I like Lisa, Sami’s partner, a lot and I have watched their relationship develop into something secure and exciting since they first met on a tour of the sites of the 1857 Indian Mutiny in November 2022 (see PC 309). Lisa herself suffered in a horrid coercive relationship and it’s worth reading PC 335 ‘Lisa Wallace – My Story’ (May 2022) if you haven’t (?), so I know she’s taking one day at a time. She’s alone in The Hope Café on Wednesday afternoon when I drop in and, seeing me, lifts an arm to suggest I should join her; so, coffee in hand, I do just that.

“Hi! Lisa. Good to see you! You on your own this afternoon? No Sami?”

“Sami had to go to the dental hygienist. He used to smoke and drinks too much coffee so it’s important he has regular check-ups; gum disease is preventable … so I am told.”

“Where does he go?”

“The Hove Dental Practice in Salisbury Road; we both go there. The hygienist Jenny is absolutely brilliant and you’d hardly know she’s inspected, checked, cleaned and polished. Has the touch of an angel!”

“Ah! Yes! Celina and I both started going there when the BUPA practice in New Church Road was slow in opening after Covid. It’s delightfully international, isn’t it, with Jenny who’s Scottish and Greek dentists Rachil and Dimitri! How’s life here in Hove?”

“Very different from The Peak District but the constant sea air is so invigorating. Listen, The Argos have asked me to write something about the current railway strikes, how bad they are for the local economy and how can we the public persuade the union to settle the dispute. Any ideas?”

“There are always two aspects; pay and conditions of employment. We know about pay because that affects us all, but if I understand some of the issues about their working conditions correctly, I want to either laugh or cry.”

“Not sure I understand.”

“Take technology. I assume a train driver has to have a good grasp of technology so you would think they would embrace anything that makes their job easier. The leaders of their union, in this case ASLEF (The Associated Society of Locomotive Engineers and Fireman) don’t, seeing it as a threat to their employment.”

“Well, if we have trains, we need drivers! I read that ASLEF has some 21,000 members earning approximately £65,000 per year, for a four-day week. Sounds good to me!”

“OK! So, laugh or cry? A rule introduced in 1980, 44 years ago, allows drivers to take paid time off work to have a six-monthly check up on the harmful effects from the microwave that they use to heat their meals. I have to assume they do not have a microwave in their domestic kitchen, like 99% of the population.”

Lisa is laughing!

“Your nieces and nephews have iPads or some other similar device?”

“Of course, although I think my sister has strict rules about their use.”

“Clearly ASLEF members’ families don’t and the union wants an extra technology allowance agreed before their employer can introduce some iPads, which would be used, for instance, to notify them of temporary speed limits. Would make their job easier. Actually no laughing matter; pathetic! Next I imagine they will want to bring back the chap with the red flag to walk the track in front of the train!”

“I read that one train had to terminate one station before its proper destination because the driver hadn’t had lunch.”

“Sorry?”

“Apparently, he forgot his tin opener so couldn’t open his can of soup! A manager offered him a sandwich but he wanted his soup; a train load of passengers had to disembark one station from where they had planned. Ridiculous – and probably badly handled by ‘management’?”

“God! Help Us! We’re extremely lucky that the Victorians developed a passion for building railways but sad that some of our unions’ attitude seems stuck in that Victorian era. You have enough to write your article now?”

“Yup! I have already researched union resistance to the use of drones for track inspections and restrictions on engineering teams and their composition. So yes, should be able to get it to the Features Editor by Monday.”   

“What do you think about Duncan’s idea of developing next door as a bookshop?”

“Sami mentioned it to me. Once up and running I am sure it would make money and increase turnover in here; personally I would be wary of having so much debt, but I am not Duncan! You read The Times, don’t you? Did you see Matt Rudd’s column about an experiment devised by two psychologists? Half the participants had to engage in lively conversation with the café barista from whom they had ordered their coffee, the other half had to simply get through the process. The chatty half reported a sense of belonging and an improved mood as a result of the interaction. The miserable monosyllabic half did not. No one asked how the barista felt!”

“Wouldn’t happen here! The flow of conversation across the counter’s wonderful and I watch our baristas Kate and Susie really engage, with enthusiasm and a smile. I must show Duncan my latest triptych, those beach huts over there painted from the sea side.”

“Have you got a photograph?”

“Yes” I said and opened my iPad and my ‘Art’ album in ‘photos’. Here”

“That’s great Richard; very gifted. Duncan will want another! I saw Luke and Josh the other day and Josh starts back here at the beginning of March.”

“Excellent! Before I go, I must tell you …… I was in Rahmi’s the other morning just before 8 o’clock buying a magazine and some milk. A chap came in, walked down the aisle to the alcohol section and, grasping a few bottles of beer as if they were nectar, joined me in the queue to pay. Somewhat ironic as next door the local Alcoholic Anonymous group had just finished their breakfast meeting. Maybe others would come in to buy some essentials?”

“Ha! Ha! That’s lovely. I’m off too, Richard; I’m meeting Sami in Semola for a spot of lunch. See you next time; take care!”

          Wishing each other a fun rest-of-the-day, we nodded to Susie and went out into a misty late morning Hove.

Richard 23^rd February 2024

Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

One afternoon over the Christmas/New Year period I watched the 1964 film Zulu starring inter alia Michael Caine and Stanley Baker. It wasn’t the first time I’ve watched it and it probably won’t be the last, but I was reminded how soldiers with the same surnames, like Williams or Jones, were referred to in the 24^th Regiment of Foot, a regiment recruited exclusively from Wales. (See my postscript below)

Got me thinking and, delving into my ‘Notes for future PCs’ folder, I pulled out some examples of serendipity. For instance, on the fifth of November, Guy Fawkes Night, we have expend an enormous amount of money igniting fireworks, to remember the ‘Gunpowder Plot’ of 1605. Guy Fawkes and fellow Catholic conspirators attempted to blow up Parliament and assassinate King James. They were betrayed and the barrels of gunpowder in the Parliamentary cellars made safe, presumably by an EXPO (Note 1). Sadly for Guy and the others, they were executed. That evening last year I was watching the early BBC News & Weather and the weather presenter was, appropriately enough, Chris Fawkes. My daughter says Chris lives in the same village and is really nice!

There are apparently some 45, 000 different English surnames (Note 2) and their origins can be grouped into seven subsets:

Firstly, patronymic names reflect the male line; names such as Davidson or Richardson, just like adding -sen in Scandinavia. The alternatives are matronymic ones following the female line, such as Madison, from Maud, and Marriott, from Mary. We are surrounded by occupational surnames such as Carpenter, Knight, Taylor and Fisher; others, such as Cartwright, someone who fashioned wooden wheels for carriages and carts, reach back in history.

One rather interesting set are those fashioned by the characteristics of the person, their appearance for instance giving us White, Black or Grey. If your family lived near some recognisable geographical feature, it might be you’re called Hill, Moor, Lake or Wood, or connecting you with a physical town or county like Essex or Hampshire. One small set’s surnames reflect the land they owned and another the fact that they worked for a certain family, for example ‘Kilpatrick’, someone who worked for the Patrick family.

Notorious errors were created when the person entering the details of a baptism was literate enough to write but when hearing a surname like Smith for example, didn’t know whether it was Smith, Smyth, Smithe or Smythe. They all vaguely sounded the same and, not wanting to show personal uncertainty, wrote it how they thought it should be spelt!

I worked with an Antony Cook, undertook my officer training with David Miller, known to everyone as Dusty, and my bestest friend is called Stewart Baker, who may or may not love bread? I saw an artisan baker’s van the other day; the company was called Coburn & Baker – seemed very appropriate.

Lovely to have our weather forecasters with names like Amy Freeze, the BBC’s Sara Blizzard and Greg Dewhurst; nothing like the dew of an early summer’s morning, glistening on the grass and inviting a bare-foot walk.

The medical professions have their share of appropriate-sounding surnames, such as a clinical neurologist Lord Brain or an ophthalmologist Ashley Seawright; Joshua Butt would have to work in gastroenterology wouldn’t he (?)  and a Trauma Team was led by Dr Michaela Blood. In ‘All The living and the Dead – a personal investigation into the Death Trade’ – Hayley Campbell recalls a master embalmer working in the mortuary in Margate, Kent called Dr Gore. A Professor of Viruses at the University of Kent is called David Strain and my dentist in Bath in the 1950/60s was a Mr Sharp; memories of needles and chain-driven drills!

The other day on Facebook a chap was looking for recommendations for a local electrician. His surname? ‘Cable.’; felt he could have done it himself! And some months ago on a news item, an investigative journalist was commenting on the country’s ‘Open Door Policy on Immigration’ – seems appropriate she was called Ms Knocker.

More research on Google finds a firefighter in the USA called Leo McBurney, a lawyer called Sue H Yoo, a cashier named Ka Ching, a music teacher called Ms C Sharp and a librarian whose name is perfect – Wilbur Bookendorf. One of Edinburgh’s top restaurants is run by chef Tom Kitchin and a lecturer in weight loss from University College London doesn’t need to say anything, as his name is Dr Mike Loosemore.  

Singer Olly Murs was the subject of “A Life in The Day” in The Sunday Times and told us readers his girlfriend Amelia is a competitive bodybuilder. Her surname? Tank. Sort of goes with her passion! Again in that paper, a letter  caught my eye; the writer commented that the title of the Style Section’s Barometer column, which identifies products or trends that are getting ‘hotter or colder’, was a misnomer. He asserted it should correctly be called Thermometer. His name? Roy Muddle!

Here in the United Kingdom the Member of Parliament for Tamworth was suspended after accusations of groping and bottom-pinching were found to be true. His name? Chris Pincher. A ‘Dementia Research & Support Centre’ is run by a Professor Crutch and why wouldn’t Wake & Paine and Grieve & Son be two companies of undertakers? My parents’ cleaner in Balcombe was a Dolly Bacon and judging by her size she enjoyed rashers enormously. And what about Katherine Gill, narrating a news story about the huge resurgence in the global number of Blue Whales, showing these huge creatures surfacing, blowing, and submerging. Finally I could mention an Andrew Drinkwater at our Water Research Centre, two winners in an international tree climbing championship Josephine Hedger and Scott Forrest, and from my service days, Major Major.

So did my wife’s surname, Burn, originate from a geographical location, a stream for instance or, was it something altogether more firey?

Richard 16^th February 2024

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PC Seemed appropriate to visit my local Audi garage yesterday and meet Jacob Gwilliam. I suspect in some long-ago baptism the Recorder asked for the surname and was given the ‘family name’ initial G and William as the surname, hence Gwilliam.

Note 1 Explosives Police Officer. In the British Army known as Felix

Note 2 This postcard is purely focused on English surnames, for I have no knowledge of other nations’ name characteristics, especially those of Arabic, Chinese etc origins!

If you were never really aware of the importance of your anus, you just had to be the object of a drill sergeant’s sense of humour for that to be rectified! Sorry, couldn’t resist the little play on words here! Staff Sergeant Cameron, Scots Guards, was an imposing Drill Instructor at The Royal Military Academy Sandhurst in 1965. You can see him with his Pace Stick under his left arm at the rear of Burma Company Intake 39 during a drill competition and, yes, that’s me in front of him!

Of the many phrases that were designed to shock and insult in equal measure, their object of course to improve our abilities on and off the Drill Square, was this:

“Mr Yates! Sir! You are IDLE Sir! (Ed One imagined every word was followed by an exclamation mark.) What are you, Sir? Idle Sir! So, if you don’t get a move on and b’have, I’ll shove my pace stick where the sun don’t shine (Ed A reference to one’s anus!) and open it 30 inches! Do I make myself clear? … Sir!” (Note1) (Ed. But then there’s that expression: “The sun shines out of their arse!” Where the sun don’t shine???)

Some of my postcards that have received the most comments are ones concerning our habits of getting rid of bodily waste (PCs 47 Loo Paper (Aug 2015) and 54 The Loo (Nov 2015)), which is quite surprising as it’s not a subject for dinner parties, just that for lavatorial humour and historically smutty postcards.

We joke about our bottom! We call someone who cares too much about small details, about how things are organised, anally retentive. It apparently starts with poor parenting, shaming the child who becomes frightened of making a mess when pooing, obviously conscious they shouldn’t and tries to hold their faeces in. In adulthood they become anally fixated, meticulous, orderly, rigid and frugal! There’s the slang expression “Get one’s arse in gear” which means to start to do something seriously and quickly, but arse can also be used to describe a stupid person.

I often wonder why our creator, so wise and omnipotent, placed the entrance for procreation in the female body within a centimetre of the exit for our waste. Maybe designed by a committee?

One of my favourite songs is Rod Stewart’s “I don’t want to talk about, how you broke my heart ….” but I need to talk about it, my recent operation at the Nuffield Hospital in Brighton.

It was ‘day surgery’ so I had to be there at 0700 and was hardly awake when registering, but aware that the receptionist was commenting to a nurse about my hair. “Men can let their hair go naturally grey, but we find that a problem!” she said. I sort-of sleepily agree. ‘What’s your date of birth and postcode?’ is a question asked by any one of the number of people who come into my room to explain this, tell me that, give me an enema, take my order for lunch and they included the surgeon who has Tigger characteristics …… bounces in, asks some questions and bounces out.

“Oh! By the way. This form sets out what we are doing today and you need to sign it here and here.” I might have commented that this is you and the hospital covering your arse, but it’s not an expression to use today.

“The enema record is 10 minutes!” exclaims a nurse. Well, I am not one for breaking records and certainly not of this sort!

Why can’t the fashion industry design a full-proof hospital gown? I get that they are back-to-front but the little ties that would have closed the back were 10 cms long and no matter how I tried, they would not tie together. I am always envious of women’s ability to tie stuff behind their back, muscles used every day to connect their bra-straps. Feel a bit foolish, completely unable to gather some dignity but hey! ho! My assigned nurse, Denice, originally from Paraná State in the south of Brazil, has seen it all before so for the journey down to the operating theatre she puts another gown over my naked back! 

That trip is so odd; a male nurse pulls my trolley/bed, presumably in case I need to rest (?), and Denice and I follow. It’s so slow I am thinking ‘funeral procession’ and say to Denice, out loud: “Feels like a death march”. This produces a selection of responses from the various people up and down the corridor, from laughter to grim looks. Gallows humour?

This is not the first time I have undergone surgery so am relaxed as the anaesthetist mentions something about a canula and there’s a small prick and …… I am back in my hospital room.

Denice checks up on me: “You’ll need to pee and eat something before you are discharged.” Before the operation, I had liked the sound of ‘cold chicken on roasted vegetables’. Presented with some cold ratatouille under some dried chicken, I make an effort, sufficient to get discharged by 1530. Another long form, ‘sign here and here; just covering our arses’!

That night the peppers come back to haunt me!  

Since my return to the land of the living I have been trying somewhat unsuccessfully to cope with a continuing sensation of wanting to poo – all day. Too much information maybe, but I do take my hat off to those women who have given birth, as I am sure what I am experiencing is deemed normal postnatal. Celina and I discover one friend and one relative who have both had this operation. The length of recovery seems to be anything from 6 to 8 weeks and here’s me thinking a couple of weeks at most. I thought about writing a book entitled ‘Things the Consultants Don’t Tell You’ then decided I couldn’t be arsed.

Richard 9^th February 2024

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 As an aspiring officer, an NCO was required to address me as ‘Sir’. They joked that when you called them ‘Staff’ you meant it, whereas when they called you ‘Sir’ they didn’t. Their pace stick was like a large pair of dividers; it could be opened so the ends were 30 inches apart, the regulation length of a marching pace.

It’s been a while since I have been able to visit the Hope Café for a good coffee and catch-up, but my recent surgery has prohibited my return to the hot yoga studio in Middle Street, so I popped in on Tuesday morning. Normally I only get to go early in the morning or after lunch so a different selection of individuals are enjoying coffees, cakes, delicious items from Teresa’s Brazilian counter and conversation. I notice Mo in a corner at about the same time as I see that Josh’s candle on the counter is no longer there.

Holding a double espresso in one hand and my iPad in the other, I make my way over to Mo, who fortunately indicates I should sit whilst she finishes off her conversation on her mobile.

“That’s my mother. I always try and talk to her every day, even if there’s not much to say! Our chats drift about this and that, about today’s issues and past memories but I sense it’s so important to her that I maintain that contact. Loneliness is one of the greatest causes of a decline in mental acuity which is why The Hope’s Table Thursdays, when single people come in here for a chat, are an absolutely vital service to the community. Haven’t seen you for a while; didn’t you have some nasty operation last week? How did that go?”

“I am thinking of writing one of my postcards about it, so simply say ‘as good as can be expected’, but I remain on painkillers!”

“Didn’t someone say it’s like having a pineapple up your backside? I remember in a postcard you mentioned Ridley Scott’s film Napoleon and how riding a horse with piles (note 1) is like having a migraine up your rectum!”

“I am thinking ‘knobbly cucumber’ but yes, same sensation!” as I sit gingerly at the table!

I am just to ask Mo about Josh and what news when Duncan comes into the café and comes over, after indicating to Libby he’s like a Latte.

“Two birds with one stone huh! How are you Richard? I gather you had some operation?”

Mo immediately butts (no pun intended!) in: “He’s going to write a PC about it …. but it was OK!” 

“I am fine thanks. What news of Josh? I gather from the WhatsApp group he’s back in the UK and I see the candle on the counter’s no longer there. Nice touch when it was.”

“Yes. He has been discharged from both the hospital in Haifa and from his time in the IDF. He got back to Hove a fortnight ago; his shrapnel wounds are healing well and he hopes to return to work. Meanwhile Kate’s still here and Libby is alternating with Susie.

Listen, you both read a lot. Did you see The Times’ list of the 12 Best Independent UK Bookshops that their readers chose (Note 2)? One of them was in Kemptown in Brighton ……”

“And another in Farnham close to where my daughter lives, The Blue Bear Bookshop.”

“I know the one in Kemptown” says Mo, “go there regularly. Think it’s just called Kemptown Bookshop.”

“But underneath the headline” interjects Duncan “it says ‘& Bookroom Café.’ Got me thinking. We almost doubled the floor space last year by incorporating Teresa’s Delicatessen and that’s proved remarkably successful. The lease is up next door …….”

“And you’re thinking” says Mo “of opening a bookshop? You obviously know how to run a successful café but a bookshop? Isn’t that a little specialised?”

“Well, you need to love books! Didn’t you stand in for the owner of a bookshop in Battersea in London Richard?” asks Duncan.

“Funny, Duncan; I’d almost forgotten about it but yes, in October 2010 I looked after The Bolingbroke Bookshop (Note 3) on Northcote Road owned by Michael, er, Gibbs I think. Michael’s normal weekend relief staff was sick, he had a wedding to go to and was completely stuck, so I volunteered. Couldn’t be that hard I thought! Somehow I muddled through the day, coping with the individuals’ requests for this type of book or that author. I even managed the cash reconciliation at the end of the day. But if you’re thinking I could run one next door, Duncan, count me out!!

“Richard, just an idea! But ideas gather legs ….. I already have a name for it: ‘Hope in Books’.”

“Actually!” says Mo “I think it’s a delightful idea. You can see how the Kemptown Bookshop has become so popular and there will be good synergy between the Café and the Bookshop customers. You know Robert who’s often at the counter tapping away on his laptop? He’s struggling to get find his niche, whether as a free-lance journalist or author so you could have a brain-storming session with him; I am sure Lisa would want to be part of that discussion. Mmmmm! Good luck!”

Duncan excuses himself, as does Mo, who’s off to have lunch with her mother in Shoreham, and this gives me an opportunity to take stock. Those of you who are regular readers will know that my scribbles about the UK Post Office scandal started in June 2021 (PC 235) and, through meeting and befriending Sami here in the Hope Café, that interest has continued. Today the saga is regularly headline news in the UK and hopefully by the end of the year those wrongly convicted will be exonerated; more importantly, those responsible will face criminal proceedings. I know Sami has accepted some compensation and is anxious to move on; I will too.  

Susie had popped in to see her aunt Libby and, seeing me, brings her iPad over. She’d promised to show me her Gap Year photos of her time in New Zealand, Tasmania and Melbourne. I know New Zealand particularly (Note 4) well but she’s bubbly and wants to show her favourites and her enthusiasm for her travels and adventures is evident. What a lovely way to spend 30 minutes – without thinking about your arse!

Richard 2^nd February 2024

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 Piles are also known as haemorrhoids but the spelling is challenging!

Note 2 https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/87406bd4-aad1-4fb0-b3fe-02e1ccad1b71?shareToken=852a81f6c2b006460e05ee8e1cccb5bc

Note 3 It sadly closed in 2013 after 31 years

Note 4 See PC 88 Coromandel Jan 2017 and PCs 169 Shifting Sands and Feathers and 170 100% Pure New Zealand