Regent Street – Page 2 – derrickjknight

Remembrance In The Stone

We have experienced no snow in the forest yet this year, but no advent season could be without anticipation, eager in the young, apprehensive in the elderly, of white flakes falling on Christmas Day. Where would we be were our television screens devoid of ‘The Snowman’, the 1982 adaptation of Raymond Briggs’s timeless and beautifully depicted 1978 cartoon story? It is always a snowman who appears on lawns throughout the land. Never, in my experience, except in Selfridge’s window in Oxford Street in December 1963, a snowwoman. She is my advent picture for today.

The two stores whose windows attracted Mike and me on our expeditions to see the lights, were the above-mentioned Selfridge’s and Liberty’s in Regent Street. It is just possible that after fifty years my memory has confused the two. If the snowwoman belonged to Liberty, I extend my sincere apologies to their inspired egalitarian dresser. My friend Paul Herbert yesterday wished for an application that would produce a small chocolate at the touch of a finger on these electronically produced advent pictures. I am afraid we still await the arrival of that facility, so the reward for opening the post must, for the moment, be virtual.

This morning I finished reading ‘Zadig’, Voltaire’s tale of a philosophical journey that manages to be reminiscent of both ‘Gulliver’s Travels’ and ‘The Thousand and one Arabian Nights’. I am not a fan of these stories, especially when they follow a formula. Voltaire is of course sending up the romantic geste, and we are meant to discern meaningful truths from his carefully crafted yet apparently light-hearted work. It is, however, simply written, and therefore an excellent vehicle for sharpening one’s French.

Before lunch I walked down to the village shop and back to buy some stamps. Perpetual motion in the form of a string of primary schoolchildren pulsated on the green.

This afternoon we drove to Ringwood for banking, sorting out documents at the solicitor’s, and collecting photographic inks. On our way home, Jackie, who has not before visited it, turned off the A31 to look at Rufus Stone. Until now, her only experience of it had been in reading my blog post.

There is a heavy metal grill forming the top of the iron casing that conceals the actual stone. Glancing down at the pebbles and oak leaves that occupy the space beneath it, Jackie spotted an item which she managed to extract and return undisturbed. This is a card of some plastic weatherproof material in remembrance of Michael Charles Daniels 1996 – 2010. May he rest in peace.

A beef and peppers casserole so tasty I have run out of superlatives; duchesse potatoes; and crisp carrots and brussels sprouts provided our dinner this evening. Well, actually Jackie provided it. She enjoyed a glass of Hoegaarden and I drank Campo de Borja Caliente Rojo 2012. The provenance of the wine is interesting. Jackie bought it because it was half price in Morrison’s and she thought they must be having to shift it because the label was so naff; thus indicating that it must be a good wine. There is a logic there. She was right.

Anticipating The Shot (2)

Early this morning, Jackie read out extracts from a debate on the BBC News website on the subject of municipal Christmas decorations. Opinions concerned comparisons of the quality of those of today, when we are all strapped for cash, with those of yesteryear, when our memories are possibly coloured by the glow of childhood magic. Between now and 25th December I will feature a daily picture ‘I made earlier’, so my readers may judge for themselves. I did, admittedly, focus on London West End’s Oxford and Regent Streets, some of whose cast-offs seem to turn up later in our small towns. A little late in starting, and possibly finishing early if I don’t find enough subjects in my archives, let us think of it as my advent calendar.

This year’s Regent Street display, albeit in the dull light of late afternoon, was featured in my A Double Six post. It seems to me that it loses out to that same street’s decoration of December 1963.

It was Mike Vaquer, a colleague in the Yorkshire Insurance Company for which I worked in 1963/4, who recommended the Kodak Retinette 1b, introduced me to the pleasures of colour slides as a medium, and took me with him for a year or so to photograph the West End decorations. The two of us eagerly awaited these annual trips, each descending on the capital from our respective suburban homes. Mike was a little older than me, didn’t have a family, and could therefore invest in a top of the range Pentax. Mind you, he still needed a rangefinder attachment. I photographed him on our 1964 expedition.

For those of my readers unfamiliar with them, an advent calendar consists of a scene printed on stiff cardboard containing 25 little doors, one of which is opened each day from 1st December until 25th. They enthral children, and adults who haven’t forgotten the eager anticipation that comes with them as the great day beckons.

We spent the morning making, writing, and addressing Christmas cards.

This afternoon Jackie drove us up to Abbotswell car park at Frogham. She stayed in the car whilst I wandered across the heathland. I walked in the opposite direction to my journey from Godshill, along a wide track behind the strip of mostly comparatively modern houses in the village. Eventually the path met the road and I took a narrow footpath down the flinty terrain to the left. This area was criss-crossed by such paths, generously signposted by cairns of pony droppings, and often leading to houses perched on the slopes and enjoying marvellous views across the forest.

During the period I was there, three different monoplanes chugged overhead across the clear blue sky with its smattering of clouds.

The acoustics in the scooped out valley were such that sounds carried across the bowl, and I could hear conversations before the speakers came into view. At one point, two voices belonging to a couple concealed by scrub above me descended in my direction at the same time as hidden others penetrated the branches of trees below. Something told me there was a potential photograph waiting by the bed of a stream. Poised, I focussed my lens on a gap in the trees and waited for the shot. Two riders, who eventually proved to be three, emerged and trotted, chatting, up the slope. Soon after I pressed the shutter, a young couple with a golden retriever appeared from the higher ground. During our ensuing chat they told me that a herd of deer were often to be seen where the riders were. They are identified by one which the young man called an albino.

Some time after my two conversationalists had left, they came into view by a house on the same level as the stream. Unfortunately, I hadn’t anticipated that, and, needing to be quick before losing sight of them, snatched at the camera, and took an out of focus picture.

Shortly before sunset we repaired to The Foresters Arms for a drink before returning home, ready for our evening meal which consisted of chicken marinaded in lemon and piri-piri sauce and roasted with red and yellow peppers; ratatouille; roast potatoes and parsnips; and brussel sprouts, followed by lemon meringue pie and cream. I drank a glass of Roc de Lussac Saint Emilion 2011.

A Double Six

Our High Streets are dying. Those in the smaller towns seem to have more Charity Shops than any other single outlet. Even Bournemouth’s Castlepoint yesterday failed to produce a particular present about which I must, at the moment, be discreet, for fear of the intended recipient sussing.

Before Jackie drove me to Southampton Parkway for my London trip we therefore did some research on the Internet. Carrying this information and my memory, I sought suitable shops once I arrived at Waterloo. This involved walking the length of Lower Marsh; back to South Bank; across the Golden Jubilee Bridge to Charing Cross; along The Strand; and finally up St Martin’s Lane. All to no avail. Both the Lower Marsh and South Bank establishments were now Japanese restaurants, and the other two had become coffee shops. In the words of the song ‘Fings ain’t what they used to be’. The Internet information had been posted in March, and I had seen the South Bank and Strand stores thriving within the last eighteen months. Were I to reveal what I was looking for I imagine my readers would speculate that on-line shopping has done for these businesses. I may let you know my quarry after 25th December.

On South Bank there was an extensive and thriving Christmas fair.

On 19th July I had seen Charlie Chaplin striding along to his performance venue. Today, at his pitch, he was receiving significant gleefully embarrassed attention.

On the way to Charing Cross underground station to take the Bakerloo line to Baker Street where I changed to the Jubilee line for Neasden, I passed a crowded Trafalgar Square, in which the French seem to have acquired a stake. Their emblem was in temporary residence on the otherwise empty plinth.

Norman’s lunch consisted of tender, meaty, roast duck; red cabbage; carrots; and a tasty vegetable and potato bake with which we shared an excellent Italian red wine. A latticed plum flan was to follow.

Afterwards I took the Jubilee line to Bond Street where I alighted for Oxford Street and the last throw of the dice in the game of ‘Find the Present’. I threw a double six, so I won’t have to give up and buy it on line.

I continued along Oxford Street, where it was snowing Christmas lights,to Oxford Circus to catch the Victoria line to Carol’s. Regent Street was equally spectacular.

Later, I took my usual route back home from Rochester Row. Jackie was, as always, on time to meet me at Southampton Parkway.

Alex Schneideman

On another oppressively humid overcast day Jackie drove me to Southampton whence I had an uneventful journey to Waterloo. From there, along, it seemed, with the rest of the world, I walked across Golden Jubilee Bridge which runs parallel with an older railway one; past Charing Cross; through Trafalgar Square; along Pall Mall; up Haymarket to Piccadilly Circus; along Oxford Street to Marble Arch; through to Bayswater Road, where the throng thinned a little; right into Leinster Terrace; then via Craven Hill Gardens and Porchester and Queensborough Terraces, weaved my way to the top end of Queensway; along Westbourne Grove, and finally into Sutherland Place.

A little early for my appointment to make the inventory of my belongings soon to be removed from number 29, I sat for a while in Shrewsbury Gardens at the end of the road, watching dogs crapping on the grass, and listening to gleeful children in the Catholic primary school playground alongside.

An American gentleman, seeking former residences of Marconi, on whom he was doing some research, sought St. Stephen’s Square. Neither I nor a 67 year old woman who had lived in the area all her life, knew of this. We came to the conclusion that it may have been bombed during the war, built over, and renamed.

A couple more greenery figures (see post of 5th June) are chatting over their garden fence in front of the Royal Festival Hall on the South Bank.

The coping surrounding the fountains in Trafalgar Square and the steps of the National Gallery provided perches from the young of the globe. A boy on a rocking horse attempted to leap over one of the lions which Matthew had scaled with such trepidation in September 1976. (If you haven’t already twigged this, clicking on the images enlarges them. This is sometimes necessary to see the detail of the pictures and possibly the points of my jokes.)

A chalked plea for the people of Turkey was inscribed on some paving stones.

In Haymarket a group of portly businessmen tottered out of a wine bar promising each other e-mails in the morning. It is to be hoped that at least one of them remembered.

As I walked down Regent Street I thought of Simon (see post of 10th June) who had sought a memento of the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee, and speculated that he would have liked the pennants strung across the road. I ignored the ‘crossing not in use sign’.

Returning my smile, a young woman in Oxford Street distributing leaflets advertising a waxing service refrained from offering me one.

The Halepi and Zorbas (no apostrophe) restaurants featured in ‘Feng Shui’, posted on 9th January, are situated in Leinster Terrace.

Contrary to expectations, Zorbas seems still to be in business.

After the planning of the final move from Sutherland Place, I walked down to Notting Hill Gate, took the Central Line to Bond Street, and changed to the Jubilee Line which carried me back to Waterloo. I read more of John S. Morrill’s ‘The Stuarts’ on the train, and Jackie drove me back home and fed me on chili con carne (recipe) with which I finished the Maipo merlot and she her Hoegaarden.

In 2009, whilst living in Sutherland Place and preparing the photographs for ‘The Magnificent Seven’ (see 7th April post), I realised I needed some training in how to get the best results from Photoshop. The first tutor was one of those awful teachers who has to do it all for you, too speedily to follow, let alone make coherent notes. He also messed up my scanner settings, making it impossible to scan anything at all without channeling it through Photoshop. I could no longer save a picture in jpg format, and he didn’t know how to put it right. I didn’t ask him back.

Wandering up Portobello Road one day I came across the stunning window display of a professional photographer which carried a card advertising Photoshop tuition. If the man could produce the images on show he probably had something to teach me. I rang the number on the card, and the photographer soon visited me at home. He was a completely different kettle of fish. A sensitive and artistic young man, he had all the patience needed to guide me through the processes and enable me to take notes. He never tried to pack too much into a session. This was Alex Schneideman who has since become a good friend and incidentally told me how to start a blog on WordPress.

After the second of our three two hour tutorials Alex asked me if he could photograph me. This he did in the sitting room of 29 Sutherland Place, and placed a set on his website. He also made me a present of number 21 in the ‘through the ages’ series. Another was number 20, which I reproduce here, and which demonstrates the photographer’s skill in relaxing his subjects. The photograph on the windowsill is of Michael and Heidi on their wedding day. I don’t think my portraits still adorn the website, but for anyone interested in imaginative, intuitive, photography www.alexschneideman.net is well worth a visit. Or, better still, pop along to Portobello Road and meet the man himself and also view the beautiful second-hand illustrated books in which his equally engaging wife deals.