FRIDAY 3RD OCTOBER

THIS WEEK’S QUOTATION

I'm very pleased with each advancing year. It stems back to when I was forty. I was a bit upset about reaching that milestone, but an older friend consoled me. 'Don't complain about growing old - many people don’t have that privilege'. (Earl Warren)

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TOYS AND PASTIMES - Part One

Some fathers, clever with their hands, were able to make things like stilts for their children and “bogies” constructed out of a wooden box and four pram wheels. I doubt if my father could have managed anything like that, although he once made a kite which succeeded in staying airborne for a couple of minutes.

A few boys in our street went to the local blacksmith who made a “girr” (hoop) and “cleek” (iron rod) for them. There was very little traffic where we lived and so the place was ideal for running with those toys.

Searching for good chestnuts was a popular pastimes in autumn, but I don’t think I ever played conkers and although I had a collection of marbles I can’t remember playing “bools” with them.

My Saturday penny often went to buy another toy soldier for my tin fort. Made of metal, about 4cm in height, they were brightly painted - black busbies, red jackets and dark blue trousers. Unusually the fort was also home to one or two cowboys and a red Indian.

Like most boys at that time, I had a number of Dinky Toys. Modelled on real cars, vans, lorries and buses, those were much more expensive than the soldiers, and so it was only occasionally that one was added to my collection.

When playing with toys, I had a vivid imagination. While my pals all knelt down and pushed their little cars along the pavement, I remained standing, holding my car at eye level, for I could clearly see the imaginary road along which my car was speeding.

Both Rita and I were pretty good at “make believe”. When very small, she would sit for ages on the floor playing with papers and telling stories aloud to herself. As for me, a couple of clothes pegs (not the kind with metal hinges) could become people, the little round bit being the head and the two prongs their legs. Also if one of the pegs was fitted in to the other at right angles, the result was an aeroplane.

When I was very small, I could content myself with an old biscuit tin full of discarded buttons, arranging them in different patterns on the carpet.

Who needs toys if you have a good imagination?


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This is where we lived from 1927 till 1936, our first house was through the door on the right, ground floor left, and then middle floor right through the door on the left. The building to the right is our primary school.






















DOON THE WATTER


In the years between the wars most people living in the Glasgow area took their holidays on the Clyde coast, and seaside resorts like Largs, Ardrossan, Saltcoats, Troon, Prestwick, Ayr and Girvan were very busy during mid-July for the Glasgow Fair Holiday period.

My mother’s family for a few years around 1930 rented a house in Prestwick, and my grandparents, uncles and aunts, getting their holidays at different times, would come and go during the month of July. So for Rita and I, it was always fun to have uncles and aunts to play with.

Going on holiday would entail a great deal of preparation for Mother. Our luggage which, as well as clothes for all weathers, would contain towels, medicines, food, favourite toys, was uplifted by the railway lorry a few days earlier, and, if everything went to plan, would be waiting for us at our holiday home.

On the morning of our departure, Rita and I would be very excited indeed. We were going to be on TWO trains. And remember, they were steam trains in those days, huge, and noisy and terribly thrilling for children. There were no corridors in those trains, and that could be a bit of a problem for an excited little boy!!!

One summer there were aeroplane flights from the sands, and huge crowds would stand on the promenade watching them take off and land. Of course I wanted to have a flight, and, in a weak moment, my father (definitely without my mother’s approval) agreed to take me up. However days went passed and there was always an excuse for putting it off.

Eventually, on our last full day at Prestwick, my father had run out of excuses, and he and I joined the waiting queue on the sands. The plane was a single-propeller bi-plane with 2 cockpits - the pilot (a girl) was in the one behind, and the passenger one, just big enough to seat the two of us, in front.

I suppose the flight would last for 10-15 minutes. I can tell you that it was a very thrilling but scary experience for both of us, but it was much more frightening for Mother who was standing with Rita, watching from down below.


This plane is similar to the one in which we had our flight.
















WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE?


When I was small, there would have been a different answer each time the question was asked.

If I had been to the doctor’s, I would want to be a doctor. If I had been to Glasgow in the bus, my answer would have been “bus driver”. If I had been to the cinema, it would have been “film star”. And so on.

By the time I got to secondary school however, my mind was made up - to be a musician was what I wanted. I knew it was useless suggesting this to my parents, for they had already decided that I should go into one of the recognised professions.

In 1943 I left school with a Scottish Higher Leaving Certificate, which included three Highers - English, Latin and French, and two Lowers - History and Arithmetic. My father had been persuaded by a schoolmaster friend of his that Dentistry was an excellent career and so, despite the fact that my own headmaster advised against it, the decision was made and I was enrolled as a Dental student.

Although I had dropped Science as a subject after Third Year at school, I succeeded in passing the Chemistry and Physics exams, and was coping all right with Anatomy and Physiology. It was a different story with the practical side of dentistry, and it was quite a relief when my call-up papers came through.

There followed two years in the RAF as a dental assistant/part-time musician. Apart from initial training, my whole time in the Service was spent at RAF Brize Norton in Oxfordshire, where I continued my music as pianist in the Station Concert Party and in a six-piece dance band.



The Brize Rhythm Group: Ray Raynor - drums, Pete Davis - string bass, Vic Hardingham - guitar, Pete Munro - vocals, Spencer Dunmore - trumpet, and myself - piano.

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CLICKING FOR CHARITY

For many years now, I have begun my day on the computer by logging on to the Ecology Fund website. By clicking half-a-dozen times, I’m making a donation to a Fund which is helping to save rainforests and endangered wilderness. So far I personally have saved more than 5 acres.

I then log on to the Hunger Site and my click results in a sponsor donating a cup of food. From the top of the Hunger Site page, you can access 5 more charity sites, Breast Cancer, Child Health, Literacy, Rainforest and Animal Rescue, and by clicking at the relevant place on each one you are making donations at no cost to yourself.

The two addresses are :-

http://www.ecologyfund.com/ecology/_ecology.html
http://www.thehungersite.com/



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Finally, here is The Ashokan Farewell, a very beautiful melody played by Mairead Nesbitt who plays violin in the girls’ vocal group called CELTIC WOMAN. It was composed by an American folk musician Jay Ungar in 1982 and has something of a Scottish flavour about it.









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FRIDAY 26TH SEPTEMBER

THIS WEEK’S QUOTATION

When you’re old, it takes twice as long to look half as good. (Anon)


NEIGHBOURS

Recently I came across the receipt for my father’s purchase of the house we moved to in 1936. £455 was what he paid with the additional £13.16/8 legal expenses. 18 years later he sold it for £1550.

The house was one of six in a small cul-de-sac just a few minutes walk from the main street of our town. From the front we looked out on to the playing fields of a secondary school and the Forth and Clyde Canal which in those days carried a fair amount of traffic.

In the bungalow next to us lived a man who today would be described as “physically challenged”. He held a senior post with the town council and was frequently driven to and from his office by employees of a local bus company. Strange but true - sometimes a bus would be sent for him, and the driver would have the unenviable job of reversing the whole length of the avenue.

During the war, when the air raid siren sounded at night, my father would help our neighbour to get dressed, and assist him and his wife to the shelter. One night we were awakened by shouts from next door. There had been no air raid warning, but, when my father investigated, he found our neighbour and his wife in their nightclothes standing in the front garden. She was shouting “There’s been a gas attack!”
Needless to say, there was no such thing, and we didn’t ever find out what had alarmed them.

His wife was a nervous person, and was quite concerned at the number of boats passing along the canal crewed by foreigners. They were of course allies of ours, but she couldn’t be convinced that they weren’t German spies.

Among the folks who made use of the air raid shelter, was a very nice family from the adjacent road - father, mother and son. The boy, who would be about 7 or 8 years old, had suffered from hydrocephalus, and because of his very big head was confined to a wheelchair.

I recall my mother commenting on the fact that in that shelter were two people, our neighbour and this boy, who needed special love and care, and how sad to see them seeking safety from the evils of war.

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FROM MY PHOTO ALBUM

























George Jaap, my great-grandfather was born in 1834 at Coatbridge. He married Jean Armour on 15th September 1865 at Kilmarnock, and died on 3rd June 1908 at Kirkintilloch.

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Some more memories from long ago -

I REMEMBER my mother taking down my trousers and spanking me because I had said a Bad Word. And what was that word? It was “bitch“. Another word which resulted in punishment was “liar”. And then there was that word which the minister kept shouting from the pulpit. That word was "Christ" - a very bad word in the playground. Since then, I don't think I've ever used the name "Jesus Christ" preferring just Jesus of Nazareth or Jesus the Messiah.

I REMEMBER that, when I was 12, I first experienced playing the piano for people singing. The occasion was a recital by my aunt’s pupils in a local hall, and at the end of the evening I had to play for God Save the King. No one had warned me that audiences are always slow in getting to their feet for the National Anthem, and usually drag a good bit behind the accompaniment. Quite nerve-wracking!

I REMEMBER two elderly sisters who lived in a small avenue a few hundred yards away. This was in the 1930s and so it was quite a surprise when they bought a car. It was said that it had been specially adapted, so that it required both of them to drive the vehicle. Was that likely?

I REMEMBER the only time I got the belt. Before starting secondary school proper, my class spent six months at a junior secondary where one particular teacher was very strict. We had been well warned about him of course, but I was caught out one day when the boy sitting immediately behind me tried to attract my attention. I turned round to face him, and we both got the belt. That boy went to America where he has for many years been a famous evangelist. I never ever forgave him!!!

I REMEMBER that, as a senior pupil at secondary school, I had to take turns to firewatch. Two of us would stay overnight sleeping in the Domestic Science Room, our task being to alert the authorities should enemy action result in a fire. One night my friend and I decided to demonstrate the principle of the siphon, using the two large metal washtubs and a length of hose. The experiment had to be abandoned when we lost control. The rest of the night was spent mopping up.


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ONE OF MY FAVOURITE PAINTINGS



















The Lady of Shalott by John William Waterhouse 1849-1917

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For a good few years Rita and I were church organists, and of course our duties included taking the weekly choir practice. Those few verses by an unknown writer rang a bell with me. They should be sung to the tune of “Immortal, invisible, God only wise”.

Immortal, invisible, God only knows
How tenors and basses, sopranos, altos
At service on Sundays are rarely the same
As those who on Thursday to choir practice came.

Unready, unable to sight-read the notes,
Nor counting, nor blending, they tighten their throats.
The descant so piercing is soaring above
The melody only a mother could love.

They have a choir master, but no one knows why
No one in the choir deigns to turn him an eye.
It’s clear by his waving, he wants them to look,
But each of them stands with his nose in the book.

Despite the offences, the music rings out,
The folks in the pews are enraptured no doubt.
Their faces are blissful, their thoughts are so deep,
But it is no wonder, for they are asleep.


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Finally here is a quartet of young Japanese girls, Waka - flute, Yui - violin, Mariko - cello, and Keiko - keyboards, who produce some wonderful music. Calling themselves Vanilla Mood, they’ve made quite a reputation for themselves around the world.





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FRIDAY 19TH SEPTEMBER

WHEN WE WERE SMALL, we were taught to be polite to adults. For little boys, that meant saluting grown-ups who were known to us, especially teachers.

Some people we were afraid of - the policeman, the headmaster, the janitor, some old spinsters, and in my case the black-faced coalman who would shout after me that Nancy Stirling was my girl friend.

When we were a bit older, there was someone else who scared us (she scared some adults too) - Miss Rumbles!

Many parents encouraged their children to join the Junior Section of the local library, and that’s where Miss Rumbles was all-powerful. Small, tight-lipped, with little eyes that pierced you through her glasses, she was probably a very nice lady outside the library, but we children felt that we were definitely not wanted there. The library was always spotlessly clean with highly polished floors, and I got the impression that our presence was making it untidy.

I can’t remember at what age we joined, but certainly by the time we were in our early teens Rita and I were avid readers.

What was I reading? I suppose mainly detective books in the beginning - Agatha Christie, John Dickson Carr, G.K. Chesterton, but later I discovered Phillips Oppenheim and Marie Corelli (both British despite their names), Maurice Walsh, P.G. Wodehouse and others.

For light reading, my greatest discovery was the work of Caryl Brahms and S.J. Simon. This clever partnership created a series of humorous books including A Bullet in the Ballet, No Bed for Bacon, Don’t Mr Disraeli, and Six Curtains for Stroganova. This last one I read again a few weeks ago, and still find it terrific.

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I find it strange that I can’t recall many books that we read as Home Readers at secondary school. Charles Dickens of course, and there was Walter Scott’s Quentin Durward which I found boring.

Among the poetry we studied, my favourites always had something of the supernatural about them - The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, The Wife of Usher’s Well, Thomas the Rhymer, The Lady of Shalott and Keat’s La Belle Dame sans Merci.

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I started off this week’s blog by saying that, when we were small, we were afraid of certain people.

There was something that really scared children however, and that was the “fever van.” If they were outside playing when it appeared, the children would quickly vanish to their own homes and stay indoors till it had gone. Around 1932/3 scarlet fever and diphtheria were common diseases, and as both were very infectious any one who took them had to go to hospital.

At that time I seemed to succumb to all the illnesses that were on the go, and sure enough scarlet fever claimed me. I was 7 years old when I was taken away in the dreaded “fever van”, and the awful thing was that I really thought I would never get home again. I would be there for the rest of my life!

Visitors weren’t allowed inside, but on visiting days they gathered on the path outside the ward and waved to us children who were looking out the windows. I think I stayed there for 6 weeks, and it was very strange indeed being home again.

I don’t know if I was responsible for passing on the germ or not, but not long afterwards both Rita and one of our aunts took the disease. Rita who had her 5th birthday in hospital made very little progress, and eventually our worried parents insisted that she be discharged. As soon as she was home, her recovery began and she was soon well again.

My wife Jean tells me that in the Glasgow hospital where her sister had scarlet fever, parents used to dread approaching the ward windows, for, if the curtains at a particular window were closed, it meant that the child there had died. How awful!


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RED LETTER DAYS No1

There’s no doubt at all that my first life-changing day was when I left to join the RAF.

Some weeks earlier I had received notification of my National Service call-up, and shortly afterwards my father had discovered that a Glasgow boy who had relatives in our town had his call-up papers also, and that we would both be travelling on the same train to the same destination - RAF Padgate.

And so one night I said goodbye to my mother and sister, and my father accompanied me to Central Station in Glasgow where I met my travelling companion James Wood. The fact that there were two of us setting out on this adventure made the night journey quite pleasant, and I don’t think I had any fears or worries about what the future might hold.

At Padgate there seemed to be hundreds of young men being fitted out with uniforms, finding their billets and being shouted at by angry NCOs. We settled in to a rather chaotic fortnight of some square-bashing, inspections and lectures, and I was surprised to find that I quite enjoyed it all.

Our serious training began at RAF Bridgenorth, and at the end of six weeks I passed out as Aircraftsman Second Class Jaap.

My red letter day of course was that day on which I left home. Up till then (as anyone of my age brought up in our kind of society will understand) my parents had made all my decisions for me, but from then onwards, despite being a member of a regimented organisation, I felt I was free for the very first time.


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THIS WEEK’ S QUOTATION

But if we are truly happy inside, then age brings with it a maturity, a depth, and a power that only magnifies our radiance (David Deida)


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FRIDAY 12TH SEPTEMBER

First of all, some memories of when I was very young…………

I REMEMBER the big smile on our father’s face, as Rita and I ran down the street to meet him, his arms outstretched to hug us.

I REMEMBER while I was in hospital with scarlet fever being told by a bigger boy that I would die because I had swallowed some of the tooth-cleaning powder.

I REMEMBER with shame an aunt landing on the floor, because I had pulled away the chair just as she was about to sit down.

I REMEMBER hurrying past an aggressive little boy who lived across the street, because he would run up to you and give you a punch. I believe he died while having his tonsils removed.

I REMEMBER that, when I was unable to go to school because of sickness, my father would come home for a quick mid-morning visit, bringing me a comic.

I REMEMBER a rough boy at school (who, it turned out, was related to me) offering to protect me from bullies. When I named a boy who scared me, he replied “Aw naw, Ah cannae fight him”.








The Primary School I attended. Opened in 1875, it’s still going strong today!

I REMEMBER the doctor visiting me when I was unwell and commenting on the sheet of paper pinned above the bed on which I had written “KEEP SMILING”.

I REMEMBER the occasion when we were entertaining an uncle and aunt. Without consulting anyone I had drawn up a whole programme of songs, poems, piano pieces and games, and was very peeved when my parents told me that they’d had enough and just wanted to talk.

I REMEMBER one Christmas eve I woke up during the night and heard Santa Claus coming down the chimney. I kept my eyes tight shut, and went back to sleep.

I REMEMBER an aunt taking me to see the Queen Mary a few days after she had been launched at Clydebank. It was a very wet day, and we had to join along queue for a bus to take us back to Glasgow.







The RMS Queen Mary was built by John Brown and Co. Launched in 1934 by Queen Mary herself, the ship was in service from 1936 to 1967. Now converted into a maritime museum and hotel, she lies at Long Beach, California.

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A few weeks ago I explained that I had been a young fan of Henry Hall and the BBC Dance Orchestra. My knowledge of music was fairly limited in those days. There were of course simple arrangements of classical pieces for me to learn on the piano. There was a very elementary book of Schubert, I remember, which included the main theme of the unfinished Symphony. The only classical music I heard regularly was what was played on the organ in church - Mendelssohn, Gounod, Handel, though those names wouldn’t mean much to me then. Our organist wasn’t averse to playing secular music, and sometimes we would get things like the Toreador’s Song from Carmen.

One of my favourites and indeed of the whole congregation was Handel’s Largo, and when it was played one could hear a subdued humming rising from the pews. Many years later on, when I myself was an organist elsewhere, I chose this piece one morning as the opening voluntary . After the service was over, I was told that a lady, on arriving at the church door, and on hearing “Largo”, turned away and stayed out of earshot till I had finished. Apparently the melody always reduced her to tears.

The “Largo” we know isn’t the original version. The melody was composed by Handel as an aria for his opera “Xerxes”. The opera wasn’t a success, and the aria is the only part of it still performed today.

It’s sung here by the wonderful Kathleen Ferrier 1912-1953 with the London Symphony Orchestra under Sir Malcolm Sargent. The familiar tune begins at 1 minute 8 seconds.





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At home we listened to Children’s Hour on the radio, but the only music programmes I remember hearing were the frequent broadcasts by Reginald Foort the cinema organist. He had a very wide repertoire ranging from overtures, through opera, operetta and ballads to popular songs of the day. At that time I thought the cinema organ sound was absolutely wonderful and I was desperate to learn the pipe organ. But more of that some other time.....

When he left the BBC, Reginald Foort was succeeded by Sandy Macpherson, a Canadian who had been resident for many years at the Empire, Leicester Square. At the outbreak of war, all normal broadcasts were stopped for a time, and much of the music programmes substituted were supplied by Sandy for up to 12 hours a day.

I’m showing this little video simply for nostalgia, since this type of music really belongs to a world that no longer exists. Sandy is playing what was then the new BBC theatre organ which had been installed in St. George’s Hall. London. The instrument was destroyed during an air raid in September 1940 and Reginald Foort came to the rescue by loaning his enormous portable organ to the BBC. After the war he decided to sell the instrument and the BBC bought it from him.





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Here’s an amusing poem which I’ve set down from memory. It was contained a book of indoor games and pastimes published in the ‘30s by Foulsham, and it brings back a lot of memories for me.


The 8.15 was almost due,
He had no time to spare,
He licked his face and cleaned his teeth
And combed and brushed his hair.

He gripped his collar savagely
And fumbled with his tie,
Then tried to do his shirt-front up,
No buttons could he spy.

He dashed down to the breakfast room
With curses that could hurt,
“How often have I asked you, girl,
‘Bout buttons on my shirt?”

His little wife said “Oh, but dear…”
“Don’t dear me!” he replied.
“There’s no time to be funny, girl!”
Belinda simply sighed.

“I’m sick to death of telling you
‘Bout buttons on my shirt,
It’s dastardly to treat me thus,
I’m not a lump of dirt!”

His little wife just looked at him,
Her lips began to pout.
“You see, my dear,” she sweetly said,
“Your shirt is inside out!”

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Finally, the EIGHTY PLUS quote -

He who is of a calm and happy nature will hardly feel the pressure of age, but to him who is of an opposite disposition youth and age are equally a burden. (Plato)

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FRIDAY 5TH SEPTEMBER

I WAS BORN IN 1925
And in that year you could buy -

20 cigarettes for 5p
An all-wool cardigan for 25p
Silk stockings for 31p
Pair of shoes for £1.20
Lady’s coat for £3.15
Lady’s watch 18ct gold for £3.50
Man’s 3 piece suit for £2.00
Wardrobe, dressing table, and small chest for £21.00
A brand new car for £200.00

And a gallon of petrol for 8p!!!

Only the very rich folk would be able to afford this 1925 Lancia Lambda which was considered an Italian masterpiece.







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And thinking about cars, reminds me of -
THE DAY I WAS KIDNAPPED

I’ve mentioned before that in the 1930s there were really very few cars on the streets. People could walk quite safely on the main road, and the side streets were the areas where children played.

The only people we knew who had cars were one or two doctors (although one who lived in our street used to do his rounds on foot or by bicycle), and some tradesmen. And that was the case until Andrew came on the scene.

Andrew’s family had a good class gents’ outfitters business locally and he often had the use of their car, an Armstrong-Siddely. At that time he was courting an aunt of ours, and my adventure began one day when the car appeared outside our tenement building. He was probably delivering a message from my aunt to my mother, but the outcome was that he would take me out for a run in the car.

Now, I had never been in a car before, and no doubt he thought that this would be a great thrill for me. But oh, no, it was the opposite! As we drove away, me sitting beside him, I thought he was taking me away for good. I know I didn’t cry, but I’m sure I sat there terrified, uttering not a word.

When I got to know him better of course, things were quite different, and Rita and I used to enjoy a little outing in Uncle Andrew’s car.

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WHEN I WAS SMALL, I think I was always seeking approval. I wanted to be liked - by relatives, teachers, other boys and girls, and most important of all (and this is something that lasted into adulthood), I wanted to please my mother. You might say that this is something that is common in some degree to all children, but it becomes more important to a child who perhaps doesn’t have much confidence in himself.
However there was something in which I did feel confident , and that was my musical ability. I knew I could play the piano and play it well. When I was 7 and Rita 4, we were sent for piano lessons to an aunt of ours (not the school teacher) and we both made good progress. This aunt used to hold piano recitals in a local hall when she would hire 2 grand pianos and all her pupils would sustain an evening of solos, trios and quartets. From that time on, I was hooked on the idea of playing in public, and I think I probably became quite a musical show-off.

However, have a look at this clip of a 4-year old pianist. Now he really has talent!!!




At secondary school it was the custom for the pupils to march in and out of school in the morning, at intervals, lunchtime and at home-time. Music was provided by a rota of pupils on the piano in the assembly hall. The classrooms were on 2 levels positioned round the central hall, and there was a very satisfying echo as the music soared upwards. Very early on, I joined the group of pianists, and had a lot of fun finding well-known music which, though not necessarily marches, could be adapted to march time.

Outside school three friends who were violinists joined with me to form a quartet. We practised in each other’s homes and sometimes had the opportunity to play in public.

On one occasion, we were rehearsing in the assembly hall for a school event, when the interval bell rang. As it was my turn to play the pupils out, the violinists joined me in playing “Deep in the Heart of Texas”. And instead of marching out, a host of pupils gathered round to join in - “The stars at night are big and bright, CLAP! CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!”


Listen to Gene Autry’s version of the 1941 song, written by Don Swander and June Hersey.




Gene Autry 1907-1998, the Singing Cowboy was famous for his films, radio broadcasts and gramophone records. For many years he was held up as a worthy figure whom young boys could emulate. He created the following “Cowboy Commandments” which he hoped his young admirers would follow.

The Cowboy must never shoot first, hit a smaller man, or take unfair advantage.
He must never go back on his word, or a trust confided in him.
He must always tell the truth.
He must be gentle with children, the elderly, and animals.
He must not advocate or possess racially or religiously intolerant ideas.
He must help people in distress.
He must be a good worker.
He must keep himself clean in thought, speech, action, and personal habits.
He must respect women, parents, and his nation's laws.
The Cowboy is a patriot.


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In conclusion, an EIGHTY PLUS quote -
Should we slow down because we’re getting older, or hurry up because we’ll not get any younger? (Anon)


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