FRIDAY 13TH FEBRUARY

The greatest problem of old age is the fear that it may go on too long.
(A.J.P.Taylor)

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Last week-end ITV showed another episode of that awful detective series that I call “Midsomer Madness.” Normally I avoid it like the plague, but, summoning up all my courage, I forced myself to watch it, and the reason was that an old neighbour of ours was in the cast of that particular episode.

In 1971 we moved to a Victorian terraced house in Lenzie, and found that Thelma Barlow who played Mavis Riley in Coronation Street was living next door with her husband and their two boys. Jean and I hadn’t seen that soap, but naturally we had to have a look at it, and it wasn’t long before we were regular viewers.

We didn’t really get to know her husband at all, but both she and her mother were very pleasant. On one occasion, when Jean locked herself out, Thelma came to help with a large number of assorted keys. In the end she got a friend to climb in through an upstairs window and open the door from inside.

Her work at the Granada studios in Manchester usually took her away from Monday to Friday. I was surprised to learn that she appeared in Coronation Street from 1971 till 1997.

I must mention that Jean still follows the soap faithfully, whereas I have fallen by the wayside. I lost interest when characters like Percy Sugden, Reg Holdsworth, Fred Elliot, Alf Roberts, Derek Wilton and Mavis Riley were written out.

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This is a very striking piece of colour “Blossomy of Sichuan” by the Chinese painter Liu Zhengxing



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I REMEMBER that our parents insisted that we should always speak proper English, and we were corrected if we used a Scottish word. Broad Scots was the natural language of our grandparents of course, and I was recalling recently that the men in my father’s family, with one exception, were known by their Scottish names -
Robert (my father) was Rabbie, though outside the family he was known as Bob, George was Geordie (pronounced Joerdie), Walter was Wattie (pronounced Wah’ie) and the exception was John (pronounced Joan).

I REMEMBER there were a few strange expressions in those days. When someone was repeating what they had said to someone else, they would prefix their quote with “sigh”. The vowel here was very short indeed. As a wee boy this puzzled me a lot till I realised that the speaker was saying “Says I”, where we would say “I said” or “I told them”.

Another strange word was “ifwurspairt”. This turned out to be “If we’re spared” meaning - if God spares us, and was usually used when talking about some plans for the future. My father might say “If we’re spared, then next summer we’re going to have a vegetable plot there.” I’m sure people didn’t really bring God into it - what they were meaning was “all being well” or “if things work out”.

I REMEMBER when I was very small being shocked when Grandpa Jaap recited to me -
“Albums are red, albums are blue, but in Africa where I have been all bums are black.”

I REMEMBER it was quite common to have to have a framed Bible text on the living room wall. Often they were embroidered in different colours with perhaps fancy lettering or decorated with a flower or two. In our house we had one with the words “I am the Lord. I change not.” I’ve seen some with a lot of lettering, such as the Lord’s Prayer, and others just a few words like “Home, Sweet Home.”

Things like that are now antiques of course, and are much sought after by collectors. Here’s quite a simple example



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AFTER I RETIRED from my full-time job, I did quite a bit of entertaining at old people’s retirement homes, playing piano or organ. As you would expect, my programmes were made up of all the old favourite tunes, usually concluding with a sing-a-long medley. Very often I brought an accordionist along with me, and sometimes a soprano.

My visits took place in the morning or afternoon, most of them on a weekly basis, and the residents and I got to know each other pretty well. At one home I overheard an old lady in her nineties telling a neighbour that I had been in her class at school!!!

I must mention that in another home one of the ladies used to get up and leave the room as soon as I sat down at the piano. Perhaps she was a music lover!!!

My experience at those retirement homes inspired me to compose some haiku, and here are a few of them -

in the Old Folk’s Home
silence in the lounge - only
the TV awake

outside the dining
room in the Old People’s Home -
a row of zimmers

her old arthritic
fingers on the yellow keys
“The Old Rugged Cross”

in the old folk’s lounge
an early dusk - no one moves
to switch on the lights

seasons come and go -
in the Old People’s Care Home
it’s always autumn

in the Old Folk’s Home
the lady who never speaks
joins in “Danny Boy”

In the eventide
home, all day she’s knitting socks
that no one can wear

Yes, that very old woman worked away continually with her needles. She knitted me a pair of socks which of course I had to wear at my next appearance at the home. The wool was very coarse, one sock was bigger than the other, and she hadn‘t noticed that, when one ball of wool had finished, the next one wasn‘t quite the same shade.

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I’ve chosen two music clips this week, each featuring an outstanding artiste whose life was tragically cut short.

First, Jacqueline du Pre (1945-1987) playing Mendelssohn’s Song without Words in D, accompanied by her mother Iris.




Finally Kathleen Ferrier (1912-1953) singing “Down by the Sally Gardens”.




Down by the Sally Gardens, my love and I did meet.
She crossed the Sally Gardens with little snow-white feet.
She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree,
But I was young and foolish, and with her did not agree.
In a field down by the river, my love and I did stand,
And on my leaning shoulder, she laid her snow-white hand.
She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs
But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.

W.B.Yeats (1865-1939)
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FRIDAY 6TH FEBRUARY

CONGRATULATIONS, MICHAEL



Michael Hardwick who is the father-in-law of our eldest daughter Margaret is seen here receiving his MBE from the Queen in November 2008. A retired headmaster, he has worked with the Bristol Children’s Help Society in a voluntary capacity for 40 years, with 25 of those years as chairman. The purpose of the Society is to provide holidays for underprivileged children in the Bristol area.

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GRACE BEFORE MEALS

In my young day it was certainly the general practice in church-going families to say grace before meals, and as children we were taught a simple one -

God bless our food and make us good,
For Jesus’ sake. Amen.

When we got older, we had to say -

Thank you for the world so sweet,
Thank you for the food we eat,
Thank you for the birds that sing,
Thank you God for everything. Amen.

The grown-ups’ grace was something like this -

Heavenly Father,
Accept our thanks for these Thy mercies,
Bless them to our good,
And pardon our sins, for Jesus’ sake. Amen.

Jean and I continued the custom with our own children, but, as time went on and they grew older, the practice gradually died out. I believe that this has happened in most homes where a couple of generations ago saying grace was considered essential.

And of course as soon as we could talk we were taught our bedtime prayer -

This night as I lie down to sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake,
Take me to Heaven for Jesus’ sake, Amen.

When we were a bit older, we had to add a sentence, naming the other members of the family and asking God to bless them.

As a child I was troubled by nightmares, I can clearly remembering adding “God, please don’t let me dream” and repeating it a good many times.

I heard a story of a regular church goer who decided to skip church one Sunday morning to go bear-hunting in the hills. For a while there was no sign of any quarry, but later on, as he was approaching some trees, he was shocked when a big bear suddenly appeared right in front of him. Such was his fright that he dropped his gun and stood rooted to the spot. As the bear charged him, the man fell on his knees and prayed, “O God, I’m really sorry I skipped church this morning. Please forgive me, and grant me just one wish - please make that bear be a Christian bear!” The bear immediately stopped, went down on its knees and said, “Dear God, for what I’m about to receive, may I be truly thankful.“

This painting “Family Saying Grace” is by Antonius Claeissins 1536-1613 of Bruges.



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MUSIC WHILE YOU WORK

People of my age will remember the twice-daily half-hour broadcasts of non-stop music. Last week I discovered some fascinating facts about the programme and I thought you’d be interested.

There were 16781 broadcasts in all. The series ran from 1940 to 1967 with occasional revivals in the 80s and 90s, although I don’t remember them. Many different bands and orchestras took part in those live broadcasts, and, as the title suggests, the purpose was to keep factory workers happy.

The BBC issued instructions to band leaders, advising them what music was suitable and what was unsuitable. What do you think of this?

“From the point of view of the general listener, we are asking for a bad piece of programme building. There must be as little variation of tempo as possible, the ideal being to maintain the same beat throughout the whole programme. Artistic value must NOT be considered. The aim is to produce something which is monotonous and repetitive.” Music with “predominant rhythm, in sufficient melody or other unsuitable characteristics” was banned, along with numbers that are “too lethargic and unsuited to any speeding up of tempo.” “Deep in the Heart of Texas” was also out, because it was thought that workers would be inclined to beat their hammers and tools in time with the clap-clap-clap-clap parts of the tune. Fortunately band leaders didn’t pay too much attention to those rules.

There was a sad incident connected to “Music While You Work.” Apparently towards the end of one broadcast, the pianist collapsed and fell to the floor where he lay till the programme finished. It was discovered that the poor fellow was dead - he had had a heart attack.

This is a clip of the signature tune “Calling All Workers” which was composed by Eric Coates. The orchestra is the Slovak Radio Orchestra under their English conductor Adrian Leaper. Eric Coates wrote many popular pieces including the Knightsbridge March (“In Town Tonight”), By a Sleepy Lagoon and the Dambusters March.


You can learn more about radio programmes of the distant past at -
http://www.whirligig-tv.co.uk

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I’m finishing this week with Robert Burns. These are two of his love songs that were unknown to me, but I rather liked them.
OH, LEEZE ME ON MY WEE THING

Oh, leeze me on my wee thing,
My bonnie blithesome wee thing;
Sae lang's I ha'e my wee thing,
I'll think my lot divine.

Though warld’s care we share o’t,
And may see meikle mair o’t,
Wi’ her I’ll blithely bear it,
And ne’er a word repine.

[leeze-me = a phrase of happy endearment, e.g. I’m happy in thee, I’m proud of thee, blessings on thee]


WHEN I THINK ON THE HAPPY DAYS

When I think on the happy days
I spent wi’ you, my dearie;
And now what lands between us lie,
How can I be but eerie?

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours,
As ye were wae and weary;
It wasna sae ye glinted by,
When I was wi’ my dearie.

[eerie = lonely. wae = sorrowful. glinted = flashed past]

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FRIDAY 30TH JANUARY

Youth is a blunder, manhood a struggle, old age a regret. (Benjamin Disraeli)

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I REMEMBER when I was young the school dentist was a German. I’ve mentioned before that in those days there was a great deal of bad feeling towards Germans, and I don’t think he would have much of a chance. The school doctor had a poor rating also, and it was joked that, if a child reported to him for an eyesight test, then he would recommend a tonsillectomy. Much later I got to know him and he was a very pleasant old man. He was well-known in amateur dramatic circles as a playwright and producer.

I REMEMBER that as a youngster I often had bad toothache, a consequence of the iron medicine I had to take. On one occasion, late in the evening, the pain was so bad that my father took me to a dentist who lived nearby. His wife opened the door to us and said she was sorry but “My husband has retired for the night.” My parents thought it was a disgrace that he wouldn’t help a little boy in pain. However we learned some time later that he was often the worse of drink, so perhaps it was just as well he didn’t attend to me!

I REMEMBER that, like so many children of that time, I had to have my tonsils removed. I’m guessing I would be about 6 years old. The operation was done in the newly built clinic and I think I was there for two days. As usual my mother worried a great deal, for a little boy of my own age had died getting this done.

I REMEMBER when an American uncle of my father visited us in the mid 1930s. He and a brother had emigrated around 1895 and, after they had settled, had been joined by their families. He was the first American I had met and he made a big impression on me. Since Fiona and I created the Jaap Family website, many descendants of those two brothers have been touch with us.

I REMEMBER someone else who had an American accent. He was Scottish but had been a printer on transatlantic liners. He married Aunt Nessie, a sister of my mother. One evening when I was very small she called at our house. I had been expecting my favourite aunt, and I told her “I didn’t want you. I wanted Cissie to come!” What a horrible little boy!

I REMEMBER another occasion of which I’m ashamed. It must be one of my earliest memories of my father’s parents’ house. I’ve no idea why I did this, but I told Grandma Jaap “You’re bad!” and slapped her hand.

A haiku :-

eighty years have passed
yet still remembering how I
smacked that wrinkled hand

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This is a photo of Grandma Jaap. Difficult to estimate when it was taken. 1900-1905 perhaps.


Charlotte Graham 1865-1942

This one is Grandpa Jaap


John Armour Jaap 1868-1954

[He was the first of 4 John Armour Jaaps. The second was one of his sons, then I came along, and finally my cousin who lives in Australia]

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THINGS

So many things
Everywhere things,
My things, your things,
On-the-shelves and in-drawers things,
Old things, new things,
Useful and trivial things,
Pretty and ugly things,
Treasured and forgotten things,
Not-need-now things,
One day come-in-handy things,
Will keep-for-grandchildren things,
Hate-to-throw-away things, Oh! Too many things, Time to shed the blooming things.

(Joan Dixon, an octogenarian from Dorset, quoted in the Evergreen Magazine - Winter 2007/8)

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“On the Berry Trail Grand Canyon of Arizona” was painted by Thomas Moran 1837-1926. He was one of the Hudson River School, and became famous for his magnificent paintings of the Rockies.

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NOSTALGIA is defined as a wistful or sentimental longing for things that are past and irrevocable.

For me, that sums up my feelings for the light music broadcasts of the 1930s. The broadcasts were all live and programmes made up entirely of gramophone records were very few.

But it was the sheer variety of the music that was so exciting. There were theatre orchestras like the Coventry Hippodrome Orchestra, hotel orchestras like the one at the Carlton Hotel (very often those were outside broadcasts), there were “specialist” groups like Troise and his Mandoliers and Primo Scala’s Accordion Band. There were tango orchestras (the band leader Geraldo first became known with his tango orchestra). And there were smaller groups such as Fred Hartley and his Quintet, the Jack Wilson Versatile Five, Frank Biffo’s Brass Quartet, the Dorothy Hogben Players, and of course the ubiquitous cinema organists!

The music ranged from the William Tell overture via a Monastery Garden and the Blue Danube to the Londonderry Air. Songs from the shows and films were also featured and the names of Ivor Novello, Noel Coward, Victor Herbert and Sigmund Romberg came up regularly.

Certain singers became favourites in the light music programmes, probably the best known being the husband and wife partnership Anne Ziegler and Webster Booth.

One name you don’t hear nowadays is Olive Groves. She began her singing career during the first world war and made her broadcasting debut in 1926. In this clip of “An Old Violin” made in 1932 she is accompanied by Albert Sandler the violinist who led the first “Grand Hotel” Orchestra, and Jean Melville on piano.

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Finally -

Last night I held a little hand
So dainty and so neat,
I thought my heart would burst with joy
So wildly did it beat.

No other hand into my soul
Could greater solace bring
Than that I held last night, which was
Four aces and a king!

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FRIDAY 23RD JANUARY

SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT TODAY - - - - -

Sometime during the 1950s I wrote a short story and since that time it has been lying forgotten in a cardboard box. It occurred to me that perhaps it might be of interest to you and so here it is. A sum of money is mentioned in the story and, because of inflation, I've had to change it to a more realistic figure.



........................................THE MIRROR.....................................


It hung on the wall in front of him, big and ugly and incredibly ancient. The massive ornamental frame, once bright as gold, now dulled and tarnished with the passage of the years, sat heavily on the oak mantlepiece and the frayed cords, which stretched from the picture rail high above, allowed it to lean precariously forward.

From the moment he opened the door, he had been aware that the mirror dominated the whole room, and now, as he sat waiting, he felt his eyes irresistibly drawn to its reflections - the horse-hair sofa, like the rest of the furniture faded and worn, the bulky dark sideboard, the big brass candlestick on the table nearby, and there, just outside the arc of light from the feeble gas jet - the door. Very soon now that door would open and Randolph would come in.

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The man in the chair frowned.

First it had been Martin, pompous and self-righteous, who had suddenly appeared to blast his hopes for the future. Then came Fred Jamieson, that small interfering busybody whose gossiping in the end forced him to flee to other parts. Cousin Anthony, successful in business, had been next, fearful lest his relationship to an ex-convict should become known. And now it was Randolph whose shrewd calculating brain had few scruples where acquiring money was concerned.

And the same thing would happen again. For the fourth time all that he had built up would be shattered. Under the threat of exposure his hard-won executive post would have to be relinquished; he would change his name ; move to another town. There would follow the long search for employment and then the struggle for promotion, and when the future again seemed bright with prospects of success, the past would once more reach out its hand to point an accusing finger at John Blake.

He gazed at his reflection in the mirror. The greying hair, lined face and tired eyes made him look older than his forty years.

Why did people victimise him so? Surely he had fully paid the penalty of his folly. Was it a misplaced sense of justice? Or an inherent streak of cruelty? Were they jealous that he was again making a success of his life?

His thoughts turned to Randolph. Quite by accident they had met the previous day and again he had experienced the cold fear which always gripped him when he was confronted with someone from his old life.

John Blake shivered. There was something sinister about this house to which he had been invited and he wondered why Randolph had chosen such a place for their meeting. The caretaker who had let him in pleaded ignorance, saying only that he had been told to expect two gentlemen.

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His fingers gripped the dingy coverings of the uncomfortable chair, and he could see complete determination on the face in the mirror. Despite his past he had, by untiring effort, reached a commanding business position and a seat on the board was not an impossibility. He would NOT be robbed of his reward a fourth time! No man would stand in his way now!

An odd sensation was creeping over him. Despite the chill of the room, beads of perspiration gathered on his brow. His eyes were held by the mirror whose reflections now stood out clearly, while the material objects around him faded into darkness.

He vaguely heard the opening and closing of a door. And there, standing behind his chair, was Randolph.

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“Good evening, John. I’m so glad you decided to accept my invitation.”

He met Randolph’s mocking eyes in the mirror and remained silent.

“I feel I owe you an apology for arranging our meeting in a place like this but,” he paused significantly, “I thought it would be ideal for our purpose.”

With difficulty the other man found his voice. “I said yesterday that I saw no point in this. I can’t understand why…….”

“Perhaps you’d rather I come straight to the point. Very well, I will.”

The speaker moved forward a pace and placed a hand on the back of the chair. Because of some fault in the glass, the reflection of Randolph’s thin face became distorted, and John Blake shivered involuntarily.

“I asked you to come here, John, because you and I have something in common. First, we share a secret - your secret.” The voice fell to a whisper. “And the second thing we share is - fear. You fear that your secret will become known, and I - I fear poverty. But, you know John, our fears can be groundless, if you agree to my proposal.”

Randolph turned from the mirror and moved slowly towards the sideboard.

“I think,” he continued, “A quarter of a million would clear my present debts - “

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It all happened in a flash!

As John Blake sat there rigid, his eyes glued to the enormous mirror, he saw his own reflection suddenly rise and, wheeling round to face the other’s back, snatch the big candlestick from the table. And still his body remained transfixed in the chair as he watched the candlestick gleam for a moment in the eerie gaslight and then come crashing down with a sickening crunch on Randolph’s head.

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For a long time he sat convulsed in sobs, his hands clasped tightly over his eyes to shut out what awful thing the mirror would show.

“I didn’t move from this chair,” he kept repeating, “I didn’t move!”

Then quite suddenly a wave of calm swept over him and he felt as if he had just wakened from a horrible nightmare. Steadily he rose to his feet and forced himself to look in the mirror.

Yes, the candlestick stood on the table, untouched. He was alone. But his hands trembled as he lit a cigarette and sat down to wait……….

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“Good evening John, I’m so glad you decided to accept my invitation.”

So absorbed had he been with his thoughts that he had not heard Randolph come in, and, taken off his guard, could only stare at him in the mirror.

“I feel I owe you an apology for arranging our meeting in a place like this,” Randolph was saying, “but I thought it would be ideal for our purpose.”

He felt mounting panic as the other’s opening words brought back the vividness of his dream, and he scarcely recognised the sound of his own voice.

“I said yesterday that I saw no point in this. I can’t understand why….”

“Perhaps you’d rather I come straight to the point. Very well, I will.”

The man in the chair had a terrifying feeling that he was an actor playing a part in some surreal drama, powerless to move or speak until his script dictated so.

The voice droned on but his confused brain caught only a word here and there.

In the mirror they held one another’s eyes, one pair filled with a growing horror, the other cynical and coldly smiling.

And then something snapped in his tortured mind!

As the speaker turned to the sideboard, Blake felt some strange power jerk him to his feet and spin him round to face his tormentor’s back. The room was swimming around him. He groped for the big candlestick and felt the cold smoothness of brass as he swung the weapon high above his head.

For one brief moment he knew complete and utter madness! A wild agonising hatred seared through every fibre of his being; a thousand screaming clawing devils fought for possession of his soul; strange meaningless patterns of colour spun around, tearing at his eyes, and there were fleeting glimpses of faces - Martin, Fred Jamieson, Cousin Anthony.

And then it was all over……

There was a resounding crash as the huge mirror fell to the hearth, and almost immediately his head was clear, his body relaxed; the madness had gone.

The two men gazed at the splintered glass and broken frame.

When Blake spoke his voice was calm and deliberate.

“My answer is - no,” he said, “I will not be blackmailed.”

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Somewhere a clock chimed the hour, and at last with an effort he roused himself and rose from the chair. His eyes wandered unseeingly round the empty room. Randolph would now be brooding over the failure of his plan to make some easy money.

Blake knew what he had to do. His resignation would be tendered tomorrow, he decided. And then - a change of name, a new town, a fresh start.

As he turned to leave, he glanced down at the broken mirror. He could see his face in one of the larger fragments and it seemed as if his reflection smiled mockingly at him.

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FRIDAY 16TH JANUARY

The hardest years in life are those between 10 and 70. (So said the American actress Helen Hayes when she was 83)

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I’ve often thought that the worst month in the year is January. At New Year time we exchange good wishes with family and friends, and look forward to a “happy new year.” And then, the big “let-down.” The weather is usually bad, colds and flu everywhere, and oldies like us are pretty well confined to the house.

So I’m attempting with this week’s blog to cheer myself up, and do the same for any other folk needing the same treatment.

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Let’s begin with this, which a friend sent me. (Thanks, David.)

Botox and nose drops and needles for knitting,
Walkers and handrails and new dental fittings,
Bundles of magazines tied up in string,
These are a few of my favourite things.

Cadillacs and cataracts, hearing aids and glasses,
Polident and Fixodent and false teeth in glasses,
Pacemakers, golf carts and porches with swings,
These are a few of my favourite things.

When the pipes leak, when the bones creak,
When the knees go bad,
I simply remember my favourite things,
And then I don’t feel so bad.

Hot tea and crumpets and corn pads for bunions,
No spicy hot food or food cooked with onions,
Bathrobes and heating pads and hot meals they bring,
These are a few of my favourite things.

Back pain, confused brains and no need for sinning,
Thin bones and fractures and hair that is thinning,
And we won’t mention our short shrunken frames,
When we remember our favourite things.

When the joints ache, when the hips break,
When the eyes grow dim,
Then I remember the great life I’ve had,
And then I don’t feel so grim.

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This is a clip of Joe Loss and his Band from 1937. Born in 1909 he formed his first band in 1930. He held the record for the longest working band leader in this country - he carried on till the year of his death 1990. He was a frequent visitor at Green’s Playhouse in Glasgow, and I enjoyed listening to his band there one Saturday afternoon.



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A poem

That man must lead a happy life
Who is directed by a wife,
Who’s free from matrimonial chains
Is sure to suffer for his pains.

Adam could find no solid peace
Till he beheld a woman’s face,
When Eve was given for a mate
Adam was in a happy state.

Now read each verse again like this -
1st line, then 3rd line, 2nd line, then 4th line

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Harpo Marx 1888-1964 of the famous Marx Brothers was the one who never spoke in their films. He contributed a great deal to the comedy routines, but for me he was always the brilliant harpist. Here he is, having fun with Rachmaninov’s 2nd Hungarian Rhapsody.



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Two gardeners were working in the park.
One would dig a hole and the other would follow behind and fill it in.
They worked up one side of the path and down the other, one digging a hole, the other filling it in.
A puzzled onlooker noticed what was going on and asked what they were doing. The hole digger replied, "Well, I suppose it probably looks odd because we're normally a three-person team. But today the chap who plants the trees phoned in sick."

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Finally, this is a remarkable video “Buddha with a Thousand Hands” performed by the China Disabled Peoples Performance Troupe. The dancers are all deaf. It lasts nearly 7 minutes but it’s well worth watching.



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FRIDAY 9TH JANUARY

Old age, believe me, is a good and pleasant thing. It is true you are gently shouldered off the stage, but then you are given such a comfortable front stall as spectator. (Confucius)

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FROM MY ALBUM - - - - -



My maternal grandparents John Hardie 1873-1962 and Margaret (Maggie) McFarlane 1876-1963.

They were married on 12th July 1895 and had 8 children of whom our mother was the eldest.

All his working life he was an iron moulder in a local foundry, and I can still see him with his black face and hands arriving home from work. I regret not having asked him what his work involved, for much later I had a short spell in the office of an iron foundry and could see the different products being manufactured.

He was continually on piece work, which meant that he was paid only for the items he produced. If a casting, which sometimes involved a whole day’s work, went wrong (not uncommon), then he wasn’t paid.

There’s something I still wonder about. Foundry workers were not well paid, yet he was able to bring up a family of 8, and, what is more surprising, while his children were young, he got someone to build a house for him - a villa type 5 apartment with a very big garden. Now, I know that they were very careful with money and would never spend unnecessarily, but it makes you think!

I have in my possession the cards my grandparents were given when they became members of the local Baptist Church. Grandma joined on 11th February 1891 and was baptised a week later, and Grandpa on 24th January 1894 and was baptised the following week. I think it would be fair to assume that their romance blossomed in the church. He was certainly a very keen member and office-bearer all his life, and I know that at one time he was precentor.

The Baptists of course had very narrow views about religion - no alcohol, no smoking, no whist drives, strict Sunday observance, etc. When their family were very young, Grandma found it impossible to attend church, and she received a letter from the church threatening to remove her name from membership! And this, despite the fact that Grandpa was an office bearer and never missed attendance, twice on Sundays plus the mid-week prayer meeting!!! I don’t know how the matter was resolved.

Both Grandpa and Grandma were lovely people. She seemed to me to be always working around the house, and in his spare time he was to be found looking after his big garden, working in his greenhouse or laying paths. I’m remembering that when I was very small they had hens.

My mother didn’t speak much about her childhood, but on two occasions she surprised me. If her father ever found her sitting with a book, he would ask “Pearl, haven’t you anything to do?” Now, knowing my mother, I’m sure that as the eldest child she would do a great deal to help around the house. The other thing she told me about her father was that he was always serious and never smiled. And then the day came when a pal of his visited, and apparently the two of them sat talking, joking and laughing - and her father was a completely different person. She couldn’t believe it!!!

One final memory of mine. When I was leaving to join the RAF, I visited them to say goodbye. Grandpa came with me to his gate to wave me off, and I was quite embarrassed when he shook my hand and told me to remember my mother and not do anything to shame her.

A haiku -

forty-five years on -
I still see the tender smile
on her wrinkled face

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Laurence Alma-Tadema 1836-1912 is another of my favourite painters. Born in Holland, he settled in England in 1869 and was knighted in 1899. This slide presentation of 49 paintings includes most of his well-known works



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A BHEIL GAIDHLIG AGAD?
(Answer below)

I had been retired for a good many years, when I suddenly had the notion to learn Gaelic. Why that language I don’t know, but I was keen to find out if I still had the ability to learn something new, and I thought Gaelic would be as good as any. And anyway, there only 18 letters in the Gaelic alphabet.

Some time earlier there had been a series of programmes on television teaching the language and, as those were now available on video tapes, I thought they would be ideal for my purpose. I found everything very interesting and I was soon caught up in it.

The following autumn I discovered that classes were being held in Kirkintilloch and I enrolled. Our group was quite a mixture, consisting of 3 fluent speakers and about half-a-dozen learners all at different stages. Surprisingly I found that I was every bit as good as a couple who had been attending for some years.

It was during my second winter with the class that I realised I wasn’t gaining much from it, and for a while I continued on my own at home. Unfortunately, with the exception of one or two Gaelic speakers I used to meet on holiday, I had no one to converse with, and gradually my Gaelic studies faded away. Nowadays I can’t remember much of it, but I’ve found that, after an afternoon looking again at my Gaelic books, the familiar phrases all come back to me.

Each night the Gaelic class finished up with us being taught a song, and this clip is of one of the more popular ones. “Fear a’bhata” was written towards the end of the 19th century by Sine NicFhionnlaigh of Harris who sings to her boy friend a fisherman “O my boatman, when will I see you?” The singers here are Capercaille, well known for their treatment of traditional and Gaelic songs.



A BHEIL GAIDHLIG AGAD? BEAGAN.
(Do you speak Gaelic? A little)

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Finally, did you hear about the old lady who dashed into W.H.Smith’s, bought a box of 20 identical Christmas cards, hurried home, wrote them and heaved a sigh of relief when she posted them?

Some days later she came across the one card out of the pack that she hadn’t needed. Looking inside it, she was appalled to read -

This little card is just to say
A little gift is on the way

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FRIDAY 2ND JANUARY 2009

........................THE JAAP FAMILY...........................

Jean and John with daughters Fiona, Lesley and Margaret



..........................wish you all.............................

..A VERY HAPPY AND PROSPEROUS NEW YEAR..

May all your troubles last as long as your New Year resolutions (Joey Adams)

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