February 2022 – Page 4 – derrickjknight

A Knight’s Tale (100: Commuting)

The move to Newark heralded nineteen years commuting to Kings Cross in London. Lindum House cost just £10,000 more than we obtained for our semi-detached home in Furzedown, so I increased my mortgage by that figure.

This was very risky because I had only been freelance for a year and had no clients in Nottinghamshire or Lincolnshire. I calculated that, because long term commuting was priced at a lower rate than shorter distances, I could just afford the annual season ticket to London. That covered 120 miles.

The following year British Rail, as it then was, decided to increase the long distance rates by 5% per annum for five years. The season ticket became unaffordable, so I stayed at home on Fridays as I built up a small amount of local work, and bought daily return tickets. At the same time interest rates went through the roof and mortgage repayments soared.

On my first day of travelling by the Intercity train it broke down in the evening and we arrived home four hours late.

A swan had been caught in the braking system which could not be freed. It was necessary to wait for a replacement engine.

As I walked into the house after midnight I thought “what have I done?”

Fortunately there was nothing so disastrous again and I settled into a travelling community.

One activity was the solving of The Times crossword which led to the creation of Mordred, about which there will be more to come. Unfortunately my fellow travellers got the erroneous impression that I knew everything.

There was to be an NSPCC fundraising quiz night in Grantham at which more than 30 teams competed. Two of these were from our commuter crowd who vied for my company. The team who lost that honour won the competition while mine came second. This was quite salutary.

Mirrors And Shadows

Today’s weather forecast was that the clear, bright, early morning skies would cloud over at 11 a.m., which is exactly what happened. We were pleased, therefore, that we took advantage of the prediction.

The Lymington River mirror, with its reflections of moored boats; sun-kissed buildings; stately swans; and mudlarking waders, was the first that drew our attention. (See John Knifton’s comment below for correct identification of the waders. Since they were not dashing around like maniacs they must be dunlins)

Equally still was the glass surface separating Tanners Lane beach from the hazy layers of the Isle of Wight.

Jackie photographed me making the shots above.

Sun-tipped donkeys cast their shadows across the verges of the lane itself,

while a pair of ponies mounted theirs on the verdant slopes on the approach to St Leonard’s Grange. The last of this group of images is Jackie’s.

A basking pony at East Boldre was also outlined in sunlight.

This evening we dined on oven fish and chips, peas, and cornichons with chillis. I finished the Rioja and Jackie chose not to imbibe.

Down To The Sea

Yesterday evening I watched a recording of the Six Nations rugby match between England and Scotland; this morning one of the match between Ireland and Wales.

After lunch I posted https://derrickjknight.com/2022/02/06/a-knights-tale-99-1987-part-two/

Elizabeth e-mailed a selection of her photographs from yesterday.

Two ponies;

the cattle by the stream;

and me.

Heavy winds having howled throughout the night, we drove to Highcliffe this afternoon to have a look at the sea, which proved to be very brisk. Intermittent gusts of rain rivalled the flying salt water.

I left Jackie in the Modus and others on the clifftop as I made my way down to the waters below.

This involved negotiating sections of steep, deeply waterlogged steps alternating with slippery slopes. I leaned on the wooden rails to let these surfboarders pass.

Various couples and other groups ventured onto the rocky breakwaters. Some were somewhat sprayed.

A nonchalant crow on the rocks ignored the waters.

While intrepid human surfers frolicked on

the wild waves

A determined little dog thought about joining them, until he lost interest and trotted back to his family group.

This evening, dining on Jackie’s savoury rice with a rack of spare ribs, vegetable spring rolls, and tempura prawns from plates on trays, while seated on the sofa in front of the telly, we watched a recording of the Six Nations match between France and Italy. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Rioja.

A Knight’s Tale (99: 1987, Part Two)

I was 11 when The Great Storm of 1953 featured in https://derrickjknight.com/2022/01/28/a-knights-tale-96-kings-lynn/ struck.

Memorable as that was, rather closer to home was the ‘great storm’ of 1987. Jessica, Sam, Louisa and I were then living in Furzedown in the London Borough of Wandsworth. I must have been the only person in Southern England who slept through the whole phenomenon. Our neighbour across the road enjoyed no such luxury. He was having a new roof put on, and spent the whole night hanging on to the ropes and stays which were keeping the tarpaulin covers over his otherwise unprotected upper storey.

I always ran to work in Queens Park in those days. This was a nine mile journey which I covered daily carrying a back pack containing my clothes and other necessities for the day. I was employed in the former Paddington Town Hall where there was a shower room which had been installed for the council members. I would take a shower, get dressed, go to a greasy spoon for a fry-up, and start the day sometime before 9 a.m. On this particular day, completely oblivious of the night’s destruction, I set off as usual. I vaguely wondered why a tree I hadn’t noticed before had been felled on Tooting Bec Common, and why there seemed to be rather more traffic jams than usual. Since much of my journey followed treeless routes or public parks I had no idea that the tree I had seen was not the only arboreal casualty. Many others were blocking main roads into London. When I arrived at my building in Harrow Road, I followed my usual routine and then began to wonder why no-one else had arrived. Had I gone by car I may have learned the news on the radio. On the other hand, I too would not have arrived on time.

This storm changed the landscape of Southern England. 70% of the trees in the wooded valley in which Chartwell is set were lost. Those you see today are in fact their replacements. Sevenoaks in Kent is no longer appropriately named.

It is a measure of the vast technological benefits satellites have given meteorological predictions that the paths of such storms can be tracked on our TV screens today. Back in 1987, with no such aids, poor Michael Fish, the TV weatherman – as if his name were not enough – earned decades of jokes by dismissing reports that a hurricane was on its way.

With my father on his deathbed in Hampshire, Jessica, Sam, Louisa, and I

moved to Lindum House in Newark, Nottinghamshire. I was to have one more visit before Dad died on Christmas Day. He was buried at Catherington, near Horndene and it was 34 more years before Mum’s body rejoined him.

Crossing The Stream

This afternoon we drove to Pilley where we collected Elizabeth to take her on a photographic trip to the north of the forest and return to our home for dinner.

As I stepped out of the car to photograph ponies in a stream at Ibsley I noticed a gentleman with the same aim in mind. Back in the car I noticed a couple of very heavy horses.

Elizabeth and I both communed with ponies at North Gorley. Once more I got my own back on Jackie as she photographed

my sister and me.

On the way up the hill to the common we disturbed a stag and his harem.

Elizabeth and I photographed a bucolic smoky scene.

I gained a smile from an equestrienne crossing the stream.

Elizabeth will e-mail me her pictures tomorrow.

The aforementioned dinner consisted of Jackie’s savoury rice topped with a thick omelette; prawns of the tempura and the hot and spicy varieties; and vegetable spring rolls. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden while Elizabeth and I drank Hacienda Don Hernan Rioja 2019.

As I publish this post Jackie is driving Elizabeth home.

Along The Coastline

This morning I scanned

the next six pages of Charles Keeping’s version of ‘The Highwayman’ by Alfred Noyes.

By mid-afternoon Jackie finished the first stage of her planting of the new raised bed – by replacing the bulbs and primroses which had to be dug up to make space for it.

Afterwards she drove me to the Ear Clinic at Milford on Sea where a build up of wax was successfully removed. We travelled back

along the coast. The temperature was much colder than of late, the bright sunshine sparkled on the sea; gulls zoomed low; sailboarders skimmed against the backcloth of the Bournemouth skyline; dog walkers silhouetted; and a little boy scooted.

We travelled on to Barton on Sea. A cyclist rested on a bench while I walked down to water level and wished I could have a rest on the way back up. The bench half way down the steep slope was already occupied.

Before going home we diverted to Ferndene Farm Shop for various items.

Elizabeth came to dinner this evening, when we enjoyed second helpings of Jackie’ s casserole from yesterday with fresh vegetables. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden while my sister and I finished the Douro. We spent the rest of the evening sorting out English politics.

Raising Robin’s Interest

At lunchtime Martin showed us the completed raised bed he finished this morning. He has concreted in the galvanised pins, put additional brackets on the corners, sifted and replaced some of the removed soil, and saved the plants that have been dug up.

These primroses may go back in, with a number of bulbs.

The activity aroused the interest of a pair of robins.

We have now agreed that Martin will help us on a regular basis.

This afternoon I published https://derrickjknight.com/2022/02/03/a-knights-tale-98-1987-part-one/

On another decidedly dingy afternoon we visited Elizabeth who hasn’t been too well.

The sheep field opposite her home in Burnt House Lane, Pilley was well stocked.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s flavoursome liver and bacon casserole; creamy mashed potatoes; crunchy carrots and cauliflower, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Douro.

(A Knight’s Tale (98: 1987 Part One)

1987 was a momentous year.

It must have been some time in 1986 that my desire to move out of London for the first time had been crystallised by a menacing incident in Tooting. Having been concerned about my two youngest children’s schooling being in a vast comprehensive school I was already thinking about it.

I was walking home from Tooting Bec underground station along Tooting Bec Road to Gracedale Road quietly smoking a cigar. Five young men approached me in line across the wide pavement, allowing me no room for manoeuvre. Sticking to the fences on my side, I faced one who silently squared up to me. Raising the glowing cigar level with his face I asked “Where am I going to go?”.

Nothing more was said. After what seemed an age, but was probably instantaneous, my prospective assailants made space for me to continue on my way. With some difficulty I took care not to look back. But my mind was made up.

We began seriously considering a move, seeking assistance in research from friends and relatives who lived some way from the metropolis. With Giles and the Kindreds both living in Southwell in Nottinghamshire Jessica, Sam, Louisa, and I spent a fortnight’s bed and breakfast holiday in the nearby village of Kersall We had decided to stay up there for a fortnight and search for a house. My discovery, with my friend Giles Darvill, of Lindum House advertised by Gascoigne’s estate agency in Southwell, was the result.

Unfortunately, I cannot remember the name of our hostess, which is a pity because she ran an excellent establishment, and was instrumental in a campaign to save her hamlet’s famous red telephone box from extinction. She carpeted the box, and kept fresh flowers, a visitors book, pencil, and various telephone books inside it. It was regularly cleaned and sweet-scented, and received many visitors. Unfortunately it wasn’t profitable and whichever of our enlightened telephone operators was responsible for this treasure wished to close it. The battle to keep it functional continued into 2008, later residents having kept up the continuing care. I do not know the outcome.

Perhaps because of our focus on selling our own house and buying another, we had not visited my parents in Hampshire’s Horndean for some months. I was shocked to see my tall, strong, father a shadow of his former self who did not join us at the dining table because he didn’t “require very much”. My readers will already have realised the same as I did. I persuaded Mum to get him to hospital. Despite surgery, he was dead from stomach cancer six weeks later. I was able to say goodbye but was not there at his death with took place ten days before we moved. He returned home for his last days. A further shock was how easily, with Joe’s assistance, this featherweight was turned in bed.

In December 1985, Dad was happily playing with Sam and Louisa. The first of these photographs is the one from which I took my pastel portrait.

Like me, our mother thought about him every day for the next 34 years.

Burgeoning Blooms; Snowballing Lichen; Lingering Leftovers

After lunch I published https://derrickjknight.com/2022/02/02/a-knights-tale-97-i-branch-out/

I then wandered around the garden with my camera and photographed

The mimosa in the last picture was planted in the North Breeze garden by the last resident, who kindly gave us the benefit of its hanging over our back drive fence. These are the burgeoning blooms.

Lichen is snowballing in more than one sense of the word.

Seedpods and heads linger from last year; fallen twigs remind me of the clearing up that must be done.

Into which category should be placed this pelargonium and a similar one having bloomed continuously since last spring?

Finally, I offer the next four pages of ‘The Highwayman’ featuring Charles Keeping’s marvellous illustrations:

This evening we dined on succulent roast lamb and mint sauce; crisp roast potatoes and parsnips; crunchy carrots; and tender runner beans, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Azinhaga de Ouro Reserva 2019.

A Knight’s Tale (97: I Branch Out)

These photographs from April 1986 were taken by staff members on my last day as Westminster Social Services Area 1 manager as I prepared to continue my working life in a freelance capacity.

Here I stand in my office in the former Victorian Paddington town hall,

and here I am signing a few documents. Through the window behind me can be seen the old St Mary’s Hospital, which like the town hall has been largely demolished and converted to Housing Association dwellings.

I doubt that any Social Services Departments can today afford the luxury of spacious accommodation for all staff, such as the splendid manager’s office, on the walls of which I was able to hang many family photographs,

Louisa came to see where I had been working. We stand in front of portraits of, clockwise from top left, Michael, Sam, Louisa, Auntie Gwen, Matthew, Dad, and Jessica. One of Becky is obscured by her sister’s head. The other two are of me running in a marathon and in a twenty mile race.

This brought to an end twelve enjoyable, if very difficult, years in post.

For the next 24 years I remained self employed. My major tasks were personal individual and couple counselling; consultation to helping agencies including Local Authorities; supervision (mentoring) of other professionals; group work, such as for training and support; and various chairmanships, including those of Adoption and Fostering panels; and the occasional Social Work task, such as preparation of assessment reports for a court.

I have already mentioned that my former Director of Social Services surprised me with a contract for one day a week across the board in my old Department. The Coping with Violence course featured earlier was one task from Westminster.

Jackie was simultaneously ironing and watching television on the afternoon of 2nd July 1987. It was then some years since we had last seen each other. The header picture of BBC News which was broadcast that day was a full face portrait something like this one

taken by my brother Chris. Despite the shock to my then ex-wife, I don’t think any items of clothing were burnt.

You may well ask where I am and what I am doing there. Well, I am in a side-street just off Oxford Street in Central London. So close were we to the main thoroughfare that the watchers in the window must have been in an outlet in Oxford Street.

During the morning notices fixed to the bath announced the event and the charity, Westminster Mencap, of which I was a Committee Member, for which donations were sought.

Volunteers poured in the various ingredients and stirred them into the consistency of porridge. It was a pleasantly warm viscous mixture into which the chosen victims lowered themselves for their allotted stints.

Two slang words for a prison sentence are in fact ‘stir’ and ‘porridge’, which fact you may or may not find interesting.

Most people dressed down for the performance. It was Chris’s brilliant idea that I should approach Moss Bros to ask them to donate an ex-hire morning suit, complete with topper, for the event. I therefore dressed up.

Derrick and Jane Reynolds in bath of porridge 2.7.87

The system was each of us would spend ten minute periods, with a minute or two changing over. My temporary companion was Jane Reynolds, the then Director of the Association. That wasn’t particularly arduous, now was it?

Tubs of rather colder water were provided for a clean up afterwards. There was no shirking that.

Finally, my niece Fiona was on hand with a collecting box, hopefully relieving spectators of the money they had saved in the Selfridges sale on the other side of Oxford Street.

This Charity was one of those renting space in the Area 1 building. It also became a consultancy client of mine, so I regularly visited their rooms in the former Town Hall. It was not long before I joined the Committee which got me into the above fine mess.