i must confess that I have fallen into similiar ‘holes’ but now learned to beware. It’s that time honoured scenario of approaching a female acquaintance not seen for some time. She seems to have put on weight recently - yes you know what’s coming the question that should never be asked until more information is offered - “when are you due then?”
watch for the smiles or the scowls and daggers drawn!
she was only a farmers daughter but could remove the entrails with one swipe of the knife!
Hello chums,
Edwin Jones department store had belonged to Debenhams for many years before actually adopting the parent company’s trading name.
A cocktail party was held on the evening before the launch & I was handpicked (aged 21) to engage guests in light conversation. Rather similar to the role embraced by officers and the captain of a cruise liner.
Incidentally, many years later this cut no ice with my late mother who when invited to sit at the captain’s table announced that she had no intention of eating with the staff.
Back to the launch, I soon had a small collection of vips wives gathered round me, wanting to know who was who. I obliged where I could & I was left with 2 slightly tiddly gentle ladies.
“Mr. Grice” said the tall one, “Who’s that man over there?”
Eager to please, I unwisely replied.
“i’ve no idea who that fat little bald man is, but the tall man is Mr. Fortnum, the financial director” at which the tall one identified as he spouse.
The short lady said, somewhat coolly,
“Ah I can help you with the identity of the fat little bald man; he is my husband, Mr. . . Bowes, personnel director.
I stayed cool & rather like former News of the World investigators of old “Made an excuse & left “Not before the short one had asked me to spell my name, noting it in her diary.
As I mingled again with less illustrious guests I could hear my former companions shrieking with laughter.
I know exactly how you felt RJ:blush:
I live right opposite the parish church & old cemetery, which is surrounded by a low wall. We love seeing all the goings on, christenings and marriages, funerals. Occasionally there will be the sound of horses hooves as wedding carriage draws up or a funeral hearse goes past, the horses black plumes of feathers nodding on the horses heads.
About 8 years ago my mother and I had been to posh do, followed by a concert in the church. Mum and I had our best outfits on, I looked particularly debonair with a white suit and panama hat on. My older brother was giving one of his vintage cars an airing and dropped us off in the church entrance. He likes to dress up in a dark uniform and top hat when he takes his cars out and pretends to be a chauffeur As it happened, a coach just pulled out of the church lay-by after dropping off the 52 strong Swindon male voice choir. They formed an orderly queue sat along the low wall waiting to go in to the church. When they spotted mother and me, dressed up to the nines it must have appeared that we were guest dignitaries. Without thinking I shook the hand of the first man heartily. The next man offered his hand and we were led along the line . I entered fully into the spirit and grew bold.
“So glad you could come” I announced to one man.
“What a nice blazer” I said to another. Mother looked more than usually inscrutable, brother rolled his eyes. There was .no stopping me
“ Why, I was up Swindon way just recently” I announced to one man,
“In Highworth”I added. At this the man in front of me said.
“ I am the mayor of High worth” and gave my hand another squeeze. Brother had parked his car by now and came to my rescue by hauling me and mother away to our seats… I tilted my hat to the rest of the choir and went into the church. Mother looked at me and whispered
“Robert, you always seem to know everybody” The vicar greeted here saying “Have we met before” and she replied,
”Yes I was married here in1947”
I can report that the rest of the evening was uneventful.
They failed to include “Jacobs ladder “which I had requested as I inspected the line earlier. I suppose they would have had to rehearse it first. I always thought that life was a bit of a rehearsal.
Rehearsal For what remains a mystery.
I stopped doing social stuff when the question kept recurring “Is it Me”.
Sting had the same experience, when he started feeling Sue Lawley.
when the story started I thought you were going to list a whole lot of shinanikins that you saw taking place behind the low stone wall!
Nobody knows what goes on behind stone walls, so I’m told, but that doesn’t stop me wanting to know, out with it RJ.
I’m reminded of this old one.
Beneath the Crypt the Curate crept
For the Vicars Wife to lie on
He thought it oh so rude to do it in the nude
So he put the old School tie on.
You’ll both have to wait while I think back & remember an episode when , as a spotty youth I drank too much at a party, went out into the fresh air & fell behind a cemetery wall, couldn’t get up & lay moaning, alarming passers by who didn’t know where the ghostly sounds were coming from.
I don’t know why but your comments about the church and the low stone wall reminded me of Larkins poem Going Going. I’ve selected a few verses here as all of it is too long - he has a funny style of writing too
Going, going
I thought it would last my time –
The sense that, beyond the town,
There would always be fields and farms,
Where the village louts could climb
Such trees as were not cut down;
I knew there’d be false alarms
In the papers about old streets
And split level shopping, but some
Have always been left so far;
And when the old part retreats
As the bleak high-risers come
We can always escape in the car…
And that will be England gone,
The shadows, the meadows, the lanes,
The guildhalls, the carved choirs.
There’ll be books; it will linger on
In galleries; but all that remains
For us will be concrete and tyres.
Most things are never meant.
This won’t be, most likely; but greeds
And garbage are too thick-strewn
To be swept up now, or invent
Excuses that make them all needs.
I just think it will happen, soon.
One just needs to decide, how soon is soon.
Probably a relative thing.
Gumbud…I love the Larkin poem…prophetic, very.
Up until today my favourite Philip Larkin poem had been
This Be The Verse
BY PHILIP LARKIN
They fcuk you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were ****ed up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself.
SPitty, true.
I often think when folk remark, say at the funeral of a 90 year old
“Well he/she had a good innings”
How thoughtless is that!
I’d say. how soon is soon enough,how long a life is long enough ?
My uncle Arthur is 95, still young at heart & going on strong. I’ve known others who were just born old.
I lost a young friend at 16 who had packed many more virtual years into her actual ones, vivacious, outgoing & who made an impression on all she met.
Is this fair? God only knows
well a bit harsh if he was referring about my ma and pa - pa was a great champion of me! and so was ma in her own way she just didn’t know how to show it much!
let’s write some ma and pa poems??
Mum September 27th 1925 - November 28th 2011
She wasn’t the best mother in the land
But she was the best one I ever had
I have still happy memories of her
Especially from when we had dad
Her later years were etched in pain
She became what she’d always dread
Her fears in life the truth became
Just as she’d always said.
“I don’t want to be a burden to you,
I don’t want to end up a shell”
Mum you never were, that’s true
Now you’re free from your private hell.
I loved you mum, I always have
Though I didn’t think you loved me back
Until you looked at me two days ago
That look said, I’ve always loved you- fact.
Robert.
good one RJ - wish I could write one like that too but Ma was made of toughened granite - you could see streaks of it running through her but she was brought up in a world of granite too and she did the best she could.
dad could be tough but he was always the softy - sort of good cop -bad cop scenario - but heh dems the hands I dealt ya buddy - buddy can ya spare a me a dime
Lovely RJ, well put together.
Never saw much of Paw when I was young
He drove a train all over the place
But I know all the songs he sung
And remember the smile he had on his face.
Maw was quite another matter
Always about and there when needed
Boy could she chatter
The things she said I wish I’d heeded.
My Dad was never around much when I was growing up, he was in hospital with TB a very long time then when he came out he was back driving trains. We made up for it when he retired and regularly drank together until his death at 94, he had outlived most of the doctors who told him he was a goner when he was a young man, he was very proud of that fact God rest him, he always used to say “Never say die till you can’t”
My mother was a saint, how she looked after the five of us kids living on the miserable TB allowance is beyond belief, but she managed it and despite pleas from her family she never gave us up for adoption, bless her soul. whenever there is a threatened rift with any of my siblings I don’t be long about reminding them of that, shuts them up like a light.;-)
Yes Jem I have often wondered how on earth they managed -my Ma was one of eleven [see below] her father a butcher and her mother worked at home all her life but they managed! bone soups I expect and odd jobs and in those days the eldest kids once at work 16 on brought in more cash.
RJ what am I always saying - you’ve started a deluge again!
[CENTER]Pa and Ma and Us![/CENTER]
Me Da was born an only child
I wondered if he ever smiled
His father I had glimpses of
Till toes curled up and no more was
Me Da he must ‘ave went to school
But finished up a fishmonger tool
And then he met the Darlin Flo
Who made his lonely juices go
Now she was the ‘go gettum’ gal
One of eleven and fightin mad
Fought them all right to the altar
Then walked out with her man in halter!
Me Da worked menial all his life
Lovely fellow lead by his wife
She had bigger things in mind
A fully unqualified accountant fine
I don’t know who brought in bigger bread
But us three kids were all well fed
And even had a family minder
Dear old gran who could be a grinder
Learned to grow in post war years
Out of city grime to yellow cornfield lairds
Joined the ‘graaammaaar’ school yard throng
Forced to sing school anthem song
Let’s not forget the tortoise said
Who carried you all this far and bled
The daily toil and sweat and dreams
Of brand new world with garden themes!
Most enjoyable Gumbud.
I wasn’t long married and was in my early twenties, we had taken up temporary accommodation in any area on the outskirts of Dublin City. We settled in as best we could, and on Friday night I went up to the local pub to check it out. It was a well decorated fairly new place and it being early in the evening there were only the hard core locals there, I got my drink sat down lit a smoke and opened the paper. When I got up to go to the toilet I noticed a young man about the same age as myself sitting up at the bar, he had no arms and he gripped the pint glass between his teeth and lifted it up to his mouth to swallow, very skilfully he did it too, didn’t spill a drop, then he replaced the glass on the counter. He was sitting in the centre of the bar and there were two groups of men at each end, they conversed in loud voices in order to be heard but it puzzled me why they did not band together more closely. I turned to a chap at the next table to where I was sitting and I asked him this, he smiled at me and said in a half whisper “Nobody wants to be near him when he wants to go to the toilet because they have to go out with him, and er…you know… and he drinks quite a few pints so you could be in and out with him all night”
I did make me think about how the loss of vital limbs can make such a big difference in your life, things you would normally take for granted become impossible without assistance, I never found out how that young chap lost his arms but when you think of it there must have been thousands of young people in the world left limbless after the two big wars.
