Perhaps I had ambitions to be an MP - or an undertaker!

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

FRIDAY 29TH AUGUST

THIS WEEK’S QUOTE
Passing your 80th birthday is no great achievement. You just sit still and let it happen. (Angus McBean)

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MY SISTER RITA AND I - May 2008

I was delighted when Rita sent me a copy of something she had written for one of her grand-daughters Morna, who had been learning about World War 11 in school. I’m pleased to be able to share her memories with you.

GRANDMA’S STORY

I was eleven years old when the Second World War started. Great Britain declared war on Germany on 3rd September 1939. It was a dreadful time but I was too young to fully appreciate that. In due course we were all issued with a gas-mask, which we had to carry with us at all times. They were very hot and uncomfortable to wear, even for a short time, when we had gas-mask practice in school. Thankfully, we never had any Gas attacks. Then, we all had to have ration books, with coupons inside, which had to be handed over in the shops, when you bought food. This was so everyone would get their fair share. Finally, we were all issued with Identity Cards, each with our personal number on it. Mine was SJQA614.….

Here's a photo of a family wearing their gas masks -






Soon men were having to go into the Army, Air Force or Navy, unless their job was important to the war effort, or their health was not good. The men from Kirkintilloch where I lived, were all away in other parts of the country, training for war, while our town was full of soldiers, in training, from elsewhere, and living in schools, church halls, etc. Our house over-looked St. Ninian’s School playing-fields, where they had their physical training - it was called ‘square-bashing’ - and designed to make them very fit. All this made our quiet little country town a very different place.

The next thing that happened was that there was a great fear of German planes coming over and bombing our towns. Clydebank was thought to be in danger because of the ship-yards there, so it was decided to move all the children away to a safer place - in this case - Kirkintilloch. Thousands of them arrived in our town, with their mothers, but no fathers - they had to stay and carry on with their jobs. They were brought to the Town Hall, carrying bags with clothing, and with labels pinned on their coats showing their names and addresses back home in Clydebank. The people of the town had to report to the Town Hall to be allocated a child or children. My mother was given a family of three - Peggy was about twelve , Jack ten, and William five years old. We had no spare beds, so my mother put a mattress in a corner of the living-room, on the floor, and all three slept there. After a week, their parents came to visit, and decided to take them back home. What I remember particularly is they had not lived in a house with a BATH before. Gradually, many others went back to Clydebank, as there had been no bombing at that point though some families stayed in Kirkintilloch permanently.

We lived in Northbank Avenue - just a small avenue of six houses, which had all been built by Mr. Fletcher, the local builder. He lived in the largest one, built on a steep hillside, which gave him a big cellar. When war came, he decided to make this cellar into an air-raid shelter, for all the Avenue people, and one other lady. He fitted it out with comfortable seats, a couple of bunks, lighting, heating, tea-making facilities and even a toilet. The air-raid siren was on the roof of the Police Station, in the centre of the town. It made a loud wailing sound, which could be heard for miles, first a warning sound, then the ‘all-clear’ if the danger was past. So, throughout the war, we went to the shelter when the siren sounded, always at night, and having to get out of bed and get dressed. Our house looked away over to Bishopbriggs, where there were anti-aircraft guns, which would fire at enemy planes. You know there is a saying “What goes up must come down“. During air-raids it was unsafe to be out because shrapnel from the guns would rain down - great lumps of jagged metal - these would be lying about the streets the next morning. I wish I had kept some, just for interest. I never knew of anyone getting hurt by the shrapnel, but my father’s friend had a pony and trap, and a piece came through the roof of the shed and killed the pony. In 1941 Clydebank was bombed two nights running, 439 planes came over and dropped 1000 bombs. The town was a ruin, lots of people killed. Kirkintilloch Fire Brigade went to help put out the fires, some of which still burned after a fortnight. Grandpa Green’s father was a bus-driver at the time. And driving in that area. One bomb went down the funnel of a ship lying in the Clyde - but it didn’t explode. Of course, we were lucky to be safe in our shelter, but no sleep for the noise of gun-fire etc.

[John adds: “One of our uncles, a joiner to trade, was a part-time member of the local Fire Brigade at the time of the Clydebank blitz. He couldn’t cope with what he saw there, and that was the end of his time in the Fire service.”]
[John adds: "Jean my wife lived near the docks in Glasgow and remembers the night the bomb went down the ship's funnel. She had been evacuated, but this was one of the occasions when she was spending some time at home. The whole area had to be evacuated, and she and her family spent the night in a close in Sauchiehall Street opposite Kelvingrove Park."]


Then there was the BLACK-OUT, no lights allowed to shine out of windows or doors, everywhere heavy curtains drawn at night, and NO STREET LIGHTS, can you imagine it? Cars had very faint lights that would not be seen from above, by planes, and no name signs on roads.

Just learned this very interesting fact recently from a booklet John gave me.
The Fletcher home, at No. 1. Northbank Avenue, where we had our shelter, was actually a radio station from 1940 and two Polish officers lived there. I remember them being there but never seemed to wonder what was going on……

During the war years I used to knit scarves and socks for the Red Cross who passed them on to the Forces. Some knitters put their name and address on the finished item but I never did. This is what I got from the Red Cross thanking me for my war effort.




Another way people helped the war effort was by digging up their lawns and planting vegetables to help feed themselves when food was scarce. I remember my father digging up one of our lawns.


This is a photo of Rita and John probably in 1943. He is in the uniform of the ATC (Air Training Corps) a voluntary organisation for boys not old enough for the armed services.










The war lasted for six years so I was quite grown-up when it was all over. John was in the Royal Air Force for two years. Young men on reaching a certain age had to do National Service.

This was Grandma’s war. Nothing bad happened to our family. Sadly my mother’s Canadian cousin, who was a Spitfire pilot, died.

And life would never be the same for lots of people…….

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Thanks, Rita. Perhaps there are more stories yet to be told?



During the war, a whole host of popular songs helped to cheer us up through very difficult times. This one, written by Jimmy Kennedy and Michael Carr in 1939, is sung here by Flanagan and Allen.
(The Siegfried Line was the 390 miles line of German fortifications which stretched from Holland to Switzerland.)






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Friday, August 22, 2008

FRIDAY 22nd AUGUST

MORE ABOUT TEMPERANCE MEETINGS - - - -

I was pleased to get an e-mail from a friend whose mother experienced the old-style Temperance meetings. This was his message -

“Hi John, Thanks for your links and congratulations on the very fine pages you have produced. Your diary entries on the Temperance movement reminded me of a wee story that my mother used to recall of how she and her two brothers used to go to the meetings. (The attraction being that there was always a slide show.) The heavily bearded presenter had a heavy walking stick and he would thump it on the floor when it was time to move onto the next slide. She also used to laughingly recall how her two brothers signed the pledge but somehow she managed to avoid it. I should also state that whilst my two uncles in later life enjoyed an occasional drink my mother never did! Regards, David”

While I myself had no knowledge of Temperance meetings, my mother took me on a number of occasions to a similar kind of gathering. The slides were presented by means of a “magic lantern” with the speaker, his walking stick and the assistant controlling the wonderful apparatus. The subject was always about missionary work in Africa, and I still remember that the opening slide was always the picture of a big closed door. On the second slide, the door was open revealing the complete map of Africa. The lesson was obvious.

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In 1936 my father bought a 5-apartment semi-detached house and we moved from the tenement.




(I took this photograph yesterday - we lived in the house on the left). Up until then my sister and I had shared a bed in the living room recess, and now we were thrilled to have our own rooms.

My mother’s family were pleased to hear this news (after all, my grandfather, a piece-work iron moulder had managed to have his own house built despite bringing up 8 children), but on my father’s side opinions were not encouraging, for they felt that people of our class shouldn’t be buying property.

After we had settled in, we had a new arrival. No, not an infant, but a mongrel dog! The stray had been found wandering around the town and the policeman who was looking after it had shown him to my father. The outcome was that the dog with a rope around its neck was brought home to us. Now, I’m sure my mother wasn’t consulted on this matter, for in those days she was very wary of dogs. However he stayed and we named him Teddy.

Teddy didn’t settle down at all. In fact he was a born tramp. He regularly escaped from the garden, and would return during the night, howling to be let in. Worse was to follow, when it was discovered that he had some kind of skin disease, and he had to be put down.

We had much better luck some years later, when we got a small mixed breed dog. We named him Binks, and my sister and I very much enjoyed playing with him and taking him walks along the canal bank.

When our own children were a bit older, we got Skip, a cross between a toy poodle and a miniature pinscher. More about her at a later date, but for now I want now to jump to the present day.

This a photo of our youngest daughter’s dog Cody, or to give him his Kennel Club name Kindu Kodi Sonovason.






Cody is a basenji, sometimes called an Egyptian or African dingo. The breed has been referred to as the voiceless dog, because it makes a peculiar yodelling sound rather then a bark.

The following is a poem written by a loving basenji owner -

B is for barkless, but not really mute,
They chortle and yodel, mutter an growl,
I think they could talk if they ever learnt how.

A is for agile, graceful and quick,
They jump like a deer and play like a cat
Who ever heard of a dog acting like that?

S is for stubborn, yes they do have a streak,
They’ll coax and they’ll bully till they get their own way,
Outsmarting a human is just part of their day.

E is for entertaining, they’re all hams at heart,
Ask them to play and they’ll act like a clown,
Tell them to heel and they’ll sit down and frown.

N is for neat, a must in themselves,
They lick and they groom till each hair is in place,
If they think that you need it, they’ll come wash your face.

J is for jungle. Natives and huts,
On the tombs of the Pharoahs their pictures are found,
And in Africa’s jungles they’re the belled hunting hound.

I is for ME, an owner possessed,
I feed and I doctor, I worry and care,
And that doggone Basenji knows, when he calls, I’ll be there. (Jeradeen Crandall 1967)

Before leaving the subject of basenjis, here’s a little video of basenji pups at play -




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MORE ITEMS FROM CHURCH NEWSLETTERS - - - -

Thursday night - Potluck supper. Prayer and medication to follow. Eight new choir robes are currently needed due to the addition of several new members and to the deterioration of some older ones.
The ladies of the Church have cast off clothing of every kind. They may be seen in the basement on Friday afternoon.
Our Easter Sunday Service began with Mrs. Prym laying an egg on the altar.

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My first EIGHTY PLUS posting included a painting by William-Adolph Bouguereau. I’ve gathered quite a collection his paintings on my PC, and this is another one “The Young Shepherdess”.



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THIS WEEK’ S QUOTE

Old age is a lot of crossed-off names in your address book. (Ronald Blythe)

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Saturday, August 9, 2008

FRIDAY 15th AUGUST



One of my daughters calls this photo “Happy Dad”. Any better suggestions? What about “The Little Boy that Santa Claus forgot”?

I used to tell people, jokingly I must add, that I had a deprived childhood. As a wee boy, I took all the illnesses that were around, I was small and thin, and had to be encouraged to eat. (My family will tell you that my appetite hasn’t improved much). Also, when I got scarlet fever, our doctor told the hospital staff to take particular care of me.

The consequence of all that was that my mother made certain rules for me. I wasn’t allowed to run about outside, I was excused PT in primary school, in winter I was warmly wrapped up all the time, but worst of all I wasn’t allowed ice cream!!!

Most children in those days went to the Saturday matinee in the local cinema, but that was not for us. There were two reasons - first, my mother’s upbringing as a Baptist gave her serious doubts about picture houses and theatres, but more important than that was the terrible tragedy which occurred in Paisley on the afternoon of December 31st 1929.
Nine hundred children between the ages of eighteen months and twelve years had gathered in the Glen Cinema, when a fire broke out in the projection box. It was quickly brought under control but as smoke filled the hall panic ensued. Some of the exits couldn’t be opened and tragically 70 children were crushed to death in the stampede.

On rare occasions certainly we went to the local cinema as a family, and I remember that I was always so excited that halfway through the main feature my father had to take me to the Gents’. The films we saw were usually stories about children and starred either Freddie Bartholomew or Shirley Temple.

Probably the most famous child actress of all time, Shirley Temple later became a USA ambassador and diplomat. Aged 80 she lives in San Francisco.

This is a clip from the 1935 film Curly Top. Shirley sings “When I grow up”.




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There were quite a number of old books in our house, and I know that one or two had been school prizes given to my father or mother. When I was a bit older, I was able to enjoy some of them - adventures stories like Treasure Island, Coral Island and Peter the Whaler.

Surprisingly, the collection included a faded copy of Hamlet (which I didn’t really understand) and a little book called Poems of Passion (which I enjoyed). The latter was the work of an American author/poet Ella Wheeler Wilcox 1850-1919 who is probably best known for the lines -

Laugh and the world laughs with you,
Weep and you weep alone.





Many years later I was shocked to discover that her poems are often given as examples of bad poetry. However that doesn’t change my opinion, and I’m happy to share this one with you.





THE WINDS OF FATE

One ship drives east and another west
With the selfsame winds that blow,
Tis the set of the sails and not the gales
That tell us the way to go.

Like the winds of the sea are the ways of fate,
As we voyage along through life,
Tis the set of a soul that decides its goal,
And not the calm or the strife.


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I wrote a few weeks ago about the “best” room in our tenement house. I think there was probably one thing that all “best” rooms had in common at that time, and that was a painting of a Highland scene with Highland cattle. I couldn’t find a picture that closely resembled the one we had, but perhaps this will do -






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Finally, here is this week’s quote for all those who are EIGHTY PLUS -

By the time you're eighty years old you've learned everything. You only have to remember it. (George Burns)


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Friday, August 8, 2008

MY SISTER AND I in 1930
























With our mother (top left) and our father and three of his sisters Isa, Jean and Lizzie

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WHO’S AFRAID OF THE BOGEYMAN?

There’s a wicked spirit
Watching round you still,
And he tries to tempt you
To all harm and ill.
(from an old children’s hymn)

I suppose I thought it normal for a small child to have bad dreams. Looking back, I remember that during the night I often woke up crying, and one of my parents had to comfort me.

I know I had a vivid imagination and suspected that ghosts lived among the coats hanging in the dark hall of our tenement house. During winter nights, with the living room lit only by one gas mantle, my sister and I would often glance up at the window above the door leading to the hall, half-expecting to see horrible faces watching us.

Perhaps much of my fear sprang from the fact that I was really afraid of God, and believed that, if I misbehaved, he would punish me there and then. The words of another children’s hymn were very real to me -

God is always near me
Hearing what I say,
Knowing all my thoughts and deeds,
All my work and play.

Children had to be especially good on Sundays, for it appeared that God didn’t like unnecessary noise on his holy day. We went to church of course, and after the service our parents would go home, while my sister and I stayed on for Sunday school. In the afternoon, if the weather was fine, we might all go for a walk to the cemetery or perhaps along the canal bank.

Where we lived, children didn’t play outside on Sundays. In the public parks the swings were all chained up and no ball games were allowed. I suppose that the only shops open were newsagents early in the morning, and perhaps an ice cream shop later in the day. I must mention that in those days motor cars were used mainly for pleasure, and on Sundays would stay in the garage. I knew of car-owning families who would walk to and from church - in some cases a round trip of four miles.

At home we could play the piano, provided the music was “suitable”, and what we listened to on the wireless was vetted by our mother.

The war of course was to change all that, and from 1939 onwards, even in our family, the concept of keeping the Sabbath holy lost much of its importance.

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FROM CHURCH NEWSLETTERS

Life groups meet on Wednesday evening at 7 pm for food, fun and fellowwhipping.
Next Sunday: 11 am - “Jesus Walks on the Water”. 7 pm - “Searching for Jesus”
At the evening service Miss Charlene Moxon sang "I Will Not Pass This Way Again," giving obvious pleasure to the congregation.
Next Sunday the minister will preach his farewell sermon, after which the choir will sing “Break Forth Into Joy."

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I like this colourful Chinese Painting -




















“Lotus Flower Breaking the Surface” by Yun Shouping 1633-1690


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A QUOTE FOR TODAY -
The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not winning but taking part, just as the most important thing in life is not the triumph but the struggle. The essential thing in life is not conquering but fighting well.
(Baron Pierre De Coubertin 1863-1937, founder of the modern Olympics)

In Wednesday’s Daily Mail Geoffrey Wheatcroft described the modern Olympic Games as “polluted by politics, consumed by professionalism, swamped by nationalism, tainted by doping and overwhelmed by an impossible giganticism”. Today the opening ceremony takes place in Beijing, and the hope is that, despite the controversy surrounding these Games, everything will go off without any trouble.

In the West we find it difficult to understand China’s leaders and their attitude to many issues. This is the nation whose ancestors are credited with the invention of gunpowder, silk, porcelain, lacquer, paper, paper banknotes, toilet paper, cast iron, printing, the plough, the compass - the list is endless. And six hundred years before the birth of Christianity, China had great philosophers like Confucius and Lao-Tzu.

This video is called “Beijing Welcomes You”. It lasts almost 7 minutes, but it’s worth watching.





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ONE LAST THOUGHT - In the end, it's not the years in your life that count.
It's the life in your years.(Abraham Lincoln)


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Friday, August 1, 2008

AS CHILDREN, my sister and I always enjoyed our weekly visit to our maternal grandparents’ house. There was always plenty to do there, and very often one or two aunts would be willing to play with us.

Going to the other grandparents’ house was a different matter however. There we sat, unseen and unheard, till, probably at my father’s suggestion, (he was very proud of our accomplishments), we were asked to play a piece on the piano. That done, we would revert to our role as silent guests.

Now, I knew that there were two brilliant things in that house which would have entertained two children for hours, and I’ve no doubt that, if I had had the courage to ask for them, they would have been forthcoming.

The first resembled a pair of binoculars, but, when you inserted one of a series of coloured cards into a slot on the side, and looked through the lenses, a wonderful real-life scene appeared. Magic! And the second was a glove puppet with a monkey head. Wonderful!

What happened to those desirable objects, I don’t know. It’s true that I did acquire a precious item from that house, a book which I cherished for many years. It was a Chatterbox Annual which had probably been given to one of my uncles when he was a boy.
























Unlike any of the later children’s Annuals, this was a very big book (some years they had over 400 pages) which attempted to be both educational and entertaining. The illustrations were excellent, and this particular edition had a famous painting which fascinated me - “The Boyhood of Raleigh” by John Everett Millais 1826-1896.
Now, at that time I hadn’t heard of Raleigh, but I used to invent stories to explain all the pictures, and I was sure that this one was about Treasure Island.













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JO STAFFORD 1917-2008

I was never great fan of Vera Lynn, much preferring Anne Shelton. Among the Americans it was much more difficult to choose a No 1 favourite, but certainly the name of Jo Stafford would be among the top ten.

When her death was announced a fortnight ago, it was a surprise to learn that she was 90 years old. Her first ambition had been to become an opera singer but that was not to be, and her early entry into show business was with her two sisters in a vocal trio. When they disbanded she joined a new group “The Pied Pipers” who later found fame with the Tommy Dorsey Band. With the co-operation of her musical director/husband Paul Weston, Jo’s popularity as a solo singer was soon widespread on both sides of the Atlantic. She became semi-retired in 1966, but of course her records and CDs are still extremely popular today.





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In EIGHTY PLUS on 13th July I referred to the widespread Temperance movement in Scotland in the early part of the 2oth century. I’ve just come across this little gem which I’m delighted to share with you. It was written in the 4th century BC by Eubulus.


THE BENEFITS AND MISUSE OF ALCOHOL

Three cups of wine a prudent man may take,
The first of these for constitution’s sake.
The second to the girl he loves the best,
The third and last to lull him to his rest.

Then home to bed - but, if a fourth he pours,
That is the cup of folly and not ours.
Loud noisy talking on the fifth attends,
The sixth breeds feuds and falling out of friends.

Seven begets blows and faces stained with gore,
Eight, and the watch patrol breaks ope the door.
Mad with the ninth, another cup goes round,
And the swilled sot drops senseless to the ground.

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As usual, a quotation for all those who are EIGHTY PLUS -

As I approve of a youth that has something of the old man in him, so I am no less pleased with an old man that has something of the youth. He that follows this rule may be old in body, but can never be so in mind. (Cicero)


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