Just remember,Blue…whenever you enter, cringe three times and ask for ‘‘Mr Jem,sir’’
[CENTER]A walk and a train journey![/CENTER]
In once lived in a small village some 30kms from Liverpool. It was a quiet peaceful life but as a young teenager I always found some adventure and fun. Occasionally I had a yen to get back to the ‘pool which involved a walk and a train ride.
The nearest station [country style] was 30-40 mins walk away [taxi fares were considered prohibitive] and so I/we set off from home walked from our housing estate down to the original village and then on through now countryside to the station.
Our outward walks were always in daylight and deserted.
The train journey took another 30 mins and then I was back in the midst of my childhood neighborhood and well known signs and faces. Occasionally it was a one day trip but I often stayed over at one of the aunties places and returned in a day or too. My village life was new and different and back in the ‘pool it was like putting on an old worn shoe – recognizable and comfortable, and friendly.
The return journey was an exact replica to the original but the train often arrived back at 7-8pm. So the walk back was in darkness and very few souls about. The journey from the station to the village outskirts was desolate – no country thugs or villains and the walk through the village, brighter with the lights of a few pubs. I never enjoyed the walk although no doubt healthy – found it tiresome and boring. But it was always safe – never a hint of being assaulted or robbed. We never expected such things and none occurred . Oh happy days!!
The path to the bus stop, out of the estate was fraught with potential danger, if you weren’t a regular, the destination point for the bus had its own dangers, but, more understandable because it was no ones domestic turf.
wrong bus stop different era??
Times don’t changes Gummy, people do, last night (Saturday) some serious negotiation was going on somewhere, some faceless bus stop.
Ok Pugs, I’ll try to remember that…not sure about my “cringes” tho…
I’ve never been much of a cringer…
What a lovely/interesting post Gumbud…I enjoyed reading that…
Nice to see you enjoying the scribbles on here WB. As Jem says add when you can and good for you for not cringing
Hi Solo…
nice to see you are in this section too…I enjoy your posts…
(from one non-cringer to another non-cringer) …
Followed Jem and Co for years so worth looking back on some of their ancient and wiser scribbles WB.
Cringe a funny old word that and well worthy of a raspberry
Sticks and stones may break my bones but words are merely the smallest element of language capable of containing meaning in isolation, and as such, are incapable of directly creating the 4000 newtons of force required to break bones.
I have been reading some of the older thread Solo, thanks…they are so interesting…I don’t know why I have never visited this thread before, I have been missing out…
Whilst on the subject of BUS STOPS, I recall this sorry tale from back in the day.
Trevor is a good neighbour to Frances , next door but one. Though they are both in their late seventies they are still pretty fit and enjoy each others company in a purely platonic way.
Bridge, Whist, Line Dancing & swimming are just few of the activities they take part in.
Sadly , just lately cracks have appeared in this seemingly idyllic arrangement . Trevor has had a hot tub installed in his large conservatory and has taken to sitting in the tub for hours on end completely naked, despite his calls for Frances to join him she has found the dynamics of their relationship changed. It wasn’t in her nature to take part in anything so , well frankly, improper.
Worse, Frances had developed severe hypochondria, not a terminal condition but nevertheless disabling. Trevor was now spending lots of time taking Frances to the doctor, the nurse & the chemist, even on one or two occasions the A & E department.
“For goodness sake Frances ,you must rid yourself of all these worries” Trevor advised, nodding sagely . Encouraged by her smile he went on.
“You are more likely to get knocked down by a number 9 bus”.
Too late to engage brain, the damage had been done. They lived on a number 9 bus route.
It was two days ago when he rang to say that he was so frustrated by the situation, but could not think of how to help her.
“Best get it over with Trevor” I said.
“Push her in front of the next number 9 bus, she’ll be ever so grateful & won’t suffer”
“Thanks Robert” he said & put the phone down.
He knew I was just kidding, didn’t he?
Interesting tale there Robert and I can understand Frances reluctance to go Hot tubbing as those things force air bubbles where they have no rights to be. Bit like passing wind in reverse which can’t be that pleasant
As for the bus stop solution it wouldn’t work here as Stagecoach in their infinite wisdom like to play mind games with us elderly folk by those temporary bus stops. One minute it is here and the next minute it has moved down the road and then round the corner so you would have to be quick if you wanted to grant someone peace of mind…if there is ever such a thing .
I caught a bus once.
…but it wasn’t big enough, so I had to throw it back.
Believe me Pug if you had to deal with our Stagecoach service you would cheerfully throw them back and as far as possible.
They have a darned cheek using the Stagecoach name as well cos I remember from the good old Cowboy and Indian films that no matter what the stagecoach always got through even if the passengers arrived shaken up a bit and bristling with arrows.
Here they don’t want you to even find the bus stop :-D.
Enjoyable tales there lads.
Always a pleasure to hear from you Solo, I hope all is well with you and yours.
Cringing? what’s all this about cringing?
It’s a long time since I heard that word, back in 1955 in fact when I was an altar boy, a missionary priest was giving a sermon to a terrified congregation, these missionary chaps were feared the length and breath of the land, talk about fire and brimstone. Tough as nails they were, they were well travelled in distant lands and knew all about the world, I think the Redemptorists Fathers were the toughest, jet black robe with a very wide leather belt around the waist, chains and heavy rosary beads hanging from the belt. Every year they would come to our parish church to shake up the faithful and put the fear of God back into them, even the parish priest was frightened of them.
Anyway I was sitting on the marble altar steps as was the usual position to adopt for us altar lads when the priests were giving their sermons, no altar girls back then worse luck.
I had a knack of turning the sermons off but at the same time looking very interested in them and my mind was on a film I was going to see the next day at the local cinema, Alan Ladd and Virginia Mayo in a western, I had seen the trailer and it looked great. I was happily riding alone the prairie as the priest rabbited on, then suddenly he points to the back of the church and lets out an unmerciful roar at three Teddy boys who had crept into the church late hoping they wouldn’t be noticed “You there! yes you three miserable sinners at the back! how dare you CRINGE in the shelter of the almighty! Get out! get out and don’t come back until you have cleansed your miserable souls in confession!
All eyes were on the three pitiful red faced youths as they slowly moved out of the church.
I needn’t tell yez that put an end to me daydreaming.
Still thankfully ticking over Jem. I have been an orphan for many years and my off spring are long grown up with lives of their own, so nice and peaceful
Something to be said for the old Fire and Brimstone sermons. They may have scared the living daylights out of us but at least our mischief was relatively harmless considering today’s offerings
Throwing a cotton reel over a yard so we could the pull the cotton and make the reel tap on someones window somehow seemed less ‘sinful’ although the Mrs we had targeted who was convinced it was a ghost may not have agreed with me
Mango season and mango madness in these 'ere parts. all the mangoes ripen approximately at the same time so there is a flurry and scurry to collect before all parrots descend upon them take a few beaks full and leave the rest - such a waste - but they too can digest too much and get tipsy - ever seen a tipsy parrot - I’m sure SP has a file tucked away somewhere!
the rest of us eat them as a desert or make lovely mango wine - that’s were the madness comes in - it is deadly potent and can leave one with a very sore head next morn. treat with caution. In our nearest large town there are mango trees lying the streets - owned by no one and you can just walk past and pick a few - leaves an awful mess on your wife shirt or blouse!
these are just some of the trials and tribulations of living in the far remote top end - not many others want to join you and since WWII - no one wants to drop bombs on ya!
and spittie we do have bus shelters called mangos stop here - none on board!!
I was telling my grandaughter 11 today how we were so poor that I was born in a ditch.
It bought to mind this verse written by me back in the day.
I wouldn’t say that we were poor
but we knew no point in asking “more”
We were always hungry and cold
That’s how it was if truth be told.
All that we was poor but happy crap
Was always just so much made up clap trap
our house was cold, cold as the grave
And we were treated like common slaves
(C) RJ 2018
well according to your copyright date you seem to be still very young - must have been the extreme cold that stopped the cells deteriorating?