What went on, on Barr Beacon, that’s another story.
Ahhhh,m’dear gumbud-you bring to the fore such long-held memories…
I recall my very first trip to Nepal. My stepfather was a Ghurka,which is why we travelled there. His family were amazing.his parents,both in their late 70s,were strolling around in that high mountain village the way you or I would stroll around a beach. But we were circa 12,000 feet above sea-level. Although a youngster,they took me to see Mt Everest and K2-and I can tell you without ANY messing,it was THE most amazing and magical time of my young years. To this day,I have several photos of that time,those wonderful people,the amazing views and scenery. I to this day can remember trying to keep up with an elderly man,who was carrying a sack filled with rations and clothes,which the families used to walk to the Chinese border,circa 8 miles each way,to collect. I was really having to work to stay with him,the higher we got,the more it seemed like a good idea to have wings! But I digress - the reason I started this rambling remembrance of long-gone days and people,was the tea plantation. It was on the side of a mountain,stepped,which the local people had worked to move stones,cut away the mountainside to give the plants shelter from the incessant wind.
ohhhh,boy…whatever happened to that young,wide-eyed boy? Oh,yes-he became a sour,over-educated,over-qualified and somewhat rebellious singularity,who has a massive library of reference books,a collection of guitars,amps,foot-pedals,etc,that defies common sense,an absolute love for playing rock music of any variety at 150 decibels…and a penchant for physics which led him to have three doctorates…yet happily spend his time driving bloody great big trucks,all over the planet - which he is constantly told is a waste of his education. Does he give a flying hoot what people think? Does he FUand another thing…those ‘smart’ watches,that tell you when your heart’s stopped - who REALLY checks their watch to see how many steps they’ve taken that day,EH? I mean,really? Coz,at this very moment,there’s one of those damned things charging in a usb port on this pooter. WHY,I hear you ask? BLOODY good question-have a brownie point! Because I was given the bloody thing two Christmases ago,but have NEVER worn it. BUT-today,this very evening,we [some music-playing mates & myself] have been here slamming out some Status Quo oldies that can be heard over on the mainland,we were so loud…and I bloody LOVED it! But Jake discovered that Google watch,still in it’s box,on my desk [yes it’s the Google version,not the Apple one] and arxt me why I never wear it. I couldn’t think of ONE reason that sounded reasonable-explaining that it really is a bloody silly gadget that I don’t need-my pocket watch does me just fine-didn’t ‘cut the mustard’. Apparently,I’m a dinosaur,for not embracing modern technology. Although,my pocket-watch is 107 years old,keeps perfect time-and I do mean perfect,to the second,is unobtrusive,has a perfectly good chain,'pon which resides a 1910 silver Rupee and at the other end,a small locket containing a photo of my daughter as a three-year-old. So…it’s charging it’s battery via usb.
Which has SFA to do with the pics I took as a boy of Mt Everest-but,as they’re BOTH bloody unlikely things for a chap such as moi to have,it’s going to be tried out…and I betcherz all 50/1 that by tomorrow night Yes Dear has it on her wrist. Long live the pocket-watch & chain! Right,that’s me done. Over to you…
The CH bring to mind Jim Thompson the famous American living in Asia who single handed restored the failed Thai silk industry and whilst on a recoup IN the CHs did disappeared some say down a ravine and his body to this day has never been recovered.
I walked with the family through some of those highland forests and they can be treacherous particularly if you are alone. He could of course have been speared by the indigenous Indians of those parts who I waved to from our rickety bus as we ascended and they walked along the road with their long razor sharp spears and clad in just a loin cloth - I think some even waved?
so that was Jim gone forever. As i walked thOSE narrow hillside paths I did at one point get too close and slid a few feet down. fortunately others were with me and my slide stopped.
the evenings where glorious - cafe bulging at night and everyone seemed to be so friendly and chatty - a young immaculately Oxford accented Malay sat and joined our kerbside table and offered to be our guide for as long as we needed - we said we’d let him know but that was it he was gone into the night -perhaps to make another dollar somewhere else?
what a place to reside if you had the cash!
The far east has a certain allure, heavens knows, one day I WILL visit Great Yarmouth!
I have very much enjoyed reading all my chums recollections of back in their day.
I’ve had a wonderful life although much more sheltered than yos.
I will be 70 shortly & look back not regretting anything in my life.
It’s all swings and roundabouts…
My Grampy Bob was a prisoner of war in 1915, surviving by a thread to life & mercifully able to return to Blighty in 1919 where he met Maud Nellie Louisa Payne, They married & had 2 daughters ,Olive,. my mother who died 6 years ago aged 86, Also Ivy who died last week aged 96.
Without Grampy BOb returning in one piece from Belgium, history wouldnt have included me or any of my descendants
Hold that thought,
My wife’ Nurse Gillian,s mother betrothed was killed shortly after D DAy, had he survived & mother not married him my wife would not exist.
For every negative event in my life there has been one positive, swings & roundabouts.?
I don’t get folks who,having been gifted in their ability or intellect, dumb down their achievements. They were a gift & something to be embraced, not kept at a distance.
I didn’t claim my natural gifts until I was in my early thirties, I wasn’t ready before.
Or the cosmic master plan was yet to come to pass.
Now, what was I writing about before I was distracted.
more later
probably next year now
Ah yes, the Gurkhas, once our sworn enema and now loyal to our Queeny.
Whilst on a jolly to a far flung outpost of the empire, called Farnborough, my three colleagues and I decided to go to a Gurkha restaurant in Aldershot.
This was during the times of the Irish “troubles” and we had to go through an Army checkpoint. A corporal with a side arm asked us for ID, and where had we cone from, whilst two Privates chatted, their eyes never leaving us and their long guns pointed in such a way that they could be brought to bear in a fraction of a second.
As he handed our IDs back he asked where we were going, so we told him the name of the restaurant, Johnny Gurkha.
A wise decision said the corporal and waved us on out merry way, and it really was a wise choice. The meal was most excellent.
On another occasion I visited the Gurkha museum near Aldershot where I read of the many brave deeds and commendations the Gurkha soldiers earned.
One that stuck in my mind was a young subadar who single handed held a foxhole against Japanese attackers, throwing back grenades each time they were thrown at him, and firing his rifle in between.
One of the grenades exploded as he threw it back and ruined his right hand
He continued to fire at the enemy working the bolt and trigger left handed until he was relieved many hours later.
Years later I saw a TV programme where his plight in later life was highlighted. He had to fetch his army pension from the local post office every month. When he was two frail to do this, his grandson (I think) carried him on his back down the mountain and back up every month to collect his money.
What a remarkable lot these people are, and how badly we have treated our heroes.
Good Afternoon Gentlemen
I really enjoyed all your posts today.
Now I have been enriched I will pop by tomorrow.
ah the gurkhas yes - I drank with them every week whilst posted in HK - we used to play in the army mess courts in the hills close to the chinese mainland border - they were big drinkers and you were very careful you never messed about with them - many a mountain of empty beer cans I have seen [and not touched] as the gurkhas carefully built them!
driving back via rout TWISK over the limit was never a problem in those days the road was always empty- oh happy days!
Losing My Religion
R.E.M.
Life is bigger
It’s bigger
And you, you are not me
The lengths that I will go to
The distance in your eyes
Oh no, I’ve said too much
I set it up
That’s me in the corner
That’s me in the spotlight
Losing my religion
Trying to keep up with you
And I don’t know if I can do it
Oh no I’ve said too much
I haven’t said enough
I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try
Every whisper
Of every waking hour
I’m choosing my confessions
Trying to keep an eye on you
Like a hurt lost and blinded fool
Oh no, I’ve said too much
Well RJ I have no idea what external forces, if not pure chance, were at work that that enabled me to be here today.
My maternal granddad survive the Great War as an artilleryman and emigrated to Oz in 1919. In 1922 he sent for his fiancé, my granny, and she travelled alone all that way to WA and had her banns read on the boat. They married the next day in Perth and travelled up to the farm in the wheat belt.
Their first baby died, then my Mum came along, followed later by my Uncle. When the depression hit they gave up the farm and moved to the UK. At 16 my Mum went to work in a private school as a nursery nurse.
At the outbreak of WW2, my Dad was a conscientious objector on religious grounds and had to go before a tribunal. He once told me he had no idea what was going to happen to him and he actually had visions of being put up against a wall and being shot. Luckily he was put to work on a smallholding as part of the Land Army, billeted in the turret of the school building where my Mum worked. They met, fell in love, and married after the war.
My Uncle’s first marriage failed but he later remarried whereupon I gained two new cousins. The youngest was eleven and was sweet on me despite me being ten years older. Years later when she was seventeen she asked me out.
The rest is history.
I don’t believe in a master plan of some all powerful being, but it would have only taken one single change to that chain of events and I wouldn’t be here now, blissfully married to the love of my life.
I was watching some Ghost films that I recorded last night.
My Paternal Grandfather that died in the East end of London during WW2, was a signalman, I watched intently trying to imagine how things were way back. The Signalman by Dickens was the film.
BUGGER.
I put my camouflage jacket down-and now I can’t find it!
That’s nowt. The Yanks have lost a whole squadron of stealth fighters.
I lost a bit of onion down the back of my cooker.
I also see someone lost their oil tankers.
What, down the back of your Cooker?
An Irish band was just on the telly, whom I am not normally endeared to, but, this one track is quite good, so I said to the wife, I don’t usually like U2, didn’t go down to well.
tsk tsk would you believe my nurse Gillian had the same problem with the vanishing cream I gave her?
OOER Could be she misunderstood my gift.
Yes, when I was cooking Chinese.
Not that it has anything to do with it.
you cook Chinese heh ?? - are they recent immigrants or stale ones??
I cooked some Malay once - ooeer the aromas were incredible even when fully clothed!!