In February 2006 I created my first blog “Wise Men Say” in which I began posting what I called “sensible sayings and quotable quotes.” At the moment the number of entries in the collection is nearing the 1600 mark, and the site has an average of 95 “hits” per week.

Here’s a Portuguese saying, especially for all who are still a long way off from being EIGHTY PLUS.

“If you want good advice, consult an old man”

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When Jean and I get together with our daughters, we like to reminisce. One memory leads to another and so it goes on, not without a few disagreements over what actually took place.

When the girls were small, they enjoyed playing with lego, but I had just as much fun out of lego as they had. After they had gone to bed, I would spread the pieces out on the table and construct something. The next morning they would appear, keen to see what I had made. I must add that last Christmas among my presents was a box of lego marked “ages 2-5.” Was someone suggesting - second childhood?

This past week we’ve been recalling the time when, with the help of the girls, I used to make things out of cardboard, wallpaper and sellotape. I remember making a house and one or two churches, and we also created our version of the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party.

Probably they had most fun with the little theatre we made. There were a number of cardboard entertainers, each with a long strip attached to their feet. By means of the strip, the figure was moved out on the stage where they would make suitable movements to a song sung by one of the girls.

Our youngest daughter Lesley always sang a particularly plaintive one. The first line is in doubt, for Margaret thinks it begins “a playful little puppy” but Lesley is sure it’s “two playful little puppies,” and we can‘t remember the rest of the line.

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“I would like to be, I would like to be
In the land where bones grow on a tree.”

A crowd of happy children were dancing in a ring,
“I would like to be, I would like to be
In the land where lollipops are free.”

A sad and lonely goldfish was swimming in a bowl,
“I would like to be, I would like to be
With all my friends in the deep blue sea.”

Happy days!!!

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Having posted 50 Pre-Raphaelite paintings, my online collection came to an end earlier this month. “Among the Ruins” by Lawrence Alma-Tadema is one I didn’t include, so here it is -

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I’ve already referred to two of my blogs, and I mustn’t forget “John’s Quiet Corner.” I always try to include a poem in it.

I suppose I was like most people, in that poems didn’t really interest me a lot. However, the more I’ve looked into poetry, the more I’ve really enjoyed what I’ve read.

I’m finding that I include quite a lot of Thomas Hardy’s poems in “Quiet Corner.“ Here are two of his that will surely appeal to everyone.

A Practical Woman.

“O who’ll get me a healthy child -
I should prefer a son -
Seven have I had in thirteen years,
Sickly every one!

“Three mope about as feeble shapes;
Weak; white; they’ll be no good.
One came deformed; an idiot next;
And two are crass as wood.

“I purpose one not only sound
In flesh, but bright in mind;
And duly for producing him
A means I’ve now to find.”

She went away. She disappeared,
Years, years. Then back she came;
In her hand was a blooming boy
Mentally and in frame.

“I found a father at last who’d suit
The purpose in my head,
And used him till he’s done his job,”
Was all thereon she said. 

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Faintheart in a Railway Train

At nine in the morning there passed a church,
At ten there passed me by the sea,
At twelve a town of smoke and smirch,
At two a forest of oak and birch,
And then, on a platform, she.

A radiant stranger, who saw not me,
I said, “Get out to her do I dare?”
But I kept my seat in my search for a plea,
And the wheels moved on. O could it but be
That I had alighted there! 

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Every year at this time my thoughts go back to the beginning of World War II.

It was on Friday 1st September 71 years ago that the evacuation of children began, followed by the declaration of war by our Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain on the Sunday.

There are quite a number of videos on YouTube showing scenes from those days. The one I’ve chosen features the children of Sunderland in England, and also gives some idea of the bomb damage done there.



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You’ll remember last week I discovered a new word - triskaidekaphobia, the fear of Friday 13th.

Now, I have no problems with Friday 13th. My bête noire is a fear of cows.

 Many years ago some friends and I were taking a short cut over a field. The cows who were some distance away took an interest in us and began heading in our direction. Leaving my friends behind, I started to run but so did the cows! Managing to keep ahead of them, I reached the stone dyke wall, leapt over, and went down, down, down!
Of course I wasn’t expecting the field on the other side to be six feet lower than the one from which I was escaping!

That incident (and my injured ankle) was brought back to mind this past week, when Jean and I were staying at the home of our eldest daughter Margaret in Gloucestershire.

One afternoon Margaret took me walking on the hill behind her house. We sat for a short time on a seat admiring the view, and it was when we continued our walk that we saw a group of cows obviously interested in us. Knowing my feelings about cattle, Margaret pointed out an escape route over a stile. When we reached it however, I decided that it would be impossible for me to get over, so we began to re-trace our steps.

But, no! The cows were getting nearer, and the only solution was to get over that stile pronto!!! And I did! It’s surprising what you can do when you have to!

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And that reminds me of a little poem that Jean used to recite at concerts.

I don’t suppose there’s ever been
A boy as brave as me,
I’m not afraid of burglars
Or of pirates on the sea,
I’m not afraid of guinea pigs
Nor tigers in the zoo,
I’m not afraid of nothing
‘Cepting great big cows that moo!

I s’pose it’s ‘cause I’ve got red hair
That cows all pick on me,
And when they see me coming
They get angry as can be,
They roll their great big awful eyes
And grind their teeth and chew,
And say “Here’s that red-headed boy,
So let’s all start to moo.”

But when I’m grown up really tall
And awful big and strong
I’m going to simply eat and eat
And eat the whole day long,
And everything I eat will be just meat
Because I guess
That every plateful that I eat
Will be one cow the less.

I wish cows would be friends with me
And not give nasty stares,
I always think of them at night
Just when I say my prayers,
I say, “Bless Daddy, Mummy
And all my pals and toys,
And please God, stop your nasty cows
From frightening little boys!!!

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Most folk will know that acrophobia means fear of heights. It’s certainly true that I’m usually a bit worried looking down from a height. When Jean and I were on holiday on the Cote d’Azur we spent an afternoon at Nice and I took those photographs of the harbour area. Despite being so high up, I felt no concerns, for there was no danger of me (or Jean) disappearing over the wall.

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You may have read that a recent investigation by researchers at Hull University suggests that incidents people recall from their infancy may not have occurred. In many cases evidence was found which convinced those folk that their memories were false.

I’ve been wondering if things that I remember may not have taken place.

The following are very early memories. The  earliest is of my mother breast-feeding my sister, which means I was about two and a half then.

I remember my trousers being taken down and being spanked by my mother because I called Rita a bitch.

There was the occasion when my aunts were visiting us and I pulled away a chair just as one of them was about to sit down. She tumbled back on the floor, fortunately without hurting herself. Another spanking!

I remember showing my displeasure one night when an aunt turned up, but I was expecting my favourite one. I told her, “I don’t want you”. Horrible child!

My favourite aunt was Cissie who later was to become my very first school teacher. In her old age she was always bright and alert. On one occasion I mentioned to her that in primary school I had to repeat a year because I had lost a lot of time due to illness. She immediately said that was nonsense and reminded me that she had been teaching in that school all the time I was there.

Well, am I wrong? To support my case, I have two school photos, one is the Primary One class, the other taken a good few years later. In each photo there’s a different lot of children.

I rest my case!!!

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On 19th January this year I included a slide show of Old Kirkintilloch on EIGHTY PLUS. Here’s another one. The photographs were probably taken in the 1920s or earlier, but most of the streets shown were just like that when a I was a young boy. (I don’t know why it’s accompanied by the Waltons tune.)



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HOLIDAYS - ARE THEY WORTH THE HASSLE?

The older I get the more reluctant I am to consider going on
holiday.

I was interested to read an article in our daily paper which reported that holidays are a source of considerable stress for many folk.

Looking back, I think my problem may have begun when our children were young. I remember the first time we had a holiday at Burntisland. We travelled by train and halfway through the journey I became convinced that we were on the wrong train. And since that time, on any train journey I’m faced with the question - are we absolutely sure this is the right train?

We hadn’t been long married when we were to spend a week at Crail, Jean in digs, and me at a YMCA camp where I was a leader. On the morning of our departure we slept in, and had a tremendous rush to catch our train. And nowadays, I’ve always got to be ready an hour before departure time, whether it’s for going on holiday or keeping a hospital appointment.

I remember one memorable occasion when we were joining a coach tour in Glasgow. The taxi didn’t turn up and the situation was saved by a neighbour who drove us to the bus station, getting there with  minutes to spare.

Flying doesn’t really bother me; apart from the worry of getting to the airport, my problem is the airport itself - the crowds and the long delays. And railways stations can be a bit chaotic too. Jean and I did a Golden Rail holiday once and on the return journey we had to change at York.
I’ve never seen a busier station and there was no sign of the Golden Rail rep whom we had been promised. At last the Edinburgh train arrived, we got on and found passengers and luggage blocking the aisles. Eventually we located our reserved seats but they were already occupied by people whose tickets showed that those seats were indeed theirs. And the explanation? This was an earlier train, running very late. Yes, this was one occasion when we really had got on the wrong train!!!

One more story! Jean and I were on a coach trip to France. After an overnight stay in a Portsmouth hotel, we had breakfast there, and then joined the coach to take us the docks. It seemed to be some distance away, for we had been travelling quite a while when Jean realised that she had left her bag, containing our passports and foreign money, in the hotel, on the floor at the breakfast table! Absolute panic!!! But not for our leader who contacted the hotel on his mobile phone, and asked them to send a taxi with the bag to our boarding point.  There was no problem - Jean got her handbag but my hair turned grey within that hour!!!

When we were at Evian, we visited Geneva two or three times, and I took this picture of the spectacular Jet d’Eau fountain. Every second
132 gallons of water shoot up 459 feet in the air.

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I read recently about a couple going on holiday who had booked a taxi to take them to the airport. As they were leaving the house, the neighbour’s cat, who was a great favourite with them, dashed in just as the man was about to lock the front door. While he went back in to evict it, his wife got in to the taxi. She felt she had to explain to the driver what was keeping her husband, but, not wanting to let him know that the house would be empty for a while, she said “My husband won’t be long. He’s just saying goodbye to his mother.” A few minutes later the husband appeared and told his wife “Sorry for the delay, she was hiding under the bed and just wouldn’t come out, till I poked her with that old walking-stick.”

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This is a Heinemann video called “Victorians at the Seaside.” The music is Liebestraum by Liszt.



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HELLO, AGAIN!

Yes, this is how I looked when I was a schoolboy!!!

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After an interval of four months, this blog returns on Friday and will continue weekly.

I’m intending to present a varied selection of items which will appeal to most people, but in particular to those of the EIGHTY PLUS  generation.

I hope you’ll look in on Friday.

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