To Loose One Parent . . .

Bank Holiday Monday. 10.50 a.m. I was stuck for an appropriate title for this blog post. This one is taken, although only slightly, from 'The Importance of Being Earnest' by Oscar Wilde. It has to be one of the greatest comedies ever written and one of my favourite plays.  The famous line spoken by Lady Bracknell, on hearing that Jack Worthing was discovered in ' a handbag' is forever etched on the memory of actors who now play the part, Dame Edith Evans. 

12.35 p.m. I have at last managed to finish the piece of writing that links to already written sections of writing. The idea is to bring in a new character. It has taken some time, but it is now done.

Tuesday. 5.20 a.m. I've been out with Alfie and come back to my flat. Not much to report yet, but because I'm off to Camphill, no doubt I will be reporting on the goings-on there when I get back at around 5.20.

A very different sort of day at Camphill. There was another group called Phoenix Rising using the Chrysalis Theatre, so the Camphill drama workshop had to use what is called the crypt beneath the stage. There is a main room (the actual crypt) as well as dressing rooms as well as a larger room which is used for meetings, and we used it a few years ago when the main theatre was being used by an outside group, probably Phoenix Rising.  We did the usual check-in, and then we were working on props and painting for our silent film. It's a tight fit with all the guys in such a small room, and as a result, it gets quite noisy. 

4.45 p.m. If you read last week's blog post regarding my Camphill experience of being the Maypole for the Maypole dancing rehearsal, then this week the actual Maypole dancing took place on the green outside the Chrysalis Theatre. The theatre workshop group were led out from the crypt by the guy who is responsible for the music in the workshop, banging on a drum to give a rhythm. The rest of us were given shakers, which were actually empty plastic milk bottles filled with buttons and counters, which we were going to shake to make as much noise as possible. Some of the other members of the group had percussion instruments to shake. Then we were led out and around to the green and stood outside the theatre. Terrie, the leader of the group, was dressed in the essential outfit for the master of ceremonies, made up of rags and started off the dance with the selection of the May King and Queen, which were selected by everyone drawing wooden sticks out of a mug. That duty done, both of them had their crowns placed on their heads, which Terrie had made by crocheting them. Then everyone cheered, and the dancers went and touched the Maypole and the dancing began, with them clutching a ribbon each and following the instructions which Terrie gave. That was the first dance, and then a second group went forward and repeated the dance. Very noisy, and the residents in their houses which overlook the green came out and joined in. A real sense of purpose and a definite community atmosphere throughout all this.

Wednesday. 5.15 a.m. I have already taken Alfie out. I have to do a bowel cancer test every year because I am over 60 (it may be 70, but, I'm not sure.) It's not something I want to make a big 'thing' about, and it has been simplified (I won't go into too much detail here, for obvious reasons.) But the test kit had arrived in the post when I got back from Camphill yesterday evening. So, this morning I decided to get the test done and posted it off. No point in putting these things off, so I took the completed test and posted it in the postbox which is in Fishermead (the next 'grid' to Oldbrook.) So, it's gone, and I can forget about it until the result comes back. A far more efficient and simple test than the one they used to use.

Thursday. 5.40 a.m. An excellent night's sleep. I didn't wake up during the night and then never get back to sleep, which is my usual experience. I've been out with Alfie (as you would expect if you read my posts regularly.) Very short and sharp. A rather overcast morning. Will it brighten up as the day progresses?

Christmas Build-Up?

Sunday. 8.15 a.m. Yet another cold and frosty morning. I have dug out my gloves and woolly Oddballs hat before going out. My hands get freezing cold and can get really painful if I don't wear gloves in such conditions.

9.20 a.m. I have been out to defrost the car. Fortunately, I had the sense to buy some spray antifreeze the other day when I was in Sainsbury's and I also have a scraper, which makes the job easier. I don't think it was a particularly heavy frost, and the ice cleared easily. Also, putting on the car's heated windscreen helps considerably.

2.30 p.m. After our usual service at Shenley Christian Fellowship, we had a Christmas party. It was a bring-and-share meal, the idea being that a list of food was put up on a white board and if you could provide something on that list, you prepared it or bought it. I had tomato and cucumbers, cut up and put into one of my metal bowls, crisps, Twiglets and grapes to take. I went to Sainsbury's during the week to do a top-up shop and got most of those items, except Twiglets. Search as I might, there were none to be had. A bit like Lane, the butler in 'The Importance of Being Earnest, who responds to the question about cucumbers, which have been made for Algernon's aunt, Lady Bracknell, 'I went down to the market earlier and there were no cucumbers, not even for ready money.'

Not only is it bitingly cold today, but there's a thick fog covering all of Milton Keynes. It seems to have got worse as the day has progressed. It's just as well I don't have to drive far because I don't like driving in fog, especially when it's so thick you can only see a short distance ahead of you and definitely not on any Motorway. Also, with snow, it would be treacherous.

Monday. 6.30 a.m. I have a feeling we had a fall of snow overnight. I have yet to be outside, but I am waiting to go out and then will discover if that is correct.

8.50 a.m. There has definitely been quite a fall of snow overnight. When I took Alfie out at 7.35 we discovered a thick layer of snow on the grass alongside Strudwick Drive. My car has a blanket of snow on it as I gaze out of the window, and I will have to go down and brush it off. I have also been to take a few photographs with my iPhone and they have been uploaded onto Facebook.

1.10 a.m. I have been out to scrape off the snow from my car. I was surprised by how much there was and how thick it was. I wasn't preparing to go out in the car immediately, but I was thinking it might be a good idea to clear it before there's another snowstorm overnight and that it would need clearing off the car before I drive to Camphill tomorrow morning. I just hope it doesn't snow overnight nor that it freezes, which would make the job easier.

I had a telephone call this morning from one of the pharmacists at my doctor's surgery, Central Milton Keynes Medical Centre. I was actually expecting a doctor to ring. I thought we were going to discuss and review my medications but wasn't about that. I wanted to talk about the cough I keep having, due to the amount of phlegm I have at the back of my throat and the heartburn, which can feel almost exactly like how your body feels when you have a heart attack. She said I would need to speak to a GP and that I can make an appointment at around 7 p.m. for the next day. I also have to have a blood test and an appointment to have an amount of blood taken (not something I like, but still, it must be done.) so there can be a check on my kidney function. That is made for Wednesday morning at 11.20 a.m. Which means,  no food to be eaten beforehand.

I have booked my car into Bleakhall Motors for a service on Monday 19th December and this is at 8.00 a.m. I'm trying my best to keep the car in good mechanical order so having it serviced regularly seems a sensible idea to me.

6.20 p.m. I have just been watching a video on Vimeo, the video-sharing site, of the pantomime which the  Camphill theatre workshop did in July. I had heard all about it and would have gone to see it if I had been able to go to Camphill, but hadn't been able to because of the pandemic and having to wear a face mask. I am absolutely knocked out by the energy and enthusiasm that was put into the production. Everyone remembered their lines and gave such strong performances. A real winner. A great deal of hard work and effort went into the whole show.

Another Day Older

 Saturday. 6.30 p.m. There's really not much to report at the moment, so expect very little on here.

I have taken Alfie out for his second outing mid-morning and it was attempting to rain. You might say, how can be an attempt to rain? What I mean was that it was more like a thing rainfall. It was definitely undecided and it didn't seem to me to risk a sudden downpour when we were on the opposite side of Oldbrook Green, so we almost immediately went home. Alfie is getting really somewhat lazy and he was the one who decided it was time to go home. I just have to say to him 'home' and he takes me home!

Sunday. 6.35 a.m. It's misty and damp this morning as I took Alfie out.

The milk was off AGAIN! This is beginning to become somewhat annoying. The 'best before' or 'use before date is the 28th of July, so it shouldn't have gone off so quickly. I begin to question whether this milk is dated correctly. Perhaps it's older than it should be, hence it going off quicker. It is kept in my fridge, so what is the problem? It means I will have to go out to Tesco and buy more so I can at least have my mug of tea as normal at this time of the day. Not impressed.

Monday. 6.25 a.m. Poor Alfie has had the runs for the past couple of days. We went out as normal yesterday, but last night, around 1.30 a.m., he came into me in bed and wouldn't lay down and go back to sleep. He, unfortunately, made a rather runny mess and it was this that prompted me to take him out. I had to get hurriedly dressed, with Alfie barking noisily, and I had to take the small torch with me as there was very little likelihood of being able to see what we were doing on the grass outside Dexter House alongside Strudwick Drive. 

Last evening I watched a production of the Oscar Wilde Play 'A Woman Of No Importance' on Broadway HD. It's not a play I know, so it was quite revealing and some of the material seemed very relevant to today, particularly the treatment of women. It starred Anne Reid, Eleanor Bron, and Eve Best. I know the more famous 'The Importance of Being Ernest,' and can quote great chunks of it. It's very clever and witty and is full of famous Wildean epigrams. This earlier play doesn't have the same sort of 'zing' and seems a bit forced and contrived (I suppose all his plays are contrived to some extent.) and seems like a dry-run for the later play, having some lines hinting at the famous epigrams in 'Ernest.' But in this production, why is it so dark? The first scene is supposed to be in the open air but is lit so that it might as well be nighttime. Just gloomy. Is that a modern trend in theatre lighting? The same in the next scene, set in a drawing-room. And what was the musical interlude about, during the drop for what was obviously a scene change? Was that the director's idea? Was it in Wilde's original script? I'm not sure it worked.

Things Can Only Get Better!

Sunday. 1.10 p.m. I thought the title of this blog post seemed really appropriate with how things are going, regarding the pandemic and with the easing of some of the lockdown restrictions. It is the title of a pop song by D:Ream, not that I'm particularly interested in pop songs, but it was the theme music used by the Labour Party at the time of the 1997 General Election which swept Tony Blair to power with a landslide victory. Not sure all the hullabaloo and fanfare which greeted the New Labour victory was exactly carried through into however many successive governments they formed after 1997 or that their promises got fulfilled, but it was definitely a memorable song. How many politicians promise so much in their election manifestoes and then keep them? I think you could write a complete essay on that subject, but I won't on here. 

More people are now allowed in church! Full to capacity, but still socially distanced, but now we have tea and coffee, served in the courtyard area outside. A few months ago we had the Freedom In Christ course on Zoom. I met one of the guys who was one of the participants for the first time this morning and it was odd seeing him 'in the flesh.' We have got so used to only meeting virtually, via computer screens. Although it is amazing to be able to communicate using digital technology, it is certainly not the same as meeting someone face-to-face.

I have been watching a production of 'The Importance of Being Earnest on Broadway HD. It is a recording of a production that was in the West End  a couple of years ago and had Sophie Thompson playing Lady Bracknell. I know the play very well, almost as well as I know 'Hamlet,' and seen it in various productions, live on stage, television productions and both the 1952 film version with Edith Evans in her iconic role as Lady Bracknell and probably the one version others have to use as a blueprint, particularly in her infamous intonation of the line 'A hand . . .bag???' Also, the more recent film version with Judi Dench as Lady Bracknell and Colin Firth as Jack and Rupert Everett as Algenon. It was partially filmed at West Wycombe Park, a National Trust property which I have visited with Carol in the past. It is used as a location in several films and television series but is probably used far too much, but supposedly it's convenient to London and nearby film studios such as Pinewood and Shepperton. Why does Lady Bracknell have to be played by an actor who is ancient? What age is she supposed to be? If her daughter Gwendolen is around 18-20, it would mean she must have been around 25ish when she was born, so she would be around 45-50, but generally, she is played by someone around 75-80ish, which doesn't really compute. It's probably down to casting an actor who is suitable to play such a central character, which might explain why she is generally made out to be older rather than younger. Just my thoughts on the matter of her casting.

Monday 6.55 a.m. At least it's a good deal lighter each morning earlier and earlier, so my outings with Alfie are likewise earlier than, say, a month ago. Another mild and relatively fine morning.

Hooray and yah yaddley-hoo! I (sounds like something the character played by Hugh Laurie would play in 'Blackadder. Probably Prinny in the one set at the time of the Regency.) know that's nonsense, but something has to be said to announce the fact that more places are being opened up and free of restrictions. It's a bit like 'The Sleeping Beauty, where the castle and it's inhabitants have been put to sleep for one-hundred years by the wicked fairy who wasn't invited to Princess Arora's christening, so she puts a spell on the child and the entire castle, so they fall asleep for one-hundred years if the girl pricks her finger. Then, exactly one-hundred years later, the dashing prince rides in on his snow-white charger, battles through the brambles and thorns which have grown up around the castle and inside he eventually discovers the princess, asleep in the top-most turret of the tallest tower and kisses her and as she awakens, the entire castle plus inhabitants wake up . . .  The whole place having been put in lockdown.

Just as I was going to settle down and do some writing (which, by the way, is going exceedingly well.) some delightful soul sees fit to start hammering in one of the flats below me. Probably hacking tiles off a wall to refit the kitchen, but not sure what it is. But just so annoying. Unless, of course, they have a very bad infestation of deathwatch beetle. But I don't think so, but you never know. Someone just trying to get attention? Probably not. Still infuriatingly annoying whatever it is.

Later. 12.35 p.m. I had to go to Central Milton Keynes Medical Centre to have blood taken. I got to the carpark far too early so had to wait. You are told to arrive no more than five minutes before your appointment, but I went in a bit earlier. Always a chance I will be seen earlier so it's worth it. You have to speak into an intercom on the door, give your name and whether you've had any coronavirus-related symptoms. Well, I haven't, so I went inside and sat down, having applied sanitizer to my hands from a bottle near the door. I was soon called in by the digital display board. I have to lay down on the bed thingy (what is the correct name? Can't think at the moment.) The nurse who was going to take the blood sample had real problems finding a vein in my right arm. I just happen to have narrow veins which is one reason why there is a problem with me when they come to take blood. Then she decided it was probably an idea to take it from my left arm, so I had to turn right around so she could get at my left arm. Eventually, she was able to find a vein and the sample was taken, but she said earlier that perhaps I would have to book another appointment, which I really didn't want. One reason for it being so difficult might be that I was somewhat dehydrated. Apparently, you get dehydrated overnight and as a result, I should drink more. I did actually have a drink before I left home, but I should perhaps drink considerably more than I do.

Incidentally, just as a coda. Today is the 15th anniversary of my first heart attack. Not that I really want to remember it, but still worth mentioning.

Boats, Dogs and Horses

Family life when I was growing up always seemed to revolve around either boats or horses, and, thinking about it, dogs also. Living on  farm as we did meant we had plenty of room to keep horses. I seem to remember the arrival of the first pony, called Meg. My brother Robert was, and still is, horse-mad. My younger brothers Sandy and Andrew were involved to some extent, but not to the same level as Robert. Gymkhanas were (and possibly still are) held in and around the county of Bedfordshire and into the neighbouring counties.

I wasn't overly keen myself, as I was never liked all the associated activities which went with horse-ownership, such as mucking out, tack-cleaning and so on. I was put off by horses when I was bitten by one. I was sitting on  fence near the stables at the rear of Malting Farm. There was a field of cattle to one side and horses in an adjacent meadow and between was a drinking trough used by both horses and cattle. A cow mooed and one of the horses decided to nip me on the fleshy part of my upper arm. And before you ask, yes, i really hurt. On another occasion one of the ponies I occasionally rode bolted with me on it and I  nearly landed up going through a five-bar gate at the end of the field. Not really something which was ever likely increase my love of equestrianism as you might well imagine! I did occasionally venture out on horsey rides around Cardington, but nothing very adventurous. I would put the horse I was riding into occasional 'top gear' as you might say and go for invigorating gallops across fields of stubble during the harvest period, but that was about all. During that time of the year you could go for miles across country when the corn was newly cut. Robert was the one of my brothers who did show jumping but I can honestly say that I was never brave enough.

My parents got into horse breeding and used to show mares and foals at agricultural shows such as the  Bedfordshire Agricultural Show and later the East of England Show which was the merging of several county shows which included Bedfordshire and held near Peterborough. The Bedfordshire show was on fields where now Tesco and the beach pool (The Oasis) were built in the 1990's.

We had a sort of riverside 'hide-away' near the River Ouse near Cardington Mill, a sort of beach hut where my parents sailed a boat. Infact they had several boats, one being a motor boat. Summer weekends were spent at this hut and the usual gang of friends and relatives with descend, expecting to be both entertained and fed. My mother provided her usual fantastic teas. The hut contained all that one would hope to have for picnics, including deck chairs and tables as well as having a Calor gas ring for boiling the kettle. Several years ago  I walked along the opposite bank where this hut used to stand, round about where the canoe slalom is today, there seemed to be absolutely no sign of either the hut of the actual site of where it stood. I think there's a sort of sluce there which is in case the river floods, which it has done in recent years. We used to get in through a gate in Cardington Road, which is the road into the centre of Bedford and near where The Barns Hotel is today, (about two miles from Tesco's) and drive across a grass meadow to get to the hut and there was a somewhat precarious wooden bridge across a stream in order to reach the riverside site.

My great aunt Liz used to visit us at weekends.  A maiden aunt, I might mention, who had a certain sort of aura about her. She always seemed to get her own way. Much in the mold of the character Lady Bracknall in the play "The Importance of Being Ernest." She possessed the larges nose of anyone I can think of, and I'm only too relieved to think that I did not inherit this nose . It was very large. My father used to go and pick her up from her home in Philpots Avenue in Bedford and she would come for tea and then be taken home in the evening. In the summer she would come to the riverside hut and join in with tea, but she was as deaf as a post and probably as blind as a bat, so I don't think she could possibly have joined in with much of the conversations. I remember she wore a hearing aid, not one of the modern sort that you get today, which, when worn, are barely detectable,  but one which was extremely visable with a seperate microphone arrangement which was connected to the ear-piece with a piece of wire. I recall having to shout quite loud to get her to hear, even with this hearing-aid, which seemed to make the awful howling sound which seem to go with all hearing aids.
My brother James had a black Labrador dog called Flon. He used her for retrieving when he went shooting. I'm not sure how reliable she was as regarding retrieving. Anyway, this dog used to go with us to the river, and was very water-orientated, as are most retrievers, Labrador or otherwise. She would head straight for the water whenever we got to the hut. Keeping her out of the river was something of a problem. One afternoon, when Aunt Liz was in attendance, I think she probably spent most of the time asleep in a deckchair (well, she would have been in her late 80's  at the time so she was pretty ancient. I think she was 95 or thereabouts when she died in 1965.) Anyway, the dog, Flon, had been for a swim and came out onto the bank, and did what all dogs do  when they've been in water, she shook herself vigorously and unfortunately near the sleeping Great Aunt Liz. She became quite annoyed, as you can imagine and so it was decided from then on to keep the dog away from her. On another occasion the dog went for a ride in the motor boat along the river with my father in command and the dog sitting in the seat next to him. It was a bright and sunny day and the fish were leaping and things were drowsy. My mother was about to pour the tea. The sandwiches were made. The Victoria sponge taking pride of place in the centre of the table and no doubt another load of friends or relatives were about to arrive or perhaps they had just arrived. My mother waited for my father to return in the boat and looked along the river and into the sun, so couldn't see clearly. She said that Aunt Liz was in the boat which she could just see coming round a bend in the river. But she wasn't IN the boat at the time. She thought the DOG was my great aunt, who certainly sat in a somewhat imperious fashion when in the boat and thinking about it now, the dog did look rather like her,  although from a distance, I must stress!

Family Summer Holidays- Part 3

As I have mention in the earlier post, my father's yacht was the central reason for the holiday in Frinton-On-Sea. I think the sailing must have been particularly good along that stretch of the Essex coast. The boat he had which was called 'Amaranda' was a Jewel class yacht. It was clinker built, meaning it was made of overlapping lengths of timber made in the traditional manner. He had another yacht built of fibreglass of about the same size and later still a far larger yacht called 'Flashpoint' which was moored in the estuary at Brightlingsea and which was fitted out with a galley and sleeping accommodation , although it was quite cramped. I wasn't so keen on sleeping in that tiny space afore, as I got seasick with the motion of the boat and also some amount of claustrophobia in such a tiny space. This had a tender, a small rowing boat attached which was used to ferry us out to the mooring.  I remember that my Uncle Michael (my mother's brother, now, alas, dead.) was a very good sailor and would take command of "Flashpoint" because I think as Dad got older he found it quite difficult to manage. Dad had bought a small wooden rowing boat from somewhere in Colchester I seem to remember and took some duty as tender and was called 'Midge.' This was quite a basic sailing boat and could be sailed quite well by one person. Mum was good at sailing that alone and I think my brother James sailed that a few times. This was also sailed on the River Ouse near Cardington Mill, as we had a hut there which was used as a base for sailing and summer picnics, but, unfortunately, all of that had been swept aside when the business park was built.

The yacht would be taken down to be parked at the beach on arrival in Frinton. We had to go to the estate agent to get the keys for the house we had rented as well as the beach hut. I know that now it's quite fashionable to rent or own a beach hut at places such as Southwold, Frinton, Bournemouth and other seaside resorts, but when we went it made a very good base on the sea front. Frinton has an excellent beach, very fine sand between breakwaters or 'groynes' and the sea comes in right up to the level of the promenade and so washes the sand clean and makes an  excellent safe place for families with young children to have a holiday. Inside the hut (we had a different one each year, but I believe that they are all basically the same inside) there is an inner and outer area, the back area being lockable with double doors and which makes a good place to change when you go swimming. In that part of the hut there would be a Calor gas ring for boiling water for tea, a set of around six deckchairs, a picnic table and probably one or two other tables. In the front section of the hut there would be a benched area, so you could set up your table here and sit for meals or set up on the promenade at the front of the hut. 

There was a parking space on what was called the Greensward, a long stretch of grass which runs the whole length of the Frinton seafront. There is a slipway which runs down to the promenade and a further one which allows boats to be manhandled onto the beach and then launched. It was quite a strenuous task to haul the boat up and down these slipways, but I think at one point the car was used for this purpose.
As I said in the earlier post, it can't have been much of a holiday for my mother, because we stayed in a rented house in Frinton and this would mean there would still be meals to cook and we children would need to be looked after. Also, my mother and father sailed most days and knowing my father, who wasn't the most patient of men, it must have been quite stressful being a crew member for him. I can remember on several occasions being on board one of his yachts on the River Ouse and he wasn't patient, particularly if you hauled on the wrong sheet (rope) or moved at the wrong moment, as you had to if the boat was tacking into the wind, for example. If you didn't move fast enough you were very likely to be hit on the head very hard by the boom, the wooden 'stay' which kept the bottom of the mainsail fixed to the mast and moved about quite freely if not taken under control with whatever rope you happened to have in your hand and if not you'd get a lot of abuse from my father such as 'get out of the way, you idiot!' or words to that effect.
Quite a few family friends would congregate at the beach hut at Frinton. Not just my uncle Michael and his wife Gemma, but also a couple called Tim and Betty Smith.  They were a really nice couple, but they would argue with one another and would sit and bicker endlessly.  Can't have been much fun for my mother, inviting someone to tea and have to listen to them constantly bickering.
My brother Andrew appeared in 1961. I think after four boys my mother was keen to have a daughter. So it was a bit of a surprise when child number five was yet another boy. The Smiths, on the other hand, had been married for years and no baby appeared, but around a year after Andrew was born their one and only child appeared, called Ian. Funny little kid, bald, not very good looking, to say the least. In fact, possibly the inspiration for Yoda in the 'Star Wars' movies! I shouldn't make such comment, but never mind. Then there were the Boddy family, Ashely and Alison. Again, lovely people, but very noisy. I think Ashley bought my father's first boat, 'Amaranda.' He was another very good sailor. But as I say, whenever this family visited you needed to keep at arms length or wear earplugs as Ashley had/has a very loud laugh and the whole family makes a great deal of noise.
My Great Aunt Liz stayed at the Grand Hotel  which is on the seafront at Frinton and quite an imposing building.  She was one of my father's Scottish relatives, never married and was ancient even when I was a teenager.  She died at the grand old age of 95, in 1965, so almost 50 years ago. She makes me think of Lady Bracknell in "The Importance of Being Ernest." Blind as a bat and just as deaf and with a huge nose, which, thank goodness, I didn't inherit. Imperious, to say the least, and although she wore a hearing aid she never seemed to have it tuned properly so it made that unfortunate whistling noise that hearing aids are prone to. You would find yourself repeating things endlessly if you had a conversation with her, which could make life very difficult. Anyway, she would come down to the beach several afternoons when we were there, but it would mean her being ferried around in cars and taken down to the beach as she couldn't walk far.
Andrew, as I've said, was the youngest of my parent's children. I can't imagine what looking after no less than five children would be like, not just feeding, clothing, birthdays, Christmas and so on. So it's no wonder that my mother needed some sort of help. So Andrew had someone to look after him when he was a baby up until be was around 9-10 I suppose. This lady was Miss Fuller. To this very day I'm not sure of her Christian name. It's odd, but it's true. She had been a seamstress and very good too, and had gone to our neighbour's at Cardington, the Porter's and used to do mending. Somehow or other she was sort of 'head-hunted' by my mother and came to work for us., doing virtually the same thing. I know, it's odd to us today, but people did mend clothes. It's not something that is done now, I should imagine, even with the 'recycling' generation and the need to be 'environmentally friendly.' I imagine this would be a left-over from the days of the Second World War and what followed with Austerity. Anyway, she had one afternoon of mending socks, darning etc and then when Andrew was born she used to take him for walks in his pram. Eventually she came more or less permanently as a sort of nanny, but I don't suppose she would have wanted to be called that. So she came with us when we went on holiday to Frinton. I don't know what the arrangement as regards payment. I suppose she was given something, but I don't know. But I suppose she was getting, in effect, a free holiday. At least it meant my mother got some sort of time to herself as Miss Fuller took virtually complete control of son number five. Things went very well with this arrangement until my grandmother  Ferriman came to Frinton. I'm not sure for certain whether she came for a day or two or whether she stayed with us, but she was another body for my mother to look after.
One afternoon there was something of a cat-fight between Miss Fuller and my grandmother. Don't ask me what it was about. It was in front of everyone on the promenade near the beach hut. My grandmother was going on  about something like who was looking after my brother, and Miss Fuller, who was an extremely strongwilled lady, put her foot down and said that SHE was looking after him. It was like something out of one of those comedies, almost fists flying, fur and feather. 'He's my grandson and I'm in charge of him!' from granny Ferriman and then 'He's my responsibility' from Miss Fuller (or words to that effect.) I'm not sure how it ended, but it must have been very embarassing for my mother. I think it may have been about who could take him for a walk along the promenade or something equally trivial. I know it must have caused no end of entertainment for all and sundry!