Landlord's Wife Coming To Inspect the House

We got another call from the agency, saying that the landlord's wife wanted to come and inspect the house. How is it, if I use the words 'landlord' or 'landlady' it conjurs up certain 'types'? I think of bed and breakfast land ladies of a somewhat battle-axe sort of nature, probably played by Peggy Mount, who made these sorts of characters her speciality, and landlords people than run pubs? Or is it just me?

Anyway, when they first rang and they said she wanted to come last Saturday, I told a slight untruth and said we wouldn't be in. Could she come the following Saturday? Well, by delaying things it gives us time to get the house cleaned. Not that it needs much cleaning, but still, some while ago we were supposed to get a visitation from them and they didn't turn up, so we wasted an entire Saturday. The woman is coming this Saturday. She had better turn up this time. Two can play at that game, I say. The house will be absolutely immaculate, so she'll have no cause to complain.

The car is now repaired. The mechanic I mentioned rang and said he could come and do the repair this morning so he turned up and it took no more than an hour to put the new clutch cable on the car and we'll pay him on Friday. Thankfully the car is now back in good working order so let's hope it stays that way for as long as possible.

It has been raining most of the day and we even had the central heating on as it's also been quite chilly.

I have managed to plot a new story and we also got the printer up and running and the last story I wrote has now been printed. I have done a quick proof-read and it seems relatively error-free although the end isn't very strong.

Torrential Rain, Thunder, Lightning and Frightened Dog

I've been doing quite a bit of writing today. I'm managing to get quite a bit down on paper. I had written a piece which is supposed to be part of my 'multi-strand' project. Trouble is, I have several notebooks so I spent some time trying to track it down. It was eventually located and I managed to get around a page and a half written.

I did two loads of washing. I know, it's pretty mundane, but these things have to be done. As it was bright and sunny earlier it seemed a good idea to get it all  washed and then pegged out on the line, but no sooner was it out than it clouded over. I thought I'd leave it as long as possible, but the rain started. I bought it all in and put it onto the clothes drier and meanwhile the second load was coming to an end. I don't understand the washing machine. Some days it can go through all the cycles in around an hour and then net time you use it it can take upwards of two hours. Anyway, it came to an end. Once it's finished and the spin had finished you then have to wait another minute or two before you can open the door. This is no doubt to prevent children putting their hands into the spinning drum and having a nasty accident (no doubt for adults, too, I should imagine.) But it's still annoying that you still have to wait. I took the wet clothes out and managed to peg them out onto the line. By now the sun was shining again. I kept an eye on the weather and it's began to cloud over once more. There were signs that it was attempting to rain, and then there was an almightily rain-storm so I flew outside with a clothes basket and pulled the sodden clothes off the line. Then, as I sat back down in my armchair to begin writing again there was an enormous clap of thunder. I found Poppy, our Shitzu/Westy cross dog clambering onto my knee as she is scared stiff of thunder. As I write this she is squeezed up against my leg and the arm of the chair, shivering and being very stressed out. She just needs some reassurance that the thunder won't hurt her and as I write this the thunder is continuing to roll and crash, with the occasional flash of thunder, but now the rain is easing off and gradually the thunder is fading away.

Car Clutch Temporary Fix

One of Carol's students at the Academy has a father who is a car mechanic. She mentioned to the child that our car needs the clutch repairing, so she obtained his mobile telephone number and she rang him when she got home from work yesterday evening. Around half an hour later he turned up on the doorstep, just as we were making our evening meal. He looked at the car and has done a temporary repair to the clutch cable. He has given us a far cheaper quotation for the work and tells us that it just needs a new cable which shouldn't cost anywhere near as much as the first mechanic who came out the other evening. He told us we could drive the car but advised us not to go too far. He should ring me today to give me more details of prices for parts and labour to do the job, which can't be done until next week when we are paid. I did think there might be a problem with this before it eventually went a few weeks ago when we went to shop at Morrison's at Westcroft. I did think that the clutch was likely to go as there seemed to be far too much 'play' when you put your foot on the clutch pedal.

It has been raining hard over-night. I could hear it distinctly when I had to get up in the night. Alfie insisted on going outside and came back soaked to the skin. When he gets wet his coat goes very curly and crinkly, almost as if he has been permed or had hair rollers put in. He is still obsessed by the cats who come in from next door and sit on either the fence on the shed roof. It seems that Yorkshire Terrier behaviour is to sit and stare for a long time at something or other, which is what he did when we lived at the other house in Crownhill and we had an invasion of rats. He managed to kill one early one morning, managing to corner it in the kitchen and eventually catching it and shaking it until it died. The noise was horrible but it was amazing that such a small dog could manage to kill something which was considerably bigger than himself. Just goes to show what a strong-willed little dog he is. Small in stature but bold and brave by nature. I can see now how they came to be used in Yorkshire cotton mills to keep the rats and mice down. Their persistence and perseverance is one of their very strong characteristics. He plays with his toys a lot and has this habit of shaking them, very much how he shook that rat until it died. He loves the Comic Relief ball, which is a red, soft ball made of red material with a face on it, which, when you hit it or drop it hard makes a laughing sound which has the effect of making Alfie howl along with it. He throws his head back and makes the most amazing howling sound. I have never had a dog which does this. He seems to know how to set it off and can 'throw' this ball which starts the laughing sound. If he wants this ball, and he knows very well where it lives on the bookshelf, he will stare at it and then at me and this is to tell me he wants to play with it.

If you scroll down you will see a YouTube video of Alfie playing with the Comic Relief ball and somewhere on that he is playing with the 'dinosaur' ball which makes growling sounds. He gets carried away with that and throws it about on the sofa!

Alfie Sings Along to Comic Relief Laughing Ball!

New Writing Completed

I recently completed a new piece of writing. It is based loosely on an incident my mother told me about which happened during the war. I have fictionalised it, but hope it does justice to what she told me. I have now transcribed it into Word, but I tried to print it using our Kodak printer but it refuses to work. It seems to have a will of it's own and I'm not sure what is the problem. Once I get this piece of work printed I will then be able to edit and proof-read it and hopefully be able to up-load it onto one of the many sites that allow creative writing to be posted.

Working In Theatre- Stage Management Duties- Part 2

We had to find all manner of strange things for use as props in shows I worked on. Not only did me have to find, from whatever source, but sometimes we would have to make props. Particularly shows such as pantomimes, where you could let your imagination run riot and make things larger than life. Huge great clubs for hitting giants over the head with. Larger than life lollipops. Shopping trollies which had mocked-up petrol engines on them so that when the Dame appears on-stage it seems her shopping trolley is propelled by a lawnmower engine, complete with some  smoke coming out of the exhaust. You name it, we had to produce it.  I worked on a production of 'Macbeth' at Greenwich, and it was necessary to make a head of the actor who played Macbeth. If you know the play you must know that at the end he is killed by being beheaded and his head has to be brought on stage. We had to get the actor playing Macbeth, Alan Dobie, to agree to having his head cast in plaster. Not an easy thing, and not something that I would want as the thought of having my head covered in plaster of paris and straws put up my nose to allow me to breath wouldn't be pleasant. He did agree, and then, once the two halves of the mould were separated, the inside of the mould was filled with latex so a cast could be made. When it was finished the finished 'prop' head was very realistic, and it had stage blood applied, along with hair and it was extremely life-like.

In an earlier post on here I describe how, when I was working on a production of a play at the Century Theatre, Keswick, we had to create a dead chicken, which had to match exactly a live one which was on-stage and then is supposed to go off stage and be killed, and how we had to take some of the live chicken's tail feathers and put them into the 'prop' chicken (which, incidentally, has had its head chopped off, which made making the prop one easier!) Also, I mentioned in another post the production of a show called "Loot" by Joe Orton which I did at Colchester Rep where we had to build a set of coffins and caskets, one of which has to be built so that it can return to the stage burnt out and with a trap on the side which hinges down to reveal piles of burnt £5-notes inside, as well as the piles of Fivers as well as a convincing 'corpse' which is covered in a shroud and has to be articulated so when it is carried it appears as convincing as a del corpse, with articulated joints, limbs etc.

Food always caused a bit of a headache. Particularly when we were working with very little money. In a play we did at Liverpool Playhouse called "June Evening" (and which I did the book for, incidentally.) we had to produce an ox's heart. The play was by Bill Naughton, who wrote the plays "Alfie" which became the film starring Michael Caine as well as "Spring and Port Wine (which I was involved in at the Everyman at Cheltenham.) We did manage to find a butcher who could provide us with the real ox's heart, which we then had to cook before-hand and then put on stage. The set was a street, with two houses opposite one another, one being a home with kitchen and living room, and on a revolve, which turned round to show the interior at the correct time during the action of the play. The opposite house was a shop, rather like a corner shop, and probably a bit like one of the shops that are portrayed on "Coronation Street." As it was set during the 1930's we had to stock the shop with appropriate items and so had to contact various manufacturers who provided us with cans and packets, appropriate to the period of the play, in order to make the shop convincing. When this shop was fully stocked up and dressed, (again, on a revolved), it was quite heavy and to get it to revolve was quite an effort.

Alan Ayckbourne's plays nearly always have food in them somewhere. In "What The Other Half Love" at Keswick there was a meal at the end of one of the acts, we were supposed to produce avocados for the starter for one of the couples who are giving a dinner party. We couldn't afford to have avocados for every performance we did so we bought a real one and then cast it in a sort of papier mach material and then lined these halves with aluminium foil and then used mashed banana to fill these half 'shells' or 'skins' and it did simulate real avocado quite convincingly. In the same production the main part of that meal was supposed to be a casserole, but, again we were on a tight budget and had to use bread soaked in gravy to simulate the real thing. I don't think the actor's got to eat it, thankfully!

At Ipswich Theatre, the first show I worked on was 'Roots" (the second of the Wesker Trilogy of plays.) The whole play revolves around a character who doesn't actually appear. He is supposed to appear at the the end, and the mother produces an elaborate meal, which includes a trifle. As is wasn't eaten, we managed to construct it out out bread, cake and shaving foam. It was incredible to see how the glade cherries got bleached by the shaving foam, and made me wonder what on earth it was in shaving foam that could have that effect on glade cherries and what would it do to your skins if you used it to shave. We also had a large Victoria sponge on the stage, also never eaten, and it got so stale that it was like a piece of wood by the end of the play's run and it could almost have rolled across the floor like a wheel!

Working in Theatre- Stage Management Duties- Part 1

I will attempt to outline the various duties expected of a stage management crew, bearing in mind that this was during my time working in repertory theatre in the 1970's. I expect a lot of things have remained the same, but with such things as union agreements, financial factors and the fact that 'repertory' theatre no longer exists in the same way, there are bound to be a great deal of changes since I worked in this area.

A standard team of stage management would consist of a stage manager, and over all would inevitably be a production manager and over the whole lot would be an artistic director and general manager who would be responsible for the administration of the theatre. Stage management, going down the ranks as it were, would be made up of D.S.M. (Deputy Stage Manager) as well as A.S.M. There might be several D.S.M.s and A.S.M.s, depending on the size of the company. A.S.Ms could also be Technical and Acting, the Technical being responsible entirely for duties such as props, scene changes, generally looking after the actors on and off stage, whilst Acting A.S.Ms do a bit of both acting and stage management and would have been a route into an acting career. They would generally speaking get smaller parts,  (ie. butlers, maids, 'spear carrying' parts, herald, minor characters in Shakespeare productions etc etc.) doing minor stage management duties but they wouldn't have gone into theatre in order to focus on a stage management career. D.S.Ms generally used to be responsible for the 'Book' for shows, taking rehearsals and then, when the play goes into the theatre for a run, would be responsible for the running of the show from the prompt corner, giving cues for lighting, sound, and calling the actors on stage ready for their entrances etc. I did 'The Book' when I was A.S.M. at Colchester Rep, on a production of 'Billy Liar', my first shot at this particular job, but generally the more experienced D.S.Ms were responsible for 'The Book.' It was good to have been given the responsibility as you are totally in control of the show on stage. If there is a technical issue, an actor needs a prompt and he doesn't get one, a cue is late for something, such as sound or lighting, it is you, as being in charge of the prompt corner, who would take the responsibility.

When a play begins rehearsal, and it depended on how many weeks each play ran for, but generally they would run for two or three weeks, and the next play in the season was going into rehearsal, there would be a read-through of the play with all the actors present along with stage management, costume designer, set designer, lighting design, sound and so on. This gave everyone a chance to get a general 'feel' for the play. The director would discuss his approach to the text and then the company would see the set, given some sort of presentation by the designer, how the set worked, how scene changes are done, and generally, how the whole show will look and feel. The model is generally a full-scale replica and then there would be the ground-plans to look at.

Stage management would have 'marked up' the floor of the rehearsal room. Some theatres have their own rehearsal space within the main theatre building. At Liverpool Playhouse, for example, which could also be used for small-scale, studio performances, but generally most 'reps' had to make do with either rehearsing on the actual stage, that is, if the current show had space within it's acting area, but usually rehearsals would be held somewhere in the town such as a church hall or other convenient space where the floor-plan of the set could be marked out using coloured tape or even chalk. Doors, stairs and different levels of the set would be marked and then furniture placed in the position it would be on the set. This would most likely be stand-in furniture as most likely not all the furniture for the actual production would be ready for use in the rehearsal studio.

Then the 'blocking' of the play would begin. If actors were not required for a particular scene they wouldn't be 'called' until later, but whoever was responsible for running the rehearsals, generally the person doing 'The Book' would have to keep a tally of rehearsal 'calls' usually given by the director at the end of a day's rehearsal and then the D.S.M. would have to make up a call sheet giving calls for the actors for the next day or for the days ahead. The whole play would most likely be broken up into scenes or acts and the actors required for those scenes or sequences of the play would only then be needed for their scenes. You would most likely have to telephone those actors who were elsewhere to give them their calls.

'Blocking' is the initial direction given by the play's director, the moves the actors make around the stage. During this process the person on the book has to mark all these moves as precisely in the prompt copy so that, if needs be, the director or actors can be remind where a particular move is. At the same time, another member of stage management is plotting all props, what they are and where they are set on or off stage, if they come on from a particular entrance which is important so that at the beginning of the play stage management know where to set them. It is at this point, when there is a list of props, that stage management begin to find props. Some theatres have a properties department, a store-room which contains a fair amount of items which can be used in any particular play, be it a set of candle sticks, teapots, cups and saucers or smaller items of furniture, but if it's something more complicated, such as a stuffed bear (which is what we were supposed to find for a play I did in Liverpool.) or a samovar (which I had to find when working on a play in Cheltenham. Yes, I did manage to find one, in an antiques centre.) then you would be expected to walk the streets of the town in which the theatre was in and literally 'beg, borrow or steal' to get items to use on-stage. We seemed to have a regular selection of shops, mostly antique shops, who would be willing to lend items of furniture, and then we got on good terms with the display departments of certain department stores who used to provide all manner of items. On a production of 'Salad Days' at Cheltenham Everyman we needed to find a couple of hairdryers, the sort you would find in a hairdressing salon. I found out that Cavendish House, the large department store opposite the theatre, was modernising their hairdressing department and found that they were throwing out their old driers, so we managed to borrow them for the show. Perfect, and they even came on castors which made it easy during a scene change. They could then be simply wheeled on and off stage during the scene change.

Before the actual props are available (and some can be hired from a range of prop hire companies) we also had to provide 'stand-in' props, so the actors had something to handle during rehearsals. It's a bit difficult, for example, if a scene is set during a meal and the actors don't have plates and cutlery, or drinking in a bar and don't have something to drink out of. Once they have got their lines learnt and aren't carrying their scripts then they will want to have something to work with as regards props. The same goes with furniture. They need chairs to sit on and if there is a sofa, a group of chairs pushed together to stand in for a sofa which may not have been sourced.

Sunny and Bright . . . again

Today started out sunny and bright. I jut hope the weather holds out for another week as it's half-term next week and we would like to be able to do something or other rather than staying in doors. It would be nice to be able to use the car. To be able to visit a National Trust property (we aren't members at present but if we re-join it means we can visit places free of charge. We haven't been to Stowe Landscape Gardens for a while, nor Waddesdon Manor, another National Property. One of our all-time places is Wimpole Hall and Home Farm. Not only is there a magnificent house to look round but a farm where there are rare breed animals and it would be a good time of years as there should be lots of new born animals such as piglets.

I went to Milton Keynes Christian Centre alone yesterday as Carol has been suffering from hay fever and her eyes were sore. I had to walk, which takes around 20 minutes through the estate and along the Redway. The service started at 9 a.m.

8th Anniversary of my heart attack

Today is the eight anniversary of my heart attack. It was over the night of the 17th-18th May 2006. I've certainly come a long way since that night. I feel really well, no doubt down to Carol, as we met a few weeks afterwards and were actually married more or less one year later to the day I came out of hospital. I won't say I don't occasionally get 'twinges' and some side-effects of some of the medication I'm on, no doubt from the statins, I do get tired some of the time, but generally I feel great. Not dwelling on it all the time is one way of dealing with it and having a positive outlook helps.

Today it is really sunny and warm. We are still stuck here at home without the use of the car, but the sunshine does help with the mood. Our dogs are running in and out of the garden as they love being outside.

Sunny and Warm. Spring is here.

Well, it makes a really great change to be able to report that it's sunny and warm, as I write this at 8.15 a.m. Makes a change to have no rain and no strong wind. Let's just hope it stays that way for the next couple of days.

Someone has come out to look at the car. He does a mobile repair service which means he would be able to sort out the car's clutch on our front drive without us having to drive to a workshop. The problem may be something to do with the clutch cable, which is what I thought it might be, as there is far too much play when you put your foot on the clutch cable. If it's not that it could be the entire clutch itself which would be a far more difficult job to fix and cost a good deal more so he is going to cost the parts and labour for both jobs and then let me know sometime today. It means that it will have to wait until we are paid at the end of the month. Another two weeks without the car but we seem to be able to manage without. Fortunately the Academy is merely a walk away. We have been ordering our weekly shop from Sainsbury's on-line, which is far more convenient anyway from going to the supermarket and trudging around ourselves. It comes already and waiting in nice bags so all you have to do is put it away in the cupboards or fridge!

Unsettled Weather

It started out quite wet and miserable today. As the car is off the road at the moment, and it wasn't the sort of weather to walk to the Academy, Carol rang Gemma, another teacher she works with in her department and she came and gave her a lift to work at around 7.30 this morning. It has alternated rain and sunny all day. There is a threat of thunder but as yet nothing. It's also quite windy.

My Mum and Dad- Part 2

My father was a good engineer. I think he had to become a farmer because he was an only child, and a son, and his father had been a farmer. I don't remember my paternal grandfather. He died sometime in the early 1950's when I would have been far too young to remember him. The same for my maternal grandmother. My dad was forever working on something or other for the farm in his workshop. He was good with anything mechanical, car engines, boat engines, constructing the most peculiar gadgets in order to lift grain in one of the sheds during harvest-time. He constructed a sort of four-wheeled bicycle (if that makes sense. It doesn't, I know, but just let me explain.) It was for us four youngest brothers to ride and pedal, a sort of four-wheeled car with proper steering and with a sort of framework. Quite difficult to steer for what I remember. It was a bit like a tandem but with four wheels. I don't remember it being much of a success. I think it went out on the road around Cardington and then landed up in a ditch or something and then spent a couple of decades in the back of the garage and never went out again because it was damaged. I don't know what became of it or whether it was broken up for scrap but it must have taken a great deal of time and effort to build. He was extremely good at welding and finding ways to solve problems mechanically. If you had a way of solving a problem with your car he always knew how to fix it. If you were going to buy a car he was the best person to take with you when you were looking at what to buy and could always haggle and get a good bargain, not just with cars, but virtually anything. I don't think he ever bought anything without managing to get something off the price.

He was somewhat accident-prone. He would fiddle about with machinery on the farm, particularly during harvest when some machine or other would break down. He managed to get a finger cut quite seriously on the sharp knives in the bailer.  I think today he would have got into trouble with the Health and Safety Executive, but this would have been long before all the business you hear today about 'Health and Safety.' I reckon he would have had the book thrown at him, the number of  accidents he was involved in on the farm. On another occasion he was working on the horse box out in the yard somewhere. I think it was near enough Sunday lunch-time. He had to repair one of the tyres or a wheel on this horse-box and had the wheel off and the whole thing sitting on a few bricks or blocks of wood. The thing collapsed and so injured one of his fingers he had to have it amputated and always ever-after had one or two joints on this finger missing. He was profoundly deaf. This was caused during a time, most likely during the winter months when they used gas-guns on the farm to scare off pigeons from the crops. He would go to a field and take the entire gas-gun away in the back of the Land Rover and on this occasion presumably he hadn't put the safety catch on the timer and the thing exploded in the back of the Land Rover and the explosion damaged his inner-ear. He never recovered from this and was really deaf for the rest of his life. It must have completely damaged his inner-ear. He did wear a hearing aid, when he could remember to wear it, which was not very often, but he had real problems setting the thing so it wouldn't pick up extraneous sounds, such as background noise.

My mother was an excellent cook. Her shortbread was the best ever. I believe she had the recipe passed on by an elderly aunt on my father's side of the family. Scottish, of course. My own cooking abilities are due to her teaching and I think I can produce a good roast dinner, thanks mainly to my mother. In particular, the making of Yorkshire pudding. Her teas at around 4-5 every day were a real feature and people would drop in to sample her Victoria sponges, shortbread and a wide range of other cakes and pies. She was passionate about horses and was an excellent rider. In her later years she was involved with Riding For The Disabled and was very much instrumental in establishing this organisation in Bedfordshire. We had various horses and ponies around the farm from quite a young age. My brothers went to local gymkhanas and show jumping events and also, when my parents had mares from which they bred foals, these mares and foals were shown at local agricultural shows, such as the East of England Show in Peterborough over most years. She took a great deal of interest in all her children and went with me on several occasions when I had interviews when I was starting off in theatre. She went with me to the Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham for example, when I had my very first interview for a job in 1969 and she would never need much encouraging to go with me to the theatre or to see a film that was on in the cinema locally.

My Mum and Dad- Part 1

I have mentioned both my parents in earlier posts. There was around 20 years age difference between my mother and father. My mother was around 21 when they married in 1945. My father would have been in his early 40s. Our lives revolved around dogs, horses and boats. The dogs were greyhounds. My father was a farmer first and foremost but he was also a registered trainer of greyhounds. We were very much into bloodsports. I know that now such things as fox hunting and hare coursing are not exactly 'politically correct' and have been banned in this country for several years, but as a farming family you do anything that protects your livestock against predators such as foxes. I'm not sure where I stand in the debate regarding this activity. I suppose when you are bought up with it as being 'the norm' you tend to accept it without thinking about it, but I suppose I would say I come down on the side of the antis to a certain extent as we are supposed to be a modern and forward-thinking society and such things as bloodsports (although I don't like the term) shouldn't be practiced. I don't actually believe that they are a particularly effective way to control foxes or hares, but neither do I believe that shooting is very effective, as you would need to be a very good shot to be able to hit either a hare or a fox and particularly those animals which know the layout of the countryside and are able to avoid being shot. Then, when we drive out through the countryside on our frequent journeys to National Trust properties or wherever we happen to be going in our car, we very often seen dead foxes at the side of the road, along with a wide range of other wildlife such as rabbits and badgers, which have been killed by traffic, there isn't much difference surely in them dyeing under the wheel of a speeding car or H.G.V. and from the barrel of a shotgun. Both my parents used to go coursing during the winter months. It would be cold and frosty and would usually go off to somewhere her Cambridge. I wonder what they would have to say about there being a ban on this activity. Probably total disbelief. My mother died in 1981 and my father in 1993. 

I have mentioned that we had a hut on the River Ouse near Cardington Mill. My father owned several sailing boats over the years. One was a wooden, clinker-built boat called Amaranda and it was sailed on the Ouse at Cardington. He also had a small motorboat whose name I forget. He used to steer this up and down the river on Saturday afternoons during the long hot summers of my childhood. My mother would, as ever, be in charge of vast amounts of food, packed up in the back of whatever car we had at the time and then drive to this hut, gaining entrance to the site through a gate in Cardington Road and across a meadow and over a rather rickety bridge across a stream. The hut was painted bright green and was locked up for most of the time and contained such things as deck-chairs and Calor gas, which was used to boil the kettle for tea. 

Later on my father bought another boat, made of fibre glass and about the same size as Amaranda and he had membership of the sailing club at Grafham Water, a reservoir near Huntingdon. It is around a 25-30 mile drive there. I never took to sailing. Probably because my father had very little patience with us children and would not understand my lack of enthusiasm for sailing because he would bellow at me to move quicker about the boat when the boom moved across in a strong wind and it would hit you hard on the head if you didn't get out of it's way fast enough. Also, I never could fathom out which rope to haul on at the appropriate time and to me it was far to complicated. I would rather go and visit somewhere in the boat without all the hassle of hauling on 'sheets' (the correct term for a rope on a yacht. Don't ask me why!) Or forget which is 'port' or 'starboard.'

These boats were taken with us when we went on holiday to Frinton-On-Sea on the Essex coast (see earlier post for more details.) The clinker-built yacht was built by James and Co boat-builders in Brightlingsea, which is further down the coast and on the Colne Estuary, around 15-20 miles from Frinton. We did spend a certain amount of time at Brightlingsea, but there wasn't an awful lot there to keep children occupied. Even later still my father bought a much larger boat called Flashpoint which had a cabin on it with galley and we sometime went down to Brighlingsea and stayed on this boat, but I found it very cramped and it was moored off Mersea Island and you had to get out to it in a little rubber boat and to be honest I'm not a very good sailor. But it did mean that we had somewhere to go for a few day's holiday. At some point or other I do remember going to stay in a rather nice pub somewhere on the Hard at Brightlingsea, the name of which I forget. There again, it meant my mother got a break where she didn't have to cook food and organise things as she had to when we went on holiday to Frinton (usually for two week at the beginning of September, at around the time of the harvest. I imagine I must have had time off school but again I don't remember exactly.) We went to a rented house, so my mother would have to cook and prepare meals and it can't have been much of a holiday for her. (I mention more of this in an earlier post on here.)

Even More School Memories

Not only did we have those trips to London to see those shows I mentioned in the last post, but I seem to remember being taken on several other trips. One being to St Alban's, to view the Roman remains. Why we went there specifically I have no idea as we weren't studying the Romans during history lessons. In fact, I don't remember ever studying that period in all my school career. As it was a Saturday, the teacher who took us must have given up his own time to take us. We used to have school on Saturday mornings, for a few hours. As Rushmoor had boarders I suppose it made some sort of sense to have classes if there were pupils already there. I was threatened with being boarded out by my mother, but it never happened. It would have seemed a bit pointless when you think we lived only five or so miles out of Bedford. We used to be taken to school in the morning in a sort of system set up between my mother, the family who lived next door to us in Cardington, the Porters, and my aunty Chris who lived in Ickwell, a village around ten miles towards Biggleswade. Ann and Alec Papworth  went to schools in Bedford, Ann to St Andrews, which I've mentioned being virtually opposite Walmsley House School in Kimbolton Road, and Alec to Bedford School. Some days we were collected by one or other of the team, Uncle Ralph Porter (not actually an uncle, but you always seemed to call people 'Uncle' or 'Aunty' out of respect.) Nancy Porter went to the Bedford Girls High School in Bromham Road and Charles to Bedford School. The Porters had a farm in Cople, the next village to Cardington, but lived at Pleasant Place, a large house next door to Malting Farm. Some days we were taken by Geoff, their pig man, in an ancient car which always seemed to smell of gone-off milk, no doubt because they used to carry vast quantities of milk to various places and some would no doubt spill, hence the unpleasant milky smell. Then Aunty Chris would come and collect us in her ancient Morris Minor estate. I can always remember we used to eat imperial mint sweets in that car as there was always a bag of these in the front glove compartment and we ate them on the journey home. The sound of a Morris Minor is quite distinctive. I doubt that you can get even old models now as they must have gone out of production years ago, but this model was the one with the wooden panels on the side.

When my father was detailed to collect me on a Saturday morning there was always the chance that he would actually forget to come and collect me. He did this on several occasions, and I would be left standing outside the school for an hour or two, no doubt because he had stopped off on the way to have a chat with one of his friends and had just forgotten to come and collect me. It's not like today when we have mobile phones and you can just phone up whoever and they come and collect you. I think on this particular day it rained and I must have got soaked to the skin.

Later on, I got the bus home and the first time I was helped by Nancy Porter who was going home from school at the same time as me on the bus from Bedford Bus Station. It was quite a long walk down Warwick Avenue and into Bromham Road and the bus I caught went from bay 8 and the cost of the journey was around 3 old pence. Amazing how you remember all these tiny little details. I imagine that this was the only time I ever caught a bus as I don't ever remember going anywhere with my mother or father on a bus. I just don't think busses were ever considered an option when I was growing up, as my parents had cars and it was probably simpler to get in and out of Bedford by car. Not like today when there is so much being talked on such subjects as 'The Environment', 'Sustainability', and no such thing as 'Park and Ride' etc.

Those were the days when there was a fairly strict form of discipline in place. I don't exactly support any form of punishment, but if you did anything wrong at school you knew that if you were caught you would get caned. I never got to being caned. I was a bit of a goody goody I suppose. There was one incident I remember when I was a Rushmoor. In one of the classrooms, there was a large cupboard which contained all the art materials. Somebody had been found to have meddled with the lock and put a screw in the keyhole and this prevented anyone opening it with a key. The teacher, Mr Crutchley I believe, wanted the culprit to come forward, but nobody did. So he made the whole class stay in after school (it may have been during school time. It was a long time ago, so I can't remember the exact details.) As nobody was brave enough to come forward we all got punished, each of us going forward to the front of the class and being hit on our open palms with a ruler. If you flinched he did it again. It really hurt and even thinking about it now, it brings back the memory and I can almost feel the sting that was left after he hit our hands. I don't suppose you would dare do that sort of thing today. It would be in contravention of your 'Human Rights' or something, but as any form of corporal punishment in schools has been outlawed you certainly wouldn't get away with it.  Well, whether it was right or wrong you did, at least, know what would happen if you did something wrong. I think today children appear to have no boundaries (perhaps most do, but when there is a behaviour problem it is usually because the parents give their children any boundaries.) When I was about eleven or twelve I was supposed to be in and getting ready for bed. We didn't have all the gadgetry that we have today such as mobile phones, the internet, gaming consoles and all the other electrical gadgetry you can get. I can't say I'm any the worse for not having all those things. If we had a mobile phone I'm sure we wouldn't have been able to take it to school with us as they do over at the Milton Keynes Academy. I think people spoke to one another more in those days. You see people walking about with iPods plugged into their ears, so they can't hear what's going on around them. Rather dangerous if you can't hear traffic that is coming when you cross the road. Or else have you face permanently turned towards a mobile and texting all the time. It's a wonder some people don't get killed because they walk out in front of a moving car because they're concentrating on texting someone instead of taking notice of the traffic.

There were quite a few quite strict school rules you were expected to keep to. You were supposed to wear your school uniform at all times in school. None of the modern 'thing' about wearing your 'everyday clothes.' The uniform consisted of grey flannel trousers, grey shirt and blazer in dark blue with a cap, both of which had a badge of a red 'R' in a sort of shield. The cap was the same colour as the blazer and had a red section in the top. You were supposed to wear this at all times outside the school, or if you were in school uniform. I think there was also a tie which was striped red and dark blue, again to match the rest of the uniform. You also had to wear black shoes, which were expected to be cleaned for daily use. There was a winter and summer version of the uniform. The summer one I think had a light short-sleeved shirt (I think the brand was Airtex, but I'm not sure.) For games, we had to wear light brown shoes with a crepe sole for cricket and the usual football strip for games and no doubt shorts and t-shirt for gym. As I detested games anyway, any excuse to get out of it and into 'normal' clothes meant I was never in games clothing for long.

There were other rules, one being you weren't supposed to go to the cinema during term-time. I don't think this was adhered to very much as I remember going to the Granada cinema in St Peter's Street in Bedford to see the Disney animated film "Jungle Book" with one of my brothers, no doubt Sandy, as he went to Bedford School, and their rules about where you could or couldn't go during term-time were even stricter than Rushmoor's. We were also not supposed to go into what were called 'chain-stores.' To this day, I don't know why. I think this referred to such stores as Marks and Spencer and Woolworth's, but I cannot think of a good reason why this was so. I don't know what would have happened if you were caught in Woolworths or wherever, or in a cinema. Were you taken out and shot at dawn?  Taken out and caned in public? To this day, I don't know and know of no one who ever fell foul of this school rule. Oh well, as I say, rules are to be broken and it all remains a complete mystery.

Seems amazing that you always referred to everyone as 'Murdoch', 'Smith' or whatever a pupil's surname was. It seems amazing that you never got to know anyone's Christian name. What was the point? I can't think of any situation where you would be known by your surname alone. You never work anywhere (at least I haven't.) where you would be referred to by just your surname.I just hope if I was they would, at least, call me 'Mr.' Otherwise, it sounds so deferential and out of date, rather stuck in the Victorian or Edwardian period.

I remember when I first went to Rushmoor I was intrigued by several things. What was all that mesh, netting and suchlike over the windows? Was it to keep the pupils in, or prevent them getting out? The fact is, it looked quite sinister. Thinking about it now, as a 9 or 10-year-old at the time, it must have made the place seem like a prison or a zoo. Even at Whipsnade Zoo, today they don't have so many cages and enclosures for the animals that have old fashioned bars or cages with netting, or else they use some modern alternative to keep the animals in. I expect this netting and chicken wire was to prevent balls from breaking the windows. I was further intrigued by the green corrugated construction in one of the playgrounds. It resembled a somewhat ramshackle chicken house, made to seem more so bay the fact that it had chicken wire over the windows. I may have confused if for a chicken house because there was a similar construction on my grandfather's farm. Whether that was to house chickens I rather doubt, but the two constructions were very similar. Anyway, I soon found out that the one at Rushmoor was used as a gymnasium and also used for school assemblies which we had each morning. It smelt horribly of sweat and horrible rubber shoes, the type we wore for games and P.E. i think there was a cupboard in there which contained a load of such shoes, and you have an idea perhaps that the pong came from sweaty, unwashed feet that lingered in these disgusting old shoes. Not pleasant. Also, the smell of that chalky stuff they use in gymnasiums, the stuff ballet dancers use, is it rosin or something?

One incident comes into my mind. We used to go into that tin shack (for want of a better way to describe that shed or  gym.) and have morning assembly. The owner of the school, Mrs Richardson (I believe she owned the school when I was there.) a strict woman of indeterminate age, used to come in and play the piano for hymns. The words of the hymns were put up on a sort of song-sheet arrangement, rather like a massive book, perhaps six feet by four, which was suspended by a length of sash cord that was hauled up and then tied off on a cleat (all this quite familiar to me now, having worked in stage management, with song sheets used in pantomime and cleats and ropes on a fly floor. I have operated many in my time so a cleat is very familiar and I know very well how to use them.) Anyway, I digress. One morning someone hadn't cleated off the hymn sheet or else the sash cord was wearing dangerously thin, because on this particular morning, as Mrs Richardson was plonking and plunking on the piano, a rendition of something like "We Plough The Fields and Scatter" or some other hymn, and we were in fine, full voice, the whole contraption came crashing down, causing the assembled masses to laugh out loud. Whether we were supposed to or not, I don't know, but it certainly caused a great deal of amusement.

I recall a gym display was put on by pupils of Rushmoor. It wasn't put on in the 'tin shack' as I like to call it, or the so-called gymnasium. It could never be put on there as there was barely room for the 'performers' (or whatever you want to call them.) as well as the audience of parents and teachers. Instead, it was staged at the drill hall just off Ashburnham Road in Bedford. There was a great deal of showing off, jumping over wooden vaulting horses, marching around, all set to music. I can't think what the purpose of this display was about, who was supposed to be impressed, what it ever lead to. But it seemed to take up a great deal of time and effort. I don't think that drill hall is still used for such events. I'm not even sure that it's still there, but if it is I suspect it's for a different use. There used to be another similar building somewhere in Ashburnham Road, I think where now there are blocks of flats and where once the Job Centre used to be. Anyway, I can't even remember my role in this gym display, even if I was involved at all. Such are memories.

I have not made a great deal of effort to keep in contact with Rushmoor School. Well, to be honest, with my rather bad memories of the place, I didn't entirely want to. My younger brother, Andrew, spent a few years as a pupil at the school, but I'm surprised my parents sent him there after my experiences of the place. I do recall going to a sports day when he was at Rushmoor, when the sports field was somewhere along Clapham Road. I think, perhaps, on the ground where Sainsbury's now have a superstore. I can't say I remember now much about it and I don't think I met any former pupils or staff from my time at the school. As regards meeting any former pupils, I did bump into one, working in  a camera shop on Bedford Bus station when I used to use it on my way home, but that was a good 40- or more years ago. His name was Peter Sutton and I think he used to live in Sandy. Also, I had a friend called Andrew Allen who I used to have home for tea (as you did in those days.) and I think I went to his home in Biggleswade. He visited me some years ago and we had a chat about our time at Rushmoor and then I went to stay with him in Norfork when I was working on the television show "Allo, Allo."  I believe he was managing a garage or something in the Norwich area, but I'm not sure where exactly. A rather unpleasant individual, whom I recall was probably called Ward, and I believe came from around the Northampton area, who's family were in the shoe industry, used to be on holiday at the same time as we used to go to Frinton-On-Sea, was something of a nasty little pip-squeak. I used to spend a lot of time on the beach at Frinton, building really complex structures out of sand, roadways and rivers with water which rand along these dug-out channels from rock pools. He went and distroyed the hard work I had put in by jumping on it and breaking it up. Shows how spilt and unpleasant he was. I don't know where he is now, but I hope he doesn't continue with the sort of behaviour that he got away with then into his adult life.

I left Rushmoor in around 1965. You were supposed to go on to a 'big school', presumably one of the Harpur Trust schools or a grammar school. There were several in Bedford at the time. One being Pilgrim School, which is no more. It merged I believe with another, I think one at Biddenham if I'm correct. Can't be sure. The building, in Brickhill Drive, was taken over by various Bedford County Council departments in the 1970's and the Registry Office moved there and it's where you go to register a birth or get married. I did go for an interview at the old Pilgrim School, presumably to complete my education and do my G.C.E. exams, but I didn't get in. I eventually went to Abbey Secondary Modern School in Elstow and completed the final two years of my education there. I didn't actually do G.C.E.'s but instead did the then fairly new C.S.E.'s. I did five subjects, English, Biology, Art, Geography and History. The biggest culture-shock going there was that there were GIRLS! I think I actually benefitted from going there, after going to Rushmoor. Looking back  think I actually learnt far more. In fact, I don't remember actually learning much at all at Rushmoor.

From Abbey, I went to Mander College in Bedford (now Bedford College. I never knew why they changed the name.) I began an 'A' Level course, doing English and History, with the intention of eventually going to Bristol University to do a drama degree, as I had wanted to get into television production. I suppose in those days a degree in drama would have been a good path to getting into television production. As it turned out I didn't do particularly well in my mock 'As' at the end of nearly two years. I applied to several 'rep' (repertory) theatre companies to find out if I could get into stage management as I had been told by the BBC that in order to get into floor management I would need to have several years of professional stage management behind me before I could apply for any floor management jobs. I wrote to as many reps as I could find in a directory called 'Contacts' and got an interview at the Everyman Theatre in Cheltenham, and was interviewed by the then Artistic Director of the theatre, Michael Ashton. I had also gone for an interview at the Royal Theatre, in Northampton, which would be the closest professional theatre to Bedford, and which I knew relatively well as I'd been to see several plays there over the years. I didn't get the Northampton job, but I was accepted at Cheltenham and worked for around a year as a Student A.S.M. (Assistant Stage Manager), and it was how I learned the various functions expected of an A.S.M. I think I might have got the Northampton job, except the Cheltenham offer came up first. The job began on the 16th of February, 1969. How well that date is permanently etched on my memory!

No House Inspection Follow-Up

Well, it's well over two weeks since the agency house inspection. We were told that they were having a meeting with the landlord and that they would get back to us regarding the landlord wanting to come and inspect the house himself. But absolutely nothing, no email, letter or telephone call. I'm somewhat annoyed as the leak under the sink is no nearer being fixed, which was started by the landlord's botched attempts to connect the washing machine to the water system, or any further with getting the fence repaired after the wind blew down a large section several weeks ago, or any of the other minor things around the place which need dealing with. It seems the agency or the landlord seem to have this policy of ignoring everything we seem to report. Oh well, it's there problem when things get worse.

As mentioned in an earlier post on here, we spent quite a considerable amount on getting the car fixed to get it through it's MoT. Now it has developed a fault with the clutch, which made driving over to Morrison's on Saturday morning to do our weekly shop. No doubt it will cost the proverbial 'arm and leg' to get it fixed. It will just have to wait until the beginning of next month now. Pity it had to develop this fault before a Bank Holiday Monday. It meant we couldn't go far as we had planned to visit somewhere which would have meant using the car. As a result we took the dogs for a walk along the Redway and walked along the canal, having a coffee at the riverside restaurant and then along to an open day at the marina. Alfie got himself in a great deal of bother as usual when it came to putting the harness on, and when we got to the restaurant and sat outside Poppy managed to get out of her harness and wandered along the bank on her own. Just as well she didn't see the cat on the opposite bank as she would have made a lot of noise barking and no doubt attempt to swim across the canal! fortunately she was came back and was reacquainted with her harness.

We had earlier intended going to the gym for a swim, but as the car is out of order it would mean a) walking b) catching a bus, or c) going by taxi. All of which would mean quite  bit of cost and effort so we decided to take the dogs for a walk. We did do quite a bit of research and found out the number of the bus to the gym, which would have meant being dropped off near the football stadium at Mount Farm and walking through to the gym which is on the opposite side of the football stadium (actually D.W. is within the stadium precincts.)

More School Memories

The Rushmoor School playing fields were on top of a hill (where now Bedford Modern School stands. It was moved there from the centre of Bedford in the 1970's. That old building was converted into the  Harpur and Howard Shopping Centre.) This didn't exactly help my interest or otherwise in cricket or football as to get there you had to trudge around two miles and then up a very muddy path and then stand around in all weathers, usually a howling gale, in rain and snow. So, you can see my dislike of the whole process which dwindled considerably as those winter afternoons dragged on and on, and then  having to drag oneself back to the school in Shakespeare Road and change back into your clothes in a crowded changing room.  I seemed to suffer really badly from the cold, not entirely helped by lashing rain and howling gales. I think the master in charge of sport seemed to relish the thought that he had some sort of control over us and to make you stand and shiver in the cold was some sort of control over us all. Probably there were those who enjoyed the torture, but it was supposedly meant to make 'men of us' but I don't for one moment think so. Why on earth they couldn't build a changing room on the side of the playing field I will never know. I think there was some sort of pavilion there, more like an over-sized garden shed, and even then it didn't contain facilities for changing or even toilets. Such are the future men of this country 'made' as they say, not on the 'playing fields of Eaton' as someone or other said, or was it, the 'battles' or something, by some brave future prime minister or some such person. Was it Churchill? I don't know whether he said that, or a variation of it, but I wasn't impressed as a child of tender years, nor now, as an adult, of far more mature years. Just cruelty to be expected to endure such cold and total unpleasantness. (The quotation  about 'the playing fields of Eaton' is actually attributed to Matthew Arnold.) It just further put me off the stupidity of kicking a leather ball in-between wooden uprights with a net slung between or to endure the hitting on some delicate part of the body by a fast-moving lump of red leather, a cricket ball, or standing aimlessly pretending to understand the stupid 'flannelled fools' playing cricket on a bright, sunny afternoon in summer. That quotation comes from a poem by Rudyard Kipling called 'The Islanders.' If I use a quotation somewhere I always want, wherever, to get the quotation and the attribution correct.

Anyway, you will have discovered by now, as you read this, that my interest in cricket and football is virtually nil.

I do remember that we had sports day on that games field in Manton Lane, Bedford. I was fairly good at running and long-jump, but never got through the heats to actually get a chance to win anything. I remember being used as a sort of runner of a different sort on the actual day of sports day, delivering messages of one sort of another. I suppose quite good training for when I eventually get into working in stage management. Also, Rushmoor put on several gym displays in a drill hall which if I remember correctly was in Ashburnham Road, Bedford. A lot of jumping over wooden horses and displays of one sort or another and set to music. One of the teachers, Mr Crutchley, got me interested in tape-recording, and I quite liked the idea of being able to use a tape recorder to read stories or to produce little dramas. I eventually bought my own Grundig reel-to-reel tape recorder and recorded music and plays off the radio. Later on, when I was working in stage management my interest in tape recording and tape recorders came in handy when I worked on the sound side of various productions, having to create sound effects and then operate the sound decks on some of the productions I worked on.

Although I grew to total detest both cricket and football, I did quite enjoy swimming. We used to go to the Bedford Modern School swimming pool in Clarendon Street. I presume it was hired out to Rushmoor for a couple of mornings a week. I actually gained something as a result: learning to swim, although my memories of the lessons weren't favourable as I recall being jumped on whilst in the pool which I never liked, by some idiot child or other. Ever since I have had a dislike of having my head under water. My father, who I have mentioned elsewhere, had several boats, would not allow any of us children on these boats until we were proficient swimmers so learning at school did have it's advantages.

I met a former Rushmoor friend of mine a few years ago, name of Andrew Allen, and we were talking about our time at the school. He reminded me of the long walks we were taken on  some afternoons, and we seemed to walk for miles, usually towards the village of Clapham and along Bromham Road. Looking back I couldn't see what the purpose of all this was. Those walks, when we walked along in long crocodiles, with a couple of teachers in attendance, seemed pointless, until he pointed out that they were usually during the winter months, and were no doubt so that we were out of the building and which would mean they didn't have to put the heating on, hence, a way to save money! Seems unlikely, but no doubt true when I come to think of it.

We produced a couple of plays at Rushmoor. There was a stage, of sorts, in that tin 'chicken house' gym. It was mainly used for wood work, where there was a variety of woodworking instruments such as vices, saws, hammers and so on, but for the plays the stage was converted quite successfully. One play was an adaptation of "Oliver Twist." Being an all-boy school any female roles had to be played by us boys. I wanted to play Fagin, but didn't get cast as that. I played the matron of the workhouse (I think in the original Dickens novel she is called Widow Corney or something), but this was supposed to be set in modern times so the workhouse became a boy's school. Could it conceivably have been Rushmoor? I don't know, but we had fun putting it on. There is more on this in an earlier post. The second play was called "The Bookworm's Nightmare" and involved a plot whereby a whole host of characters from various books come alive. I played another female character called Rutabaga, and I think she was from one of the "Tales of the Thousand and One Nights" but I really can't remember much more about it as it's all so long ago it rather fades into the mists of time, unfortunately.

As a result of the production of "Oliver Twist" some of us went to London to see "Oliver!", the Lionel Bart musical. I imagine that it would have been the original stage production at the New Theatre. It must have been my first experience of a West End musical, although i think I had been to see other shows, most notably going to see "Peter Pan" when I was very young and I remember as part of the treat having tea served on a tray in the stalls. This is also mentioned in an earlier post on here. We later went to see another musical, based on another Dickens novel, "Pickwick' which starred Harry Seacombe but I don't think it was anywhere as successful as 'Oliver!'

Early School Memories

I would have gone on from Walmsley House to Bedford School, no doubt because my two eldest brothers went there. But because of my problems with maths I failed the entrance exam. As a result I ended up going to Rushmoor School. A preparatory school in Shakespeare Road, Bedford. It's still there to this day, and every time I drive past (but not for quite a few years, I have to say.) I get a sort of chill down my back. To be honest, I hated it. I can't for the life of me think what persuaded my parents to send me there.  A waste of money if you ask me. The headmaster at my time there was Mr Appleton, a large very avuncular gentleman with grey hair and beard and a very jolly sense of humour. I remember being taken for an interview to go to this school and him making some joke which was a reference to the poem Lochinvar, but don't ask me what or why it came into the conversation. I think something to do with him riding in with his vest on. Supposed to be funny, but please tell me why or how a child of that age, perhaps seven or eight, was supposed to see what was amusing about a poem by Sir Walter Scott is beyond me.

One thing used to intrigue me about Rushmoor when I first went there: why was there chicken wire over almost all the windows? I imagine it was to prevent them being broken by flying cricket balls or pupils flinging stones in a rage (I jest, of course, about the raging pupils, but who knows?) Then there was the weird green tin shed which could have been some sort of chicken house. It also had it's fair share of chicken wire over it's windows.  I think it was the chicken wire that made me think it must be a chicken house. But thinking about it now, why on earth would a school have a chicken house, let alone a green corrugated tin one? It really didn't make sense. It turned out to be the gymnasium, and doubled up as assembly hall for hymn singing first-thing in the morning. The piano was played by the lady who owned the school, Mrs Richardson. She was a relatively old lady and lived in a house next door to the school. The words of the hymns were put up on a huge sort of song sheet, an enormous book with pages around four foot wide and five or six foot high which had the words of the hymns printed on in really large lettering which could be turned over to the relevant hymn for the morning's singing. One day something went disastrously wrong. This song-sheet book, or whatever you want to call it, had to be hauled up on a length of sash cord and then tied off on a cleat at the bottom, but this day, whoever had done this job, hadn't fastened it off securely, or else the sash cord got very frayed, because part-way through this particular day's hymn the whole hymn book/song book/song sheet collapsed, causing Mrs Richardson to abruptly stop playing the piano and the whole assembled school burst out laughing! Not something you forget in a hurry and no doubt was the talk of the whole school for the rest of the day. The weight of that song sheet must have been quite a lot, and when it crashed down when it did it was just as well it didn't land on somebody as they would have received quite a nasty injury.

We had our weekly session of gym in that weird green box. The building smelt of stale sweat and the horrible rubbery smell you get from ancient gym shoes. I leant to climb a rope and vault over horses (not real ones. Those odd wooden boxes, reminiscent of the one used in the film "The Wooden Horse" which is about an escape from a concentration camp somewhere in Germany during World War 2.) Also, swinging on parallel bars and other odd things. These lessons were lead by a man whose name I forget, but who was very short and had a bull neck and had an almost sado-masochistic streak. Don't all gym and games teachers have a tendency towards sado machochism? I'm put in mind of the Roald Dahl story, called I believe 'Galloping Foxley' which is about a young man who meets his former gym teacher on a train, and what befalls him as revenge for what he did to him when he was at school, as I bumped into this man on a train in a similar fashion. He obviously didn't recognise me, but I remember how we were treated quite badly by this man so I can see how Dahl could write a story about that former schoolboy getting his revenge. I think the retired teacher got thrown off the moving train, but I'm not sure. I remember it being adapted as part of the "Tales of the Unexpected" but have not read it. I will have to get the collected Dahl stories and give it a read.

Rushmoor School, as perhaps many schools at the time would have also done, was very much 'in' to sports. Cricket and football in particular. Also, gymnastics and country running. I didn't mind the gym sessions so much, but football and cricket, even to this day, leave me cold. I think, as I've discussed in an earlier post on this blog, my problem was to do with being vaguely dyslexic, and having problems with left and right. I think I was supposed to be left-handed, but I was made to write with my right hand. I think in those days if you were left-handed you must have been considered a bit of a misfit, so you were forced to write with your right hand. So, thinking about it, the very idea of being made to play cricket, throwing a ball, or batting, was made more difficult by the fact that I made such a pigs ear out of hitting the ball with a bat or bowling or kicking a football. I think I mentioned somewhere in an earlier post that my one and only attempt or even success at scoring a goal in a game of football was in the wrong goal. Nobody had the sense to explain to me the wretched rules of the game, the fact that you scored a goal in the OPPOSITE net. The same goes for the rules of cricket or even tennis. If someone had sat me down and gone through all the rules of these sports I might have understood and been more inclined to participate. But because I wasn't any good I was never chosen for a team and always got to be at the back of the queue and fielding away from all the excitement and action of a game of cricket, no doubt in the long grass away from sight and sound of the game and lost beyond recall, probably dozing in the shade of some tree or other.

Earliest School Memories

My first memories of school are probably not actually 'school' at all. From an early age, which would presumably have been around the age five or even less (so if I'm 63 now and was born in 1950 would be about 1955 or so) I went to a house in Kimbolton Road, Bedford, run by a lady called Miss Beale. No doubt it would have been called a play school, or even a nursery.  I don't think we actually did proper lessons, most likely just kept occupied with games, drawing and the odd bit of reading. Read to, not actually us reading, although I doubt very much that I could read myself by then. I expect it was privately run. I have actually no idea. I expect my two elder brothers, James and Robert went there, so little John went there as well. I have no idea why we went there and not to the local primary school in Cardington. As the village is some four or five miles out of Bedford, it would be quite a way to be taken to this establishment in the middle of Bedford. Presumably it was privately run. All I can remember vaguely was that it was in a big house on several floors and it had a long flight of steps going up to the front door. I know pretty well exactly where it was, somewhere near the shop on the corner of Pemberley Avenue. I have walked along there in the last ten years or so, but can't pinpoint the exact house as it has changed considerably over the years. Memory does do strange tricks and, when you are small you see things from a different angle compared to how you view the world as an adult of over six feet tall. It must, I presume, be around opposite what is called Hitchcock House, a modern building which houses a lot of what I think are called out patients departments of the N.H.S. as I think I went there for physiotherapy and possibly blood tests as an adult. That 'block' used to be North Wing Hospital up until several decades ago, including the maternity wing as my daughter Chloe was born there in 1984, although that department of the hospital was moved to modern premises in Kempston Road, Bedford, some time ago.

I then went to Walmsley House School at about 6 or 7, which, coincidentally was opposite 'Miss Beale's.' I think the building was the old maternity department of the hospital in an earlier incarnation. Buildings do change their use quite frequently over the decades. I think my younger brother, Sandy, was born there but I don't know when it stopped being used for that purpose and went over to being a school. It's strange how your memory remembers some things yet blocks out other things. I imagine the house used by 'Miss Beale's' is now a private residence. I haven't lived in Bedford since 2007, and haven't been along Kimbolton Road for about a decade so I don't know how much more it has changed there, but I don't suppose a great deal. I believe that Walmsley House School was taken over by the Harpur Trust, which is the body which owns and runs the large private schools such as Bedford School and where my brothers James, Robert and Sandy went. I think what was Walmsley House moved to new buildings in Brickhill Drive in the later part of the 1990's and was renamed. The old building in Kimbolton Road was taken over by St Andrew's School for girls (which is or was in buildings further along on the opposite side of Kimbolton Road and where one of my female cousins went to in the 1960's.)

I can't say I remember much about Walmsley House. I think I have mentioned somewhere on these posts about how lunch was brought to the school by a van and delivered in large metal tins, because the school didn't have it's own kitchens to cook it's own food for lunch. I have no idea where this food came from, presumably the same kitchens which provided meals for state schools in the town. I do remember the van turning up in the playground. We ate the lunches in a rather smelly area of the school, I think some of the tables were set up along the landing of the entrance hall and some delightful child throwing food over the bannisters! Amazing how you remember such things and the fact that the dining hall had this awful smell of over-boiled cabbage and stale food. Having been into quite  a few primary and infant schools over the years with puppet productions I've worked on, many of them had the same awful smell. Really not nice and you would think it would be possible to get rid of it and avoid it. Just not able to clean up the left-over dinners  properly which were generally fairly obnoxious which would be why so much was left over. Why were school dinners so awful? Lumpy custard and gravy, disgusting liver, more like old rubbers, over-cooked vegetables and in particular cabbage boiled to death and mashed potato that tastes more like wallpaper paste! Prunes and custard, bright pink sponge pudding and custard, the list goes on and on

Then there was the hilarious incident also mentioned elsewhere on the posts about the out-door production of whatever it was at Walmsley House, which included a sort of country dance which the children put on, and with music provided by a record player at the side of the stage, which was a raised grassy mound. Then a teacher who wore high-heeled stiletto-style shoes trod on the power cable to the record player and there was a loud bang and a flash of blew and the record with the music ground to a halt! It's a wonder the teacher who stood on the cable wasn't electrocuted. Can you imagine this happening today? There's be an outcry from the Health and Safety people and if the newspapers got hold of it, they'd make a meal out of it. 'Children at risk of electrocution from stiletto-wearing mad teacher' or worse on the front pages of the tabloids! I seem to remember that they always put on a production of 'William Tell' every year. I can't think why that particular story, and again, can you imagine the scene with the boy Tell having the apple on his head and having the cross-bow bolt fired at him by his father (don't ask me the context as I don't remember.). Just I imagine if you did this in a school today it would have to pass Health and Safety at some point and it would be in the tabloids again for all the wrong reasons.

Another blog post . . .

I haven't been on here for a while. Nothing much to write about. The weather is being somewhat changeable. We have another Bank Holiday on Monday, so it's a long weekend, in effect. A couple of Sunday ago there was a marathon (half, or whatever, I'm not sure exactly.) and it came straight past our house here in Eaglestone. Which means that,  for most of the morning we couldn't get the car out. Now, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with marathons, they give thousands of people something to do on a nice bright sunny Sunday,  anything which means they don't have to wash the car, read the paper or watch interminable repeats on television, but I suppose they are a good  form of exercise and they help raise vast quantities of money for 'good causes.' But, please tell me, why on this occasion they have to run on the road through our estate? There is a perfectly good Redway running directly behind the house, so why can't they use that? I know they give us fair warning that they're going to stop us from getting in and out (by putting letters through our letter boxes a week or two in advance) and the Council has to have adequate warning of such an event and roads do need to be closed off for the duration of the event. It just seems annoying that we can't go out on a Bank Holiday in the car, although we might after 12.00 when the whole thing finishes.