T.E. Lawrence Anniversary of Death

It is now the 80th anniversary of the death of T.E.Lawrence (he hated the "of Arabia" suffix) and it caused me to dig into my old notes about my pilgrimage to respect the 50th anniversary in 1985. The 400 mile round trip to Dorset, in the pouring rain, on my motorcycle is not something I could manage (even by car) these days. I thought those notes, which would have been the subject of a blog had such things then existed, might be of interest. So.........

On 13th May 1935 he rode his Brough Superior motorcycle from his cottage, Clouds Hill, to Bovington post office, some 3 miles distant, to send a telegram to Henry Williamson - an invitation to lunch. The telegram was timed at 11.25am. Riding back to his cottage he breasted a rise and was confronted by two boys on bicycles. He swerved, but clipped the back of one bike and came off  receiving eventually fatal head injuries (no crash helmets in those days). He died the following Sunday, 19th May.

There was to be a 50th memorial service at the nearby Moreton Church on the date of his actual death, but he abhored crowds and was an agnostic. So I eschewed attendance at the service and instead rode down to lay a wreath at the actual crash site on the day/time of the accident, 50 years on. (11.30am 13th May 1985).

I recreated his last ride exactly, leaving Bovington old post office at 11.25 am to ride to Clouds Hill and lay the wreath on the dot. Uncanny!A shivering goose flesh came over me as I started away. As the time approached a small bird flew down in front of me. I took no more notice, but after laying the wreath I found it dead, wedged under the engine of my bike. It died, by motorcycle, to the minute. Did not Pythagoras say that the souls of the dead inhabit birds?

Upon the laurel wreath I left a dedication - some lines of Rupert Brooke's seemed very appropriate:

RICHARD III INTERMENT

Well, as a follow-up to my rather bitter last posting I would like to share something from his interment service - which was, I thought, well done (but should have been in York Minster).

Benedict Cumberbatch, the actor, who is distantly related to Richard read a specially composed poem by the poet laureate, Carol Ann Duffy. Here it is:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=38nodTfpro4

and the words:

RICHARD
My bones, scripted in light, upon cold soil,
a human braille. My skull, scarred by a crown,
emptied of history. Describe my soul
an incense, votive, vanishing, your own
the same. Grant me the carving of my name.

These relics, bless. Imagine you re-tie
a broken string and on it thread a cross,
the symbol severed from me when I died.
The end if time - an unknown, unfelt loss - 
unless the Resurrection of the Dead..........

or once I dreamed of this, your future breath
in prayer for me, lost long, forever found;
or sensed you from the backstage of my death,
as kings glimpse shadows on a battleground.

Profoundly well done, I thought.

RICHARD III

Although (or because) I have a deep interest in Richard III the latest shindigs in Leicester were not at all to my liking. This circus makes me almost wish we had never found his body.

The obvious place for his final resting place would have been York Minster and the internment should have been a dignified and quiet one. Having been paraded around the streets of Leicester his coffin is now to be interred in Leicester "Cathedral" - once a parish church smaller than many town churches I know.

However, no doubt the town (hardly a city) worthies are already counting the income generated  (they are hoping for £150 million a year) 

An article in the "Telegraph" just about sums it up:

"To judge by the brouhaha, the reinterment of Richard III is the most exciting thing to have happened in Leicester since the king’s death at the nearby Battle of Bosworth over 500 years ago.

The Plantagenet monarch, whose remains were discovered under a Leicester city car park in 2013, will be reburied in Leicester cathedral on Thursday.

The reinterment is a big deal for Leicester, which – to put it politely – has never been much of a honeypot for tourists. Tickets for the service have sold out, but it will be shown live on Channel 4 and on two large screens in the city centre. Visitors can also get a glimpse of Richard’s coffin in the cathedral from Monday to Wednesday.

As if to shore itself up for the next 500 years, Leicester and its surrounding villages have gone all out to make the most of Richard’s last hurrah, with a week-long programme of city, castle and battlefield tours, talks, church services and an art show. A local escort agency, Midland Belles, has even cashed in by offering people the chance to visit the reinterment with one of its “educated and beautiful” team.

All of which has caused howls of disapproval from those who feel that the royal remains deserve more respect and should have been left in peace under the car park. Not to mention the Yorkists who want Richard to be buried in their city, or the lobby calling for a state funeral and burial in Westminster Abbey.

Despite this, there will be no halting the pomp and circumstance in Leicester next week.

PIPES

My Australian son-in-law recently emailed me on the subject of pipe smoking. He is not a frequent smoker, liking a good cigar about once a month for relaxation. Perhaps he relates to Kipling's view of the subject, "A woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a smoke". He thought he would try a pipe and knowing that I once smoked them he asked advice about keeping the things alight. (The difference between a cold filling and a furnace which burnt the tongue).

I never smoked them to excess (and never smoked cigarettes), but enjoyed the relaxation and meditation of an occasional smoke. Gold Block tobacco was my preferred filling and the smoke's fragrance still brings back memories. (not often smelt these days though). About 35 years ago, one Christmas, I found I had run out of tobacco and never bought any more. Thus I gave up with no withdrawal symptoms, but preserved my pipes and paraphernalia as a memory (see image above - my favourite pipe being the one at the "south west" position). It was one reason for using the "Gandalf" self - image at my blog head.

I have no regrets. An old work colleague of mine smoked a pipe incessantly, it was seldom out of his mouth. He used to say that it was a marvellous ploy, when confronted with a difficult question, to gain thinking time by filling/ lighting/smoking the pipe, looking ruminative and sagacious. He died at 70, painfully, with cancer of the tongue after suffering operations to cut away most of his cancerous stomach - all caused by the lethal "dottle" which he imbibed over a lifetime.

Churchill smoked 8-10 large Cuban cigars a day throughout his life, but seldom smoked them more than half way (a good habit since the stubs through which the smoke has filtered contained concentrated carcinogens), giving the stubs to his gardener.  He lived to over 90 - his gardener died of lung cancer, but Churchill's constitution was not as other men's.

My advice is "never take it up".

WINSTON CHURCHILL. 50th Anniversary of his death.

I was born in 1938, my father went off to war in 1939. For the first two years of that war England stood alone against the Nazi hordes which had swept through, conquering all Europe. The one reason we stood? Churchill. Without his bulldog spirit, standing up against many of our lesser politicians who wanted an accommodation with Hitler, we might well have become like the Channel Islands, a Nazi province, shipping unwanted minorities off to Germany, the concentration camps  and the gas chambers. (whose liberation, we are also remembering at this time)

So he is a man I deeply respect. He had his foibles and made mistakes, but he was the man for the hour. He remarked at the time, “I felt as if I were walking with destiny, and that all my past life had been but a preparation for this hour and for this trial...”.

 When he died he lay in state for 3 days at Westminster Hall, London. Thousands queued to pay their respects and thanks, my wife and I included. It was a unique moment of history which we shall always remember for our participation. I borrowed a car from a work friend (a mini - quite new at the time), we drove some 30 miles up to London, parked on the outskirts and got the underground into the centre. The queue wound back from Westminster Hall, where he lay in state, over the bridge for about 3 miles. The weather was bitter. But there was almost a "blitz spirit" amongst everyone. All wanted to be there, all venerated the greatest English prime minister. As we entered the Hall where his coffin stood it became deathly quiet, men took off their hats (a lot more wore them in those days) and many people were crying as they walked by.

It was as if the nation had lost a dearly beloved and respected grandfather.

A profound memory.

I owe this Youtube clip to my daughter in Australia. The commentary is by his former bodyguard H.Thompson. Who knows, my wife and I might be in that view of people filing past his coffin.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZxBfrO_Cqo8

A MEMORY BANK

My personal circumstances (and the weather) do no permit me to roam abroad at present and I have been mulling over some memories.

On the windowsill lives a plate containing a collection of pottery, stones and bits of road surface – all collected from  places and times – all open up a memory for me.

I won’t bore you with a full inventory but the following will give you some idea. Anyone who has ever read my full profile will know of my interest in archaeology and Roman Britain. This first is the rim of a Roman mortaria, like the complete one at the rear of the picture which follows it.

 Walking in Roman Caerleon one day I looked in a trench where they were renewing gas mains. Underground in such places is always a mass of history. This fragment I plucked from the trench. You can see where the potter’s finger fashioned the rim, ending with the “pinch” which was the spout. My own finger fits this exactly, connecting me to someone who lived nearly 2000 years ago.

Next is a fragment of Roman masonry, covered in melted green glass. I picked this from the ruins of Regulbium, a Roman fort of the “Saxon Shore” on the north Kent coast. It completely symbolises the end of Rome in Britain. Ruin, burning and destruction when the fort was finally sacked.

Roman roads, both extant and lost are a particular fascination for me. In the 1950’s the course of the Roman road through Ashdown Forest was discovered and excavated, wheel ruts still observable.

Being the area of Roman ironworks it was surfaced with the iron slag from the local furnaces - this is a fragment of that road.

Lastly we move forward to the “recent” past. I joined the army in 1956 (since I was not 18 for a further 3 months for a short period I had the “distinction” of being the youngest solder in the British Army). Our days were spent continuously drilling on the parade ground. Pictured here is my platoon marching off from that ground after our passing out parade.

40 years to the day I returned on my motorcycle to the derelict camp – now being built over by an industrial estate.

The parade ground once extended away to the left of the picture and my platoon’s barracks would have been to the right of the motorcycle. I picked up a fragment of the old parade ground. Here it is. With light in the correct direction the indentations of hobnailed boots can still be picked out.

Memories………. 

ONWARDS AND UPWARDS

It is now 15 days since my stroke and I have the leisure to observe how my body is coping and my brain is re-wiring. I think of my great grand - daughters, how they crawl, pull themselves up, take first tottering steps and then get confidence to run around. This is happening to me.

Small things, leading to bigger, I hope. For instance, I can now use both hands to type this (going over it to correct the mistakes is quicker than pecking it out with one hand). I can now reach my left thumb across my palm to pinch my little finger – albeit not much strength yet in that pinch. Easy, you say? Last week I could not get within a centimetre of closure. Stairs – with bannister assistance I climb one foot to each tread (not hauling up both feet onto one tread at a time).

A pleasant, middle aged female physiotherapist calls each couple of days with exercises for balance. Standing to attention on a dense, thick foam rubber mat for extended periods does wonders for brain training in balance! I get along fine with her since she is a fellow German Shepherd Dog enthusiast (on her third – a white one). One day I may get another, if one finds me.

A fine morning tempted me to walk slowly down the garden path to the garage to see how my “toys” were faring. I reassured them that they both would get out for some exercise soon. (A blessing that in winter they do not get extended use anyway)

So hopefully that summit is in sight. In the words of Edna St. Vincent Millay, “Let us go forth together to the Spring”.

ONCE MORE--WITH FEELING!

It was an "interesting" Christmas. In the early morning of 22nd I arose to visit the loo. My left leg had a mind of its own & I had trouble with walking.  Previous experience said "stroke" So off I went to hospital courtesy of a gentleman driving an ambulance with "blues & twos"(as they say in the police) operating. What followed is really a re-run of my previous post  in 2012. (Since I cannot use my left arm/hand & typing is laboriously slow, I shall not enlarge on that post).

They  chucked me out of hospital after one night's stay with the usual bag of pills - they wanted to clear the beds over Christmas & I was happy to co-operate! A little more severe than the last, little use in left arm, hand & leg, but I am (staggeringly) ambulant & can see to myself - speech is slurred this time.

So my time is spent reading & I really must most thoroughly recommend "Do No Harm" by Henry Marsh, an eminent brain surgeon. Absolutely enthralling,  if not, perhaps, ideal to be reading after a brain misfunction! Marsh has great humility, humanity & supreme skills in his profession. It is a "must read".

Henry Marsh: Interview

So, apologies for failing to wish  blog readers a Happy Christmas (really was too engrossed elsewhere!) but a healthy, prosperous & peaceful 2015 to all.

When Dad was sworn Apprentice (but not in Lincolnshire!)

I was looking through some of my late father's old envelopes the other day and came across his apprenticeship correspondence. The actual deed of apprenticeship is far too long and flowery to show , but here is the initial letter (dated 10th January 1931) sent to his father, my grandfather, to kick off his employment. The rates of pay look laughable by today's standards, but today apprenticeships are few and far between. Many of today's youngsters who pay to spend 3 years at university and come out with a degree which is useless to them and the business world would be better off and more happy to have learnt a useful and remunerative craft or trade instead.

(Says he, who spent 3 years learning the blacksmith's trade)

My grandfather - my dad's father was a Rolls Royce chauffeur to a consultant surgeon (he was the first to drive a Rolls in Westmoreland in the early 1900's. He continued driving the surgeon's widow, long after his retirement age and was rewarded when she died with a car (Austin - not Rolls!) and the house he occupied.

Dad said he always wanted to do the same, but the old man insisted that he learn a useful trade first. He became a very skilled carpenter/joiner - a trade he followed all his life (he was still making furniture as a hobby the day before a heart attack carried him off). He spent the years of World War II in the Royal Engineers, re-building bridges, never saw an enemy combatant and never fired a shot in anger!

Ironically he never learnt to drive and rode a bicycle all his life. His day often consisted of cycling seven miles to the above employer's to arrive by 7.30am (in all weathers). If he was employed on a job away from the works, then he was expected to cycle on to that, too. He usually arrived home about 6.30pm in the evening. This was his working life until he retired about 1980.

NEW E-BIKE

A couple of years ago I converted one of my bicycles by adding an electric conversion kit (see my post of 17th November 2012). A stroke the following year left me with a slightly weaker left leg, so it was confirmation of that earlier decision, since it meant I could still cycle 50 mile days around my "Little Corner of the Earth".

This original Claud Butler still does the job, but the battery is 2 years old and they will only accept about 1000 recharges. A new battery costs £400 - £500 (who said electric bikes are cheap to run? Although, compared to cars..............), so rather than replace it and finally about to retire for the second time, I decided that I would celebrate my freedom by splashing out on a "proper" (i.e. purpose built) e-bike. I had recently sold one of my two remaining motorcycles for £2,600. The e-bike's price was £1,500 so you could say I have made a "profit", although its price was more than many of the fifty motorcycles I have owned since 1957 (my first motorcycle, a BSA Bantam, cost me a whole £95, second hand - 20 week's army pay at the time).

So, off to the nearest distributor some 20 miles away in the Weald of Sussex, near ancient Bodiam. To slightly amend Julius Caesar's aphorism, "I came, I tried, I bought" and the chosen one can be seen here.

Whilst its performance is a little better than the kit bike the real improvement is in comfort since it has telescopically sprung front forks and a sprung saddle post (The by-roads of Kent are not noted for their smoothness). However, a few "old faithfuls" had to be transferred over from the Claud Butler:

• Pedals and toeclips - essential to a life-long club cyclist.
• Brooks leather saddle - still the most comfortable - you can keep your plush, padded items where your essential bits sink in rather than are supported free as air on hard, smooth leather. (Freudian fetish? No - rather superb practicality).
• Gearing - the new bike had a 52 tooth front chainring - far and away too high - I have substituted a 40 tooth item (you can read about the mysteries of cycle gearing in an earlier blog-post )

We have cycled about 100 miles together so far and all seems well. Yesterday we managed 35 miles through the autumn, leaf-strewn lanes of the Kentish Weald. My recent affliction of an inner ear infection (mentioned in an earlier post below) does not seem to have affected my balance either, as I was afraid it might do.

"TODAY IS CALLED THE FEAST OF CRISPIAN"

Today is 25th October - St. Crispin's Day, and this always sends a shiver down my spine!

Second Retirement

Back in 1997 I had the chance to take "early retirement" from my job with a suitably enhanced local government pension. I was 58.

It turned out to be a traumatic year - retirement, selling two houses and moving into one with my widowed mother joining us and being diagnosed with prostate cancer.

However, time moved on, as it does if you wait long enough. A major operation in 1998 meant that I am still here in 2014. My mother eventually died in 2001 and I found part-time occupations in 1999 in charge of my local Neighbour Mediation Scheme and also used past qualifications to train novice bus drivers (an unusual combination of talents(?) ).

The Mediation Co-ordinator's job I left in 2002 but a minor stroke in 2013 did not interrupt for long my bus driver work - actual training and presentational lectures to groups - which I have continued busily and happily to date.

However, a recent infection of the middle ear occasionally leaves me with nausea and vomiting. The doc says it will clear up in time, could take a year, but to "be patient".

So I have finally decided to retire (again) at the end of this year when I shall be 76. I could say that I have been involved, as a Road Safety Officer, for over 50 years.

As for things to occupy me then, some of my enjoyments are a trifle curtailed at present. Motor cycling and cycling I need to be careful with since the ear problem can upset my balance. I no longer (at present) have a dog who needs walking and people tend to look askance at solitary males wandering the local woods and fields (a sad comment on these times).

However - time will move on yet again and some of the above will be better able to be enjoyed once more. My old friend, this blog, should come in for more use again, too. I have been most remiss about it recently.

So "hello" again and sorry to have been so long away.

R.I.P. Rex

Those of you who were reading this blog back in 2009 will have seen that Rex joined us from a rescue centre after our previous German Shepherd had to be put down.

Now, I am afraid it has been his turn. In March he complained of a back problem, which was cured by anti inflammatory pills from the vet. However, this returned recently. Then, last week, his back legs gave way and he could no longer walk - just pulling himself along with the front legs.

The vet diagnosed degenerative myelopathy, akin to MS in humans. It is incurable, so I had his life ended there and then. He was only 8 years old.

We have had dogs in our lives since 1960, but I wonder if we shall ever get another. At my age (75) would it be fair on a dog to gain and then lose a master after a comparatively short time?

Answers on a postcard (as they say) please.

ADLESTROP

Adlestrop Station before its destruction in the '60s Beeching cuts

Yes.  I remember Adlestrop—

The name, because one afternoon

Of heat the express-train drew up there

Unwontedly.  It was late June.

The steam hissed.  Someone cleared his throat.

No one left and no one came

On the bare platform. What I saw

Was Adlestrop—only the name

And willows, willow-herb, and grass,

And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,

No whit less still and lonely fair

Than the high cloudlets in the sky.

And for that minute a blackbird sang

Close by, and round him, mistier,

Farther and farther, all the birds

Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.

Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther

This poem, by Edward Thomas, holds for me that moment during a busy, noisy journey when everything
stops for a moment and one is a traveller in an unfamiliar place. Indeed, it has an essential sense of time and place which seems almost unequalled.

And yet it was one of Thomas's very first poems. By this date (1914) he had had an unsuccessful career as a journalist and literary critic and was in a profound depression. He had been befriended by a fellow depressive, the American poet Robert Frost and was in fact on the train journey to meet him at Frost's home near Ledbury, Gloucestershire. Because of that meeting Thomas's poetry blossomed.

It was a short blossoming. The first world war started a few months later. He was 37, married with 3 children but insisted on enlisting although he would have been exempt at the time. In 1917 he was killed on the first day of the Battle of Arras..

I wonder if he felt that the England he had so perfectly captured in "Adlestrop" was in danger and he had to do his bit in its defence? Perhaps a fitting meditation as the first World War is remembered now on its centenary.

TREBLE'S GOING........SHE'S GONE!

I was delving into a box of bits yesterday and came across a memory of my youth:

 

A small lapel "button-hole" badge from my days as an adolescent bell-ringer at Mereworth Church.

 

There was not too much to do  for a teen-ager in a small country village in the early '50s. No television or street lighting and definitely no digital stuff so we needed to find our own enjoyment and interests. As a developing youth, if these could also involve girls it was decidedly a bonus!

 

Sunday's main church services were then morning and evening (with the afternoon reserved for the little 'uns Sunday School) and the peal of 6 bells was always rung twice on this day, with a practice night on a Wednesday. The bell ringers were mainly the farm labourers of the parish.These, to us, were dignified men, usually in their 50's and 60's and the tower captain (of the ringers) was eager to draw in younger blood.

 

The result was an intake of 3 boys and three girls and since one of the girls was already the subject of my distant admiration I became one of those boys.

 

It was all good, clean fun with the added attraction of being able to walk home, hand in hand, with the girl and even a peck on the cheek as a "goodnight" (these were more innocent times).

 

With no heating in the church tower ( and only in the church proper on Sundays) it could be bitter cold up there on a winter's eve and you needed to be ringing to keep warm. As we stood to our "sallies" (the striped hand-hold of the bell rope) the ringer on the treble bell would utter the words in my heading and ringing would commence.

 

It all seemed incredibly complicated for a start, trying to hunt through the bells around you during the performance (compositions with names like "Grandsire Triples" and "Plain Bob Minor") and these would be written out for us to learn and understand by the tower captain in heavy pencil on the back of strips of old wallpaper. Here is a part of an example which runs for several pages:

 

 

 

For some, the farm labourers of this (and earlier) periods were portrayed as dull sons of the soil, but they were far from that, skilled in a multitude of now forgotten crafts and able to remember many such compositions, which could continue to ring over a long period, even hours at times. They also took a no-nonsense view of bell-ringing and you would never see them at the church service afterwards; their job was done and the pub down the street was now open!

 

A small badge brought back a host of memories.

 



HAPPY 450th BIRTHDAY, BILL!

  

Today is Shakespeare's 450th birthday (and also, oddly enough, the anniversary of his death).

We have a local link to him in that the very first amateur performance of one of his plays occurred at Surrenden Manor, Pluckley (burnt down in 1952).

In the Folger Library in Washington is the handwritten adaption of two of his plays which were performed at Surrenden in 1623.

Sir Edward Dering put together  the two parts of Henry IV for this private performance at his home. He paid the local rector to write out the play and laid out the princely sum of 17 shillings and eight pence "for heads of hair and beards", which were presumably wigs and false beards for Falstaff, et al.

So our local claim to literary fame is not just limited to H.E. Bates' "The Darling Buds of May" TV series, which was filmed nearby (and is also a quotation from a Shakespeare sonnet).

EMERGING (SLOWLY) FROM THE DIGITAL FOREST

Well - I finally had to buy a new PC to overcome problems.

I have had a week of trauma trying to get to terms with my new PC, which runs on Windows 8.1. Trouble with "8" is that it is dual configured for this modern age so that you can "swipe or pinch" all the apps if you have that kind of machine face (I haven't, still stroking my mouse). Luckily (when you know how) you can also access the traditional "desktop" which we all know and are experienced in using. I went back to the PC store and bought a book on the 8.1 system which is helping me a lot and showing me how very simple something is, which has been causing me frustration, if only I had KNOWN how to do it. But I am getting there - slowly.

All my various devices like printers and scanner loaded on this new PC OK, as did all my various programmes on disk such as my photographic applications. Would you believe that the only one which would not load was my disk for Microsoft Office Professional (Word, Excel, Powerpoint, etc). I tried to put it on but got the message that Microsoft Windows 8.1 will not support it, so please buy a new one from us for £300! (the b*****ds!). They are so cynical - continuous updates to perfectly good programmes, just to keep us buying their products. So I took advice and loaded instead a completely free programme called "Open Office", which does most of the stuff that Microsoft's "Office" does and enables me to load and use all my existing Office files.

So - we are getting there folks. I sometimes wonder if it is all worth it!

Dog Walk in the Spring

A warm spring morning, with no rain for the last few days. Our local woods have been hard to access since most entrances are across drainage ditches. These have been serving their purpose recently and have consequently been full of water. However, one has at last dried into a muddy puddle and is possible to cross.

Dog Rex was delighted since recent walks have been on pavements - good for keeping claws in trim, but no squirrels to chase!

Everything is blooming about a month ahead of time because of the mild winter, so bluebells are apparent everywhere; their beauty all the more poignant because of their ephemerality.

 

Good, too, to see the black-thorn in frothy blossom. A reminder to return here in about November, after the first frosts have been on the resulting sloe berries. Sloe gin is a good restorative after a winter walk.

 

 



Regarding the last "Frustration" post

Well - I have finally got into my blog on my laptop (which uses Internet Explorer as the browser with the dreaded Windows 8).

I eventually realised that my PC, which operates on Vista, crashed before Christmas and when it came back from repair Internet Explorer no longer worked properly. Fortunately I subscribe to a help line with PC World, my supplier, and a very nice young man took me through things over the phone, said that Internet Explorer can be a real pain and changed the PC's browser over to Chrome.

So since the browser has been changed to Chrome (which is Google's own product, for heaven's sake) I can only part access my blog (only the start-up panel and not all of that) , the "settings" don't work and I could not post a message like this - only the post heading where I posted of my frustrations, thinking that I would no longer be able to speak (write?) to everyone.

Just as I was thinking I really must get back to blogging once more, too. Also my blog's head image needs updating for "Spring". So guess it has to be the laptop for the time being, folks.

Any ideas on sorting the PC blog problem would be gratefully received as I much prefer using it to this laptop!

By the way - thanks for the supportive comments with the last post.

FRUSTRATED! Blogger seems to have completely changed since I last entered it - cannot do anything with it, so goodbye folks, it's been good to talk to you all!

CHRISTMAS GREETINGS

I  see that my last posting was back in sunny July - climate is a little different today, cold, wet and very windy. However, I have been very lax recently with blogging so my apologies and my wishes for a peaceful, happy and healthful time, both over Christmas and for 2014.

Something a little different for Christmas for you all:

Below is a picture of Rembrandt's "Night Watch". The Rijksmuseum museum in Holland wanted to bring art to the people and hopefully, they would come to see more. They took one Rembrandt painting from 1642, Night Watch, and did the following in a busy mall.

Before clicking on the link, take a good look at the painting. And view with sound on.

http://www.youtube.com/embed/a6W2ZMpsxhg?feature=player_embedded

Church of St Thomas Beckett, Fairfield

A pleasant Sunday ride on the hottest day of this year, so far (about 25c). This is the isolated church at Fairfield, dedicated by the monks of Canterbury who were responsible for "inning" (draining) this part of Romney Marsh in mediaeval times. Its full history can be seen here.

Plain brick outside because of the later renovation (see the history). But inside (ancient key kept by the local farm house) is an undiscovered 18th century gem of box pews and oak beams:

Then it was about time to head for Miss Mollett's "High Class" tea shop for a light lunch of Bacon,brie and cranberry toasties with salad, plus a large pot of tea. Just sitting outside in the warm sunshine and watching the world go by in the ancient village of Appledore.

SPRING (at last)

Sunday morning, April 7th and at last the bitter winds, direct from Arctic northern Europe, have abated and are swinging round to the south.

Sunshine and temperatures of 11c invited me to take the e-bike out for its first longish run since my minor stroke.

A welcome stop at the 10 mile mark was in the village of Appledore . Miss Mollett's home-made tea cakes, toasted, with butter and black currant jam were absolutely delicious.

Another 10 miles over Romney Marsh took me home. The cycle ride in the sun did me more good than all the tablets the doctor has given me!

GEOFF DUKE OBE

A message from one of my motorcycling heroes - from the days when motorcycle racing was a clean, sporting event, with riders in sober black leathers (no advertising), riding "real" motorcycles (not sounding like vacuum cleaners enclosed in Easter eggs).

Six-times World Champion, 33-times Grand Prix winner and‘Birthday Boy’

Geoff Duke OBE.

 

“As I celebrate my 90th birthday on Good Friday, I just wanted to thank you all for your kind messages, cards and gifts. It is always a pleasure to receive a letter from a fan and wonderful to know there are so many of you out there who remember fondly my racing days.

Unfortunately, I am no longer able to reply to all your kind messages and requests for autographs, but I wanted to let you know how much your letters mean to me. I remain a keen follower of our sport, and have always enjoyed meeting you and reminiscing about the old days at events all over the world.

 

Although I can’t make it to as many meetings as I have in the past, I hope to follow the 2013 season, especially the Isle of Man TT, which, as many of you know, is my ‘home’ event and has always been one of my favourite circuits.

 

As I mark my 90th birthday with my family, I will be recalling my career and remembering all the fans who played such a large part in it.

Thank you all.”

Please watch the following link:

http://www.dukevideo.com/Isle-of-Man-TT/Geoff-Duke?ticrumb=GeoffDuke90th%21

MAKING GOD LAUGH

Getting out of bed last Thursday my left arm and leg had pins and needles and were difficult to control, however I continued with my day which mainly consisted of teaching a youngster to drive a 12 metre coach.

Next morning there was no improvement so I rang my doctor who said he did not even want to see me, but to get myself up to the Emergency Department of the local hospital at once as I had probably had a stroke. And so it turned out. An MRI head scan later I was put to bed and connected to various machines and dials. Hospital wards are not places for a good night's sleep - mine looked just like this one, but at least I had the bed in the right hand corner.  So, after 3 days of restless nights, hospital food, medication, jabs and caring/cheeky nurses, they got fed up with me and chucked me out with a large bag of pills - some of which I intend to take (but not the statins!).

Apparently, especially considering the day's delay, I am a very lucky boy. Slight clumsiness to left hand and leg but otherwise OK. No physio needed, but no driving for 4 weeks (although they said nothing about cycling!)

I am a lean (155lbs), fit 74 year old. Non smoker, moderate alcohol who likes gentle exercise (cycling and dog walking). So it can happen to anyone.

It was Woody Allen who said "If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans".

THE DAUGHTER OF TIME

In my reply to Roderick Robinson's comment to my last post I wrote that the controversial history of Richard III could be the subject of a detective story and mentioned Josephine Tey's  investigative novel on precisely this subject - "The Daughter of Time".

My own daughter drew my attention to Peter Hitchens'  commentary about the book on BBC Radio 4's "A Good Read", where he calls it one of the most important books ever written.

It is a short book, easily read in one or two sittings and pretty "unputdownable" for those who enjoy such things - available from Amazon, in paperback or Kindle.

You will never again accept historical record on trust!

KING RICHARD III

Many in Britain would have seen the fascinating Channel 4 TV programme on the discovery of the skeleton of King Richard III - a much maligned monarch or an evil monster according to who you believe. My daughter and I tend to favour the former. History is always written by the victors and Henry Tudor employed many spin doctors to legitimize his victory at Bosworth in 1485 and his subsequent reign based on a very thin claim. Shakespeare curried favour to the last Tudor (Elizabeth I) when he wrote his play, "Richard III".

With Richard's death it was given that the last of the Plantagenets had passed away - however there is a curious story that his illegitimate son lived on and is buried at a derelict church about one mile from the photograph in my previous post.

Now that the archaeologists who excavated Richard's skeleton have his DNA there is talk of them excavating the grave at this church to see if the story can be proven.

Since "Richard of Eastwell" died childless, our present Queen is secure in her succession!

"Loyaultie me lie"

SNOW'S ALL GONE!

There has been heavy snow and a biting, icy wind this last week. However a front came in off the Atlantic on Friday evening bringing warmer weather and rain. By mid-day Saturday things were as per photo above - so a 25 mile cruise amid the North Downs took up most of Saturday afternoon.

NEW YEAR'S DAY

With almost continuous rain for weeks now Christmas was a wash-out and I have been getting "stir-crazy" watching the water lashing down the windows.

However New Year's Day dawned with clear blue skies and last night's forecast was encouraging. The "electric Claud Butler" was unleashed (well, the charge cable was unplugged) and off we wheeled. A head wind was encountered as we toddled to Tenterden . I still can't get over the guilty pleasure of simply pressing a button on the handlebars to awaken the genie who assists with the pedalling!

Down Tenterden High Street, fairly empty on this Bank Holiday then headed for the ancient Isle of Oxney past a couple of vineyards (yes - good wine!) and the actress Ellen Terry's house.

Elevenses was taken relaxing in the SUNSHINE  near the Royal Military Canal

Two belated mince pies. The essential coffee flask will be noted (well laced with brandy - the engine needs a regular stoking).

Then it was a gentle meander across Romney Marsh for lunch at the Woolpack pub



















Home by about 3.00pm just as the bloom was going off the day. But a "day of days" indeed. A delight snatched from winter. 40 miles and no aching knees! (thank you electric genie)

Happy New Year to all  my readers!

TRANSPORT THROUGH THE AGES III

    It was a very snowy February in 1962. We had been married for about 3 years, money was short and I had sold my last bike, a Douglas Dragonfly, to cover wedding costs.

    I was desperate for another bike but they were all far out of my financial reach. A local old boy, quite a character, Percy Webb, did bike repairs in his old garage, one of a block and I was fossicking around behind it. There, almost covered in the snow from the roof was an old motorcycle! No wheels or headlamp, but otherwise looking complete. I scraped away the snow and saw the magic “Sunbeam”on the black tank – a 1937 350cc model.

    I went back when Percy was in residence (he worked when he felt like it and had not gone fishing!) and enquired if he might sell it. He sucked on the ever present pipe, said the bike worked before he had “stored” it , thought he had the wheels “somewhere” and suggested £5. I was earning about £7.00 - £8.00 a week then and we had a young child, too. It was out of my reach but he said I could pay him for it at 10 shillings (50pence) a week if I liked. That clinched it.

    A week later I went back – he had found the wheels and refitted them. The first ten shilling note changed hands and I pushed that old bike the 2 miles home through the snow-bound streets , almost sick with joy at having a bike again.

    Once home (down the back alley and into the shed of our terraced cottage) I stripped it down and repainted it with a brush and Japlac enamel. It was my first “restoration” of many since, but the most memorable. Nothing mechanical was done to it – it worked and I could not afford any outlay. But it went OK although I seem to remember some play in the front fork area.

    That little old Sunbeam gave me immense pleasure over about 2 years, when I sold it on to a young lad for his commute to work, for a whole £10 (£5 profit – those were the days!). It never let him down.

    48 bikes later and arthritis has led me to exchange my BMW R100 for a new, lighter Royal Enfield Bullet EFI (nostalgia for the 3 Bullets I had in the ‘60s), but it is always that old Sunbeam that sticks in the memory!