PC 331 The Year of The rabbit

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(See also PC 172 (March 2020) and PC 217 ‘My Week’ (February 2021) with its recognition of Hugo Rifkin’s genius)

Christians have recently celebrated the moveable festival of Easter. My thoughts about Easter were brought together in PC 64 (March 2016) and the defining memory of my taking part in the Devizes to Westminster Canoe Race, 125 miles from Wiltshire to the capital city, along canals, some dry and others filled with water, and the River Thames. This year someone wished us ‘Happy Easter’ with a delightful little collection of rabbit yoga poses:

Francisquinha has her own favourite posture, half locust …..

The Chinese New Year, which started on 22nd January and ends on 9th February 2024 (!), welcomed in the year of the Rabbit, traditionally one of the luckiest. If you were born in a Year of The Rabbit you are likely to be quiet, elegant, kind and responsible (Note 1).

The zodiac signs are popular in neighbouring Korea and the rabbit is the guardian of the moon in their folklore. It’s believed rabbits make rice cakes using a pestle and mortar; this has not been verified. Winnie and Richard wished us Happy Easter with San Kim’s photograph of this Cumulus rabbit over the island of Joong-do; San is a member of the Cloud Appreciation Society (Note 2)

The new series of David Attenborough’s nature programmes features the British Isles; ‘Wild Isles’ as it’s called. Featuring my homeland has simply more meaning in its revelations of the treasures beneath my feet than some of his programmes, all undoubtedly wonderful, despite the breathless commentary. Did you know for instance that the red ant obtains protein from an Aphid or that the Ash Black slug mates by wrapping its penis around another slug? The 30cm long slug is a hermaphrodite, so wraps itself (herself? himself? non-binary?) and its penis around another slug (and penis) until the twisting penises are 30 cms long, sperm is exchanged and both penises drop off. Not sure I can add anything to this, apart from a photograph:

One episode in Wild Isles features grasslands and the animals that live in them such as voles, hares and rabbits. Watching any animal is vaguely interesting but it seems that programme makers are always looking for the individual Mating Displays, like the slugs above, as these are often colourful if ritualistic. A male rabbit featured for some minutes of this programme and I am not sure I should share the details with Francisquinha. The first part involves the buck rubbing ‘a cocktail of pheromones’ from a gland under its chin across the fur of the female.

Just for clarity, a pheromone is a secreted or excreted chemical factor which triggers a social response in members of the same species. In us humans, they are actively involved in sexual attraction, for instance stimulating arousal, desire, lust or even fertility. 

The second part of the mating ritual is weird; the buck urinates over the female.  I thought this was only practised by those humans who do deviant sexual stuff behind closed doors, but to see the rabbits, plural as it seems other bucks join in, spraying their urine liberally over a female makes me wonder. Francisquinha tells me her favourite drink is Buck’s Fizz but maybe now I am confused.

The rabbit is fair game for owls and other birds of prey when they are out and about but protected once down their burrows … unless the local fox sees them as they simply follow the rabbit down. What’s that expression, ‘dog eat dog’? In nature the food chain is clear!

If you have read PCs 172 and 217 (odd they both have the same numbers, just a different order!) you will know that Francisquinha is a stuffed rabbit who serves a multitude of purposes in our home. She is, of course, someone to blame for a misdemeanour! For example, Celina’s father was very particular about who could load the dishwasher; he was not a domesticated man by any stretch of the imagination but he firmly believed in ‘a place for everything and everything in its place’. I passed his test, but no other family members did. Now here in Hove it’s Francisquinha’s fault if the dishwasher loading is haphazard. And she’s to blame if the hall loo light has been inadvertently left on!

Dragons’ Den, a BBC production which has just finished its 20th series, enables entrepreneurs to pitch for investment from the five resident multimillionaire ‘Dragons’. In the last episode the Dragons, having already been asked to invest in a child-friendly sunscreen applicator, a hard-water shower filter and a collectable whisky business, were faced with Jo Proud from Loughborough. She had found that having a stuffed toy to cuddle, talk to, had helped with her anxiety. She then developed a range of stuffed bears that, it is hoped, encourage everyone to understand their thoughts, feelings and emotions and, most importantly, to cope and articulate their feelings. They are named Hope, Calm, Happy, Nervous, Love, Sad, Silly and Angry, and are there to cuddle or simply to listen to their owner, without judgement. All five Dragons offered all of the investment she had asked for and their mentor and business acumen. Francisquinha serves the same purpose; you can ask her anything and she’ll answer.

In fact in this Year of the Rabbit, she wants to write the last comment:

“Sunday mornings are a very worrying time as it’s ‘clean sheets’ day. Everything gets bundled off the bed quickly and into the washing machine. Once I wasn’t quick enough and it was only when the detergent ball was about to be thrown in one of my ears was noticed and I was hauled out. Quite a close shave I can tell you! Although after many months, years even, of lying around, flopping on top of the duvet or travelling to strange cities like Singapore, I do need a bath occasionally!”

Richard 21st April 2023

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 Born in a Year of The Dog (there are twelve signs), apparently I am “honest, amiable, kind, cautious, prudent, loyal, reliable, considerate, understanding, patient, hard-working and sincere!” Food for thought!

Note 2 www.cloudappreciationsociety.org

PC 217 My Week Francisquinha*

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There’s a regular feature in the Saturday edition of The Times called “My Week …….” with an asterisk saying the article is ‘written according to Hugo Rifkind’ and is a parody of the particular individual’s week. Those politicians who have been lucky enough to have been lampooned by Rifkind recently include Joe Biden (23 Jan 21) Boris Johnson (30 Jan 21) and Vladimir Putin (06 Feb 21).

For example, Putin’s Monday (in this case the word is written in Cyrillic script!) starts ‘Am speaking with favourite oligarchs via entirely original Russian version of Zoom. Is called Zom. Ferry glitch.’ For those of you unfamiliar with the word ‘lampoon’ – it’s a verb meaning to publically criticise someone or something by using ridicule, irony or sarcasm. In a world where currently the news is all too serious, it’s a welcome levity.

During these days of vaguely enforced lockdown my imagination goes into overdrive (Note 1) and this week it’s all about giving life to an inanimate object; a little like Shirley Valentine talking to the wall in the film of the same name. In my case I think it’s easier to think of a bunny rabbit talking back than a wall ….. but maybe I am biased?

My regular readers may recognise the name Francisquinha, the subject of PC 172. I scribbled about our relationships with stuffed animals over the decades and today is no different. In fact she was reading over my shoulder the “My Week …..” piece last Saturday and suggested she could be the subject. Within a second she had twitted Hugo Rifkind and agreed a price; she didn’t tell me what it was as she knows I know she has a number of debts to clear.

Monday      “Je m’appelle Francisquinha Chantelet. À l’origine mes ancêtres venaient de la region de Pau dans le sud oust de la France. Ah! Excusez moi! Je dois parler en anglais …….mais we ended up here God knows when, certainly over two hundred years ago. It was probably during the French Revolution; think some stowed away on a ship to England. ‘God Save The Queen’ I say rather than ‘Vive La Republique!’Particularly with that Macron in charge – reminds me of macaroni cheese. I know it’s not done to let you know my age, but I am a proud 6 – about 60 in your years. It’s the start of the week so I get my claws done – currently I am into glossy pink shellac, goes well with my complexion.

I was looking over an article The Boss was reading about Myxomatosis and I could feel my little body begin to shake. It says in 1953 the viral disease Myxomatosis broke out here for the first time. It killed tens of millions of my families – we are all interrelated so that’s how I think of them – family. It’s written in a cruel way “Would the authorities allow the disease to exterminate such a destructive animal?” Moi! Destructive? Non! I am sweet and endearing and used the world over as a symbol of cuddleness, tenderness, cuteness and any other ‘ness’s you want to add. Bring them on.

Fortunately the boss sensed my discomfort and held me close to his chest. By the way I do recognise that you humans are going through a similar pandemic as we did in the 1950s; you have my sympathy.

It’s Tuesday so I get the weekly edition of The Warren, a glossy magazine full of salacious gossip and untrue stories about those of my race who think they are celebrities. Huh! Nothing famous about them, save for the odd nip and tuck to lift an ear or make a bobtail more appealing. Of course no one can match my beauty, so I read these tales with a smug expression and if they knew I have a removable tummy I can microwave, which gives me a very warm tummy, I would be even more popular. Big headed? Moi? Non!

Wednesday French toast for breakfast. I am with my owners for the 1000 yoga class. I still can’t do many of the asansas but I sit watching the screen and try to look interested.

I am getting quite a fan club as my cute smile and bright eyes warm the participants’ hearts. My Sasangasana (Note 2) posture is of course my favourite so I will demonstrate it pour vous.

Thursday I get stuck into the daily soap opera on Rabbit TV. You probably don’t know, why should you, that I have a mini iPad. It’s pink! I can hop about between the three channels – one is a serious one showing educational programmes, about reproduction for instance; we all love sex but no one I know watches it, hence that saying “breeding like rabbits” (Note 3). The one I watch has wall-to-wall soaps  ……. endless mindless drivel, which I love.

Friday is an exciting day as I am allowed bucks fizz for breakfast; this accompanies croissant with confiture – jam to you English but I love the word confiture as it’s a nod to my heritage. Very occasionally the champagne is not Tattinger. Zut Alors! Don’t they realise there are standards? I normally go out for the evening with Mumu, a real, live, large Black & White cat who lives next door. Mumu is female so we do a little mindless vagina rubbing, knowing nothing serious will come of it – oh! and we sink a few cocktails; I do love her. (Note 4)

Saturday

Lockdown has meant my travels have been really curtailed so far this year. You may remember I went to Singapore (PC 168) at the end of 2019 and stayed in the Marina Bay Sands Hotel. Flashed my eyes, spun my ears around, and got an upgrade!!

Sunday

Last night I had food which makes me fart; there seemed to be lots of kale and cauliflower. It’s a myth that rabbits only eat carrots, you know. Anyway my farts are rather silent and sound like a gentle ‘Poof!  Poof!’ Sadly, they are deadly! Not popular as I sleep between my owners.

A Bientôt. Adieu!”

Then it’s the start of a new week, with all the excitement that that currently holds? For Francisquinha – see PPS below.

Richard 12th February 2021

PS Thanks to Hugo Rifkind for the inspiration for this PC.

PPS Francisquinha will be away next week in rehab.

PPPS I was sixteen when I met a girl living near boarding school, whose father breed rabbits. They were enormous and expensive– and for about nine months two of us had some hutches behind the Biology Laboratories – looking after about five.

Note 1 A expensive car’s manual gearbox might have an ‘extra’ gear, an overdrive, which you could select for motorway driving, for instance.

Note 2 Sasangasana posture is known as Rabbit Pose.

Note 3 To reproduce …… ‘they drank like fishes and bred like rabbits’. A further extension is ‘breeding like Catholic rabbits’. As the Catholic Church forbids any form of birth control, the ‘joke’ implied is that Catholic rabbits will breed more than non-Catholic ones.

Note 4. I think Francisquinha had read that birds simply rub their sexual areas together to mate!!

PC 172 Francisquinha*

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She stares at me with her soulful eyes.

“What do you mean you’re stopping my pocket money? You’re saying I’ve overspent on your credit card at The Ivy and the tab at Mixologist is due? Well, what do you want me to do? Do the washing up?”

She turned her back on me and sulked.

My relationship with Francisquinha is complex. When she is asleep and calm, I really love her. When she is bouncing up and down at some perceived slight I wonder why I bother. And why do I bother?

The relationships we have with our fellow human beings develop over time, time when their depths rise and fall as regularly as the tide. Some give us great satisfaction and joy, others drive us to distraction. The relationship we have with our pets, our cats, dogs, canaries, tropical fish, snakes, and rabbits, particularly if you’re English, can often be better and deeper. But what about a relationship with a stuffed animal – not the one a friendly taxidermist could do for your recently-departed Chihuahua – but a real stuffed animal, made of material, kapok and in the old days buttons for eye (now replaced by cloth as too many babies took the buttons as sweets)? I guess we will all immediately think whether we had or even still have ‘something’ in which we invested emotions, characteristics and a quasi-life.

Francisquinha

“Oh! So now you’re going to write about me? At last! Do you want me to suggest what you should say?”

“Actually I am going to write about more famous stuffed animals than you.”

“Someone’s more famous than me? How come?”

I ignore her question. A couple of ‘bears’ come to mind. For me the first is Winnie-the Pooh; not that I had a physical example but loved AA Milne’s Christopher Robin’s bear that came down the stairs ….. ‘bump, bump, bump!’

Milne’s genius was assisted enormously by the illustrations of EH Shepard and of course by Pooh’s friends, Piglet, Tigger, Kanga, Roo and Owl.  Pooh’s home-spun philosophy rings as true today as it did when the stories were written 94 years ago.

More recently Benjamin Hoff made much of this little bear in his ‘Tao of Pooh’, using the characters to explain modern life:

“By the way, Pooh, how do you spell Tuesday?”

“Spell what?” asked Pooh.

“Tuesday. You know, Monday, Tuesday ….”

“My dear Pooh,” interjects the all-knowing Owl, “everybody knows it’s spelt with a Two.”

“Is it?” asks Pooh.

“Of course,” said Owl. “after all, it’s the second day of the week.”

“Oh! Is that the way it works?” asked Pooh.

“All right, Owl, I said. “Then what comes after Twosday?”

“Thirdsday,” said Owl.

“Owl, you’re confusing things. This is the day after Tuesday, and it’s not Thirdsday – I mean Thursday.”

“Then what is it?” asked Owl.

“Today!” squeaked Piglet.

Older generations will remember Beatrix Potter’s animal creations such as Peter Rabbit – “But round the end of a cucumber frame, whom should he meet but Mr McGregor, planting out young cabbages.” – and Jemima Puddle-Duck. And you remember Paddington, who came to England from Peru in 1958, was the creation of Michael Bond and eventually became the star of two films? In fact, inevitably, these delightful characters from the written word have been mercilessly exploited by consumerism and merchandising. My parents’ bedroom mantelpiece had a large collection of Beatrix Potter china figurines – which gathered dust and required constant cleaning!

“What are you scribbling? Is it about me?”

“Not everything is about you …..”

…… and off she went mumbling about something under her whiskers ……

At the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst there was ‘The Edward Bear Club’. Edward Bear was a proper teddy bear who had become the mascot for the Parachute Course. One Easter leave I spent two weeks voluntarily throwing myself out of an aeroplane to earn my ‘Military Parachutist’ badge (Very different from the punishing P Company Course run by the Parachute Regiment for those wanting to enter their ranks and earn the parachute wings (Note 1)).

Edward Bear Club tie motif

Some weeks after qualifying 70 of us parachuted onto Hankley Common near Aldershot for a ‘Teddy Bear’s Picnic’. Edward Bear had badges from the French Saint Cyr Academy and from West Point, as well as British ones; and of course he had his own parachute and was always the first out of the aeroplane!

In 1981 British Sunday evening television had us glued to a series called Brideshead Revisited staring Jeremy Irons and Antony Andrews. Based on the 1945 Evelyn Waugh novel of the same name, it featured a Lord Sebastian Flyte who always carried his stuffed teddy bear called Aloysius. Waugh had been at Oxford with John Betjeman who had a teddy bear he called Archibald Ormsby-Gore, and this might have been the inspiration for Aloysius.

Actually I am jealous of one thing that Francisquinha has and that’s a removable tummy. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if after a heavy meal you could simply open up the Velcro fastening and take out your tummy? Francisquinha’s is made of microwaveable beans; 45 seconds at full power and you have a warm-tummied cuddly rabbit!  When she’s come with us on some trip, to the Marina Bay Sands hotel in Singapore for instance, she leaves the tummy behind so she can just chill with the Room Service menu and other amenities

“So what else are you writing about?”

“I bet you didn’t hear of the stuffed rabbit known, not surprisingly, as Bunny (original huh!), that was sucked out of a gun-port on a ‘Flying Legend’ World War Two bomber over Canada last year?”

“No! I didn’t see that on Rabbit TV News. Tell me more …..”

The stuffed pet owner’s father had previously borrowed his daughter’s pet when with the RAF on a tour in Afghanistan so was mortified when he lost it. The power of social media ensured that when Bunny was found on the roof of a care home two weeks later, she/he/it (?) was reunited with Victoria.

“Wow! That’s so cool. Must be a very special rabbit: like me! Did I tell you someone in The Ivy asked me whether I wanted to star in a soap opera they were going to start filming, to be called The Warren? No? Oh! Well! You shouldn’t be surprised given my good looks etc. And by the way, did you ever see me doing one of those 26/2 hot yoga postures you love doing? “

Francisquinha’s ‘Half Lotus’

……and so off she hopped, full of herself, looking for her passport and hoping that she could stow away in our cabin luggage for our trip to Rio de Janeiro; She has complained so often that the cargo compartment is so cold her Caipirinha freezes! And over her shoulder she couldn’t resist another jibe: “And if Boris thinks he can hibernate all winter, he can think again!”

Boris hibernating

Richard 20th February 2020

Note * Francisquinha is the diminutive form of Francisca, a common Christian name in some parts of the world. Brazilians love adding ‘…..quinha’ to names!)

Note 1. Delighted to read yesterday that Captain Rosie Wild RHA had become the first woman to complete this gruelling selection course and had received her coveted maroon beret. 

PC 514 Hope Chat

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Sami has the latest John Grisham book, ‘The French Illusion’, propped up in front of him on his table in The Hope Café when I popped in last Wednesday. I remember when I first saw him: it was October 2021, five years ago, so I looked up PC 258 on my iPad to read what I had written:

“The regulars are here, plus those for whom the “Why don’t we get out of the rain and grab a cup of coffee?” is irresistible. In the far corner, sitting by himself and enjoying the contents of a pot of tea, a grey-haired chap is head down into a book, his lips gently and unconsciously forming the words. I recognise the cover, the latest by the American author John Grisham entitled ‘Sooley’. Grisham has written 36 novels, mainly involving lawyers and court cases; they are always well-crafted and gripping stories – you can tell I’m a fan as is, I assume, the man this morning.”

“Hi Sami! You remember we met over Grisham’s ‘Sooley’ novel five years ago, here in The Hope Café? I have really valued our conversations over the years and admired how you coped with the way you were treated by The Post Office. Then, of course, you found love with Lisa which has definitely put the smile back on your face. How’s Grisham’s new one? I know it’s one of the gifts Celina’s bought me for my birthday on Saturday so don’t tell me too much!”

“Ah! Richard! Mine too on the 24th, but 1958 not …..! Yes, The Post Office scandal! I have almost stopped thinking about this huge miscarriage of justice, but read there are still individuals fighting for compensation. Disgraceful! Grisham’s book? Yes, just started ….. what I like about Grisham and others of his ilk, they draw you in from the first sentence, the first page and, in Grisham’s case keep your attention in so many ways. You obviously saw that another great storyteller, Jeffrey Archer, has died. He was an interesting character, wasn’t he?”

“Yup! His life, however unbelievable, read like some of his novels, however unbelievable! Andrew Billen, writing in The Times, said: ‘…… and (he) saved himself by becoming an author of bestselling, if not critically acclaimed, books.’ Maybe at some stage we should discuss why popular novels are not always the choice of the critics?”

“I’ll give that some thought. You watch much television, Richard?”

“Actually, we do, although last week, both my brother and a new neighbour had admitted independently they had got bored with television and switched to podcasts and the like for their edification. I am briefly dipping into the new series of Celebrity Traitors, although Celina’s not a fan. You won’t be surprised when I have to question the definition of the word ‘celebrity’ as some are unknown to me.”

“Each to their own. Some people buy those weekly colour magazines that depict the lives of such people, those who think they are some form of celebrity. All those glossy photographs and salacious gossip. Not that I glance at them; heaven forbid!”

“There was a claim by American Myha’la Herrold that, after she was evicted from the castle, there was racial bias in the programme!”

“Remind me who she is?”

“She played Harper Stern in the British TV drama Industry ….. and is known ‘mononymously’, not a word I have come across before, as Myha’la. She said she may have fallen victim to the “unconscious ­racial and cultural bias that exists in the game”; being of mixed race, she implied that the colour of her skin helped to explain why she was (falsely) ­accused! The Times has a view: “This phrase ‘unconscious bias’ has acquired far more acceptance than it deserves. The existence or otherwise of a belief residing in the unconscious cannot be either proved or falsified. Unconscious bias, therefore, has no explanatory or analytical power. It serves only as a slogan, an excuse, an accusation.” In this series of the programme, 28% of the participants are from an ethnic minority background; so, compared with the national average of 18%, it suggests the programme makers are very much in favour of having non-white participants.

“Why can’t people just put their hands up and admit they hadn’t played the game well? Why do they need to blame someone or something else? She chose what to say when, no one else!”

“In July in PC 502, I mentioned that I had managed to help a Nick Whittle in Stourbridge in his research into an uncle’s life. Nick had got in touch thinking his uncle had been one of the 23 of Burma’s Intake 39; I had posted a photograph (See PCs 408, 410 & 412 Memories of Sandhurst Parts 1-3) of us innocent cadets that first week. We found out that Stephen Hall-Jones had in fact been at The Royal Military Academy Sandhurst the year before me; a member of the Sandhurst Foundation helped Nick fill in the details. Always curious about other people …… this initial connection has developed into the odd exchange of emails and now he reads my PCs.

He works at the Funeral Directors H Porter & Sons in the town. Did you watch that wonderful HBO’s drama series Six Feet Under (2001-2005) Sami? You might think that a series based around a funeral directors would be well, a little dead beat ….. but it was anything but; brilliant. Apart from the obvious personal knowledge gained from family bereavements, it’s not an industry I am very familiar with.”

“Me neither. You have a point?”

“There is a lovely coincidence. Celina’s ex had an elder brother Andrew who died unexpectedly a week ago; they lived in Stourbridge. The funeral is going to be in Stourbridge Crematorium next month – Celina’s horrified it takes so long to wait for a funeral here – and it’s Nick’s funeral directors who will look after all the arrangements. Andrew’s widow Julie could have chosen any of the other 11 businesses classified as funeral directors in Stourbridge. You could mangle the famous quote from the 1942 film Casablanca ‘of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.’ ….. into something like ‘of all the funeral parlours in all the country they chose this one.’”

“Very drole Richard. Andrew would have smiled that his connection worked!”

“Let’s continue our chat after our birthdays ……”

Richard 23rd October 2026

Hove

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PC 286 I’ve Read That ……

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A Mark Sykes (1937 – 2022), “an art dealer, gun smuggler, gambler, jailbird, bookie, womaniser, racing driver and all-round upper-class rake” has died; his obituary was carried in The Times on Tuesday 31st May. The Old-English word rake in this case means ‘a dissolute or immoral person, especially a man who indulges in vices or lacks sexual restraint’; reading of his life I felt he lived up to the moniker! Generally obituaries cover the lives of the great, the good and the interesting; certainly Mark Sykes’ life was interesting.

Sledmere House

But his name reminded me of his family and its own colourful past, so well described by his cousin Christopher Simon Sykes in his book The Big House – essentially a biography about Sledmere, a house in East Yorkshire. If you have never heard of it and are interested in how certain families are woven into our national heritage, this is a wonderfully engaging book. 

After reading it many years ago I just had to go and visit the house and see for myself the setting of so many stories. Today I remember ‘Old Tat’ Sykes the fourth baronet famous for his riding exploits, who was said to be one of the great sights of Yorkshire. (Note 1) who died in 1861 at the age of ninety-one; his son who started the day wearing eight coats, which were gradually discarded to keep his body temperature constant (Note 2): the 6th Baronet, Colonel Sir Tatton Mark Sykes, whose diplomatic career peaked in 1916 with the secret deal between France and Britain, the Sykes-Picot Agreement, which defined how the old Ottoman Empire would be split up, so drawing the boundaries of the current countries in the Middle East (note 3); and the fact that when Christopher Simon Sykes’ brother inherited the title in 1978, he told Christopher he would need permission to visit the house where he had grown up!! 

I have read that we are importing a nasty habit from America – distortion. Acknowledging that ethnic minorities have been woefully misrepresented in some of our films and dramas, now I sense we have gone completely overboard, with everyone anxious to show ‘they understand’ and wanting to right the wrong. The author Lionel Shriver (her best-selling book ‘We Must Talk About Kevin’) writes that ‘in a 2021 study by the Creative Diversity Network, ethnic minorities are over-represented in British programming in comparison with their share of the population by almost a factor of two. Black people are over-represented by 2.5 times. Casting of gay, lesbian and bisexual people in television productions suggests they make up 14% of the population whereas the true figure is 3%.’   

Shriver also revealed the results of a YouGov survey about how we British understand our diversity, on the back of an American survey which believed that 41% of the USA’s population were black, whereas the true proportion is about 12%. Here respondents thought the figure was 20% as opposed to 3%; other statistics Asian 17% (true 7%) Muslims 15% (true 4%) transgender 5% (true 0.4%) vegan or vegetarian 20% (true 4%). And finally a 2018 Lloyds Banking Group study found that representation of minorities in UK advertising has double in three years to 25%, twice the actually proportion!! Distortion plays to the fears of some in the population and leads to polarisation. (Note 4)  

I have also read that a chap who was Academy Sergeant Major at the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst for ten years, Ray Huggins, has died. During his tenure some 5470 future officers trained at The Academy. Reading his obituary reminded me of the wonderful repartee these senior NCOs displayed. Huggins was RSM of Old College, one of three colleges, in 1966, during my second year. It wasn’t RSM Murphy Irish Guards (Victory College) but our platoon sergeant Staff Sergeant Cameron of the Scots Guards who berated John Treasure as follows:

“Mr Treasure, Sir, you ‘orrible excuse for a ‘uman. You know what Sir?” he screamed, jabbing his Pacestick (note 5) perilously close to John’s face, so much so one imagined he could have smelt last night’s garlic on Cameron’s breath, “there’s a c**t at one end of this Pacestick and you need to think very carefully before you tell me at which end, Sir!”

Staff Sergeant Cameron Scots Guards at the rear of the platoon

As an Officer Cadet the future King of Jordan’s status was no shield. Overheard during some inspection of his tunic, boots, rifle or hair, one of the RSMs: “Sir, there are two kings ‘ere sir, you sir and me sir. But ‘ere on my parade ground there is only king sir, me sir!”

One of his predecessors was a veteran of the Battle for Arnhem, Operation Market Garden, during WW2, an ASM JC Lord. His very first words to the assembled Officer Cadets were “Gentlemen. My name is JC Lord. JC does not stand for Jesus Christ. He is Lord up there (pointing skywards with his Pacestick) and I am Lord down here (pointing to the parade ground). I will address you as ‘Sir’ but I won’t mean it. You will address me as ‘Sir’ but make sure you do mean it’.

The skull of one of my great friends at Sandhurst, Martin Ward-Harrison, was quite prominent at the back, so much so that his forage cap sat right on the edge. Any hair beneath it was deemed too long and Martin forever had to have extremely short hair. Sadly Martin was killed in Oman ten years later, probably having grown his hair at last!

Richard 10th June 2022

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Note 1 The other two mentioned were the City of York and the county itself!

Note 2 A catastrophic fire in 1911 left the building a shell. It is said that Sir Tatton Sykes was too busy eating one of the milk puddings, to which he was addicted, to pay much attention, but villagers and estate workers loyally rescued pictures, statues and furniture, china and carpets, and even doors and banisters.

Note 3 Mark died of Spanish influenza three years later aged 39 and was buried in a lead-lined coffin. Globally 50 million people died in this pandemic. In 2008 his body was exhumed so that samples of his remains could be frozen in liquid nitrogen and passed to researchers looking at how the virus passes from animals to humans.

Note 4 Apparently Britons believe some 20% of the population earn more than £100,000 a year whereas the real figure is some 3%.

Note 5 The wooden pace stick was like a large pair of dividers, capable of measuring the standard marching pace of 30 inches.

PC 341 Tradition – Just the Way It Is

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Traditionally two stick orderlies led the 1000 officer cadets onto Old College Square at the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst for the end-of-term parade. That’s me on the extreme right!

I don’t think I have personally contributed to the rich fabric of our traditions, rather pompous to think I might have done, but the late Queen’s funeral and more recently the new King’s coronation have reminded me just how deep tradition is imbedded into the way we do things in the United Kingdom. Seems a long time ago now when Charlie Wilson and I were ‘Stick Orderlies’ and formed the guard for the Inspecting Officer for the Commandant’s Parade; in fact December 1966! Tradition at Sandhurst dictated everything.

In a constitutional monarchy the coronation of a new sovereign (Note 1) is a hugely important event, a time when tradition dictates so much of what happens and we the public marvel and gawp in equal measure.

Unless you’re involved …… like the current Leader of the House of Commons, Penny Mordaunt, who had to carry the Sword of State, weighing 3.6kgs, for nearly an hour – keeping it upright of course! (Note 2)

Unless you’re involved …..  like Charles who, as King, placed his hands on a bible from the C6th: the Augustine Gospels are regarded as the most precious and important medieval manuscript to survive in England. Then tradition had it he had to be dressed in the colobium sindonis, supertunia and girdle, a sort of solid gold overcoat before being given some spurs, representing bravery and knighthood, the bracelets of sincerity and wisdom, the Sovereign’s orb, the Ring of Kingly Dignity and the rod of Equity and Mercy.

Caitlin Morran of The Times wrote it reminded her of the end of a TV game show called Crackerjack, when kids had to hold an increasing load of prizes and cabbages. I think the ‘Glove of God’, looking remarkably like your average oven glove, was the last straw! No wonder Charles looked rather overwhelmed by the whole occasion.

Unless you are involved ….. like the Archbishop of Canterbury who played an important role, having earlier put his foot in it saying he thought the public should swear ‘allegiance to the new king’ – sort of ‘touch the forelock’? In 2023, I don’t think so!

And each to their own, but I personally find it difficult to believe that the chrism or holy oil used to anoint the king came from God. I would prefer to understand that our upmarket Waitrose had a special offer, or maybe they bought it at the King’s grocer Fortnum & Mason, but I do know it was vegan.

Other snippets of information that intrigued me? The Roman Catholic prelate Vincent Nichols became the first of his office to play a part in a coronation since the Reformation (1517-1555). The Chief Rabbi, Ephraim Mirvis, reminded the congregation that in 1189, when Jewish leaders came bearing gifts to the coronation of Richard Coeur de Lion (Note 3) they were stripped, flogged and thrown out of the abbey. Fortunately we have a different view in 2023. And you have heard of King’s Troop, Royal Horse Artillery? The ‘king’ in this case was George VI and the troop provides gun carriages for state funerals and uses its 13 pounder guns to fire salutes on State occasions. Apparently, at the moment, all the riders are female, as is the Officer Commanding.

As I dutifully watched the King’s Coronation Concert in the back garden of Windsor Castle, on the Sunday evening of that weekend, I was reminded of the overheard conversation between two American tourists. As a Boeing 747 (so that dates it!) roared overhead on its way to landing at London’s Heathrow airport, one turned to the other and yelled:

“Why did they build the castle so close to the airport?” (Note 4)

And never one to miss an opportunity to have fun, our rabbit Francisquinha (see PCs 172, 217 & 331) managed to appear above the castle holding on to dozens of drones!

It goes on! Next week, on July 5th the new King & Queen will be presented with the ‘Honours of Scotland’. The oldest crown jewels in Great Britain, they were first used in the coronation of Mary Queen of Scots in 1543, then in 1707 put away in a chest when Scotland was joined to England in The Union.

The newspaper says they were ‘rediscovered by Sir Walter Scott (and others?) in 1818’. Brief descriptions such as this create incredulous thoughts! What? Stuffed in the attic, in a cellar, in someone’s bothy, these priceless items wrapped in some cloak or blanket. And who told Scott where to look? Ah! History huh!

But at the end of the coronation, seven thousand of the troops who had taken part marched into the grounds of Buckingham Palace and formed up in long ranks on the grass; not easy marching in time on grass. Rifles were laid on the ground, headgear was removed and as the new King and Queen arrived at the rear of the building, the Sergeant Major in charge of the parade gave the order:

“Three cheers for His Majesty. Hip! Hip!”

……… and the sound of thousands of voices shouting ‘Hurray’, three times, reverberated around the grounds, over the roofs of  the palace and down The Mall to Trafalgar Square.

Watching it on television produced a lump in my throat, the slight wetness in the eyes and the thought: “Yes! Wonderful! We do this sort of thing really well. That’s tradition.”

Yes! That’s tradition.

Richard 30th June 2023

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PS At a rehearsal for the King’s Official Birthday Trooping the Colour Parade, one of the bandsman succumbed to the heat. The accompanying photograph pictured him horizontal on the parade ground; it looked as though he was still trying to play – probably a flat note!

Note 1 For instance, Victoria in 1838, Edward VII in 1902 (delayed a month because of acute appendicitis), George V (1911); Edward VIII’s was cancelled due to his abdication and his brother George VI was crowned instead in 1936; then Elizabeth II in 1953.

Note 2 The weight of the sword was eased by placing its hilt in a small pocket at the bottom of a sash around her shoulders.

Note 3 Richard 1 (1157 – 1199) also ruled as Duke of Normandy, Aquitaine and Gascony. His statue is outside the Houses of Parliament.

Note 4 The building of Windsor Castle was started by William the Conqueror in 1070 on some high ground overlooking the River Thames. It was completed 16 years later.

PC 412 Memories of Sandhurst (Continued from PC 410)

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The link between mental fitness and physical fitness is well researched. Thankfully we got physically fit, through sessions of PT, time in the swimming pool, ‘Battle PT’ runs, wearing kit and carrying one’s rifle, and undertaking long treks, particularly in the Brecon Beacons in South Wales. One evening towards the end of our fourth term, so probably early December, we got dropped off, at night, in the middle of nowhere! The first checkpoint was at the top of Pen y Fan, the highest mountain in this National Park, with a notoriously steep ascent to start; hard work, particularly carry full kit. Don’t forget this was light years before GPS and mobile phones; we had learned the basics of land navigation and worked with paper maps and old-fashioned compasses.

It was probably midnight when we got to the top and were given our next checkpoint, some 16kms away. There we had to inflate a rubber boat and paddle some 10 kms to the next point. Oh! I think there was a stretcher race in there somewhere. Sometime the following evening we gathered in a pub carpark, without any permission to enter so psychological torture (!) and were given our next task, a four-point speed-march over the Sennybridge Impact Area. Sleep deprived and mentally and physically exhausted, I remember distinctly seeing a three-masted sailing ship slide across the face of the full moon, as we laboured from one water-filled hole to another.

Once I realised sleep deprivation was something one had to deal with, I learned how to catnap. The memory of hallucinating that wonderful sailing ship triggered another, sleeping standing up! It was before dawn on day three of an exercise on the local training area known as Barossa. My platoon was to be the assault unit for a company attack at daybreak.

John Thewlis and the late Martin Ward-Harrison – somewhere

After a night in trenches, with patrols and sentry duty, everyone was knackered but, fortified by breakfast cooked over ‘hexy’ burners and a hot coffee, we formed up in our sections and silently made our way to the FUP (forming up point), some 1000 metres away (actually it was probably 1093 yards as this was pre-metric UK!). We tried to move quietly through the darkness, every now and again stopping to ensure everyone was together. I fell asleep upright and only woke because John Webster, who was behind me and who had expected me to move, had shuffled into me!

As our understanding of military tactics, albeit at a low level, grew, so did the opportunities to show how much we had learned. The gathering of intelligence is often achieved by patrolling, and the memory of one night patrol exercise has stayed with me. I am not sure who the platoon commander was, but I was his radio operator, equipped with an A41 radio set, about the size of a ream of A4 paper and weighed as much; its aerial was about 5 feet long. My task was to keep in touch with the controlling station, callsign Zero, and relay information as necessary. The problem was I had Laryngitis, so all my communications were barely audible, irrespective of how loud I wanted them to be! In the exercise debrief, the Directing Staff praised the quietness of the patrol; there are some benefits of being ill!

Sometimes we had to carry a lot of equipment

One aim of our training at Sandhurst was to teach us how to work as a team, both as a team member and as a team leader. Seems obvious, doesn’t it, but it is potentially one of the most difficult things confronting a leader. In each of the six Sandhurst terms, there was some Academy competition, be it the inter-company Drill Competition or the dreaded Assault Course, the winner the quickest team over a number of obstacles. The latter loomed at the start of the term in which it was placed as some mountain to climb. Actually that isn’t far from the truth as the ‘mountain’ was a ten foot wall. We were used to six-foot walls and one’s ability to climb up and over on one’s own. The 10ft wall required teamwork, technique and belief, particularly for the first and last person. To get the first person (A) on to the top of the wall, the tallest in the squad would stand with his back to the wall, with his hands cupped in front. Running from 10 metres or so, the second person (B – lightest and strong!) then placed his boot into the cupped hands of (A) and lifted himself up towards the top of the wall. His ascent was aided by (A) twisting his body and extending his arms upwards. Once on top, (B) could lean down and grab the next person (C), who was aided by (A). After the other five members of the section were over, this left (A) on his own at the bottom! (B) and (C) would both lean down, grab one of (A)’s arms, haul him up and over they all went. All this with the timekeeper’s stopwatch clicking away the minutes and seconds.

I am not sure the current training includes Bicycle Drill. Back in 1966 we were instructed how to stand next to a bicycle, how to mount, how to move off and how to stop. Saluting an officer whilst on a bicycle was not encouraged; we simply had to brace our arms, keeping looking forward! No helmets!

Sandhurst offered a full career to a pensionable age of 55. One loses contact with people, so I have little idea of how others’ careers developed. But I do know that my dear friend Martin Ward-Harrison was killed in Oman, that Sid Sonsomsouk retired as a general in his home country of Thailand and that Crichton Wakelin retired at 55, then took on a retired officer’s role for another ten years.

The lighter side of Burma 39. I spent two years with these guys – apart from the chap on the far right, Martin Ward-Harrison’s groom.

There have been many television programmes following recruits, from the time they cross the threshold of various training establishments, to when they ‘pass out’, get their commission. Some have followed Marine recruits at their school in Lympstone, some Police Cadets at their Hendon training establishment, some recruits at the Army Foundation College at Harrogate and there was one for those going through RMAS – ‘Sandhurst’ (ITV 2011). All have shown that given the right fertiliser, anyone can grow from boy to man, from girl to woman.

Richard 8th November 2024

Estoril Portugal

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PS I did well at Sandhurst, becoming a Company Junior Under Officer and winning the Benson Award. This was awarded ‘to the cadet commissioned into the Royal Artillery who has shown himself most deserving on grounds of general efficiency and character at Sandhurst’. ‘From little acorns, mighty oak trees grow!’

PC 410 Memories of Sandhurst (Continued from PC 408)

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Britain has been a Christian country seemingly for ever and religion plays a crucial if understated role in the conduct of war, both at a personal level but also at an organisational one. One of our Captain instructors was a lay preacher and, on a weekend’s adventurous training exercise, led a small Sunday morning service – in the middle of a wood, in the rain. One comment has always stayed with me: ‘There are no atheists in a slit trench.’ Fortunately, I have never been in an operational slit trench, waiting to ‘go over the top’, but understand how those who were might have prayed to some higher being. At Sandhurst every Sunday we paraded in front of the Commandant and then marched off across the square to the chapel.

Nine hundred male voices singing hymns would lift anyone’s spirits and the memory of kneeling in the pew for the final minutes, quietly murmuring ‘Eternal Father, Strong to Save’ to the tune Melita by John Dykes, still brings goose pimples to my neck!

If you were tall and reasonably good at drill, you might be picked to be a Stick Orderly, as were Charles Wilson, Edward Armitage, William Burrell and myself; four of us out of 225 officer cadets in our intake, Number 39. (See PC 341 Tradition June 2023). On ceremonial occasions we stood at the four corners of the Inspection Dias, although I am not sure how effective my stick would have been in protecting the Commandant!

Prior to the Commandant’s Parade on a Sunday morning, the four Stick Orderlies would join him and his family for breakfast in the extremely large house that went with the job. I was a Stick Orderly for a year and recall that, after breakfast and before we need to get moving, we would gather in the Games Room in the house’s basement and compete on his Scalextric set. Such fun, and far removed from our next task, the tradition of escorting him and the Adjutant to where the other 886 cadets were lined up for inspection.

I was assigned to Burma Company in Victory College, one of three colleges making up the Academy. The other company names in Victory were Alamein (North Africa 1942), Rhine (1944), and Normandy (1944). Old College represented the past glories of Dettingen (1743 War of Austrian Succession), Waterloo (1815), Inkerman (1854 Crimea) and Blenheim (1704 War of Spanish Succession). New College companies reflected the First World War with Ypres (1914), Somme (1916), Gaza (1916) (Note 1) and Marne (1914). The organismal structure today is different, the number of companies reflecting the total number of officer cadets under training. Company names now include ‘Falklands’ and ‘Borneo’.

There is something fundamental to being a soldier, being capable of using weapons in times of war. Later I would serve in artillery regiments equipped with medium artillery, the 5.5in howitzer and subsequently the 155mm self-propelled M109, but at RMAS it was the self-loading rifle (SLR) and the general-purpose machine gun (GPMG), both using 7.62mm ammunition. I gained my marksman badge for the GPMG, taking in instruction like a duck to water ….. and it’s all about the breath! We were tested at various times, for instance after a 10-mile speed march, and we developed the habit of keeping one’s ‘small arm’ (aka personal weapon) close and clean. Obviously out on exercise or on the firing ranges, not in a classroom learning about Chemistry for instance. I highlight Chemistry as I had failed it twice at ‘O’ Level and I need to pass it. The lecturer was more interested in teaching us about his passion, seeking out the runners and their form in some horse race. We learned his techniques, lost a lot of money and I passed my Chemistry examination!

I have written that academic studies took up more than 50% of our working day. Having followed the science route in my choice of A Levels, I joined the ‘Special Maths and Science’ set, a pass ensuring my place at university a couple of years after commissioning. Non-science subjects covered International Relations, War Studies and Military Law. The latter is designed to “maintain order and discipline within the armed forces, and to ensure they can carry out their duties effectively. It covers a wide range of offences, from minor breaches of discipline to more serious crimes such as murder and rape.” As a commissioned officer, for minor offences I was ‘judge and jury; for more serious ones there’s a Courts Martial system, run by the Judge Advocate General’s Department.

One Easter holidays some of us volunteered to become military parachutists. I asked Crichton a week ago, who was also in Burma 39 and with whom I have kept in touch, who else was there, apart from him. “Sorry! I suffer from old git syndrome and simply can’t remember. Pity!” Anyway, twenty or thirty of us went off to some RAF base, I think Brize Norton as that’s where they are trained today, for three weeks. During that time, we learned exit, flight and landing techniques in large hangars with mock-up fuselages, completed three jumps from a balloon tethered at 800ft and a further five from a DC8/9 aircraft, the last one at night. Back at Sandhurst we wore a little lightbulb badge on our uniform to signify our proficiency, joined The Edward Bear Club (see PC 28 Balloons, Bacteria and Bloating December 2014) and jumped out of an aeroplane over Hankley Common near Aldershot for a summer picnic – called ‘The Teddy Bears’ Picnic’, obviously!

There will be a Part 3

Richard 25th October 2024

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 The Middle East was fought over during the First World War and that arena of conflict was recognised by Gaza Company. The land borders we see today were laid out in the Sykes-Picot agreement of 1916, created by the French and British, with tacit assent from Russia and Italy. It defined their mutually agreed spheres of influence and control. Over 100 years later it remains a troubled and unsettled part of the world.

PC408 Memories of Sandhurst – The United Kingdom’s Royal Military Academy

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Towards the end of my teenage years, I wanted to be an architect …… but architecture was going through a difficult time and my stepfather suggested I join the British Army. His thought was that by the time I had spent three years or so serving Her Majesty, architectural opportunities might be better; I did 20 years!

To gain entry to the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst (RMAS) I had to attend the Regular Commissions Board, then located in Westbury, Wiltshire, to be assessed!

Fortunately I passed the various physical and mental tests, including the ‘speak for 5 minutes about … a milk bottle’!

The transition from boy to man, girl to woman, is, for some, complex and unnerving, for others it’s like water off the proverbial duck’s back. Everyone’s experience is unique, can never be otherwise and it could be forced upon one through the diktats of family life, the loss of a parent for instance, or tribal customs very early, but for most it happened after one’s 16th birthday; nowadays I sense it’s much earlier – more’s the shame! Of course there are those who never really grow up, still maintaining a childish outlook on life, the Peter Pans. The syndrome, used to describe those adults who are socially immature, refers to people who have reached an adult age but cannot face their adult sensations and responsibilities.

The Royal Military Academy (Note 1) turns boys into young men, girls into young women, ready to be deployed into combat should that be necessary, ready to lead. Nowadays the course is a year (Note 2) but in 1965 it was a two-year course mirroring and, in some respects, equalling the first-degree courses at many universities. The Academy had four intakes of Officer Cadets at any one time; commissioning took place in December and July. Some 60% of our time was spent on academics, the rest on learning our new craft, the military and the art of warfare (Note 3).

Our neighbour Meryl, an avid reader of my postcards, suggested I wrote something about my memories of the two years I spent at RMAS. Why, I am not quite sure; maybe she wanted to find out why I am how I am (?) but I doubted whether, in 1000 words or less, I could encapsulate my time growing, from teenager to adult, from schoolboy to Army Officer. Maybe I would need two or even three PCs? It was a disparate bunch of teenagers who formed up on the Victory College square as Burma Company Intake 39 in September 1965 and included three from overseas, Sid Sonsomsouk from Thailand, Ngambi from Uganda and Jo Nakamet from Kenya. No one was sure what we had let ourselves in for. It didn’t take long to find out!

How would I describe the first six weeks, when the days began very early and ended very late, when others dictated what you did? Challenging? Draining? Character building? Probably all of the above and more besides. A good example was ‘Changing Parades’, when we had to appear in the corridor outside our room in one form of dress, be inspected with infringements resulting in press-ups, before going back and changing into another form of dress – from full combat gear, to Service Dress, to PT Kit (Blue Blazer, Blue shorts, White T-Shirt, White ‘plimsols’ (Does anyone know what these are?)) to Parade Ground Uniform. Our rooms had, during the whole process, to remain immaculate. The instructors would scream and shout at any visible laziness or inattention. Faced with an external threat (the instructors!) we all began to coalesce into a group, safety in numbers and focusing our hate on our instructors. I think this was where the military saying ‘Kit on! Kit off!’ comes from.

Within the first month one of the platoon was suddenly diagnosed with leukaemia, disappeared to the Military Hospital in Aldershot ….. and died two months later. 

That’s me, in the bottom right-hand corner.

I have written before how the experience of becoming proficient at drill, in marching in time, swinging the appropriate arm, showing off our skills and being part of something, belonging, wanting, gets imbedded within one. Imagine being on parade with another 889 officer cadets, moving in formation to the familiar marching tunes, bursting with pride. That’s a great memory, acknowledging the hard work that preceded it, to get to the required standard. For those who have never had the privilege and opportunity, your life is missing something!

The main Sandhurst parades started at 1100. There were always little niggles, so the Academy Sergeant Major, a chap called Phillips, the most senior non-commissioned officer and otherwise known as ‘God’, would insist we would be lined up on Old College Square at 1030, to ensure there was no last-minute panic. Old College Square was a 10-minute march from New College Square, so College Sergeant Major Murphy, Irish Guards, (‘Spud’ behind his back, but never to his face!) insisted we were ready to leave at 1000, as there were always little niggles. Burma Company Sergeant Major Hewlett, Coldstream Guards, insisted we formed up for him at 0930, as there were always little niggles. Staff Sergeant Rooney, a Welsh Fusilier, insisted the platoon for which he was responsible formed up at 0900, as there were always little niggles. This is probably where the phrase ‘5 minutes before 5 minutes before …..’ originates.

(to be continued)

Richard 11th October 2024

Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 Naval Officers are trained at the Royal Navy College Dartmouth and Air Force Officers at Cranwell

Note 2 A new term started last month with 288 Officer Cadets joining CC 243 for the 44-week course. There are 40 international cadets from 23 countries as diverse as Columbia and Kazakhstan. Of the 248 British cadets, just over half were educated in the state sector, 80% are university graduates and the average age is 22.

Note 3 The War Studies Department was run by John Keegan. The recent obituary of Duncan Anderson, who took over as its head in 1997, had an interesting snippet!  Keegan’s successor was a chap called John Pimlott, who had died after two grenades he picked up during a battlefield tour in France exploded in his study at home.

PC 429 Behind The Glass

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I don’t know about you, but I am often intrigued to know what goes on behind shop fronts that have frosted windows. They are the complete opposite of those using the shop window to entice potential customers, displaying something to make you want to go inside, maybe a poster showing a sale percentage reduction. Sometimes restaurants have an opaque window to give their customers some privacy and it’s the same for The Hove Practice, a private GPs’ surgery, which recently moved onto Church Road. Along the street is a massage clinic, with the obligatory hazy windows! We are lucky enough to have Kay Delphine, a very experienced masseuse, who comes to our apartment, otherwise we might have used one of these places. Some had a seedy reputation, offering more than a simple massage, but I sense those days have long gone.

Opposite etch (note 1), a restaurant on the corner of Church Road and Hove Street run by Steven Edwards, a winner of MasterChef The Professionals, is one such place. A non-descript opaque window with its shop signage, ‘CryoBright’, offering no real clue to what goes on inside.

A voucher at Christmas gave us a couple of ‘experiences’ at CryoBright and in late January we pushed open the door. CryoBright provides ‘convenient, affordable access to the most advanced wellness and recovery techniques.’ These include an infrared sauna, red light therapy, fat freezing, leg compression therapy, physiotherapy, whole body cryotherapy and massage, mainly aimed at those recovering from some form of sports injury, which I am not! I was interested in the leg compression trousers, to improve blood circulation to my feet, and in the cold chamber – out of curiosity!

The ‘Compression’ trousers slide over your legs then go through a 20-second sequence of inflate/deflate, inflate/deflate for 20 minutes. It seems very gentle, too gentle almost and so I decide to concentrate on the cold chamber.

The idea is that extreme cold acts as a stimulus to your nervous system, particularly to the hypothalamus, responsible for reacting to dangerous situations; the ‘fight or flight’ trigger. It initiates several physiological reactions in the body, the main one being to restrict blood flow to the periphery, concentrating it around one’s vital organs.

I said I am curious. Most of my experience of ‘cold’ is from winter weather, either skiing or on military exercises many years ago, when the wind chill can drop temperatures alarmingly. I am a pussy when it comes to swimming in a cold sea, such as in Estoril in Portugal, but the benefits of cold-water immersion are becoming more mainstream. Here in Hove many people swim in the sea all the year around, part of their daily routine, and swear by the invigorating afterglow. (Note 2) I guess we’ve all heard of Dutchman Wim Hof, aka the Iceman. In addition to plunging himself, and other paying customers, into freezing cold water, he markets a particular technique of breathing. Proper breathing is an essential part of practising yoga; in the hot yoga series you only breathe through your nose for the first hour.

My Wim Hof T Shirt

Hof’s technique involves inhaling through your nose or mouth, filling both belly and chest, and exhaling through your mouth. Each breath should be short and powerful; do 30 to 40 then stop. We all take our lungs for granted, never bothering to exercise them – it’s estimated we only use some 60% of our lung capacity. And I certainly hadn’t heard of COPD (Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease) until those first COVID months. In summary, I breathe well but wouldn’t want to plunge myself into a bath full of ice. (Note 3)

But when we returned from Portugal in September last year, a new cold-water shower, installed in the outer courtyard as part of the yoga studio’s new sauna offering, offered an opportunity to cool down quickly. Now, at the end of my 90 minutes 40°C hot yoga class, I go straight out and have a cold shower. Strangely, I have begun to look forward to it; odd huh! It’s wonderful!

At CryoBright, Rob explains that the cold chamber is designed to give your body a thermal shock so, wearing shorts, a facemask, gloves, socks and slippers and with a set of headphones clamped around my ears, I open the door and enter. Oh! I should have said, it’s minus 85C. I have opted for 4 minutes but after 5 seconds my brain is already saying ‘fly!’. Fortunately, I decide to stay, moving around, glancing at the large clock on an iPad outside that’s counting down the four minutes, listening to music. I wonder how my body is reacting, why my nipples are feeling particularly cold, and resist the temptation to focus on the time. Just enjoy the experience. Outside, I put my clothes back on; my back is tingling in a delicious way and I feel fantastic. We sign up for a package of sessions; this Monday was my eighth and now I look forward to freezing my b******* off!

Our curiosity has encouraged chums to try it. Spread the word!

Richard 7th March 2025

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PS Celina also enjoys the cold chamber!

Note 1 Note the small ‘e’. Generally the first word of a sentence uses a capitalised first letter. There’s a distinction between ‘Etch’ and ‘etch’, although it’s personal! As a verb, to etch means to eat away the surface of something; I can only guess this is the tenuous connection for the title of the restaurant.

Note 2 In the summer of 1966, as an Officer Cadet at Sandhurst, I was attached to a Germany-based Artillery Battery for its two weeks Adventure Training near Oberammergau. I went with Staff Sergeant Curtis to recce a lake for some canoeing. The water looked inviting; he suggested I jump in. It was absolutely freezing, almost heart-stopping (!) and I got out as quickly as I had got in! Curtis laughed.

Note 3 The outdoor swimming pool water at Dauntsey’s School was fed directly from a cold spring. Maybe our lap times were quick as we wanted to get out as soon as possible.