Tag Archives: Memories

A flatcap, porridge and Sweet Molly Malone

We used to visit my grandparents who lived in a cottage in Wellington, a village 7 ½ miles north of Hereford.  Hill Cottage was well off the beaten track.  We would park the car, a two-tone blue Ford Zephyr 6 estate, at the end of a gravel track and transfer all our baggage into a trailer powered by a rotavator engine.  Two of us kids would need to sit in a wooden box which fitted on to the front of the engine.  It was incredibly noisy when Dad pulled on the starter cord, and we would put our hands over our ears as the engine burst into life. It was also quite hot and smelly. The other two would sit in the trailer on top of the bags with Mum, while Dad drove the machine across two fields, up through an apple orchard and we would arrive at Hill Cottage.  Several visits have blurred together in my memory, but one visit must have been spring in the early 1960s.  The woodland behind Hill Cottage was full of bluebells and primroses.

The garden was well maintained with a manicured lawn and beautiful flower borders.  The cottage was small, so we put up a 6-man tent in an adjacent field next to an old stone barn and slept in that.  There wasn’t any running water but there was a well with a hand pump and every now and then we would have to go and fill up a container with water.  I remember a paddling pool in the garden in the summer and walking to and from the pump with heavy buckets of water.  And I remember a plastic seal called “Sammy”.  In the evening I washed outside the tent using a metal bowl and a bar of soap that gradually disintegrated as the water became more and more opaque.

We must have visited in colder weather.  We called my grandmother “Ada”, pronounced Adder.  She made the most wonderful porridge.  It tasted different from Mum’s.  Ada’s secret ingredient was a small quantity of salt.  When I discovered this, I tried adding salt to Mum’s porridge, but it didn’t taste the same.  I couldn’t get the quantity right and if you use too much it spoils it.  Also, it was difficult to get it evenly mixed.  It was patchy with some spoonfuls being saltier than others.  I have now perfected my own recipe, which I enjoy through the winter months.  Three parts of water to one part of oats, a ¼ teaspoon of salt and a spoonful of honey.  Bring to the boil stirring constantly and simmer for 4 minutes.  Slow-release energy and delicious.

I used to enjoy the return journey from Hill Cottage, as we waited for Mum and Dad to finish packing the trailer.  It was one of the rare moments I remember having quality time with Granddad.  He would wait at the trailer with us kids.  And he would sing folk songs to us.  I still remember the sad lyrics of “Molly Malone” and shouting “begin again” at the end of “There was a man called Michael Finegan” after “his whiskers had blown in again”.  Later at school I remember being introduced to the song “Molly Malone” in a music class and excitedly telling the teacher, “I know this song!”

At some point Mum and Dad decided to upgrade the trailer and bought an old, short wheelbase Land Rover.  I don’t recollect getting much use from it though.  Both my grandparents died in the mid to late 1960s. 

I have subsequently revisited Hill Cottage but it’s not the same.  The pristine garden was no longer as well maintained.  The old barn had been converted into a pottery workshop and different people lived there, people who had no memory of my grandparents.  Access to the property has improved and it is now possible to drive all the way up to the cottage, without having to transfer to a noisy, old rotavator and trailer.  I believe they now have running water; flushing toilets and the old well is disused.  My only remaining link to Hereford now is my birth certificate, which tells me I was born there.

I don’t have any mementos from my Grandparents.  I used to have grandad’s retirement watch; it was a half hunter.  I wore it on my wedding day, but it was stolen when our flat in East London was broken into.  He used to wear a flat cap and I have recently bought one myself.  My boys tell me that it makes me look like a grandad, which is fine by me.

I don’t remember spending any Christmases with my grandparents. I don’t think they had a car. We would spend Christmas either at home in Kenilworth, Warwickshire, or with Mum’s cousin and his family in Bath.  The Bath trips were always fun.  Uncle Joe and Auntie Joey had three children: two adopted and one birth child.  They had a huge house in Batheaston in which it was possible to lose ourselves.  It had a walled garden that went down from the house to a lawn, past a chicken coop down to the River Avon at the end of the garden.

Uncle Joe was a teacher.  He was slightly older than my parents and quite jovial.  He never lost his temper, but he had an aura about him that you did not mess with him.  Auntie Joey was always in the kitchen wearing a pinny.  She was as jovial as Uncle Joe. 

I don’t know how they did it, but we wouldn’t see them or our parents from morning till evening except for mealtimes, which were always organised and semi-formal.  Meals wouldn’t be served until everyone was seated at the table.  The table was huge.  It had a waxed tablecloth. And there was room for all eleven of us to be seated with elbow room.

We tried to figure out the formal relationship between the kids from both families.  Our best guess was that Uncle Joe was a first cousin once removed and his kids were therefore our second cousins. 

Uncle Joe clearly appreciated our Zephyr estate.  He bought it from Dad.  I was sorry to see it go, but Dad’s next vehicle was a Bedford Dormobile, the one with the sliding front doors.  It was a worthy replacement, and the first move away from Ford vehicles.  I can’t remember all the different cars we had growing up, but they would all be considered cool classics nowadays.  We had a sky-blue Morris 1000 Traveller with the wooden framework, a green Hillman Minx, a Citroen Dyane, a Citroen GS, a Morris 2200. 

Dad used to let me drive the cars at off road sites and by the time I was 17, I was ready to take my driving test. I had eight lessons with a driving instructor and passed my test just 4 months after my 17th birthday.

We had relocated to the South Coast from the Midlands at the beginning of the 1970s.  It was an exciting new start.  My new school was Ferndown Secondary Modern, which became Ferndown Middle School and Ferndown Upper School.  I didn’t do brilliantly at school but did just enough get started with a career in Business.  By 1978 my full-time education was complete, and I moved away from home to take up my first full time job as a trainee accountant in London.  I hoped that my Grandad would be proud.  He had been an accountant. 

It was hard work moving away from home and getting established in London.  Initially I studied in the evenings, but I also used correspondence courses.  I thought I would never make it, but finally in 1985 I qualified.  I spent 25 years building a career, a family, and a home in the East End of London.  The firm I joined saw tremendous growth in the 1980s and 1990s.  The church I was a member of saw tremendous growth and blessing.

The last 25 years have seen more change.  We have moved back to the South Coast.  My work has been more varied, and I am now retired.  Our family has grown, and I am now the father and the grandad.   

My bible readings this week have included Psalm 127. 

“Unless the Lord builds the house, the builders labour in vain. Unless the Lord watches over the city, the guards stand watch in vain.”

Tim Keller comments as follows:

“Prosperity and security are not ultimately your accomplishments but God’s gift.”

He goes on to offer the following prayer:

“Lord, admitting my accomplishments are your gift is a bittersweet thing to do.  It stings at first because it humbles.  But then it is so sweet and brings such peace.  Its not up to me and it never was…”

It is interesting to look back over the years and consider accomplishments and failures, to see where God has been at work in my life.  And it is intriguing to consider the seeds currently being planted with my current work and activity.  What fruit will develop and grow?  I wonder.

Sailing setback

This is the 3rd blog post of a new series.  It’s part of a new focus on extending the word count, going into a bit more depth on the chosen subject and being more disciplined on publishing a post once a week.  The first post set the scene and direction for the series and the second focussed on my passion for brass bands.

Yacht ownership – a dream too far?

Another passion has been sailing.  I pursued my sailing dream when I bought my own 30’ wooden yacht a few months later.  I bought her from a doctor in Falmouth, Cornwall and my wife and son crewed for me as we sailed her back to Poole, my home port.  Over the years we have explored the local area from Portland in the west to the Solent in the west, restricting ourselves exclusively to day sailing.  But then life got busy, and we spent less and less time with the boat.  Covid was the final straw and for the last few years she has been on hard standing in a boatyard.

A few weeks ago, the boatyard contacted me to say that the boat was looking a bit neglected.  As I drove down to the check her over, I felt anxious about what I would find.  Sure enough, she was looking in need of some care.  Two of the port stations had collapsed inwards and in doing so caused damage to the deck.  What was worse however was when I opened the hatch and investigated the cabin.  Rainwater had been leaking through the damaged deck and there was about 2’ of water in the bottom of the boat above the floor.  I was shocked at the extent of the damage.  Initially, I started to plan out a project of restoration.  I pumped out the water but as my head began to overrule my heart, I realised that the damage had gone too far, and I did not have the time or resources for a restoration.

Dinghy sailing in Docklands.

It all started in 2002 when I booked myself and my 14-year-old son on a RYA dinghy sailing course in the Docklands area of East London.   Over 2 weekends we did the RYA I and RYA II course.  In the first week we used wayfarer dinghies and in the second week we upgraded to a bosun. 

For the most part we had good weather, until the last Sunday when the temperature dropped and there was thick, grey cloud cover.  It was this day that our instructors chose to teach us how to respond if we capsized.  We first had to purposely capsize our dinghy.  With a 2-man crew, one person had to be next to the upside of the boat and the other person went round to the underside.  The person on the underside positioned themselves on the daggerboard and heaved on the ‘sheets’ (ropes controlling the sails) using their weight to bring the dinghy upright.  At the same time, the other crew member was to position themselves to roll into the boat as the submerged side of the boat came up out of the water. 

Ideally the instructors wanted us to do this exercise twice with each crew member taking their turn in each position.  However, after our first successful recovery I looked at my son.  He was shivering uncontrollably with the cold and his lips and complexion had turned grey.  With the instructors’ permission, we restricted our capsize exercise to just the one recovery.

Yacht sailing – training and trips

When I was in my late 40’s and early 50’s I went on sailing courses where I got hands on experience of handling a 30’ yacht.  I also covered theory and passed the yacht master theory exam.  My sailing experience was mainly around Poole harbour and the Solent.

I remember one training session in Poole harbour.  I slept on board the training yacht with two other would be sailors, both of whom had a military background and were looking to develop a skill for when they retired.  Our trainer was an experienced sailor who had written a few books on sailing and was a respected trainer.  We woke to strong winds and rain.  As we waited for our trainer, we speculated on what training we would undertake.  Our guess was that we would focus on something like tying knots or some activity that could be undertaken whilst moored up.  Surely, we wouldn’t be taking the boat out in this weather!  How wrong we were.

Our trainer arrived just after we had finished clearing up after breakfast.  He instructed us to set the sails, fully reefed.  We were off to Swanage.  This meant leaving the calm waters of Poole harbour out into Weymouth Bay where the winds were strong, and the sea state was rough.  I looked at my fellow trainees to gauge their reaction.  But they were impassive and if they felt nervous, it didn’t show.  We dressed in our sailing gear, prepared the sails, and headed out.  We left Poole harbour past the chain ferry, into the Swash Channel and headed toward the famous “Old Harry” sea stack.  As we rounded “Old Harry”, the wind grew stronger still and the sea state was turbulent.  The wind was head on from our direction of travel and we could only progress by making a series of tacks.  It was hairy and my first exposure to such conditions.  We were the only yacht out on the seas.  I felt a rising anxiety and looked at my two fellow students and our instructor.  They continued to remain calm and exuded confidence.  My job was to keep the tension in the main sail by pulling in or releasing the kicking strap.  My instructor turned to me on one occasion and asked whether I wanted to capsize.  I said “no”.  “Well release the kicking strap, then.”  There was no anger or frustration in his voice. It was just an instruction.  I released the strap slightly and the yacht returned to a more upright position.  It was only a small adjustment, but it increased my confidence that we were in good hands. 

It was a hair-raising experience that pushed me way out of my comfort zone.  But it was also exhilarating and confidence building.  It was an experience that I would later draw on.

I got the opportunity to crew a couple of yacht deliveries.  The first was for a Swedish couple who had bought a yacht in Hamble on the south coast of England and wanted it delivered to their nearest port in Sweden.  It was a journey of about 1,000 miles along the south coast to Dover, then across the North Sea to Hanstholm in Denmark and the final leg to Mollosund in Sweden.  It was April 2011 and quite cold, but we had prevailing south westerly wind for the whole trip.  The weather worsened as we got to Dover, so we pulled in for an overnight stop in the harbour.  The following day we set out again and the conditions felt like those I experienced on the Swanage training trip.  I took the helm as we sailed out and headed past Goodwin Sands.  On one occasion I looked behind the boat only to be faced by a wall of water swelling and following us.  I had no fear, only respect for the conditions but I was so grateful for what I had learned earlier.  My two crew mates and I built a strong rapport and trust.  We established a good routine of 3 hours on watch and 6 hours off.  And we all took turns cooking meals.

The second trip was from Lagos, Portugal to Lymington on the south coast of England.  It was a similar distance to my first yacht delivery, but this time I would be crewing on a 46’ yacht.  It was much ‘stiffer’ than the 30’ yacht and didn’t roll quite as much.  It was a few months after the Sweden trip, and we were a lot further south; it was a lot hotter.  Again, there was a crew of three.  We didn’t develop quite the same rapport as the previous crew.  The skipper would have moments of rage, which kind of spoiled the enjoyment.  But it was a memorable trip.  On two occasions we were accompanied by a pod of curious dolphins.  They jumped out of the water alongside us and ahead of the bow.  It was the first and, so far, only time that I witnessed this behaviour.  I still feel joyful at the memory.

So, is my sailing dream over?  I have wonderful sailing memories.  It is hard to envisage a future without sailing.  The dream is still alive, but for now it is hard to see past my current setback.  I need to process my guilt, disappointment and loss.  I remember in my teenage years attending a course led by Selwyn Hughes.  It had a session entitled “turning setbacks into springboards”.  My notes from that course are long gone, but clearly, I still need to draw on the teaching.