My mother fought in the war, not hand to hand of course, but she ran the switchboard at the underground fortress on the Isle of Portland where the D-Day invasion was planned. She was a target of a spiteful fighter who strafed her landlady’s garden and had to dive under the hedge with the children. She alerted her base to a spy who was subsequently caught and she said there were six men, any one of which she might have married if they had not gone off to fight and never came back. Her tears on Remembrance Day taught us to tear up…
each Autumn brought tears of Remembrance for lost loves fallen in the war
My mother sitting at the back of her landlady’s house on the Island of Portland where she was managing the switchboard at the fortress where the invasion was being planned. She looks calm and happy here but just a few feet away, she had to grab the landlady’s two sons and dive for cover when a German fighter strafed the back gardens for no good reason…
Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Frank J. Tassone in Haibun Monday, invites us, on America’s Memorial Day, when those who have fallen in service of their country are remembered, to write a a Haibun recalling those whom we lost. This is about my mther’s Remembrance but from her example, we learned the meaning of loss and the response of tears. I wrote a longer poem about Remembrance and an exploration of my mother’s story in the memoir I wrote in this year’s A to Z Challenge here.
This year my A to Z theme was to construct a memoir heading each post with a photograph of something significant from my life and tacling the memoir thematically rather than chronologically. You can find the complete list of links to the 26 posts at the end of the post.
Each time I have participated in the A to Z since my first outing in 2020, my posts have grown longer and more layered, for example, last year, I was tackling Commodities which I was afraid might be a little dry as a subject, so I decided to add a poem in an alphabetically matching poetry form. This year I was afraid that my Memoir, would not be sufficiently rivetting in itself and so I decided to lead each post with a photo of a significant object for the topic of the day. I included 10 pictures that were “Knolling” style and of course, nobody likes to be overfaced by swathes of text, and as there were several topics on some posts, that meant a lot of pictures to break it up – 169 in all! Since even my phone camera takes large pictures, each one had to be opened in Photoshop and tweaked and resized – a rod for my own back. At the time of the Theme Reveal, I only had five or six posts finished and on April 1st I had two weeks worth “in the can” but by the final weekend, I managed to complete the last 3 posts so technically, no “pantsing” it!
A “Knolling” picture from Carol, Cars and Cooking
Since adding poetry had worked well last year, I added nine poems this year (C, E, J, L, M, O, P, T & V) too, as well as a few videos, one of me working in 1995 and a number of music videos. All of this seems to have worked and I attracted a number of regular readers to whom I am most grateful for their encouraging comments. In no particular order:- A shoutout to Csenge (Tarkabarka) The Multicolored Diary who was first to comment on day one and also an A to Z committee member and consummate, epic storyteller. Anne M. Bray of Pattern Recognition an old A to Z friend – everything you ever wanted to know about Fluevog Shoes… Tamara of Part-time Working Hockey Mom another old friend since 2020 who this year guides around the cities of Switzerland with her cutomary aplomb! Ronel is another Comittee member and supplied the colourful graphics for the A to Z – you can find her at Ronel the Mythmaker… Deborah A Logophile’s Ludic Musings continued her exploration of unusual and interesting words and hardly missed a post Lisa of Tao Talk, is a friend from my other habitual haunt – dVerse Poets Pub… Donna McNichol was another frequent flyer and her own offerings are at Just call me Froggi Kristin Kleage has been sharing her family history with the A to Z since 2013 at Finding Eliza… Anne E.G. Nydam is a fabulous printmaker at Black and White: Words and Pictures Holly J. of A More Positive Perspective Samantha of Balancing Act Linda Curry of The Curry Apple Orchard
And so, how was the writing itself – what did I learn from doing this year’s A to Z?
Firstly, I quickly realised how much material my life contained so that for almost any given subject, I had to be very selective about which stories I included. After writing about why I didn’t become a fine-artist or an architect, and why I haven’t been very successful as a businessman, I covered my family, my late sister Carol, my Dad, my mother Elsie and shortly after, my sister Helen and particularly in these posts, there was so much more that could have been said. I was trying to stick to those points that had a bearing on me – it was my memoir after all and not theirs – still, there could be a book rather than 26 posts! But as far as it went, I feel like I have made a memoir of sorts and I am not sure I would want to go as far as a book, even if it retained and expanded on the thematic approach rather than the chronological.
Secondly, it would be disingenuous of me to think that I have had an “ordinary” life, I am well aware of the priveleges I was fortunate to be born into, by being born into a “First” World country, to middle-class parents, parents who were both extraodinary in their different ways and who did their very best to offer my sisters and I the best opportunities they could, not least of all a trip round the world and the chance to experience life in a different country at an early age. Were there any flies in the ointment, along the way, of course there were but a life without some adversity would be a life less lived and adversity makes us stronger. Would I do things differently, some I guess, but hindsight is a fine thing…
My daily routine during April, was to start the day by checking that the scheduled post was up, read it through one more time for mistakes before going over to the Official A to Z blog to answer their daily question(s) and leave a link. Because of geography and time zones, there was usually one or two posts ahead of me, with posts from the Americas coming in much later in the day and so I sometimes had the mistaken inmpression that hardly anyone else commented there so I was very touched, when after losing the run of myself and forgetting to follow my routine, I received a comment from Barbie of Crackerberries
Andrew, this is the first time I didn’t see your name above mine on the A-Z page… I had to come see if you were here because that was so odd that you were not there, even when I went back this afternoon. Thanks for sharing the X-Rays and it’s really comical to me that the new hip bone kinda looks like a serrated knife. (ahhh the imagination of writers). Anyways, I’m glad you are here and maybe just didn’t get over to the page yet. Funny how we take people for granted. See ya tomorrow and I bet you will be first with Z post. Cheers, Barbie
It does surprise me how few of the 172 bloggers who signed up, do comment both to respond to the day’s post as well as to see this as their firsl line of promotion. My comment made, I would post a link and a photograph from the post on my Facebook which would bring in a few friends and family. I will put this post on a button at the top of my blog in the hope that future readers will find their way to my story…
Which post did I like writing best, we are asked on the A to Z blog? Frewin, Fossils and Film covered some of my favourite things but it was also fun choosing photographs and poems to showcase for Photography and Poetry – so a toss-up there…
Lastly, it has been gratifying to find that not only was I wrong to wonder if other people would find my story interesting, but it has renewed, once again, my faith in my telling of the story, in my writing. As every one of my A to Zs has been from 2020 to 2025, it has been a marathon and I am glad to have reached the finish line, somewhat exhausted, but I am hoping that, as I am told about giving birth, the memory of the pain of labour disappears (else no woman would do it again) and that at some point in the next year, another idea for A to Z 2026, will pop into my mind, though goodness knows what…
Now that all the writing is done, I am off to catch up on some of my favourite blogs and hopefully find some new ones! You can peruse the whole A to Z list and find some for yourself here.
I confess I am not a great fan of autobiographies that begin at the beginning and follow a temporal path up to the present day – not that the person might not have some interesting stories, facts and opinions strung on their necklace, but it just doesn’t appeal as a structure. On the other hand, in my last, extra year at school in Oxford, retaking an A-level and adding a couple more, I was allowed out of school on my recognisance and saw a fascinating Exhibition at the Modern Art Gallery. The Artist had laid out and photographed every single possession of a single person – for example, all the cutlery was laid out in one shot, all the shoes in another. This more thematic approach appeals more and although I am not arranging the objects which I have chosen to tell my story in chronological order, I hope that my writing will be sufficiently interesting to keep your interest Dear Reader, and that on the journey from A to Z, you will assemble an impression of my life and who I am…
A look of grim concentration in this Zoom selfie…
Zoom…
How many are the ways we communicate apart from face to face that is… Phone calls, texts, WhatsApp, messages, Messenger DM’s, Skype and Zoom (not an exhaustive list lol). Zoom and its brothers and sisters from Microsoft et al, came to the front duringthe Covid Lockdown when you could use it to keep in contact with friends or work from home or even have a remote consultation with your doctor. Skype – a Microsoft product was the go-to product for a long time but it is now being pulled because Zoom and it’s compadres do much more – multiple participants, recording and transcribing those recordings etc. One of my favourite things done with Skpe, was a guy who corresponded with lots of people all over the world and then edited themed conversations for the BBC on topics like work or marriage or migration. So adios Skype and welcome Zoom on which I attend a Writing Group, read poetry for the dVerse Poets Pub open mike night, not to mention work meetings, and speaking to my sister in Nova Scotia…
Which is all I have to say about Zoom, which seems a whimper rather than a bang for the ending of what has been as in depth an A to Z as any of the five before it – but at least I have written a memoir of sorts, if I do no other! At the outset, I expressed the hope that you would “assemble an impression of my life and who I am” and I hope indeed, that you have – only you know…
Adios, Amigos – see you on the road…
I leave you with a few photos of myself over the years…
Carol, Helen and I on our balcony in Bondi in 1968
I confess I am not a great fan of autobiographies that begin at the beginning and follow a temporal path up to the present day – not that the person might not have some interesting stories, facts and opinions strung on their necklace, but it just doesn’t appeal as a structure. On the other hand, in my last, extra year at school in Oxford, retaking an A-level and adding a couple more, I was allowed out of school on my recognisance and saw a fascinating Exhibition at the Modern Art Gallery. The Artist had laid out and photographed every single possession of a single person – for example, all the cutlery was laid out in one shot, all the shoes in another. This more thematic approach appeals more and although I am not arranging the objects which I have chosen to tell my story in chronological order, I hope that my writing will be sufficiently interesting to keep your interest Dear Reader, and that on the journey from A to Z, you will assemble an impression of my life and who I am…
From Bottom right, clockwise – Frozen Yoghurt wth fresh fruit, Popping Pearls for Boba Tea, Toppings for Frozen Yoghurt and Frozen Yoghurt in a homemade cone…
Yoghurt (frozen)
After Frewin’s closed down, I was approached by someone who wanted to open a Frozen Yoghurt/Boba Tea bar in Bradford . “What’s Boba Tea?” I asked… I never really understood until some of the supplies for making it arrived – more of that later. Once we opened, the partnership inexplicably fell apart and I was left to run the business on my own – which made it pretty much a lifestyle living.
Of course, I used my signwriting skills to decorate the window, seasonally – from top left, clockwise – the normal window, Ramadan for the first year,Ramadan the following year and Diwali (Hindu festival of Light).
The first year, Ramadan, fell in high Summer, which meant that the predominantly Moslem population, broke their fast very late in the evening with Iftar, a small thing to eat before going to the mosque for prayers, followed by a race home to eat properly. My frozen yoghurt was perfect for Iftar and also as a desert for families’ main meals and so I was doing well enough to employ staff whilst I delivered frozen yoghurts in my car!
Myself and my staff in our Eid suits (Eid is the celebration at the end of Ramadan)
My late sister Carol was visiting that Summer and was responsible for the face-paonting.
After that first Summer, business levelled off and I had only one part-time staff member in the evenings. On really quiet Winter nights, I had my trusty Ukulele out and learned a lot of new songs…
User comments
I got through a lot of mangos and at one particular time of year, the favourite Pakistan mangoes come in and are on sale everywhere in Bradford – this is a collage of some of the distinctive box lid designs…
Not everything was rosy, some months in, three men ram-raided the shop in the early hours of the morning, trying to steal the icecream machine which is what makes the frozen yoghurt. Mine was a double machine (two flavours or a mixture of both) – it was so heavy that it took four body-builders to lift it onto the counter in the first place so these guys didn’t stand a chance – they got two steps and then dropped it! Meanwhile, a neighbour who had heard the crash ran downstairs, picked up a length of two-by-two and broke their car backwindow as they made their getaway! The plus side was that no publicity is bad publicity and if you search for Zezt online, the newspaper article is still there and brought in a flurry of business once the mess was cleared up…
So what is Boba Tea? If you have never encountered it, it’s either a milky drink or a thin, fruity smoothie type drink which has Boba, made from tapioca, flavoured with black tea and about the size of a marrowfat pea. You drink boba tea through a very thick plastic straw and when one of the boba is sucked up, after initial resistance, it rushes up and pops into your mouth. There are many variations of boba tea, in Taiwan, the epicentre of the phenomenon, cafes often make up their own recipes from scratch, but of course, as it spread, commercial powder mixes have standardised the process. Then there are the Boba themselves, the original black tea tapioca balls have been augmented with Popping Pearls – juice-filled capsules that literally burst in your mouth; jelly in all shapes and sizes (as long as they fit up the straw).
A Boba tea concoction of my own devising…
Then of course there were the customers… I grew a very happy and loyal customer base amongst whom was the group below. It’s not often that you can be witness to a moment of profound change in a person’s life, but Connie, second from left, took her friends to an evening of Asian crafts – principally Mehndi, or decorative Henna work. They came, as they did quite regularly, for a frozen yoghurt before going to the event, and for another one afterwards only this time, they had all had Mehndi decorations done on their arms. Connie was so taken with the process that she began practising it and within a year was making the pilgrimage to HennaCon in America and she has never looked back! You can find her on Istagram here.
The fateful night that Connie discovered henna – Connie and friends before the event and later that evening showing of their decorated arms…
I had a little trepidation about opening Zest, a dessert shop, in that location, situated as I was between three restaurants, fearing they might resent me cutting into their trade; however, I needn’t have worried because what I came to learn is this. Molsems don’t drink alcohol and so whereas English people might go for a meal in a restaurant having mains, dessert and then more drinks and coffee – making a night of it in one establishment, Moslems may go to one restaurant for their main course, bur then to spin the evening out, they leave and go to another restaurant for their dessert – so no probs! The shop was too small to develop and grow beyond a one-man band lifestyle choice and with only one afternoon off, midweek, I became exhausted and decided to move on to pastures unknown, but not before, unbeknownst to me, my current bosses, visited the shop and I am sure that having seen what I had managed to create on my own – that is why they offered me the job…
I confess I am not a great fan of autobiographiesthat begin at the beginning and follow a temporal path up to the present day – not that the person might not have some interesting stories, facts and opinions strung on their necklace, but it just doesn’t appeal as a structure. On the other hand, in my last, extra year at school in Oxford, retaking an A-level and adding a couple more, I was allowed out of school on my recognisance and saw a fascinating Exhibition at the Modern Art Gallery. The Artist had laid out and photographed every single possession of a single person – for example, all the cutlery was laid out in one shot, all the shoes in another. This more thematic approach appeals more and although I am not arranging the objects which I have chosen to tell my story in chronological order, I hope that my writing will be sufficiently interesting to keep your interest Dear Reader, and that on the journey from A to Z, you will assemble an impression of my life and who I am…
I know I already showed this in H for Health but here it is the star of the show…
I was amazed recently, when going for a chest X-ray, and asking if it would be possible to obtain one of my X-rays (for this post), to be told that all my films were available to me free of charge and returning the next day, I was given a CD with the lot! Bravo the NHS – free at the point of delivery and fully transparent in its health records (to the individual concerned). As I described in H for Health, I broke my hip in a car accident in 1999 and then in about 2013, I needed the hip replaced and that is the metal piece you can see on the left of the X-ray. Never say I don’t share anything intimate with you! It is amazing, is it not, that the likes of Marie Curie and her husband, should have discovered radioactivity and developed it into such a tool for our benefit – and not without personal cost to their own health…
The other type of scan, which is conducted at the same hospital, is the ultrasound (not just for goggling at babies in utero) and I recently had one of those for a suspected small kidney stone. The results below are so blurry that I am amazed that anybody can determine anything. My stepson’s girlfriend is a stenographer – not as I thought, an old-fashioned word for a secretary, but a person who conducts and interprets Ultrasound scans, and she confirmed that an MRI scan would have been much better at detecting a stone but is also much more expensive… She herself suffered from the same problem, but was able to monitor herself at work – perks of the job!
I confess I am not a great fan of autobiographiesthat begin at the beginning and follow a temporal path up to the present day – not that the person might not have some interesting stories, facts and opinions strung on their necklace, but it just doesn’t appeal as a structure. On the other hand, in my last, extra year at school in Oxford, retaking an A-level and adding a couple more, I was allowed out of school on my recognisance and saw a fascinating Exhibition at the Modern Art Gallery. The Artist had laid out and photographed every single possession of a single person – for example, all the cutlery was laid out in one shot, all the shoes in another. This more thematic approach appeals more and although I am not arranging the objects which I have chosen to tell my story in chronological order, I hope that my writing will be sufficiently interesting to keep your interest Dear Reader, and that on the journey from A to Z, you will assemble an impression of my life and who I am…
All my work is done on this computer, be it work work or writing work…
Work
If you have been following my A to Z this year, you will know that I have covered a fair few of the jobs I have done (I like to say that I have forgotten more jobs than most people have had), but what of the nature of work and working? I suppose that most of my jobs have fallen either into physical work like signwriting and cheffing, or else desk jobs such as administration/management and writing, but there are a few other classifications like teaching, call-centre work and cinema projectionist. Nowadays, as most people have caught up to me in the retrain every decade mode, at interview, it’s all about transferrable skills and the dreaded “describe a situation where you…”. For example, mixing paint and indeed painting a wall with a brush, require much the same sensitive touch as making a roux-based sauce and a fluency with spreadsheets is required in running a restaurant, calculating quantities of steel required in a building project or keeping track of one’s poetry output – who it was written for and where it has been published. As I have got older, my work has revolved more and more around the computer above – and just to think that when I was at school, there were only 3 (Mainframe)computers in the whole of Oxford and PC’s and Laptops were not even a twinkle in somebody’s eye – who knew where it would end up – not me!
War
As a teenager, with history lessons at school, and my mother’s war stories, whilst she still told them, I gradually became aware of the Second World War which finished just 10 years before I was born, of the First world War which my Grandad had been in and of various far distant conflicts going on around the world, the Suez Crisis, the Cuban Missile Crisis, Vietnam. And yet, there was a sense that World Wars at least were safely in the past, as Dylan said – we were friends with the Germans now, the world order was dedicated to peace and stability, the Rule of Law and the fruit of that stability was the Global Village. The current crop of authoritarian dictators, some, like Putin, desperately trying to turn the clock back to the grim days (as others see them) of the Cold War when Russia was Great, and the man he helped to power who also wants to Make America Great Again, despite the fact that it already was great my most measures and considered so by many people – those men and other dictators of their ilk, have succeeded in shattering the stability and raised the threat level in ways we can hardly comprehend. Neither, many would say, does Trump, and whilst his name will likely be a byword for infamy, one day, things are likely to get worse before they get better. So far from the cosy certainties that I grow up with, what sort of future is being handed to my grandchildren, I cannot say…
Words
At 70, I feel I am a little too old and slightly broken, to become an activist carrying banners on the street, but if you have a computer and access to the internet, you have a voice and you can research and learn, search for truths, write – essays, emails, op-eds, and poems, then deploy them for the things that matter to you – wage war 0r at least counter-insurgency with words, for democracy, the environment, the downtrodden – and lest you think your voice won’t be heard or matter, an ocean is made up of drops of water and every drop counts towards the main…
Here are two of my poems, they are about America, the first written before Trump’s second election, the second afterwards, and in part, responding to the first…
America (I Would Like to Visit You)
America I would like to visit you but I have a fear of repeatedly feeling déjà vu having seen your treasures and tragedies over and over on big screens and small I have come to absorb through books and films and blogs – those love-children of Letter From America some understanding of your ways.
It is only my personal view others see you quite differently from The Land of Opportunity to The Great Satan. I also, of course, know real Americans both in the flesh and in the virtual world and even have relatives a whole branch of the family. Since my grandfather’s brother emigrated before the First World War he and his descendants have demonstrated the positives the opportunity to make good – it might have been less opportune if he had not been white.
Now I understand the wealth of America could not have been so great without the dispossession of the previous occupants or the relocation of millions of slaves who even after emancipation worked a different kind of bondage in the factories of Chicago.
I cannot preach us British have no right… just this week I read a supplement of The [Manchester] Guardian on how Manchester’s cotton wealth was the fruit of slavery just at one remove and the Guardian famously liberal did little to recognise even its own failure to comment until now.
America so much is squeezed into your great cities each pressure-cooking a distinct language which is so much more than mere accent but in between the vast wildernesses still exist free of graffiti the poor of the cities not banned but excluded from access nevertheless by lacking the means to get there
And so America you are a land of opposites of natural beauty and urban ugliness of obscene wealth and unforgivable poverty of liberal tolerance and extreme hatred. Maybe this is true of all countries but America – You proclaimed yourself to be the Great and the Good to be the World’s Policeman but all your policemen carry guns and so therefore do the bad guys and the poor and the rich by inalienable right.
America Dorothy has pulled back the curtain and the little man revealed does not match up to the rhetoric or the dream.
But still I would like to visit you America…
Written in response to “America [superstorm]” by Kathleen Graber from her collection – The River Twice
America (Krisis*: at the Crossroads)
America I would still like to visit you perhaps even more urgently – the rough beast slouched towards Bethlehem now born – a second coming the world thought impossible now come to pass mere anarchy is loosed upon the world.
How long before those Great Lakes are poisoned by polluters set free to do their dirty work and national parks still safe from the graffiti of the poor but not from the mineral mining gutting of once again empowered rich cost corner-cutting pipelines fracture and spill their black gold on sacred reservations and beyond.
To appease his base your President has pulled your role as policeman to the world citing the cost but alongside military might your soft power saved lives now already doomed as vaccinations, retro-virals and simply food are withdrawn allies against oppression abandoned in favour of the oppressors and that is without the chaos of world markets disarrayed the world order disrupted by a thoughtless human hand grenade.
We British cannot talk – we also had a Prime Minister unelected, full of hubris, who made leader by her party with no electoral mandate fancied herself a disruptor and lasted less time than a lettuce but whose damage lives on
– small fry compared to POTUS whose power, mandated, he claims has already hurt the whole world in ways no magic reset can reverse and in truth, his mandate was less than half of “We the people…” his vandals slashing government to smash the laws that hold them back from moving money – poor to rich once more…
The “Land of Opportunity” that favoured my grandfather’s brother and many another immigrant now demonises the souls who would make their way too to share the possibilities of a bright future for their families even as the undocumented labour that oils the wheels of the American economy – fentanyl and the war on drugs a fig leaf to the injustice of forced repatriation of those already embedded in America their dreams and families shattered by the spurious scourge of anti-immigrant sentiment pitting the poor against the poorer still.
So America I would still like to visit you but I am not sure you would let me in with my opinions here on record – sewn into the worldwide web where creepy billionaires now rule the roost and spread the lies that fooled America’s poor into electing their nemesis by inflaming the emotion of their abandoned sensibilities with false promises wrapped up in fake news – how long before you see the truth and can Americans, as they have before revolt against the white minority who would install Gilead the billionaires bent on plunder the bigoted descendants of the slave-owning South.
And if you, the people of America find your voice and strength again quell the krisis reassert the values that had America support the world order the rule of law, the equality of man then perhaps I will yet get to visit America…
I confess I am not a great fan of autobiographiesthat begin at the beginning and follow a temporal path up to the present day – not that the person might not have some interesting stories, facts and opinions strung on their necklace, but it just doesn’t appeal as a structure. On the other hand, in my last, extra year at school in Oxford, retaking an A-level and adding a couple more, I was allowed out of school on my recognisance and saw a fascinating Exhibition at the Modern Art Gallery. The Artist had laid out and photographed every single possession of a single person – for example, all the cutlery was laid out in one shot, all the shoes in another. This more thematic approach appeals more and although I am not arranging the objects which I have chosen to tell my story in chronological order, I hope that my writing will be sufficiently interesting to keep your interest Dear Reader, and that on the journey from A to Z, you will assemble an impression of my life and who I am…
These two t-shirts belonged to my Dad and were bought on one of several trips to Australia made by my parents after all of us children had left home, and that makes them at least 35 years old – I wear them each, once a week or so in Winter…
I am a keeper! No, not that sort of keeper! I keep things I like – for a long time! Its not that I’m miserly about buying new clothes, if I was rich, ! would certainly indulge in buying new clothes, though not fashionable clothes per se, but distinctive, unique clothes – but I am not, so I don’t! When I was at school, my mother bought me sturdy, sensible clothes that would last and unable to dress as fashionably as my contemporaries, I made a virtue of being unfashionable. Besides, fashionable clothes are made less well in the rush to get them out at a tempting price – even more so for ladies’ clothes. Men’s clothes are generally slightly better made and last longer accordingly… I am jealous of the flamboyance of women’s clothes vis-à-vis mens’, are we not one of the few species where men are dowdy and do not have to win our mates with a display of finery?
I do like something colourful and this shirt is a souvenir of my early years as a signwriter in Sligo, Ireland, when, in the runup to opening a new men’s boutique, a client agreed to a part payment in kind. The cuffs and collar are beginning to show wear but I think this fabric is not a candidate for turning – too fine and fragile… 29 years old!
This shirt, thick cotton, was such a favourite that when the collar and cuffs frayed (see inset) I took them off and turned them – there is a fine line between looking weathered and ruined… 30 years old!
This is a late addition to the post (it had slipped off the mending pile and fallen behind the chest of drawers!). This beloved shirt had frayed at the collar and cuffs – too much for mere turning, so I embellished it with some Kaffe Fassett-designed fabric. Now, though, as you can see, one of the sleeves has ripped, it’s old and fragile so another repair is overdue…
I read some tips on preserving your clothes, the most useful of which was not to wash more frequently than needed and to close all zips and main buttons when washing…
Vintage clothes have become big business, and several of my grandsons helped pay their way through university by buying individual clothes from charity shops or buying secondhand in bulk online and then reselling them online. When my partner worked in a local charity shop, she regularly used her staff discount to buy shirts for me so that it is only in recent years that I have bought the occasional brand new shirt. I also look out for shirts I could embellish with brighter fabrics – I did do an evening class in dressmaking.
I confess I am not a great fan of autobiographiesthat begin at the beginning and follow a temporal path up to the present day – not that the person might not have some interesting stories, facts and opinions strung on their necklace, but it just doesn’t appeal as a structure. On the other hand, in my last, extra year at school in Oxford, retaking an A-level and adding a couple more, I was allowed out of school on my recognisance and saw a fascinating Exhibition at the Modern Art Gallery. The Artist had laid out and photographed every single possession of a single person – for example, all the cutlery was laid out in one shot, all the shoes in another. This more thematic approach appeals more and although I am not arranging the objects which I have chosen to tell my story in chronological order, I hope that my writing will be sufficiently interesting to keep your interest Dear Reader, and that on the journey from A to Z, you will assemble an impression of my life and who I am…
I like to visit food shops when abroad and this is a shopping bag from Morocco. I particularly like to see which local soups are available as packet soups – weird I know but they are lightweight souvenirs that bring back the country at a later date…
The shopping bag shown above may seem like an unlikely object to choose to symbolise Travel, but it is often the small differences you notice when travelling abroad and this bag is just such an one. In the UK, the attempt to reduce the amount of single-use soft plastic bags was effected by making a 5 pence mandatory in supermarkets who then realised the marketing possibilities of selling bags for life with their logo on them. This bio-degradable cloth bag is Morocco’s answer to the problem that had their towns littered with plastic carrier bags. America, has always(?) had brown paper grocery bags which have to be carried underarm which always seemed a precarious thing to do but was definitely more environmentally friendly – advanced thinking, especially when you see the environmental loutishness of Trump and his ilk… Further to the theme of environmental care, the bag is shown full of soft-plastic for recycling although I emptied it into anoter container subsequently so that I could retain this modest souvenir of a holiday in Morrocco that Barbara and I took a few years back.
I searched for an iconic moment from our trip to Australia in 1968 and this image of the Sydney Harbour Bridge along with the partially built Sydney Opera House in the foreground places the year as 1968.
It seems to me that there are two ways to travel, you can go on an extended holiday that takes in many countries, as a succession of my grandchildren have been doing, but it seems to me, that you barely graze the surface of any particular place, and take the risk that everywhere might end up seeming like an airport, train or bus station. The other way, which I would prefer to embrace, would be to go to one place, as foreign as possible and to spend at least a year there, seeing all the seasons that it had to offer and with enough time to get to know the place and the people a little better. The only places I have lived for six months or more are Australia, six months in 1968 when I was 14, Crete for six months (cutrailed by Brexit regulations) during the 2020 lockdown, and Ireland for 10 years, which I think is long enough to say you have lived somewhere and not merely visited…
We were in Australia during their Winter and we lived in a new apartment block in Bondi but as this photograph of Bondi Beach shows, though as warm and bright as an English Summer, the beach was deserted until the day “the season” began, and then it was packed! My mother is the figure searching the tide line for treasures,,, Scanning my father’s slides,I found this picture of the occasion of the Prime Minister to North Bondi Lifesavers – its not quite Baywatch, but almost…
It was cheaper to go by ship to Australia in 1968 than to fly – long-haul flying was in its expensive infancy whilst travel as opposed to cruise ships were on their last legs. We sailed P & O’s SS Orcades on the way out and because the Suez Canal was closed due to the Six Day War, we had to go via South Africa, calling in at Rotterdam, Lisbon, Dakar, Capetown, Durban before arriving at Pert in Western Australia. After staying with relatives in Bunbury, W. A., ws travelled by train across the continent to leave my Granny with my Uncle in Caslemaine, Victoria and then on by train to Sydney where my Dad taught at the University of New South wales and we children went to school. We bought a Holden car – a car based on American cars of the time, and in the holidays we made a 4000 mile round trip up to Gladstone, where the Great Barrier Reef begins (though we did not get to see it) then right back down to Castlemaine and finally back to Sydney.
Our Holden car on its 4,000-mile trip stopped at a Tick Control Point…
The not very PC named “Blackboy Tree (because early visitors thought they were spear wielding natives) – my mother with one of our relatives in Western Australia. They are holding up a section of the trunk from which seep, large drops of deep red resin. I bought some back with me and dissolved in meths, it is used as a furniture stain….
My sisters, Carol and Helen, are holding their entries for a cake decorating competition at school.
Barbara and I lived two doors away from her sister in Crete over the Winter of 2020 and there was almost no covid there and so although it was officially locked down, we did sneak to a few deserted beaches and drove around the part of the island near to Elounda. You can find a poem about this under “B”. Below is small selection of favourite photos from other holidays in various destinations…
The view from our apartment in Crete from where we saw some spectacular sunrises this may have been taken by my sister-in-law…
Walking back from shopping in town (Elounda), I snapped this boy running with giddy glee as his family pruned and burnt the prunings of their olive grove – one of my favourite…
A peloton of bicycles outside a boutique in Gouda which, like a miniature Amsterdam is all about canals, pedestrians and bicycles…
Shopping is a universal pleasure when travelling and if you live in Chisinau, capital of Moldova, you could go to the expensive, international shops but most people go to the most enormous outdoor market. The avenues between the stalls are rainproof and there is a whole street devoted to wedding dresses and all the accoutrements. I wanted to photograph the repeated ranks of wedding posies whilst the stallholder was away but she came rushing back and insisted I record her for posterity and I am so glad she did…
The garden of La Maison de l’Homme Bleu at the oasis near Guelmin was the closest we got to the Sahara on holiday in Morocco, and this shot captures the moment just before sunset, which falls suddenly near the Equator…
The view, literally from my pillow on the top floor of a house in the old, walled city of Boulogne on our roadtrip of Normandy, last year…
Tapestry, Needlepoint
In 1999, whilst living in Ireland and shortly before breaking my hip and spending a year on crutches, I had obtained a grant to start a business making needlepoint tapestry kits. Back in St.Albans, i had encountered a company supplying everything you need to heat-transfer pictures on T-shirts, and I realised that if you could do the same on tapestry canvas, you could do print-to-order Needlepoint Tapestry kits. These are normally screen-printed, which means that the entire run of canvases needs to be printed at one time, and stored (sometimes for years) so that although the heat transfer method is more expensive per print, ultimately its more economical. The broken hip gave me a lot of time to develop the business and later I travelled all over Ireland by train and bus to take photos and make sketches for the designs, which you can see below.
If you go to the website, which remarkably is still up (although there are some flaws in rendering and links), you can click on the individual landscapes to go to that design – this was my first ever website design…
Each design started out as photo or sketch.
This is the image which was printed onto the canvas and wools matching the colours were supplied in the kit.
The designs were also available as counted cross-stitch charts. This one is a section of The Rock of Cashel.
The business was not a great success due to distribution issues and because I then had a teaching job, couldn’t yet drive again and ultimately because we moved back to England, but it was fun and there are scattered stitchers all over the world who have them…
Still on crutches and sensibly sitting down, promoting Atlantic Stitches at a craft exhibition c. 2000…
Tear-ing Up…
Several people of the same venerable age as myself have confessed that they tear up at the drop of a hat – I guess its inevitable as a mixture of memories, observations of the world, nostalgia and knowledge that one’s end is nearer and realer day-by-day… I tried to keep a record of the things that made me tear up in just one week but couldn’t keep it up, so here is a small selection.
Listening to the BBC programme “Add to Playlist” the BBC radio programme in which they were talking about how Doo-Wop was an artform developed by poor African-American teenagers who couldn’t afford instruments and therefore sang a capella.
Florence and the Machine singing “Try a Little Tenderness” which she does very slowly and with feeling…
Joni Mitchell singing “River” surely the saddest Christmas song ever sung…
Hearing any song sung by Linda Ronstadt, but particularly Cansons di Mi Padre and knowing that she can no longer sing well enough to perform due to Parkinson’s disease.
These are all music, but of course films and TV dramas trigger tears all the time and here is a short drama of my own…
Ten Second Theatre
Driving up the hill through the village a ten-second drama plays out to my right – a baby boy comfortable in the crook of his grandmother’s arm receives a hurried kiss from his mother as she turns to walk down the hill to the bus stop the baby stretches out his arm towards his departing mother once more going to work more bewildered than upset but his grandmother steps back indoors before possible tears leaving the pavement empty…
I confess I am not a great fan of autobiographiesthat begin at the beginning and follow a temporal path up to the present day – not that the person might not have some interesting stories, facts and opinions strung on their necklace, but it just doesn’t appeal as a structure. On the other hand, in my last, extra year at school in Oxford, retaking an A-level and adding a couple more, I was allowed out of school on my recognisance and saw a fascinating Exhibition at the Modern Art Gallery. The Artist had laid out and photographed every single possession of a single person – for example, all the cutlery was laid out in one shot, all the shoes in another. This more thematic approach appeals more and although I am not arranging the objects which I have chosen to tell my story in chronological order, I hope that my writing will be sufficiently interesting to keep your interest Dear Reader, and that on the journey from A to Z, you will assemble an impression of my life and who I am…
This sign remains one of my favourites from my pre-Ireland signwriting days. It was the first pub sign that I ever got to do because most pubs were tied to breweries who employed their own in-house signwriters. But in the year before I moved to Ireland, the government broke the monopoly of breweries and forced them to sell off some as “Free Houses”. “The Overdraught ” was a pun on the new owner’s means of financing his purchase so I followed suit by showing an overflowing pint of beer in front of the Bank of England! Pictorial pub signs hark back to the days when many people couldn’t read and relied on the pictures…
Signwriting was not a considered choice – the first piece of sign-like lettering I did was to paint my late sister Carol’s,name on a steamer trunk left over from our voyage to Australia in 1968. Carol was mad into all things canal, so I painted a shadow block lettering such as you see on English narrow-boats. Then I asked, on the spur of the moment, whether an antique shop opening just around the corner from me would like a sign – English readers may laugh when I tell them it was called Acorn Antiques (a comedy sketch in Victoria Wood’s iconic comedy show). A wholefood shop in Brixton followed and when I moved to St. Albans to live with Barbara, it became my living as a jobbing signwriter.
A St. Albans shop, if my memory serves me correctly, where I painted both the fascia board sign, and the window panels…
Signwriters or Signpainters can be separated from ordinary painters because they hold their long-bristled brushes perpendicular to their work. Halfway through their apprenticeships, they would divide into signwriters and poster writers – those indian ink on fluorescent paper, posters, typically seen outside churches back in the day… An old signwriter told me that when he was apprenticed, he spent a year before even touching a paying customer’s work. Each day they would practise writing letters on a gloss board, only to clean them off after the end of day’s inspection – he said they spent a whole month just practising “S’s”. Perhaps I was destined to become a signwriter for my only memory of a unique interaction with my Grandad (the one who was unable to become a teacher after WW1), was that he looked over some lines of “S’s” I was practising and said ” The halves should be equal top and bottom!” to which I replied, challengingly “No! You can have them differently if you want to!”
I became a signwriter at a crucial time for the profession, computer-cut vinyl and pespex lettering were on the rise and signwriters had been challenged by the rise too, of the graphic designer. When I worked at the Greater London Council as the office junior in the Graphic design section, if we wanted a fancy headline font, we could use Letraset. For those too young to remember Letraset, you took a sheet of lettering mounted/printed on the back of a sheet of plastic, placed the lettering where you wanted it on your artwork and then burnished the sheet, until, when lifted, the letter was left behind – transferred to the artwork. But here’s the rub – in the days of lead letterpress printing, the minimum spacing of letters was governed by the solid block of lead – you could increase the space (kerning) by inserting spacers but the minimum was a given. Now, with Letraset, and later, graphic programmes which anyone could use on a PC, you could, if you wanted, even overlap letters and Letraset blossomed into a myriad of exotic letters, many of which were a nightmare for signwriters to paint if instructed to by a client who had previously gone to a graphic designer for a “design”. Now signwriters, for the most part, used to have tree basic styles, Serif, Sans-serif and Script – everything else was just the use of different bolding, spacing and arranging of letters in straight lines, diagonal lines of even curved lines. Of course there was the fancy stuff you see at fairgrounds, on canal boats and on high end shops, but for the workaday sign, the options were limited for time and cost reasons, so these new demands on their skill were a nightmare which was only really resolved as computerised sign making took over from hand painting.
A page from a late Letraset Catalogue, 1995/96, far after the heyday in the 70’s when I started in graphic design but illustrating the diverse styles which signwriters wer now, routinely expected to use.
So signwriting meant drawing the sign out on a fullsize piece of paper, poincing (with a toothed wheel similar to that used by pattern-cutters in tailoring , but much finer) taping the design to the painted board (tricky on a shop fascia on a windy day) and then rubbing a bag (old sock) full of powder across the pounced letters so that when the paper was removed, the outline of the letters was left in faint dotted lines of powder. As yo used your brushes to paint the letters, the powder would disappear into the paint or be able to wiped off when the paint was dry. That same old signwriter said the only real difference in practice from his early days, was the use of masking tape – not the whit tape used by painters and decorators, but red, transparent “Litho Tape” a crossover from the print industry – it could make neat edges top and bottom or even follow a curved line. Previous to tape, signwriters had to rely on the squareness of their “Chisel” brushes to get neat corners. The oter, pointed type brush used by signwriters is known as a pencil.
As well as shop fascia boards, pavement A-signboards are a staple for the jobbing signwriter. In this one, I had marbled the background before painting the lettering…
In the 80’s, there was a resurgence of “special paint effects” – woodgraining, marbling, sponging or as above, rag-rolling. These finishes had last come to prominence in the 1930’s when the advent of plywood panels in doors made it necessary to paint rather than varnish doors. For me, this meant a mission creep from signwriting to specialist decorating as in this Chinese Restaurant.
Smallbones, a famous fitted kitchen company in the ’80s, left it up to the clients to find a painter, and I enjoyed painting this one in a modernist listed building – a 1960’s house in North London (a detail, including stencilling, is shown below).
A kitchen I constructed from scratch – what can I say my daughter loved sunflowers…
A stencilled piece of furniture intended to be the start of a collection bur which didn’t get realised and which we still have in our home today. Guess the date I painted this…
Like Letterpress wooden type before it, the fate of old 3-D sign lettering was to end up in antique shops…
Squidgy Things
Eventually, I fell in with a lady called Anna Ryder-Richardson, a nursery, soft-furnishing maker who had a shop called Squidgy Things and for a year, I made furniture to compliment her soft-furnishings. Unfortumately, developing a business such as this requires finance and my own finances suffered and it eventually became part of the reason I ended up moving to Ireland, where I returned to amore steady diet of signwriting. I fond myself the only signwriter in Sligo who could work with gold-leaf which gave me an immediate advantage.
A Postman Pat children’s bed and below, a sentry bow wardrobe…
During the time I worked with Squidgy Things, we received an unexpected boost due to the scandalous revelation of intimate phone calls between Princess Diana and her lover which became known as the “Squidgy Tapes” – you couldn’t make it up… Shortly after I moved to Ireland, Anna Ryder-Richardson herself, made a move into TV where she had a programme known as “House Invaders” in which she did house makeovers often using paints and fabrics that the owners already possessed…
P.S. I was originally going to include Spreadsheets in this post but I mentioned them elsewhere, so although I removed it from the tentative title, WordPress has incorporated it into the link – apologies to any spreadsheet fans…
I confess I am not a great fan of autobiographiesthat begin at the beginning and follow a temporal path up to the present day – not that the person might not have some interesting stories, facts and opinions strung on their necklace, but it just doesn’t appeal as a structure. On the other hand, in my last, extra year at school in Oxford, retaking an A-level and adding a couple more, I was allowed out of school on my recognisance and saw a fascinating Exhibition at the Modern Art Gallery. The Artist had laid out and photographed every single possession of a single person – for example, all the cutlery was laid out in one shot, all the shoes in another. This more thematic approach appeals more and although I am not arranging the objects which I have chosen to tell my story in chronological order, I hope that my writing will be sufficiently interesting to keep your interest Dear Reader, and that on the journey from A to Z, you will assemble an impression of my life and who I am…
Restaurateur
My good self from The Telegraph & Argus article on the opening of Frewins in January 2012…
I used to have trouble remembering the correct spelling of the word Restaurant – knowing where to put the au vovels, middle or last until I started to think of how it sounded Restore-ant a place to rest and be restored which solved that problem – the au is in the middle. But recently, a poet, older even than I, who also attends the Keighley Library Poetry Group, monthly, – gently pointed out that on the short bio on the back of my self-published chapbook, I have misspelt Restauranteur – it should be Reastaurateur and upon checking, I found that indeed it should! By my sounding system the owner of a Restaurant is therefore a Restore-ateur – one who restores you in body and hopefully in mind…
There is of course, nothing restful about running a restaurant, especially if you are one of the chefs! There is perhaps, something that restores the spirit on a daily basis else why would so many people do it – it is truly a lifestyle choice that consumes every waking hour with menu-planning, shopping, food-prep, cooking, supervising staff, talking to customers, clearing up and cleaning and somewhere in there, paying bills, staff and doing accounts… Well it is all of those things if you are a small restaurant! During the first two weeks of opening, between all the running around and working in the heat and pressure of the kitchen, I lost a pound (0.4Kg) each day…
When my mother died, I was between jobs which was lucky in terms of spending time with my sisters, sorting out her flat, and when, afterward, I returned to Yorkshire with a little immediate cash from my mother’s estate, I spotted a Restaurant premises up for rent in the next village of Addingham. Following a building collapse (nobody was hurt) and the rebuilding of the front of house area, the previous owners, who had moved into a different area of catering, decided to let it out, fully equipped and ready to go. I paid too much for it, didn’t know that a large gastro-pub was also about to reopen, and the year proved dire in terms of weather – it rained all Summer, non-stop. I operated a Café menu during the day, so daily baking of scones and gateaux, whilst in the evening, there was a Bistro menu – so a double challenge there! The weather meant that the walkers, tourists, cyclists and villagers either didn’t materialise or went to the gastro-pub which also had the advantage of it’s own car park and so I never got out from under the shadow of their honeymoon phase. I did, of course, have customers – just not enough, and so after eight months, with debts rising to meet the rest of my inheritance, I had to admit defeat and close. Losing your inheritance is no small thing and yet, part of me can say that I had no regrets, or rather, that I enjoyed (almost) all of it! I had one of my grandsons who lived in Addingham, working as a waiter in the evening, I assembled a great bunch of staff, some of them on an apprenticeship scheme and I cooked a lot of good food, and those customers who came, were I think, happy and a few became regulars!
People often want to know what kind of food I cooked and I have to say it was homely, eclectic and a little fusion. My signature dish was Venison marinated in Strawberries and Stilton, and Brioch Bread-and-Butter was always on the menu. I had a curry night every few weeks. What I don’t have is menus – they were hand drawn – no digital ghosts, and no pictures – I was too busy to be taking photos – but I have a lot of happy memories…
You can read a bit more about dishes I sometimes served at Frewins here:-
If you want to know what it is like to work as a chef, you could do worse than read “Kitchen Confidential” by the bad boy chef, Anthony Bourdain who ended up with a TV series on food around the world. I reviewed the book as part of a “Six Degrees of Separation” post – a fun challenge in itself, if you haven’t encountered it – you can read my post below.