside to have a look round. The entrance door is automatic and there are acres and acres of space in the foyer, if that's what you call it. You can see the streets outside through large windows which make it seem as if the outside has merged with the interior. The theatre has been designed so that the public can see the workings of the place, unlike other theatres, where these parts of the building are kept hidden. You can see into the workshop through a window, and we could see sets and props for the next production being build. You can actually see onto the backstage areas of the main audiatorium when they raise special doors onto the stage, and at the time we were there you could see the lighting rig being set up.From the street you can see a good deal of what is going on inside and you'd even be able to see the actors preparing for a show, and from overhead gantrys look down on the stage.

Having had our look-round, Carol suggested we stay and see a show, as there was a matinee performance that afternoon, not in the main theatre, but in the smaller studio. We discovered that the show was called "Story Of A Rabbit," which on first thought didn't sound that appealing. But we are people that like to give things a try, even if they aren't immediately appealing. We like theatre, and we've seen a few shows, but generally they'd be what you would call 'mainstream' and this show was somewhat what I'd call 'experimental.' We discovered that the show had come direct from the Edinburgh Festival.

We bought our tickets at the box-office and, because it didn't start until 2.30, we had around two hours to fill. We went back out into Leicester to have another wander around. One of the places we went was the open-air market where we bought a cauliflower for our Sunday lunch and some apples. It seems a really lively market and the stuff we purchased was really good quality and cheap, certainly in comparison to what we'd buy in Tesco, Asda or Morrison's in Milton Keynes.

We began to walk back towards the theatre and got there before the time the play was due to start and had time to have a coffee in the theatre cafe. We then went into the studio theatre, handing in our tickets at the door and walking into the studio. We didn't have numbered tickets so that you could sit where you wanted. There was someone on the door welcoming us to the show, who turned out to be Hugh Hughes, who's one-man show this was. At first I thought he was just someone who was a sort of usher. There were a few people already seated, but the place was hardly packed. This actor, Hugh Hughes, was talking to the audience, welcoming people as they came in. He was saying that this show had toured and this was the penultimate performance and that it wasn't going to tour again until 20010. Also, this was a matinee, and he rarely did matinee performances. He asked someone in the audience if they wanted a cup of tea, which was strange, as you rarely go to the theatre and get asked by one of the actors on stage if you'd like a cup of tea. He made this tea using what looked like an old fashioned hot-water boiler which was on stage, and then gave the freshly-made cup of tea to a woman in the audience. This was certainly not going to be a conventional piece of theatre, by any means.

He kept asking a theatre staff member if it was time to start the show, and when it seemed that all the audience was in, he began. It was difficult to know whether the performance had actually started, or whether it was just waiting for it to begin.

There were odd items suspended from the ceiling which were used in the show, for example, a pair of Marigold rubber gloves, a collection of ties, a plastic bag full of sawdust and on the floor a large car tyre, a Trimphone telephone, the water boiler and in one corner of the stage a flip chart. Also, on one side sat a man who sat at a keyboard playing some music and to one side of him a lighting desk. He operated all the lighting for the show and provided the music at various intervals throughout the performance.

The whole show was about Hugh Hughes father dieing and also, running sort of concurrently with this 'plot' the story of his family pet rabbit dieing. It may not sound particularly interesting material for a show, but the way it was done it was funny and touching, all at the same time. There were certain poignant moments where you didn't know whether it was appropriate to laugh, it was that much of a narrow margin between comedy and tragedy, which made it seem really good theatre. There were bits near the beginning where it didn't seem as if it was actually a piece of theatre or merely a presentation, because he used the flip chart and a Powerpoint which he operated from a laptop computer.

One poor man arrived late and Hugh Hughes mentioned this. How embarrassing for the man! I don't know how I would have coped with it.

Anyway, I'm really glad we saw it and at the end we left the theatre thinking that our visit to The Curve had been worthwhile. It would have been odd to have visited and not seen a show, even though it wasn't in the main theatre.

We weren't exactly sure where we were supposed to catch the bus back to the park and ride carpark. Someone at the theatre said that it was in the Haymarket, so we walked there and waited at a bus stop, but we were there for a good 20 minutes or more but no bus came along. Eventually we caught a bus whose driver told us he wasn't going out to the park and ride carpark, but he could drop us at a stop near the BBC Radio Leicester studios, and we would eventually get a bus to where we wanted to go. This we did, but, again no sign of any bus to the carpark. Eventually some people came along and we asked them, to be told that we should go back to the centre of Leicester. We followed them and eventually, after an even longer wait, we finally got on a bus to the carpark. By now it was getting dark, the wind got up, and there was a steady rain, but we were really glad when we got back to the carpark and got in the car, leaving Leicester and heading back to the M1 and home to Milton Keynes.

London Visit

I went to London on Friday. I went by train, as I didn't fancy driving. I have applied to join an agency called Casting Collective to get back doing film and television walk-on work. I have done a lot of this work over the past few years, but haven't done any for a while, due to one thing and another. I'd sent my details via their website, and up-loaded a photograph. It had taken a while, as we have an extremely sl-o-w internet connection at the moment (long story regarding this.)but it must have got to it's destination, as I got an email from them telling me that, to join their 'book' for 2010 I would need to go to their offices during November to register. I rang and got the appointment for last Friday at 2 p.m. Carol insisted that Daniel, her son, meet me in London, as she knows that I have no sense of direction, and I think she thought I was going to get lost. Daniel had done his homework, finding the correct train for me to catch in Milton Keynes (the 1204, to be precise.) the right Underground connection, train etc, and where to get off near the agency's office. I texted him once I was on the train to say that I was on my way, and we met outside Costa coffee at Euston station.

Casting Collective's offices are in a rather uninteresting area of London, not far from BBC Television Centre. We got there in good time, as I was texted to say that I'd need to get to the office a good 15 minutes before the appointment. Other people began to arrive, presumably as they were booked for a 2 p.m appointment. We eventually went in and Daniel went off to fill in the time before I came out from the appointment. The door was locked, with a printed message saying to not 'buzz' the door as it was lunch-time and to wait unti 1.45 before 'buzzing' to be let in. Which someone at the front of the queue did. We had to sit and wait in a long line of chairs and then fill in further forms, which seemed to take some time, and I was eventually taken in to the registration area. I won't actually know for certain whether I'm selected for entry into the 'book' until sometime in December, as it isn't a foregone conclusion. I suppose they get so many people who want to do this sort of work, and then, for one reason or another, suddenly decide that they can't do it, perhaps because of work commitments, and then don't sign on. So, I must be patient and see what happens. I do hope so, as they have done a lot of big films, Harry Potter included, and it would be great to work on something like that. The session ended with a photographer doing several photographs, which will go in their casting directory and on their website.So, I went off and that was the end of the appointment. Nothing glamourous about any of this, as it never is. Just an ordinary office in a rather boring street in a rather unassuming corner of London.

I texted Daniel to say that I had finished, a good deal quicker than I had anticipated. The whole appointment was no more than 45 minutes all told. He had gone into Charing Cross Road to look around computer stores there, so I had to wait for him to return. I walked towards the Underground station, and met him about half way. We went back to Euston, got on the train for Milton Keynes and he got off at Watford Junction, as he was going to work that evening. I rang Carol on my mobile, to discover that she had been given a lift from the academy to the carpark near the station, and I met her outside just as I got off the train.

Christmas Is Coming

So, it’s little more than a month until Christmas, and the shops are heaving with shoppers, filling their trolleys as if they were expecting a siege. The supermarkets have filled every extra bit of floor-space with stacks of mince pieces, Christmas cakes, crackers, wrapping paper and all the paraphinalia of the Christmas season. All this seems to start earlier and earlier each year. We get over Guy Fawkes Night and Hallow’een (which never used to be such a ‘Big Thing’ in this country until only a few years ago.) and suddenly all the Christmas tat seems to appear all over the place. Generally the stuff that we couldn’t possibly do without, such as tinsel, party hats, musical Christmas trees and glitter.  What do people do with all this stuff? Their homes must resemble some sort of warehouse as they stock up with all these items. Do they gorge themselves on mincepies, and are these mincepies going to be even fresh and edible for the actual Christmas holiday season? There can, surely be only so many mince pies you can eat at one time, and I for one would be sick to death of too many, even though I do actually rather like mincepies.

Our year has been broken up into sections, to maintain as much profit for shop-keepers, eager to attract the gullible shopper. These seasons revolve around the standard holidays, Easter, Christmas and New Year, but then we have the addition of special days, such as Father’s Day, Mother’s Day (actually Mothering Sunday in Britain. It seems to be the U.S.A. which renamed it and I believe they have it on a different day to us in Britain.) Valentine’s Day, Hallowee’n and so on. As soon as one day has passed, the stock from that day is removed and replaced by the next. No doubt, as soon as Christmas and the New Year is over, the shops will be filled with pink hearts, fluffy cherubs with bow and arrows and Valentine’s cards. It makes me laugh that after Hallowee’n some of the supermarkets were selling pumpkins off half-price or less. I don’t suppose pumpkins have a very long shelf-life so it was better to sell this stock at a bargain price than have to throw it all into a skip.

A Country Childhood

I think it's quite easy to take for granted my childhood, growing up on a farm in Bedfordshire. Compared with what children have now, we were really lucky. There was plenty of space to run around, wide open meadows to roam in and the farmyard itself, although by today's standards of Health and Safety, I suppose a farm would be considered a dangerous place for children to play. I suppose it was then, but we seem to have created a generation which is really over-protected . We built hideouts in amongst the bales of straw and treehouses in many of the trees in the garden and around the farmyard. There was always something or other to explore and to generally get into some sort of trouble. Life was an adventure and we really knew how to enjoy it.

Malting Farm is still there, in Cardington, Bedfordshire, about four miles to the east of Bedford town, but I know that things have changed drastically since I left in the mid 1970's. For a start no Murdoch lives in the house, which is sad when I think that some three generations of Murdochs had lived there, although I know my eldest brother James still farms the land there. My grandfather Ferriman managed Mill Farm, which was a few miles from Cardington village, and his son, my uncle Michael took over from him and ran that farm up until only a few years ago. That farm is no more. It was completely bulldozed to make way for a business park. Beford Southern By-Pass crosses what was Malting Farm land and borders the Priory Business Park, which was Mill Farm. My grandmother created a really beautiful garden at Mill Farm, and the house itself was really homely. It seems a real waste that such a lovely house had to be sacrificed to a business park. They would say that it's progress, but I really don't see it that way.

Malting Farm house is a Georgian building dating from 1764. It was built of red brick and was immediately opposite St Mary's church in Cardington village. It has a curved bay at one end which over-looks the garden lawn, and the windows of the house are of a highly distinctive diamond design. The lawn at one time had a double-trunked sycamore tree growing in the centre of it, which you could walk between the trunks, but it had to be cut down because it had become dangerous. In the attic there were a couple of rooms which we used to play in. One room had held a really large model trainset, and we slept there sometimes, particularly if our bedroom was being re-decorated. You had to get into these rooms up a narrow, steep staircase. It was great to have somewhere that was away from adults, a place where you could 'do your own thing' without being spied on. The rest of the house was the ideal place to play such games as 'Hide and Seek' as there were no end of places to hide, lots of corridors, cupboards and odd secret haunts. A game such as that could last most of the day, particularly if you were to hide somewhere and kept quiet for long enough!

In the winter the house could be incredibly cold, as it didn't have the benefit of central heating. I remember waking up in the morning in my bedroom and finding ice on the inside of the windows and you could see your breath when you breathed out. You'd have to run along the passageway to the bathroom to keep warm and get dressed in there as there was an electric heater. In the kitchen was an Aga which was used by my mother to do most of the cooking and was fuelled with coke which was store in an outhouse. The dining room was heated by a wood-burning stove and had to be kept alight most of the time.

I have four brothers, James, Robert, Sandy (Alexander) and Andrew. I am the third, born between Robert and Sandy. James and Robert took over the farm when my father retired in the mid 1970's, and the rest of us went off to 'do our own things' in other areas of work. I believe, if my memory serves, that Sandy did spend some time on the farm after he left school, but didn't remain long.

Miss Fuller was someone who featured quite a lot in our lives. She had originally come to us from working at the Porter's, the next door family, where she mended and sewed. She then came to us on a Wednesday afternoon to do a similar job. Then, when Andrew was born, my mum needed someone to look after him, as it would have been quite difficult to bring up four boys together with a baby, on her own. We went on holiday each year to Frinton-On-Sea in Essex, where we stayed in a rented house. Jean Freemantle, the daughter of the ploughman on Malting Farm, and who lived in the cottage at the back of the farmhouse, came with us for several years, and was employed to look after Andrew. I believe she came with us for a couple of years.Then it came out that Miss Fuller (I don't know, even to this day, what her Christian name was.)had been a nanny in the past, and she began to take Andrew out for walks in the village in his large pram. After a while she became more and more involved in his care, and she eventually came with us on holiday to Frinton.

I remember one particular incident which happened when we were at Frinton. My grandmother came to stay, and there was some sort of animosity between her and Miss Fuller, particularly over who should look after Andrew. My grandmother said that, as his grandmother she had a natural right to his care and also taking him for walks. There was a stand-up argument in front of our beach-hut, with them going hammer-and-tongues. I don't actually remember how it ended, but it was somewhat embarrassing for us children to have your grandmother shouting and arguing in front of them and in such a public place.

We had horses and ponies although I wasn't really horse-minded. Three of my four brothers, Robert, Sandy and Andrew, rode horses and kept them at the farm. I rode occasionally, but certainly never to a particularly high standard. Robert used to go to showjumping events around the area and was involved in showjumping at Bedfordshire Agricultural show (which is no more, but merged with the East Of England Show some 35-40 years ago.) and Sandy and Andrew went to the occasional gymkhana around the county. I used to like to go for what you might call more leisurely rides on the horses, but not galloping around the countryside, jumping hedges and ditches. I was put off by all the tack-cleaning and mucking-out that was involved in keeping horses. Also, I was bitten by a horse we had, one day when I was minding my own business, sitting on a fence in the farmyard, near the stables. A cow in a nearby field had the nerve to moo, and this horse decided that it didn't like being mooed at so it attempted to take a chunk out of the fleshy part of my arm. On another occasion I was riding a black-and-white pony we had called Whisky. I remember galloping across a meadow and not being able to stop this particular pony, and very nearly landing up jumping over a five-bar gate which was rapidly approaching, or at least crashing through said five-bar gate! It was really quite frightening and was what must have put me off horses of any particular variety.

My father owned a boat which he sailed on the River Ouse and Grafham water. We had a place down by the river near Cardington Mill where we used to go every weekend during the summer. There was a hut there where all the equipemnt for the boat was stored, together with deckchairs, table and Calor gas ring so we could make tea. Mum would pack up a really substantial picnic and we'd decamp there for tea, particularly on a Sunday afternoon. It seemed to work like a magnet for all-and-sundry who would turn up to sail the boat and then take afternoon tea, sandwiches and delicious home-made cake. I think there were several boats. A large clinker-built yacht called "Amaranda," a small sailing boat which my mum sailed frequently called "Nimbus" and a motor boat which had an Evinrude out-board engine, and was called "Nimbus." This motor boat was used to ferry people from the centre of Bedford town to the riverside hut and he had devised some sort of ski board which was used to tow behind and people could sort of water ski. Looking back, this must have been incredibly dangerous, as it went quite fast along the river and there was always the danger or running into other boats, over-hanging branches of trees and one hundered and one other things, but he still did it, as he had a greeat sense of adventure. I remember that dad eventually sold "Amaranda" to a family friend and he eventually bought a fibre-glass yacht which he sailed at Grafham Water and it came with us when we used to go on holiday to Frinton-On-Sea in Essex. "Amaranda" was built in a boatyard at Brightlingsea, further down the coast and in the Colne estuary near Colchester. That seemed to be the best place for sailing. Dad eventually bought a very much larger boad called "Flashpoint" which had a cabin and galley on it so it was possible to sleep overnight on it and cook very basic meals. The small clinker-built boat became the 'tender' vessel, and was used to get to and from "Flashpoint" as she was moored out in the estuary. We had gone to Frinton for annual summer holidays for years and years through the late '50 and into the '60's, but then Mum and Dad went to Brightlingsea on their own and stayed at a rather nice pub near the seafront called the Old Swan and on some occasions some of us children would go with them, but later we used to actually live on board "Flashpoint"for the time we were there.

Every summer there was a village fete, held in order to raise funds for the church, St Mary's. This was always held in the gardens of Howard House, owned and occupied by Humphrey Whitbread. It was never opened to the public at any other time of the year, so it was a treat to be able to look around such a beautiful garden. No doubt it is now open, rather in the fashion of a property owned by either the National Trust or English Heritage. I imagine that the money raised went towards keeping the building maintained. Everyone in the village seemed to got involved in some capacity, either running a stall, making cakes for the cake stall, or putting on some money-making activity. My mother always ran the fruit and vegetable stall, but there were many stalls on offer, including a tombola, White Elephant (I still, to this day, have no idea why it is called a White Elephant stall . From my visits to Whipsnade, elephants are grey, or at least, a darkish colour, but certainly not white, and there was certainly no sign of any elephants on that particular stall, white or otherwise. It was always stuffed full of the old junk that nobody really wanted to own any more, such as really unattractive vases, pots and pans, candlesticks or ornaments, that was cluttering up their garage, attic or sideboard.)The other stalls usually consisted of a flower stall, cake stall, books, and hoop-la, bran tub and a tea tent. There seems to me to be something forever fixed in my mind that the smell of hot canvas brings that suggests a warm summer afternoon when we ate curly-crusted, slightly stale sandwiches, sticky cakes and tepid tea which comes from that period of my life. All in aid of keeping St Mary's standing.

Another event which came round annually was the Bedfordshire Agricultural Show, held in meadows on one of the main roads leading into the centre of Bedford. These meadows were actually within what is the Ouse River flood plain, and was sold by the local authority for building and where Tesco and the Oasis Beach Pool was built several years ago. This show ceased to be around thirty-five or forty years ago and merged with several other county shows and became the East of England Show at Peterborough.Local firms connected with the agricultural industry had elaborate stands which showed off their products, such as tractors, combine harvesters or other machinery, or the corn merchants, such as Banks and Jordans, had displays of corn, barley and so on. The best part was that my father, being a customers of these companys, would take us to these tents and he would discuss the latest agricultural business with the company representatives over tea, cake and (for the adults!) alcholic beverages. We knew these ‘reps’ really well, as they were constantly turning up at Malting Farm, and usually at teatime, so there was always an excuse for a cup of tea and to sample a slice of one of my mum's delicious cakes.

There were also displays of animals, pigs, cows, sheep and horses. It would take a great deal of time and effort to get show-animals prepared for the show, with a great deal of shampoo used to wash them, their coats brushed and groomed, their tails plaited.

Teatime was an important meal in our household. As I have said, my mum made a real spread, usually including some lavish cake, a sponge-cake usually, filled with jam and cream, as well as shortbread, scones, fruit buns and the usual bread-and-butter. ‘You can’t eat any cake until you’ve eaten your bread and jam’ we were told. This meal was eaten in the kitchen, which was the centre of operations of the house and, in some respects, the farm. We rarely ate in the dining room, but when we used that room it was for special occasions, such as Christmas lunch. As regards teatime, a lot of people would suddenly turn up when the kettle was put on, the tea made in the teapot and the table laid. I have said somewhere here that we had a lot of ‘reps’ who were connected with agricultural firms who always came to the house at coffee time in the morning and teatime. Also, my granddad Ferriman and Uncle Michael, and another honorary ‘Uncle’ Percy Brocklehurst, affectionately known as ‘Per’ by my mother and father. He was a friend of my father’s, and was a sort of odd-job man. He never married, but would turn up when we had our tea. For some unfathomable reason he had a boiled egg made specially made for him, and his excuse was that ‘he’d come a long way,’ but to this day I’m not sure whether it was one of his little jokes, or whether there was a tradition where he came from that you gave people a boiled egg when they’d travelled a long distance. Perhaps it was a sort of in joke he had with my mother, but I have no idea.

Percy was really good at odd jobs, he could wire a house, mend furniture, hang cupboards, repair leaks, fix lights and generally do any job that was required around the house. Percy drove an ancient grey Morris Minor car, and in it’s boot there was all manner of items which could be put to practical use, such as fuses, lengths of cable and wire, nuts and bolts, along with the usual toolbox, all of which he carried so that when a job required it he could use it to repair whatever item it was.

There are two particular stories concerning Percy which I want to record here, as they are worth mentioning. When my father retired in the 1970s, my parents moved to a house in a village just outside Huntingdon, around 25 miles north of Bedford. In the early 90’s, or thereabouts, this village, Great Stukeley, became the home of the then Prime Minister, John Major, as he was also the Member of Parliament for Huntingdon. Anyway, they didn’t stay living in Great Stukeley for that long, and in 1977 my mum persuaded my father to move back to a house she had found in Cople, the next village to Cardington. Percy was drafted in to do some work in the house, and one of the jobs was to move some kitchen cupboards which were on the wall of the kitchen in the house in Stukeley. They were to be used in the kitchen at the house in Cople. My dad had helped, or, more likely, supervised this bit of work, and when the cupboards where eventually fixed in place in Cople, my mum noticed that there was something odd about them. Percy and dad had only managed to put them upside down on the wall, and hadn’t obviously noticed! They were never moved the right way up, because, in all honesty, there wasn’t a lot of difference, as the handles worked just as well the wrong way round as the right way.

The other story was about sherry. My mum used to make the most amazing sherry trifles, and they were the talk of the county. They used lavish amounts of whipped cream, confectioner’s custard and a small amount of sherry. This ingredient was purchased from the village shop, specially for the purpose of being used in these famous trifles, and was stored in a Bristol Cream sherry bottle. It was just very ordinary, cheap, cooking sherry. One afternoon Percy came to visit and dad sat at the table chatting and my mum was in the other room, reading or something, and could hear them talking in the kitchen. My dad asked Percy if he’d like a glass of sherry, and Percy said, yes please, he would, so my father got the Bristol Cream bottle out of the drinks cupboard and poured them a glass each. They sat and chatted, taking occasional sips of the sherry, and my father was saying ‘Oh, it’s Bristol Cream. It’s the best sherry you can buy!’ and all sorts of stuff, and my mother, who was overhearing the conversation in the next room, laughed to her self that it WASN’T actually Bristol Cream (although the bottle was a Bristol Cream bottle) and they were really drinking cheap cooking sherry. I have an idea that my father couldn’t tell the difference between the more expensive Bristol Cream and the cheap cooking sherry, but the incident caused a good deal of hilarity in the family thereafter.

Our Dogs

We have two dogs, Poppy and Alfie. Poppy is a Shitsu/ West Highland Terrier cross and Alfie is a Yorkshire Terrier. Poppy doesn't like this time of the year as she is really not happy with fireworks going off all around the house and the minute there is any sound she will disappear upstairs and hides under our bed. Alfie doesn't seem bothered in the slightest by these sounds. Poppy is just over six years old and Alfie is two years old. Poppy was living with Carol before I came on the scene, and we got Alfie from a dog breeder near March, Cambridgeshire.

Poppy can be as stubbon as she likes at times. You call her when she's been for a walk and you let her off her lead and she wanders off. Then, when it's time for her to be put back on her lead she will make it as difficult to get hold of her as possible and refuse to obey you. She will walk to heal, and can be really delightful. She knows certain words, the minute you say the word 'walk' she gets really excited. Even if she sees you putting your coat on and pick up the leads she knows that she will be going out for a walk.

Alfie, on the other hand, when he was a puppy, would make the most awful noise if he thought he was being left alone in the house. He got really stressed at one time and would spin round and round, but he has gradually got better as he has got older. He would never go out in the car without there being a great deal of barking and whining and his lead would get tangled up in the gear shift in the car and would want to sit on your knee if you were driving or whoever was sitting in the passenger seat. His first outing in the car was to Stowe Landscape Garden, and I was attempting to hold him on my knee when I was the passenger. He was sick and we had to stop the car. We have since bought a cage to go in the back of the car, which he travels in whenever we take the dogs out. At first, he didn't like it, and would make a lot of noise, but Poppy travels in the back of the car with him, with the parcel shelf over the cage, and Alfie seems to enjoy this, perhaps as he has Poppy for company. There may be a few little whines, but in general, he has settled down and knows that he is going out for a walk and behaves a good deal better. Poppy has always sat in the car on the back seats and is quite happy to sit there when we go out, but there are times when she will insist on sitting on the lap of whoever sits in the front passenger seat and likes staring out of the window. It's difficult to know why Alfie gets so stressed out, but I have a feeling at all Yorkies behave like this. It may be he doesn't like the movement of the car and being able to see the road and everything outside the car moving past.

Alfie was no trouble getting to walk on a lead and seemed to take to it really well. He is a really bright little dog and will now walk to heal quite easily.  It was really amusing taking him to Salcey Forest for one of his first walks. It was autumn and there were leaves on the ground and he didn't like them getting stuck in his coat and made a real fuss to have the leaves pulled off his coat!

Both dogs are real creatures of habit, Poppy in particular. I always feed them in the evening at around 7.30. We watch "The One Show" on BBC 1, and once this is over I get their dinner ready. Poppy will get up when she hears the closing music and if, for any reason, I have forgotten it's their dinner time, she will sit in front of me and start doing a little shuffle. She will stare at the television screen when she hears "The One Show" music, then at me, make a sort of sneezing sound, and if I haven't made any move she will bark. If I continue to ignore her she will come up to me and poke me with her paw.

I know some people would tell us off for allowing it, but both dogs sleep on our bed. Well, they are small dogs and they don't take up a lot of space. In the morning, just before we get up, I make tea and we drink this in bed. We always leave a little bit at the bottom of our mugs and the dogs drink it. Poppy had got used to this routine each morning before Alfie arrived, but it didn't take him long to get into the habit of having his early-morning drink of tea. If we forget to let them have their tea, Poppy will tap on the mug you are drinking out of to remind us that she hasn't had her drink.

There are several places we like to take the dogs for walks, one being Stockgrove Park, near Leighton Buzzard, and the other is Salcey Forest, going out north of Milton Keynes towards Northampton. Both have cafes, so, when we've finished walking the dogs we can have something to eat and a coffee. Salsey does really nice soup and crusty bread, really perfect for cold days.

I wasn't sure what Alfie would do when we let him off his lead for the first time, as both dogs really love to be able to run when we take them out. I needn't have worried, as he didn't go far, always running ahead of us but remaining within a short distance and always looking round to make sure we weren't far away. He runs miles, going backwards and forwards and coming when he's called.  He runs for miles, and is like a little hare when he's running. For a little dog he has lots of energy. Poppy likes to just amble along, looking at this and that, but we have to be careful when she's near water as she loves to jump in and have a smile, regardless of how cold or muddy it is. Then she comes out, generally covered in the blackest, thickest mud, which covers her coat and usually smells awful. She won't go in anywhere which has a steep bank where she can't get out. We went to Stowe Landscape Garden not too long ago, and she had to jump in the lake there, even though dogs aren't supposed to swim in the lake!

Alfie isn't good at mornings. If he's asleep and you touch him by accident, he doesn't like it and growls at you. I think it's just to warn you not to come too close, but he hates being woken up.

Poppy had an adventure a couple of years ago. It was a Saturday, and we went out for the day. I have a feeling we must have visited a National Trust property. I think it was one near Stratford-Upon-Avon.

We came home at around 5 o’clock and went in the front door. This was before we got Alfie, but we couldn’t find Poppy, she wasn’t in the house. Usually when we go out and we don’t take the dogs they come bounding up to us, barking and generally getting excited when we come in the house, but on this occasion there was no sign at all of Poppy. We had left the French windows open into the garden so she could get out.

When we went out into the garden we found that the gate, which used to lead from the garden into the front of the house, was open. I remember that I had closed this gate before we had left the house and was surprised at it being open. It was at this point that we became concerned and we thought that we’d ask some of our neighbours further along the road if they’d seen her at all. Most people said that they hadn’t, but then one neighbour said that they’d seen Poppy being taken by the Police in a car, and that she’d been picked up on the main road. It seemed obvious to us that she’d got out of the garden through the side-gate. We then learned that two boys, who play football regularly near our house had kicked their ball over the wall into our garden and had gone in through the gate to retrieve their ball and must have left the gate open, which allowed Poppy to get out of the garden and wander off, presumably ending up on the main road and then being picked up by the Police who were going past in a patrol car.

It wasn’t until the following morning that we went to the local Police Station in Milton Keynes centre and got Poppy back, having had to pay out £25 for her return. The two boys who had been seen entering our garden had denied ever going into the garden when we’d gone to their house during our visit to our neighbours. But, as they’d been seen going into the garden, it was obvious to us that they had lied, which made the situation regarding Poppy escaping even worse. It was really the fact that they’d left the gate open that was the worst part. Also, the fact that we’d had to pay our £25 for her return.

Our new neighbour was something of a problem to us, and both dogs were involved this time. One evening this neighbour came to our door, and Carol spoke to him. He was quite demanding and aggressive. He told us that, according to the deeds of his property, the right of way we had along their driveway was not correct and he wanted the gate into our garden closed off so that he could have a small piece of land which was actually part of our garden. He wanted us to clear the rubbish that was there so that he could have it. This would mean, once the gate was closed off, the only way we could get into the garden would be through the garage. He wanted all this sorted out within two weeks. This could be dealt with by our solicitor. It didn’t mean much to us as we no longer owned the property and he’d have to deal with our landlord, Copper Homes. We managed to clear the rubbish away, as demanded by Mr Aggressive Neighbour.

It seemed as if all was going according to plan (but these things never seem to, for some reason or other.), until a few weeks later. It was a Saturday morning. Our beloved neighbour got really aggressive and took away the fence, so that there was a gap where it should have been. The dogs were let out into the garden (as was usual). The fence, not being there, meant that they could get out into the road. Poppy ran one way, Alfie another. Poppy has some sort of road sense, but not a great deal, but Alfie becomes completely stupid and would easily have got run over as he really has no sense at all once he’s outside and not on a lead. We managed to get Alfie back, and Poppy ran along the Grove and went to a friend’s house, where she sat on their doorstep, safe and sound. As for our beloved neighbour, I’m afraid be became really abusive to me and threatened to punch me, as I came out of the house and found him in the front garden. He could have come to us and told us his intention to remove the fence before we let the dogs out.

On discovering that the dogs were loose in the road, and fearing for their safety, I rushed into the front of the house and confronted the neighbour, who became exceptionally aggressive, goaded on by his son, who seems to have the same anger problem as his father. Mr Neighbour threatened to hit me in the mouth, and at this point his wife intervened. We did manage to get the dogs back, and the police were brought in to attempt to pacify the neighbour. I believe he had a visit from them and must have been told to keep well away from our property. The whole situation really got out of hand and could have been avoided if the neighbour had been a little less aggressive towards us. It was such a simple matter. The fence which was taken down was going to be taken to the tip, and was moved away to near our garage, ready for disposal, but a day or two later Mr Neighbour’s wife came round and told me that her husband was going to use it as part of the fence-replacement, which seems now to be really absurd, when you think of the problems all his bluster and noise had caused. He did eventually fill in the hole where the gate had been, and gained a piece of ground about 6X6 feet, which is so small that it seems trivial and pathetic. We have had no problem with this neighbour since, thank goodness, but I have an idea that he has some sort of anger management problem. He can be quite nasty, so it’s really best to keep out of the way of him.

Day Out At Whipsnade

It was a bright and sunny day today, although cold. I wasn't working, so we decided to go to Whipsnade Zoo. We are members of the Zoological Society Of London, so we don't have to pay to get in, and we also get discount if we go to any of their restaurants and cafes. The year's membership is around £85 for the two of us, and we can go to either Whipsnade or London Zoos as many times as we want to during the year. As a single entry to Whipsnade is £16.50, you can see that if we go a couple of times we have more or less paid for the year's membership, so it more than pays for itself. It's not far either, about 40 minutes down the A5 south from Milton Keynes and through Dunstable. On the way we had to cross the Dunstable Downs and saw lots of gliders, kites and people in what looked like hang gliders. The weather conditions seemed ideal for these activities and there were even gliders flying over the zoo itself. I don't know what any of the animals made of them, and it also occured to us what would happen if a glider had to make an emergency landing in the zoo, and in particular the enclosure of any of the more dangerous animals, such as the lions. We saw the baby elephant which had been born there a few months ago and wanted to see her again to see how she was progressing, and generally it makes a lovely day out.

We got to the zoo and found that we couldn't use the car park as we usually would, and then found that we could take the car into the zoo, something we haven't done before. We parked near the wolf enclosure and walked around within the zoo. We got to the meerkat enclosure just in time to hear a talk from one of the keepers and she fed them at the end of the talk. These are little animals which we have seen quite a lot of on television and seeing them in real-life we never realised how small they are.

The animals seemed a good deal more active than when we've been during the summer. I put it down to the fact that, when it's really hot, most animals shelter in the shade and don't make an appearance, and when it's colder they are more active. Such was the case on this visit.

It was bright and sunny, but there was an underlying chill out of the sunshine, and it was coldest up on the downs where the wind seemed to blow in without anything in the way to stop it. We walked around for most of our time there, but decided to drive around some of the areas which we hadn't seen before, the Animals Of Asia, which usually has a small train running through it, but you can't get into by foot. There were bison, deer and camels in that area.

One of our favourite parts of the zoo is the relatively new 'In With The Lemurs' exhibit, where you walk through the Ringed Lemurs enclosure. We have lots of photographs of these delightful little animals, the photographs at the top of this post being one of them. They are so photogenic and seem to enjoy it when a camera is directed at them!

We had coffee and something to eat in one of the cafes, and then made our way home.

Graduation Day At Worcester

Carol and I went to my daughter's Graduation at Worchester Cathedral yesterday. We had to get up really early and left for our drive there at around 6.15. It was a bit close, but we managed to make it on time. We were supposed to meet Chloe and her boyfriend, Steve, at their house at just before 9.00 and then go to the University campus in Steve's car and then be taken to the cathedral by coach, but we weren't going to make it in time so parked the car in the centre of Worcester and walked to the cathedral. We were both hungry as we hadn't had time for anything to eat before we left, so we went into a Gregg's bakery shop (this was a little bit after 9.) and bought coffee and sausage rolls to eat as we walked through the centre of the town. I had spoken to Steve via mobile phone to be told that they were about to board the coach, and just as we turned up outside the cathedral a coach turned up. Carol said 'do you think they will be on it?' and sure enough, as people got off the coach, they got off! It seemed a really good bit of timing. Chloe's mum, Helen, and Chloe's half-sister, Elizabeth also came,and we went into the cathedral. It was slowly filling up with graduates, dressed in their robes and mortarboards, and we sat on one side of the nave whilst the graduates sat on the opposite side. We had a good forty-five minutes wait before the ceremony started. Some people were obviously not going to be able to see much of the ceremony from where they were sitting, so events were being videoed and relayed to them onto large television monitors.

Then the ceremony started, with a procession into the cathedral of all the local dignatories and people from the University. Some wore amazing headgear, and one man more a hat with a large display of feathers on the top. After an introduction by the Dean of the Cathedral, and then the Registrar and Secretary of the University, the degrees were presented. Midway, an Honorary Degree was presentd to Henry Sandon, who is better known from his appearances on B.B.C. Television on such programmes as "Antiques Roadshow," a show we watch regularly on a Sunday night.

At the end of the ceremony, there was another procession out of the cathedral, but this time the new graduates followed the rest of the dignatories and university people, and it was to really rousing organ music.

Everyone else then left the cathedral, all the parents, friends, relations and so on who had come to watch the presentations. This took quite some time as the place was really packed. I don't think there was a single seat empty. I would have liked to have had time to look around the cathedral, but we didn't have time to do it justice. We will have to visit it on another occasion when we come to Worcester to see Chloe.

We went to the rear of the cathedral to take photographs, and then we had to queue up to catch the coach to the university campus where drinks and eats were laid on. We then went in Steve's car to a Toby Carvery outside Worchester to enjoy a meal, before Carol and I left for home. A great day was enjoyed by all, and Chloe was congratulated for completing her course and getting her degree.

Television Walk-on

I got into doing television extra work quite by accident. I had always loved theatre, but in particular I had wanted to get into television, with the idea of working in drama. I was told by the BBC, at around the time I left school in the late 1960's that if I worked in theatre, particularly in stage management, then, once I had a few years experience behind me I might be considered for work as an A.F.M. (Assistant Floor Manager.) I wrote what looked like endless letters to theatres all over the country to see whether I could get a job in their stage management departments, and eventually got a job at the Everyman Theatre in Cheltenham as a Student A.S.M. This was really a good way for the theatre to get cheap labour, as I wasn't paid a real wage, getting the princely sum of something like £2.50 a week, which meant that my parents had to subsidise me, although I was getting some sort of training for the time I was there, just under a year. The hours were extremely long, but I suppose you do that sort of job 'for the love of it.'

I seem to be wondering off the track of what I had intended writing about, so I should skip quite a bit and get on to talking about television 'walk-on,' or 'extra' work, although in some cases the term 'extra' is wrong, and in some cases rather derogatory. I will explain why as I proceed with writing this. This was the time when to work in theatre you needed to be in the union, Equity, and unless you had a card, then you couldn't work and particularly you couldn't do 'Walk-On' work. The agencies were quite hot on this. I managed to gain my Equity membership when I worked in Stage Management. My main reason to do this sort of work was that I was really interested in the making of films and television, and this always seemed a really good way to see, first hand, how a television show was made. The idea that you could be paid for it was a bonus, but at the time that side of it had never occurred to me. Being paid for doing something you like doing was even more of a bonus.

I think I must have answered an advertisement in the Stage to join an agency to do 'walk-on' and must have forgotten, because, quite out of the blue I got a telephone call asking me if I was interested in doing a day's filming on a television series called 'Jenny's War' which was on location at the Nene Valley Railway, just beyond Peterborough. I said that I was, and I was then told that I needed to go there almost immediately for a costume fitting to be a German soldier. Not only was I fitted with a costume, but I was also given a haircut, not your average sort of hair-cut, but a very severe short-back-and-sides sort of haircut that would have been executed on German soldiers of the Second World War period. All this I did, and was then told that the next day I needed to return bright and early to work on the 'shoot' as a walk-on. All this was very new to me, but I managed to report to the correct person within the film unit and we spent the rest of the day getting in and out of carriages and pretending to be German soldiers, and generally enjoying the whole experience of being on a film set.

I heard from several of the other 'Walk-Ons' that I really needed to join another agency, as they had far more work than the one I had got the day's work from, and based just outside Norwich. I was given their address and telephone number. So, next day, I rang them, and was immediately told that they wanted Walk-Ons on a B.B.C. television film being made at the time called "The Burston Rebellion." The nice lady at the agency told me that, if I wanted to do more work with them, I ought to send them some photographs of myself, and more details of my height, hair colour, waist measurements and so on, to be put on their files, so as to make casting me in future productions easier. As a result I had to get some photographs taken of myself, which I sent off to this agency. I seemed to get quite a lot of work from them, and worked on such shows as "Lovejoy", "Campion" and "Middlemarch." Infact, I did quite a lot of 'bits' in "Lovejoy" over the years, and always looked forward to April, when it begin filming.

I worked on another series which used the Nene Valley Railway as a location, and called "Christabel." We were German soldiers once more, and we had to do a night shoot. We were called at around 2.00 and told that we would be rehearsing a sequence which would require us to sing a song, in German, and which was to be part of a scene on a train which was supposed to be stuck in the snow on the German border, and the R.A.F. were supposed to be bombing in the background. We had to learn this song phonetically, and it was rather like the number "Tomorrow Belongs to Me" in the film of "Cabaret," where it's set outside a tavern, and one boy starts to sing, and gradually the rest of the people sitting at tables join in, until the whole screen is filled with singing. Well, that was how this song was supposed to be shown in this scene, set on board a train. When it came to actually filming, quite late at night, it took endless takes, and with the principals (the main actors.) doing their bit whilst we did our bit in the background (incidentally, the actress playing the title character in this, was played by Elizabeth Hurley.) Anway, you can imagine how difficult a lot of this was, in a cramped railway carriage, with a load of other walk-ons, all dressed as German soldiers, together with the added extra of the rifles and back-packs we had to carry with us, and also all the camera and sound equipment and unit personel, director, cameraman and so on that were involved in the making of this film. It was during all this that one of the walk-on's had something fall on their head, from the luggage rack in the railway carriage, and they had to be taken by a member of the crew to Accident and Emergency at the local hospital. To this day I don't know what happened to them.

When this show was eventually shown on television I watched it, and the scene we had filmed, with us singing that song, was cut so that there was no singing at all! Perhaps the show ran too long so they decided to cut that sequence. Who knows? All that work and effort for nothing, it would seem.

Having a scene cut is quite often the case on things I've done. Don't do Walk-On work if you expect to see yourself in every scene, as generally you won't see yourself. You can end up behind a pillar, or so far back in the scene that you are little more than a speck on the screen, or you walk past and are gone in a split second! Generally you are in the background and the principals (those actors in speaking roles) are the centre of the scene being filmed. The general rule is don't stare at the camera, don't trip over the scenery and do whatever is asked of you. If you don't you will get a reputation as a trouble maker and won't be used again. And the golden rule is, never speak to the principals unless they speak to you first, and NEVER, EVER ask for autographs! Or take a camera with you onto the set, as it will most likely be taken off you. On most set-ups. you will be directed by one of the floor crew or an assistant director. It is quite rare for the director of the production to direct Walk-Ons, although I have been directed by the actual director of a production. You will be told what you have to do and then the scene is rehearsed, and then several 'dry-runs' attempted. Then, when it has been decided that everything is as the director wants it, they will 'go for a take.' You then have to remember what it is you have to do and begin on 'action' or 'background action.' If the director is satisfied then they will move on to the next set-up or several more 'takes' will be shot. The Walk-On's will then be told to wait somewhere off-set until they are needed again, and usually there is a great deal of waiting around, but you have to be ready and waiting for the call to go back on the set for another scene. Always take something with you on location to keep yourself occupied when not filming, such as a book, a newspaper, a Nintendo DS or an iPod.

I got called by the agency one Saturday morning. I needed to be on location immediately to film on the BBC series "Campion." I drove to the location and got there in about an hour and a half. I was to be a policeman in a scene with Peter Davison and Brian Glover, who were in a vintage car (the show was set in the 1930's). I was to ride a bicycle and they were held up by a man hearding sheep along a country lane. The sheep behaved impeccably, working really well and did as they were told, but the car that the actors drove in didn't appreciate all the waiting and being left to idle, so it kept cutting out, which meant that there were endless takes for the scene in question.

We did quite a few scenes on that episode with me as a policeman. On one such scene there were several of us in a car, which was supposed to stop and we were supposed to get out and chase after the villain (I think it was the climax of one of the episodes, but I can't remember the name of the story.) We attempted several rehearsals, but then it was decided that, if we took our helmets off we'd find it easier to get out of the car, which was quite small. So, on the next attempt we did it helmetless, and it worked perfectly.

Another “Campion” story I was in I was the opposite side of the law, one of the villain’s henchmen (played with real gusto by Iain Cuthbertson, who seems to have made playing ‘heavies’ his forte.) It certainly made a change from being a ‘goody.’ We were dressed in suitable 1930’s garb, and I wore a long leather coat and broad-brimmed hat, and the make-up department had given me a scar across one cheek, which had been made with a substance which came in a small bottle rather like nail-polish and was applied with a brush. On drying, it made the skin of my face contract and produce a really convincing scar. When it was dry, another layer was applied, and on each application, the skin seemed to contract even more, making the ‘scar’ appear even more convincing. And, to make things even more menacing, I was given an eye-patch to wear over one of my eyes!

We did quite a few scenes driving around the North Norfolk countryside in some marvellous period cars, which didn’t always behave as the crew would have wanted, and didn’t appreciate being kept idling in the warm sunshine, so, whenever a take was required and the director called ‘action’ they didn’t always move on cue.

On one particular occasion we were taken by bus to another location, a wood, and myself and another Walk-On were supposed to be spying on Peter Davison (as Albert Campion) as he walked through the woods (no doubt looking for clues or something.) We weren’t supposed to be seen by him, for obvious reasons, and we had been detailed by one of the assistants to stand by a dilapidated shed and look menacing. They had wanted me to smoke a cigarette, but, as I don’t smoke, I was given a match stick to chew. The sequence started with the camera full on us, I chewed on the matchstick, and then threw it away. The camera then picks up Campion moving through the trees in mid-distance, and I signal to my companion, and we walk slowly through the woods, being as stealthy as possible, presumably so as not to be seen by Campion. The crew had marked a line on the floor where we were supposed to stop, so that we were at the front of the shot, and Campion was in the background. We rehearsed it several times, but, because of the eye-patch, I could never see the mark on the ground! We did eventually complete the sequence successfully, and I have seen this in the finished production, but I still can’t recall the name of the story or the episode it is in!

I managed to keep the scar once we had finished shooting, and drove home with it on. It lasted a day or so, but eventually I had to peel it off!

There are one or two scenes in other shows where I am quite prominent, and not hidden behind a lamp-post and just a fleeting, passing shadow. I worked on an episode of "Keeping Up Appearances." It's the one where Hyacinth persuades the hapless Richard (her husband) to test drive a Rolls Royce (just another attempt to put one over her neighbours and look down her nose at the socially-inept.) He agrees and drives the Roller off the forecourt of the garage where they have been looking at the cars on show. They drive off into the country, much to Richard's dismay, but as usual Hyacinth is goading him to 'put his foot down.' They eventually arrive at a country hotel (which is actually a few miles outside Stratford-Upon-Avon.) This is where a friend of hers is staying and she hopes that arriving in a Rolls Royce will be the icing on the cake to cause envy. And who else should arrive at the hotel, but her sister Daisy and her uncouth husband Onslow and Daddy, in a clapped out banger which has an exhaust which explodes unexpectedly and leaves clouds of smoke as it goes along. Anyway, as they get to the hotel, the car breaks down (really unlikely, as Rolls Royce vehicles never 'break down' or at least they are never supposed to.) It is at this point that some of the guests appear at the windows of the hotel and come outside to have a look to see what all the noise is about. (I think Richard sets off the car alarm on the Rolls or something.) and I am one of the guests who is seen quite clearly in the centre of all the action, hamming it up for all I'm worth! In fact, I'm in several of the shots in this sequence, making disapproving faces and generally having a good time. Well, as we weren't allowed to speak, I had to make some sort of expression and 'act' accordingly.

I did some work on something else which wasn't actually classed as a 'drama.' It was a documentary series called "Soldiers" which was about fighting men through the centuries and they used dramaticised sequences where we were used, but didn't speak. A lot of it was filmed in the army training area near Thetford, in Norfolk. There was a sequence which was filmed in a disused church in the battle area, and we were dressed in period soldiers uniforms and were laying around on the floor (!) being treated by medical people. It was really quite uncomfortable. There was another sequence which showed a soldier having his leg amputated and they had a false leg which had be taken off a soldier. I recall one of the Walk- On's being chosen to be the poor soldier who has his leg cut off and having to lie on this make-shift operating table and his leg having to match as near as possible the false leg!

We were put into these soldier's uniforms, beautifully made, and they must have cost a fortune, whether they had been hired from a costume company or been made specially for this production I don't know, and then they wanted us to look as if we'd been injured in battle and the costume department had to rip great holes in these uniforms, tear chunks out of the arms or legs and then we had to put mud on them to make them look as if we'd been injured in a battle, and to cap it all we had stage blood and gore applied to make it look even more authentic. Some people had latex scars put on their heads and arms and other parts of their bodies, and what made it even more grotesque was when these bits of latex came off, and usually at inapropriate times, such as when we were having coffee or lunch breaks, and then the make-up ladies had to stick them back on again!

One sequence we did which was quite complex was shot at night. It was supposed to be after the Battle Of Waterloo, and we were supposed to be the dead and dieing. A special camera track was set up, which would be used for a long tracking shot, while a large camera crane was bought in to do some ariel shots. If I remember correctly, the whole shoot was held up beccause this crane got stuck in some soft ground or something and they had to get it out before the shoot could begin. This was all done in the evening as the sun was setting, but to be historically accurate it was actually supposed to be the morning with the sun setting. Another actor was used to ride a horse through the dead and dieing and was made up to be the Duke Of Wellington, and at a given cue people were supposed to appear, carrying lighted branches and loot the bodies. Now, we were laying on the ground, which wasn't exactly comfortable, and it was also really quite cold, as this was quite early in the year, around April. So, there we were, laying on the ground, pretending to be dead, and it's cold, so we were shivering, the camera is tracking along this specially constructed railway-line, and we're trying our hardest not to shiver, because, remember, we're supposed to be dead, and then Wellington comes along on his horse (or, at least, and actor pretending to be The Iron Duke.) and the horse has to carefully tread over us bodies on the ground, and we mustn't react to this at all (as we are supposed to be dead.) and then one of the stage crew notices that our boots which we are wearing have 20th century soles to them, so the set-up has to be re-taken after we have moved our feet so that the soles of our boots aren't seen by the camera!

This entire sequence took something like six hours to set up and film, and when it was shown in the finished programme which I saw when it was broadcast, the sequence lasts  no more than 45 seconds.

When we had finished filming for the day, we had to change out of our costumes and put our every-day clothes on again to go home. We had been covered in stage blood and gore and had the chance to use a shower to wash it all off, but it was really late, or rather, very early morning when we had finished and I just wanted to drive home, so I didn't bother to wash the blood and gore off. I drove away, and then realised that I needed to fill the car up with petrol and went to a filling station on the A14 somewhere near Newmarket. I don't know what the cashier thought when he saw me coming towards him to pay after I'd filled the car up with fuel, as I must have looked like one of the walking dead as I was covered in this stage blood and gore!

" 'Allo, 'Allo" was another show I worked on and used the Thetford battle area for some of it's scenes. It was partly written by David Croft, responsible, with Jimmy Perry for many classic sitcoms of the sixties and seventies. "Dad's Army" is perhaps the best known, and many exterior scenes were filmed in and around Thetford, Thetford Forest and the battle area.  There was one sequence that was a sort of spoof of all Word War 2 films, a sort of cliche being that someone is rescued from a prisoner of war camp by escaping through a tunnel to the outside world. Well, this being " 'Allo, 'Allo"' the characters are trying to get IN to a prisoner of war camp! (just to make sure that it gets maximum comic potential, of course!) " 'Allo, 'Allo" used Swaffham as the unit base for the production, and we filmed quite a lot around that area. I was dressed up as a German Soldier and had to go to a hotel in Swaffham for a costume fitting before the week's shooting began a few week's later. A lot of scenes were done at Lynford Hall in Norfolk. This is a rather imposing country house, in the style of a French chateau, which makes sense as the show is set in France. I believe the exterior of the house was used quite extensively in the show. The stable courtyard at the back of the house was made up to be the village square and the exterior of Rene's cafe.  Actually, not a lot happened to tell you here, and it was a rather ordinary week's filming, but I am in quite a few scenes. These were usually of me outside Rene's cafe, sitting at a table, drinking either coffee or wine. (You have to remember that these were the exterior scenes, and the scenes inside the cafe were shot in a studio at B.B.C. Television Centre in London, so I'm not in any of those scenes, unfortunately.)

This series, together with "Keeping Up Appearances," is constantly being repeated on either the UKTV channels, or on BBC 1, usually at Sunday lunchtimes.

Another series I did quite a lot of work on was "Middlemarch." I have a feeling that this adaptation of the George Eliot novel was what started the current trend for doing costume dramas, as the BBC hadn't done one for quite a few years prior to this series. Most of it was shot in and around Stamford in Lincolnshire. This particular scene involved several hundred Supporting Artistes, and we were supposed to be watching Robert Hardy as a totally inept politician, give a speech. We had to arrive at around 6 a.m to get into our costumes, and once we were dressed we went to a car park in the centre of Stamford (Carol and I went to Stamford recently and parked in the same car park during our visit.) and we were tried out to see what our reactions were like. We had to cheer and generally make a lot of noise, as if we were reacting to someone giving a speech. It was during this that the stage crew selected a handful of the assembled mass to be at the front of the crowd, myself included, as we would be seen extensively during the finished scene, and would need to take quite a lot of direction and therefore had to react to the actors. We worked most of the day on the scene, which barely lasts ten minutes in the finished episode, but I am quite visable and really managed to over-act, which made the day more interesting than merely standing in the background (which happened to the rest of the Walk-Ons.)We had to hurl rotten fruit at the poor Robert Hardy (he is such a likeable person that throwing anything nasty at him seemed so awful!) and he also had an egg thrown in his face at one point, which had to be re-shot several times, which cannot have been very nice for the poor man.

Another sequence I was involved in filming on “Middlemarch” was in one of the streets in Stamford, near where the hustings scene was shot. We were passers-by, and some of the principals were doing their scene the other side of the street. There were horses being ridden past and carts, drawn by horses, as the traffic in the street, and myself and another Walk-On had to cross the road, on cue, but it was timed just before a horse and cart went by. We did several rehearsals and it was then that I realised how dangerous this was. A car can stop dead, when the brakes are applied, but a horse is somewhat unreliable and might not stop dead when commanded to do so by the driver who was in control. Also, as it rumbled past, I could feel the whole road vibrate with the weight and sheer strength. I really was relying on the driver of the cart to know his stuff and make sure he could stop if there was an emergency. We eventually did several ‘takes’ and it went well enough, but it was somewhat hairy, to say the least!

Another show I did, about a year later, was partially shot at Burleigh House, just outside Stamford. This was called “Buccaneers” and was based on a novel by Edith Wharton. We were supposed to be guests at a society wedding. The interiors for the actual reception were shot at another location, Grimsthorpe Castle, near Grantham, actually not too far from Stamford. We had done those scenes about two week before the shoot at Burleigh.

One scene we shot was of the married couple leaving at the end of the reception. We were supposed to be watching, through a metal fence at the front of the house, and the camera was set up to get our reactions as we watched the carriage driving away. As we were facing away from the departing carriage, the camera obviously couldn’t see it. A member of the floor crew was detailed to run across the park behind, waving a clip-board in the air, to give us an eye-line as if he was the departing carriage! When the film was cut together you would have seen the carriage going away with the happy couple, and the reverse shot of us watching through the fence!

Not all the television work I have done has been directly as a Walk-On or Support Artiste. I got called one day by a London agency to work on a Dennis Potter production which was being shot at Ealing Studios, called “BlackEyes.” I was to be a stand-in and double for Nigel Planer. I was told ages ago that there was a close facial resemblance between myself and this particular actor. I had to report to the unit management of this production early the next day at Ealing. I was going to be working with a young lady who was going to be standing in for one of the other principals in this production, Gina Bellman. We had to ‘walk-through’ certain scenes from the production, and speak the lines of the actors, as the camera and lighting crews set up the shots that the actors would later film, as the ‘takes’ were to be really long (about ten minutes) without any ‘cut-aways’ as is usual in making a film or television drama. It meant that, once the scene started, the scene would continue with the camera moving around the actors, and wouldn’t contain any sort of ‘cut-aways’ in all that time.

The work of a stand-in is to assist the cameraman, lighting director and sometimes the director as they light certain scenes, and you have to be generally the same height and body-shape of that actor. The principals, meanwhile, are in their dressing room or trailer, and don’t come onto the set until all the technical bits-and-pieces have been sorted out.

So, we spent two days on this work, and I was also used as a double for Nigel Planer, being dressed in exactly the same costume as he wore, and was supposed to be watching from a window across the street, looking into the flat where most of the action was taking place. There was also a man walking on stilts outside in the street, who walked past and also looked into the windows of the flat. I seem to remember that it was actually a mews flat, and the set was built as a ‘cut-away’ section of mews flat and the street outside, complete with a section of pavement, tarmac-surfaced road and cobbles, stairs up into the flat, which was complete with lounge, kitchen, bedroom and bathroom, although none of it was plumbed in, but it was all very realistic. There was even a tiny garden at the back, planted very realistically with plants, trees, flowerbeds and a tiny bit of lawn.

It was really exciting to be working with Dennis Potter as the director, and I have a feeling, looking back, that this would have been one of the last projects he worked on before he died. I did see the finished production when it was broadcast, and I will admit that it wasn’t something I particularly enjoyed. I didn’t see myself in it, or if I was in it, it was only very briefly, and I never did see the stilt-walker. Having said that, it was a really interesting experience. I do wish now that I had taken a camera with me onto the set, as I’d have loved to have had a photograph of myself with Nigel Planer, as it was rather like looking into a mirror as we do look similar. Do I look like him, or does he look like me? I was thinking that, if his career really took off, I could be his stand-in on more films he gets involved in, but he doesn’t seem to be one of those actors who makes very many films. Some people make quite good livings as stand-ins for famous actors and go to Hollywood, but it doesn’t seem to be the case with me. Oh well, there is always another day!

Although this blog is about television walk-on, there are other areas of work in the non-speaking field. I'm not a trained actor and have never been to stage  school (although I did have interviews for stage management courses at R.A.D.A. and the Central School of Speech and Drama but never got in, hence getting into stage management as a student at Cheltenham.) I have done one television commercial, for water privitisation and some modelling (for a magazine called "Moneywise.") These areas of work can be far more lucrative than mere 'Walk-On' and particularly if you are featured.

The "Moneywise" shoot was done in a studio in London. It was to go with an article in the magazine called something like 'How to Get Rich Quick' and I was supposed to be Mr Scrooge. They lit me in a rather garish green light and I was supposed to look greedy and rub my hands together (in the style of Ebenezer Scrooge.) Later in the shoot, I was joined by a lady who was supposed to be Mrs Scrooge (I know, there wasn't one!) and we had to grab £10 notes which were dropped from a height. No, we weren't allowed to keep them. These photographs were used within the article itself. The photographer took Poloroid shots to get the lighting correct and to see that what he was shooting was in accord with the creative director's plans for the cover design and layout. Once this was right he took the actual photographs. The whole shoot took no more than three hours.

Sport

Generally, I don't like sport. I can see nothing remotely interesting in the subject.

I can think of nothing more boring than being made to watch some stupid game of football or cricket. That was what was expected of me when I was at school and it has remained like that into adulthood. We were forced into standing around on a Saturday afternoon watching these stupid idiots kicking a leather ball around in the mud, in the freezing cold and with a howling gale blowing. Surely, nothing was more likely to put me off sport forever than that. The school I went to in Bedford, the playing field was at the top of a hill, and to get to it you had to scramble up this hill in the mud and the cold, and the wind blew really cold from across the town and I suffered terribly with the cold as a child. I don’t particularly like being cold, nor do I like being covered in mud, nor do I enjoy being kicked in the shins or anywhere else for that matter. Then there was the trudge back to the school to get changed, in a smelly changing room, and having to sit and pick out the caked-on mud from the soles of your football books. Yuck!

Maybe it had something do with the fact that I was mildly dyslexic, which meant that reading, and in some cases writing, was jumbled up and round the wrong way. I think that at the time I was beginning my education, in the mid 1950’s, you had to conform to being right-handed. I can imagine that it was better to have all the children in a class the same, in this case, right handed- and a left-handed child would be a really nuisance and stand out like a sore thumb. (why is a sore thumb thought of as standing out? I really don’t know, but it seems odd, thinking about it.) I think I was really left-handed, and was forced into writing with my right hand. If that was the case, when it came to playing cricket I would have found using a bat really awkward if I was supposed to use my right hand and really would have done better with my left, or, kicking a football with my left instead of my right, foot. So I became really ham-fisted at anything sporty, and this didn’t exactly help my confidence. You’d be laughted at, and made fun of by teachers and other pupils at school. As a consequence of all this I was never selected for teams to play anything and was usually the last person to be chosen for whatever sport we were supposed to play when we had games.

I think, actually, I wasn’t technically dyslexic, as my problem was actually with numbers, and I was really poor at maths and anything to do with numbers. I still am, I think, to a degree. I can manage the basics of maths, adding up, subtraction, multiplication, but when it goes into the complex part, formulae, complicated calculations, and all that stuff, my mind simply can’t manage. Algebra might just as well have been a completely foreign language and I still can’t see the point of it. I think the term was actually dyscalculia. I was scared stiff of one teacher at school, who would get really angry with me, which didn’t exactly help. I was thought of as being naughty and had to sit at the back of the class, which didn’t exactly do much for my confidence.

Those particular souls who were brilliant at playing games were sort of heros, and those of us who were no good at these pursuits were made to look stupid in front of the rest of the school. I just wonder where those people are now, and what they are doing.

Another reason that sport was so boring was that I never understood the basic rules. Oh, yes, I learned from an early age that you had to kick the ball in the OPPOSITE net to score a goal, as the one and only goal I ever scored was in the WRONG net, which never made sense to me. I still can never fathom out the rules of cricket, what an innings was, how the scoring system worked, and why you were out when you were actually in, what Silly Mid On was, or L.B.W. and one-hundred-and one really pointless rules and regulations. Does it really bother me? Not really, as I have never felt I have missed out not knowing these basic things, but it would have been nice if some teacher at that wretched school that my parents insisted in sending me to had spent some time and effort to explain the rules.

I say I don’t like sport, which is true up to a certain degree. I did actually enjoy gym (or P.E.) despite the fact that the master in charge was something of a bully and rather a nasty, raving, loud-mouth. I did learn to climb a rope, jump over the pommel horse (or whatever it’s called.) and I did learn to swim, which was just as well, as my dad had several boats, and, as children, we weren’t allowed to go on them until we could swim properly. A good principal in case there was a possibility of these boats capsizing and we needed to abandon ship (which, fortunately, we never had to.) I do rather like field sports, and the Olympics I can’t wait for in 2012. But the thought of cricket and football in particular does nothing for me. Its also the fact that you’re expected to be a fan of football and want to talk endlessly about the latest match that was on television, and when that happens, because I’m not in the least bit interested, I just sit there and my mouth goes up and down and nothing comes out as I have no idea what they’re on about. I think it has something to do with having to BELONG to some sort of tribe, because that, initially, is what football is about, your team is about belonging to a tribe, it’s about belonging to a community of some sort, which I suppose in this age of marriage breakdown and families splitting up, is a good thing.

I can tell you one particular thing which puts me off sport and that's people who endlessly talk about football, making out that they're some sort of authority on the subject, and then ramble on and on as if you are interested in the subject. On television, when a bit game is shown, you have to endure hours and hours of experts sitting in a studio rambling on and on about 'The Game' (leading up to 'The Match', and once it's over you get another couple of hours of them disecting 'The Game' and droning on and on about it until you really get fed up with it. It never occurs to anyone, those executives in television companies who show this stuff that there just MIGHT be viewers out there who aren't in the least bit interested. Programme schedules have to be changed because a game goes into extra time, but does it matter that the rest of us, waiting for the next show to begin, don't matter that me miss our favourite show? Not a bit of it.