FRIDAY 31ST OCTOBER

HAPPY HALLOWE'EN

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THIS WEEK’S QUOTATION -

If we could be twice young and twice old we could correct all our mistakes. (Euripides)

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MORE MEMORIES OF SCHOOL

In an earlier blog I said that my fellow-pupils in primary school were generally well behaved. That was true also in secondary, although sometimes we were high-spirited and ready for a bit of nonsense.

There were quite a number of teachers with whom we would never consider stepping out of line. However, the science teacher was a poor old soul (he seemed very old to us), and a favourite ploy with some boys (not me, sir) was to turn on a Bunsen burner and blow into it. The result was that the burner which the old fellow was using to demonstrate an experiment, would go out. On another occasion someone attached an iron clamp to the back of his jacket, and he strolled round the classroom with it hanging like a tail behind.

If any of my classmates ever played truant, I wasn’t aware of it. I must tell you however that some of us for a time managed to “plunk” gym. Nobody really enjoyed the gym periods, for we seemed to spend most of the time running round the room. I think the idea was mine, and one day 2 of 3 of us, instead of attending, went to a rarely used small room next to the ladies staff room where we passed the time doing homework. We weren’t missed and the following week more boys joined us in our little hideaway.

This continued and the number of escapees grew each week. It bacame obvious that the gym teacher wasn’t interested in whether we attended or not. It was also obvious that the more people who gather in a small room, the noisier it will be. The din was heard in the ladies staff room, questions were asked, and unsatisfactory answers given. Surprisingly no punishment followed (I think the Head knew that the gym teacher was really no use), but from then on we had to attend the gym class.

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This still life is “Apples and Jar” by Samuel Peploe 1871-1935. Born in Edinburgh he was one of the four Scottish Colourists.
Last week one of his paintings was sold for £529,250.



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MORE RANDOM MEMORIES

I’ve been told that I could talk before I could walk. My mother used to recall the occasion we were visiting a friend’s home. The lady took me up in her arms, and pointing out the window towards the railway said, “Look, there’s a choo-choo”. To which I replied, “No, no! That’s a train!”

When I was about 10 or 11, I produced my first blog - 8 handwritten pages of drawings, jokes, short stories, puzzles and family news. My magazine must have had a name, but I’ve no idea what it was. Members of my mother’s family were persuaded to part with a penny for the privilege of borrowing it for a few days, and it was such a success that I followed it up with a second edition even better than the first. It was returned to me with the front cover marked where egg yolk had been spilled.
I was upset! I was horrified! I was blazing mad!
I produced no more.

A few years later my next major opus was to be an opera. The short overture was quickly completed - a very sombre beginning on double basses which merged unexpectedly into a bright 6/8 march. The first scene was a forest glade where a boy and his sister would have a duet followed by a minuet-like dance. And that’s as far as I got. The unfinished song began with the boy -”O sister dear, come o-o-over here”. Thankfully I can’t remember any more.

For many years Lou Preager and his band were the main attraction at Hammersmith Palais de Danse, from where they made regular broadcasts. In 1945 in collaboration with the BBC he organised a “Write A Song” contest with a major prize for the winner. By that time I had made up quite a few tunes, and I thought “This is my big chance!”
I chose one of my compositions, tidied it up a bit and wrote it down on manuscript as neatly as I could. My effort was a slow waltz called “You’re not to blame” (with words which I’ve no intention of quoting here), and I sent it off.

Yes, that was the last I heard of it! What was the song that won? A quick waltz written by two middle-aged ladies Eily Beadell and Nell Tollerton. Here it is, sung by Paul Rich with the Lou Preagar band.

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A SAD POEM

A mother was washing her baby one night,
The poor little thing was a terrible sight,
The poor little thing was so skinny and thin,
It was really a skeleton covered with skin.

The mother she turned for the soap on the rack,
She was only a minute but when she got back,
The baby was gone and in anguish she cried
“O where is my baby?” and the angels replied:

“Your baby’s gone down the plug-hole,
Your baby’s gone down the plug,
The poor little thing was so skinny and thin
It should have been washed in a jug”.


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FROM MY ALBUM

This photo of my father’s family was probably taken about 1916




Back Row: John b1900, my father Robert b1893, Charlie (Charlotte) b1896, George b1892, and Jean b1898
Front Row: Lizzie (Elizabeth) b1905, Grandma (Charlotte) b1865, Walter b1910, Grandpa (John) b1868 and Isa (Isobel) b1900
John and Isa were twins -the only twins that I know of in the wider family.
Have you noticed that my father and Charlie have their pinkies linked?

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Finally, looking forward to Guy Fawkes Night and Bonfires, a cautionary limerick written by Herbert Langford Reed, 1889-1954

There was a young man of Herne Bay
Who was making some fireworks one day,
But he dropped his cigar
In a gunpowder jar,
There WAS a young man of Herne Bay.


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FRIDAY 24TH OCTOBER

THIS WEEK’S QUOTATION

No one grows old by living - only by losing interest in living. (Marie Beynon Ray)


I REMEMBER -

I remember the September day in 1937 when our town made the front page of the national newspapers.

We were all shocked to learn that 10 young tattie howkers (potato pickers) from Ireland had lost their lives when fire broke out in the bothy where they were living. They were the male members of a group from Achill in County Mayo.

This is Achill Island



The girls, some of whom had brothers and cousins among the dead escaped, as they had been accommodated in a separate building. The cause of the tragedy was never really known.

I REMEMBER the summer evening in 1940 when a company of the Free French Alpine Chasseurs arrived in our town. They, along with others of the Allied forces, had been forced by the Germans to evacuate Norway, and we saw them looking absolutely exhausted coming along the road.

Many of them were billeted in a church hall near where we lived, and quite a number of the local families would invite one or two of them for tea. We got to know one soldier quite well, Marius Reviglio. He had been a lift attendant in Nice and so his English was fairly good.

We were surprised to see how easy-going the French soldiers were in comparison with the other nationalities. I don’t think it occurred to us that, after their Norway experience, they would be entitled to a complete rest.

On one occasion when Marius came to us for tea, he told us that he had to meet an officer at a certain time. When it was time for him to go, he was still drinking tea, and we pointed out that he was going to be late. You can imagine our surprise when he replied “Ze officer, he will wait”.

I REMEMBER that the little music group we had while at secondary school started off as a trio with Douglas and Andrew on violins and myself on piano. We held concerts in each other’s homes and relatives were pressurised into attending. I don’t recall if there was an admission charge or perhaps a collection, but I know that we sent donations to the RAF Benevolent Fund.

Later we added another violin played by Archie and we had a number of “outside” engagements including a church dramatic club’s productions, when we provided the pre-curtain and interval music.

The Minister in his vote of thanks rebuked us, half in fun, half in earnest, for playing “Anywhere on earth is Heaven when you’re with someone you love”.

I REMEMBER the day in June 1965 when the Queen and Prince Philip came to Kirkintilloch.

At that time I was on the staff of the Town Council working in the Burgh Chambers. When we learned of the impending visit, many of my colleagues announced that they weren’t really interested and wouldn’t go to see them. And I felt much the same way.

However, as the big day grew nearer, members of the staff including myself were asked to assist in the stewarding of the many schoolchildren who would be attending.

And guess what happened - everyone of us, including the most anti-royalist, suddenly became enthusiastic about the whole thing. The event passed off very well indeed, and the Queen and Philip were their usual charming selves. And we were just as excited as the school children!!!


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FROM MY ALBUM -



The Jaap family about 1888
Back row: my grandfather John Armour b1868, Walter b1866, Richard b1870 and Robert b1872
Centre: Andrew b1875
Seated: George b1834, James b1878 and Jean Armour b1841

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LIFE IN THE TENEMENT - The Wash House

In the back court behind tenement buildings stood the wash house. Inside there was a boiler heated by a coal fire and either a sink or washing tub where the clothes could be scrubbed by hand. Having been washed, the clothes were squeezed through a wringer and then hung out to dry. Of course if the weather was bad, you might have to dry your washing indoors. In the kitchen/living room there was a pulley suspended from the ceiling, which could be lowered by ropes and, after the clothes had been hung, raised again.

Jean tells me that she personally hated washday, for often her mother would keep her off school to fill up the boiler with water, make up the fire and light it, and fill the two tubs with water from the boiler.

Each family had their own particular day for using the facility, and there could be trouble if someone had hung out their washing on the wrong day. Can you imagine two women battling it out in the back court, washing being flung everywhere, scrubbing brushes flying. And faces at every window, enjoying the show!!!


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A FAVOURITE PAINTING



“The Order of Release” by another of the Pre-Raphaelites John Everett Millais 1829-1896

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A FAVOURITE POEM

As a white candle
In a holy place
So is the beauty
Of an aged face.
As the spent radiance
Of the winter sun,
So is a woman
With her travail done,
Her brood gone from her,
And her thoughts as still
As the waters
Under a ruined mill.
(Joseph Campbell 1879-1944, Irish poet also known as Seosamh MacCathmhaoil)


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Finally, here’s an amazing clip of two brilliant jazz musicians, Stephane Grappelli 1908-1997 and Django Reinhardt 1910-1953 playing “J’attendrai”.

Both are excellent of course, but I was astonished at Django’s guitar playing. When a young man he was seriously injured in a caravan fire and lost the use of two fingers of his left hand. Watch how he does a jazz improvisation using only two fingers. Astonishing.



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FRIDAY 17TH OCTOBER

THIS WEEK‘S QUOTATION

When you’re old, you wonder how you could be over the hill, when you don’t even remember being on top of it. (Anon)


A SAX, A BANJO AND A PIPE ORGAN

I’ve already mentioned that when I was young I used to like listening to Henry Hall on the wireless. It must have been the rhythm that appealed to me for at that time I wanted to play the banjo.

Later when I was in my teens this desire had changed and my new desire was the saxophone. For a few weeks one summer a friend gave me a loan of an alto sax, and, with a great deal of energetic blowing and occasional shocks to the neighbours, I succeeded in playing one tune “It’s foolish, but it’s fun”.

Realising that I was quite keen on the instrument, my father took me to a music shop in Glasgow, hoping to pick up a sax for about £5. I can still remember the condescending manner of the salesman when he said to my poor father “You must be mistaken, sir. Alto saxes cost in the region of £40”.

Of course that was out of the question, but shortly after that incident I inherited a banjo from an unexpected quarter. The story went that my Uncle John when a young man had been jilted by a girl, and to compensate for his disappointment had bought a banjo. He hadn’t made much of it, and so it came to me, complete with plectrum, tutor book and banjo case.

I persevered with it for a while without much enthusiasm, for by that time the banjo was no longer fashionable and my tastes were changing again.
Soon I was having lessons on the pipe organ in our church, and a whole new world of music was opening up for me.



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LIFE IN THE TENEMENT

It must be difficult for a young person to imagine what it was like to live in a tenement building around 1930.

We had no electricity. Lighting was by gas which gave out a pretty poor light. The gas mantle fitting was usually above the fireplace which meant that the corners of the room were not well lit. On a winter’s night the darkness in the hallway was relieved only by the dim light from the living room/kitchen, shining through the window above the door leading to the hall.

The coal fire in the living room provided for heating and cooking, and the rest of the house was generally unheated, unless there were visitors or perhaps someone was ill.

The kitchen range - the big iron fireplace consisted of a nest for the fire and compartments where the food would be cooked. There were surfaces where pots could rest near the fire and often there was a swivel plate where a kettle could sit to boil up water over the open fire.

The ashes from the fire were removed each morning and the fire re-set and lit. The whole range was cleaned daily, and all the surfaces regularly black-leaded by the diligent housewife.

A sink with one cold water tap was usually located at the window, and at bath time water boiled in kettles was poured into a metal bath placed in front of the fire.

This room of course was the most important room in the house - everything happened there, it was where we lived. There was a bed in the recess where Rita and I slept. There was a big dresser with lots of drawers and a long shelf on the wall above for crockery. There was the big coal bunker, and the coalman would climb the stairs two or three times with a sack on his back to replenish our supply.

We were fortunate in having our own indoor toilet (no bath of course), but in other tenements toilets were out on the landing, and in some cases shared with other families.

So - no central heating, electric heaters, electric kettles, cookers, washing machines, tumble dryers, vacuum cleaners, shavers, hair driers, and of course things like TV and computers hadn’t been invented.

Nevertheless, that was our house - our home. And, despite anything I might say about our strict upbringing, it was indeed a happy home.

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As a boy I spent a lot of happy hours drawing with pencil and paper, and I believe the results were quite good. A few years before I retired I thought I’d better prepare for it by trying a new hobby. And so it was that I took up water colour painting. Some of my efforts must have been quite good, for I managed to sell a few at art exhibitions. As time went on however, music again began to take up most of my time.

I said in an earlier blog that I was very keen on the Pre-Raphaelite Painters. Among the Impressionists my favourite must be Renoir (1841-1919). This is his painting of a fellow Impressionist Berthe Morisot and her daughter Julie.



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In my EIGHTY PLUS on 26th September, I included the words of a comic song about amateur choirs. Since then I’ve found another one which I’d completely forgotten though I heard it being recited a good few years ago. I have the feeling it may have been done by either Pam Ayres or Joyce Grenfell.

It’s tough to be an alto when you’re singing in the choir,
The sopranos get the twiddly bits that people all admire.
The basses boom like loud trombones, the tenors shout with glee,
But the alto part is on two notes or, if you’re lucky, three.

And when we sing an anthem and we lift our hearts in praises
The men get all the juicy bits and telling little phrases.
Of course the trebles sing in tune, they always come off best,
The altos only get three notes and twenty-two bars rest.

We practise very hard each week from hymn book and the psalter,
But when the conductor looks at us our voices start to falter.
Too high! Too low! Too fast! Too slow - you held that note too long!
It doesn’t matter what we do, it’s certain to be wrong.

Oh, shed a tear for altos, they’re the martyrs and they know
In the ranks of choral singers they’re considered very low.
They are so very humble that a lot of folk forget them.
How they’d like to be sopranos but their vocal chords won’t let them.

And when the final trumpet sounds and we are wafted higher,
Sopranos, basses, tenors - they’ll be in the heavenly choir.
While they sing alleluias to celestial flats and sharps,
The altos will be occupied with polishing the harps.


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THE PERSON I‘D MOST LIKE TO MEET -
- is Thich Nhat Hanh, a Buddhist monk.




Born in 1926, he has gained a world-wide reputation as a poet/author/teacher and, probably most important of all, as a peace activist.
During the Vietnam war, he founded a relief organisation and set up schools and health clinics.
Exiled from Vietnam by both his own country and the Americans for his pacifist activities, he now lives in the monastery he founded in the Dordogne region in the South of France.

I came across one of his books some years ago, and since then have read quite a number of them.
One of his poems “Call me by my True Names” made a strong impression on me when I first read it some years ago, and I was delighted to find that someone had made a little video of it.



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FRIDAY 10TH OCTOBER

THIS WEEK’S QUOTATION

Autumn is really the best of the seasons, and I'm not sure that old age isn't the best part of life. But of course, like autumn, it doesn't last. (C.S.LEWIS)

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RADIO DAYS

When we moved from the tenement in 1936, one of the first things our parents did was to buy a new wireless set.

I don’t know what make it was, but I’d never seen an aerial mast as big as the one we got. From the living room window it stretched to the middle of the back garden where it was attached to the top of a very tall pole which was held in place by four strong guy cables. We used to joke that the salesman had seen our father coming and guessed he would be an easy target for parting with money!

From then on, radio became an important part of our lives. Rita and I looked forward to Children’s Hour at 5 o’clock - from London with Uncle Mac (Derek McCulloch), from Glasgow with Aunt Kathleen (Garscadden) and occasionally from Aberdeen with the Aberdeen Animals.

There were many exciting plays and excellent adaptations of well-known stories for young people, and a great favourite was the Toytown series featuring Larry the Lamb, Dennis the Dachshund, Mr Mayor, Mr Growser, Ernest the Policeman and many others.

In the evening we had cinema organists, variety shows, talks and plays. Our parents liked the plays, though very often Mother would switch off if strong language was used. We listened to Music Hall on Saturday nights, when well-known singers, musicians, comedians and impressionists each had a 10 minute spot, all accompanied by the excellent BBC Variety Orchestra conducted by Charles Shadwell. A popular programme on Sunday evenings was Grand Hotel with a small orchestra led by the famous violinist Albert Sandler. Many years later this type of programme would be led by Max Jaffa.

One of the Scottish highlights was the comedy series The McFlannels about a Glasgow family. The cast included Molly Weir who would go on to be a household name nationwide.

Of course in those days there were just two radio stations in the UK - the BBC National programme and the BBC Regional programme. There were continental stations some of them transmitting in English, and, though they must have been available to us through our big aerial mast, I don’t recall that we ever listened to them. It wasn’t till the 1950s that I came across Radio Luxembourg.


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This is a painting by Pieter Brueghel the Elder (1525-1569), called “Children’s Games”




TOYS AND PASTIMES - Part Two

It’s surprising how Rita and I differ in what we remember about our childhood. On one occasion recently she said that we didn’t get many toys at Christmas, and yet my memory is the very opposite of that. And then I wondered - perhaps I’m remembering one particular Christmas when Santa Claus was more generous.

Among my prized possessions was a small battery-operated cinematograph (we didn’t have electricity in the tenement). There were two or three zoo films, each lasting about 2 minutes - one was called Brown Bears and another was about snakes. I also had a cartoon in which a funny character used the heads of others as stepping stones; this film was a loop and so went on for ever. My shows were not all that successful for it would have needed much more power to brighten the screen.

I had a small Hornby train set consisting of track, engine, carriages and a signal, and a few years earlier I was the proud owner of a big red wooden engine, probably about 2 ft in length.

Of course we had games - dominoes, quoits and bagatelle. I’m puzzled about the bagatelle, for all the holes through which the little balls might fall had the names of German towns. The only name I can recall was Magdeburg. Was this game inspired in some way by the First World War?

There wasn’t a great variety of outdoor games. A few I mentioned last week. For girls there were skipping rope games and peever (beds), and for boys football and cowboys and Indians. Everyone might join in for statues, or I-Spy - we called it High-Spy. Usually we all got on well together, and it was very rarely that there was a fall-out.

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UNSUCCESSFUL FORAYS INTO GOLF

When I was at secondary school, I was given an old set of golf clubs that had been my aunt’s. Nowadays golfers go round with bags crammed with clubs of every kind, but I had four only - a driver, an iron (for the fairway), a mashie (for the rough and bunkers) and a putter. I used to golf on Saturday mornings, but, as I didn’t have a locker in the clubhouse, I found it exhausting carrying my clubs to and from the course as well as doing 18 holes.

Some time later Rita was given a golf club (I don’t know where it came from), and so she joined me on Saturday mornings with her one club. In those days she kept a diary and was very methodical in recording her daily activities. I can remember seeing what she had written about her golf and it was something like this -

Saturday 8th - went to golf

Saturday 15th - went to golf, broke club

Saturday 22nd - went to golf, broke club

Saturday 29th - didn’t go to golf

That was end of golf for Rita and it wasn‘t too long before I too had given up.

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When I was born, most men smoked either cigarettes or the pipe. At that time a packet of 20 cigarettes cost one shilling which would be 5p today, and the Wild Woodbine available in 20s, 10s and 5s were even cheaper. I understand that today Woodbine cost £6.22 for 20.

I believe my father smoked cigarettes at one time, but it was always a pipe in our day. After he retired he replaced that addiction with another one - polo mints!

Jean and I enjoyed our fags for many years and it was quite a victory when we conquered the habit - she by will-power alone, me with the help of a hypnosis tape.

Here’s what King James (6th of Scotland, 1st of England) wrote about tobacco -

“A custom loathsome to the eye, hateful to the nose, harmful to the brain, dangerous to the lungs, and in the black, stinking fume thereof nearest resembling the horrible Stygian smoke of the pit that is bottomless.”

And this little poem is probably about 100 years old -

I’ll never use tobacco, no,
It is a filthy weed.
I’ll never put it in my mouth,
Said little Robert Reid.

Why, there was idle Jerry Jones,
As dirty as a pig,
Who smoked when only ten years old,
And thought it made him big.

He’d puff along the open street,
As if he had no shame,
He’d sit beside the tavern door,
And there he’d do the same.

He spent his time and money too,
And made his mother sad,
She feared a worthless man would come
From such a worthless lad.

Oh, no, I’ll never smoke or chew,
‘Tis very wrong indeed,
It hurts the health, it makes bad breath,
Said little Robert Reid.

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A final word on smoking by the American actress/supermodel Brooke Shields -

“Smoking kills. If you're killed, you've lost a very important part of your life“

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This week’s music is a typical dance band number of the 30s recorded in 1936 by Vera Lynn when she was aged 18 or 19.
She’s accompanied by Harry Bidgood and his band. He also played under the names Don Porto and Rossini, but later became better known as Primo Scala when he appeared with his accordion band.




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