February 2015 – Page 2 – derrickjknight

The Lion Dance

Knowing that we were to celebrate the Chinese New Year this evening at The Family House in Totton, I delved into my old slide boxes and found some of a similar event taken in March 1980, just before we moved from Horse & Dolphin Yard to Gracedale Road in Furzedown, South West London. Each Chinese New Year takes its name from an animal sign of the Chinese zodiac. 2015 is the Year of the Goat.

These two pictures feature the Lion Dance which is always performed at the celebrations, dancers often visiting restaurants, such as China Garden in Morden, and The Family House.

My first image includes the Polar Bear pub at the corner of Lisle Street, which is now a ‘Ku Bar’, self-proclaimed as ‘London’s Finest Gay Bar’. The De Hems pub, in the second picture, remains in its original use. A description of our relationship with that establishment during the time we were neighbours, and certain other Soho stories, is to be found in ‘Meandering Through Soho’.

When we first saw the lion dance, we, like many others, thought it was a dragon dance. In fact the latter is very different, requiring many more dancers than the two who perform that of the lion. Dragon dancers are visible, because they prop up the mythical creature on poles. Spectators cannot see the lion dancers because they are inside the enormous puppet. Those shown here are, naturally, rather larger than those that visit eating places.

During the preparations for last year’s New Year, a couple asked me to photograph them against the backdrop of Gerrard Street, which looks very different today than it did during the 1970s.

This evening The Family House did not disappoint. I have seen a few Lion Dances since the Soho seventies, non better than The Marchwood Lion Dance group who performed during our meal tonight. Accompanied by dramatic drumming the dancers entertained the diners for some considerable time.

One of the delights of this establishment is that they play the music of our youthful era with recordings by the original artistes. It is fun trying to remember them all. I must admit Minnie Riperton’s ‘Lovin’ You’ had me beaten. But not Jackie.

We dined on a selection from the eat as much as you like menu, and drank T’Sing Tao beer.

All the way home a flashing dashboard was instructing us to ‘check emissions’. Since neither of us knew either how to do this or what to do about what we might learn, this made for quite a hairy journey home. But we made it. A visit to Downton Service Station in the morning will be in order.

A Battle-Scarred Red Admiral

Had I had no success with the computer problems that beset me this morning, you would not be reading this post, and I may have gone off my rocker. Yesterday afternoon I found I could not, it seemed, access the internet on my Windows 8 laptop. After much grappling, I realised that the internet pages, through Google Chrome, were automatically minimised and could not be enlarged, having been hidden in the bar at the bottom of the screen. The Hewlett Packard phone help service was only available during the normal working week. On line support was not much use to me in the circumstances.

I usually rise rather early and spend an hour or so on the laptop. This was not possible today. Fortunately my head was clearer than it has been for two or three weeks. I was happily getting on with my iMac, when I received an alert advising me to replace the batteries in my wireless keyboard. I did so. It would not then connect to the computer. I kept swapping batteries around, to no avail.

It was good that Jackie got up early so we could have coffee together, because I couldn’t phone any help desks until 8 a.m. My first call was to Apple Care. They needed the serial number of my machine, which is accessed via ‘About this Mac’ on the screen. I couldn’t access this because I couldn’t type the password. I was getting a wee bit frazzled by then. A young woman called Sam managed, without the relevant number, to talk me through getting my keyboard and computer conversing with each other. This involved using the technique advocated by ‘The IT Crowd’, which is ‘turning it off and turning it on again’. Apparently I had been sending my Mac to sleep, rather that properly switching it off.

This didn’t take too long, and gave me confidence to telephone Hewlett Packard. A patient and helpful young man, eventually taking over my screen, spent an hour sorting out that issue. He thought ‘a bit of malware had got in there’. Never mind, we both learned something. I now know what a taff bar is, even if I can’t spell it; and my advisor knows what colons and semi-colons are. I can confidently state that a taff bar is not a watering hole for Welshmen, and perhaps my helper now knows that a semi-colon is not found in the human body.

The rest of the morning was sunny and mild. I took a wander around the garden to investigate what has been happening there whilst I have been holed up inside.

The whole plot was now carpeted with snowdrops that had just been poking through the soil three weeks ago.

A very large variety of hellebores hang their heads everywhere.

All the camellias, including some darker varieties than earlier were now sporting blooms.

Winter flowering plants such as cyclamens, pansies, and violas have thrived.

Ever since the first autumn fall, loosened leaves have fluttered in the wind, often initially taken for butterflies. Imagine my surprise when one careened past me and, settling on a gravel path, proved itself to be a very battle-scarred Red Admiral. The wings of this creature looked as if they had fed caterpillars once the nasturtiums had perished in the few days of frost.

So surprised was I that I looked up its life-span on Wikipedia, where I learned that it is possible for these members of the Lepidoptera to survive in the South of England during the period we have recently experienced.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s super sausage casserole (recipe), piquant cauliflower cheese (recipe), mashed potato, carrots and leaks. Sticky toffee pudding and custard was to follow. I finished the chianti and Jackie drank more of the zinfandel.

An Alfresco Birthday Party

It was my granddaughter Jessica’s eighth birthday yesterday. She and her sister Imogen and friends were taken out for a pizza and there were four extra little girls sleeping over at Haywood Road, Mapperly that night. Louisa posted some photographs on Facebook. Except that Jessica’s mother, Louisa, enjoyed a May birthday, and could have the parties in the garden in Newark by the time she was eight, this, for me, was reminiscent of my daughter’s own celebrations.

I was, of course, in attendance at Louisa’s events with the camera. I still haven’t found any of the negatives of these, so have resorted to scanning prints from her seventh birthday in May 1989. Here is a selection from a great deal more:

Our teenaged baby-sitter, Kate, was engaged to organise the games in this particular party, and a great job she made of it.

One particular activity involved each child in turn moving forward for a purpose which now escapes me. First Louisa, then Sam, are having a go. The others sat behind them and waited their turn.

For some reason Sam sported a T-shirt bearing a facsimile of my signature.

Some of these children, like Sarah-Jane Hyde have remained lifelong friends.

Matthew Colbourne was to provide the musical entertainment on the evening of Louisa’s wedding to Errol.

Others dropped out of the circle after a while. Louisa’s parties were to continue for another seventeen years, by which time the activities and the groupings had changed a bit.

Jessica provided a general oversight, but more importantly, plentiful party platters to be devoured at tables on the lawn.

Louisa was able to send her photographs around the world seconds after she had taken them. The process, for me, has taken rather longer. Such is the march of technology.

This evening’s platters for Jackie and me contained her smoked haddock and cauliflower cheese (recipe) meal that I call her symphony in white. Fried leeks were added today, and it was followed by sticky toffee pudding and custard. We both drank Cimarosa Zinfandel rose 2013.

Leith Hill

It has been rather a sleepy, sluggish, day today. The effect of the virus is diminishing, but departing with some reluctance.

Again I concentrated on scanning colour slides. These were the last 22 from my honeymoon with Jackie in March 1968. They were taken on a short trip across to Leith Hill, the highest point in Southeast England, set within the beautiful Surrey Hills. Its gothic tower, built in 1765, and now owned by the National Trust, rises majestically above the surrounding hills and from the top you can see sweeping views towards London in the north and the English Channel in the south.

With its ancient woods and views across open heathland, the area has been popular with visitors since Victorian times.

Within an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty (AONB) the hill is home to an abundant wildlife. It’s also designated as a Site of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI).

On the higher land in this beautifully crisp early spring day we brought one source of warmth with us, and found another. The car blanket was our contribution, and we came across yet another fire, this time a bonfire consuming the work of the woodmen.

Jackie’s delicious sausage casserole, its sauce enhanced by three quarters of a bottle of Albai that I had opened three weeks earlier and not been able to drink, served with mashed potato and swede, and a melange of fried leaks and carrots, was what we dined on this evening. Jackie drank Kingfisher and I consumed more of the chianti.

Inside The Deserted House

Jackie has provided me with updated information on the deserted house mentioned yesterday. Here it is: ‘Having driven fairly regularly past this house over the years, I can report that altho’ it has lost some of it’s character, it still exists, and houses on this prestigious Surrey village green cost an absolute fortune (close to £1,000000!). It was a distant village in 1968, but with rail and road connections so improved, it is now considered to be within working distance of London so commands premium prices. It is a shame really as the whole village is now full of very rich people and does not have the character of the 1968 village we knew. Even the wonderful village store, that sold everything (even leather boot laces for farmers’ boots) has been converted into a very posh dwelling.’

Today I felt much better from the virus, but still stayed indoors and scanned fifteen more of the honeymoon colour slides from March 1968. Here are some from inside the derelict house, with its riddled roofs, gaping windows, and bare boards:

In ‘Tales From The Window Sills‘, I speculate about the ownership of the shoes and newspaper left in the corner of one room.

The Kings Arms Hotel is where Jackie and I spent our four days.

This afternoon’s Six Nations rugby match on television was between Scotland and Wales at Murrayfield. This, the most engaging match of the weekend, resulted in a 26-23 victory for Wales.

Jackie found the energy to do three weeks’ ironing, and cook a roast dinner. Even I managed to press four shirts.

The said dinner consisted of roast pork, potatoes, and parsnips; and boiled carrots and cauliflower. Egg custard was for dessert. I drank a little via di Cavallo chianti 2012.

Honeymoon

Aaron came today to continue completing my work on the back drive. He was as quick, efficient, and neat as usual. This young man certainly gets through a phenomenal amount of work in a day.

Jackie had a better memory of our ‘Engagement’ outing. I appended her Facebook comment as an informative P.S. to that post.

I then spent the morning scanning 36 colour slides from our four day honeymoon in March 1968. In ‘Tales From The Window Sills’ and ‘The Watchers Watched’ I have described and illustrated aspects of this holiday in Ockley. The first of these mentions the deserted house, and the second the fire.

The King’s Arms, where we stayed, is a 16th century coaching inn with attractive beamed walls and ceilings. We took all our meals at the hostelry and spent the days exploring the environment, the farms, the fields, a lake, and the churchyard.

We wonder what has happened to the deserted house that fascinated us so much.

The one event that seemed to draw out the whole village, streaming past the derelict home, from which it was visible, was the exciting fire which, at first, seemed to be engulfing a rather grand house, but transpired to be burning a shed.

The fire brigade were called and dealt with it quite swiftly.

This afternoon I watched England beat Italy 47-17 and Ireland beat France 18-11 in the Six Nations rugby tournament.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s classic chicken jalfrezi and savoury rice, followed by apple crumble and custard. We both drank Kingfisher, neither of us finishing a bottle. Never mind, we both continue to improve.

P.S. Update on the deserted house, from Jackie’s Facebook comment: ‘Having driven fairly regularly past this house over the years, I can report that altho’ it has lost some of it’s character, it still exists, and houses on this prestigious Surrey village green cost an absolute fortune (close to £1,000000!). It was a distant village in 1968, but with rail and road connections so improved, it is now considered to be within working distance of London so commands premium prices. It is a shame really as the whole village is now full of very rich people and does not have the character of the 1968 village we knew. Even the wonderful village store, that sold everything (even leather boot laces for farmers’ boots) has been converted into a very posh dwelling.’

A Swing, A Wall, And A Seat

Today, the virus is loosening its hold a little.

Jackie’s sister Shelly, glowing fresh from Florida, brought a bit of sunshine to us this morning.

This afternoon I scanned another batch of colour slides, this time from July 1972.

I don’t remember where I obtained the swing I set up in the garden of our home in Amity Grove, Raynes Park. It was pretty old then, and was to remain in situ for more than thirty more years. Matthew, Becky, and many other children had much fun on it.

My one attempt at bricklaying was a very low, and very uneven, wall providing a divider between the small back garden and the alley between us and next door. Matthew and his friends used it as a roadway for their model cars.

The fully illustrated text of the only children’s book I have ever produced is featured in ‘Becky’s Book’. The wall on which Matthew is playing appears on the frontispiece of this home made work, unpublished until the aforementioned post. The seat I had placed in the apple tree on which Becky is perched, is the focus for the tale, using the seasons as an essentially optimistic device to demonstrate the ups and downs of life.

This evening we dined on pork ribs in barbecue sauce accompanied by savoury rice, and followed by syrup sponge and custard.

Mitcham Fair

This virus plays cat and mouse with its hosts. I didn’t feel quite so well today as I had done yesterday. A couple of weeks after Christmas Jackie took down most of the decorations and placed them temporarily in the library. I carried the tree to the wood burning pile. Now the library space is being shared with Easter eggs, we really had to find the energy to start boxing up the Christmas decorations and putting them away until the end of the year. The bulk of this task has fallen to Jackie. The lights stretching from the window in one of the spare bedrooms had still not been brought inside. That was rectified this morning.

Continuing with my 1960s scanning, a set from September 1967 featured a trip with Jackie and Michael to Mitcham Fair, which, although I believe its venue has been moved, remained an annual event in this part of the south London Borough of Merton.

Michael was clearly lulled into a false sense of security by the gentler Merry-go-Round. He was far less comfortable on the dodgems, which even perturbed Jackie a little. The youngster had to be let out of the shared car and leave Jackie to continue alone, because all the young men in other cars constantly bumped them. She tells me that the dress, in which I thought she looked rather good, cost 39/11, i.e. £1.19.11 in pre-decimal sterling currency. That was marginally less than £2 today.

It is many years since I attended one of these leisure activities which still grace areas of common land across the country. There, you can be scared out of your wits by ghost trains, and undulating rides at breakneck speed which can also make you sick; try your hand at impossible feats, such a knocking dried up coconuts from clinging stands, or throwing hoops around worthless prizes on bases that are too wide; and indulge in sickly sweet spun candy floss or hot dogs, onions, and mustard, according to taste. Many a goldfish, proudly carried home in a plastic bag, has not survived the night. The fairs remain very popular, and are eagerly awaited by youngsters across the land.

Among the stalls that we later visited, was a shooting range at which my fiancee excelled.

The setting sun lent a star to supplement the coloured electric bulbs embellishing the skyline of stalls, and focussed unforgiving spotlights onto rather dubious spelling on the other side. For 1/-, the abbreviation for one shilling, equating to 5p today, you could buy a ride on the big wheel.

It was almost by default that we dined at the Rivaaz in Lymington this evening. I had been feeling quite dull-headed and wobbly throughout the day, so, had it not been that Jackie had an appointment for a knee scan at Lymington Hospital, and I wished to accompany her, I would not have left the house. Having got out I thought I could manage a curry, but, wishing to remain anonymous with no expectation to chat, thought to avoid the excellent Lal Quilla. This left the Rivaaz, which is another first class establishment. We learned that it was not the same concern as the restaurant of the same name in New Milton. Apparently our host of this evening had begun with that one, sold it to the current owners, and set up this rather more up-market one in Lymington. We enjoyed our meals, mine being king prawn Bengal naga, and special fried rice. We shared a very good onion bhaji and parata, and both drank Kingfisher. I was pleased I had made the effort.

P.S. Barrie tells me, re the sunset picture. ‘The smoke is coming from one of the engines powering the electric generators. Almost certainly a Gardner 6LW.’

Engagement

Slow progress in shaking off the virus continues.

Rambling through my photographic archives took me back to 1960s colour slides, for rescanning. I have already featured Christmas lights in London’s West End during this decade. Window displays, like these, probably of Selfridges, taken in December 1966, were also attractive.

It had been this month that I finally left my Marine Insurance desk to begin my Social Work career in The Royal Borough of Kingston upon Thames. My post ‘Directions’ describes how I came to make this career-changing move.

My last three years in the insurance business were spent in Mobil Shipping Company under the management of Derek Marks. Derek was the ideal boss. The only negative feeling I had about my departure was fear of disappointing him when I gave in my notice. He was, of course, very good about it and remained a friend. Some of today’s slides were taken at the Marks family home in Southgate, the following May, where Peter got out his treasures with which to entertain Michael, who was particularly absorbed by the model railway.

It was Derek who, that same year, made good use of his Hatton Garden links, to take us to London’s jewellery centre to choose an Engagement ring. He followed this up with a meal in a rather exclusive restaurant, the name of which I cannot remember.

I’m not sure who is lighting the single cake candle.

This evening Becky posted, on her Facebook page, the photograph of the three young women in yesterday’s ‘Chamberlayne Road’, in order to increase the possibility of recognition. She then advised me to share her post, which I did.

Our dinner consisted of a rack of pork ribs in barbecue sauce, Jackie’s savoury rice, and green beans, followed by lemon and lime meringue tart. Jackie drank Peroni and I drank Wychwood Goliath beer.

P.S. Jackie’s memory of the engagement night is better than mine. Here is her Facebook Comment:

‘Derek Marks, had booked a table at the ‘Talk of the Town’ at that time it was a swish cabaret place, I remember an elderly’ Hutch’ was the entertainer for that night, he had been a top cabaret artist in his time and I remember growing up listening to his songs on the wireless. He was very good and I remember feeling it was a bit sad that he had come to this.’

Chamberlayne Road

My post ‘You Know What You’ve Got’, describes my general approach to painkillers. On each of the last few days, I have tried to do without them, yet succumbed by midday. Today, demonstrating more improvement, was definitely one for leaving them alone. Until mid afternoon, that is.

With a clearer head, I delved further into my stray negative collection and scanned another seven from the 1970s. Normally, processed film arrives from the photographic outlets in strips of five or six, and it is those that I place in the scanner’s template. Today’s odd selection consisted of one strip of three, one of two, and two single frames. They did not therefore constitute a cohesive set, and don’t sit so well in the scanner. Fortunately, I was able to identify and date them all with reasonable accuracy, aided by my vast number of photo albums.

The strip of three was the easiest. I was confident in deciding that Mum, Dad, and Elizabeth had all been photographed at the Christmas 1982 tea party featured yesterday.

The set of two was of Jessica, taken in the garden of Droop Street in June 1974, and was fairly straightforward to identify, because we had only recently got together.

A single frame of Michael and his dog has already featured in ‘Piper’, who story is told there.

One lunchtime in May 1977, forgetting that I had a camera slung over my right shoulder, I walked down Chamberlayne Road in North West London en route to what was my favourite cafe at that time. Sometime around the beginning of the current millennium, I received a remarkable reminder of this. Norman, at that time, was still living in Harlesden, and I was early for lunch with him. I therefore sat in the Witherspoon’s pub near the clock at Willesden, and drank a coffee. A fairly short, grey-haired gentleman approached me from the other end of the hostelry. I was unaware of his presence until he uttered the immortal words: ‘Pork chop and two veg’. The reason I needed a double take to establish that this was the erstwhile cafe proprietor was not just the grey hair. I had thought this man was very tall. He must have stood on a raised floor behind his serving counter in order to tower over his customers.

That, I hope, explains how, perhaps thirty years earlier, I had come to be making my way to the cafe, when three young ladies, arm in arm, rather fully occupied the pavement. The one in the middle asked me to take their photograph, which I happily did. Every time I have ever looked at a print of that since, I regret not having asked for an address to which I could send copies. If you are one, or know any, of these women, please get in touch, and I will make up the deficit.

It was marvellous that Jackie once again had the energy to provide her delicious liver casserole, mashed potato, crisp carrots, cabbage and green beans for our dinner this evening; and that I had the appetite for it. All will soon be right with the world.