We probably all remember, some of us with more clarity than others, the learning of the alphabet, those 26 letters that make up the English Alphabet? The word itself is a compound of the first two letters of the Greek alphabet, alpha and beta. It originated in the C7th to write Old English from Latin script. All the characters of the English alphabet are displayed in the pangram “The Quick Brown Fox Jumps Over The Lazy Dog.” There are many other alphabets, some 100 globally, but 99% of the world’s pure alphabets come from just nine, Latin, Chinese characters, Arabic, Devanagari (Hindi, Nepali and Sanskrit), Bengali, Cyrillic, Hebrew, Greek and Japanese.

“As easy as your ABC” became synonymous for something that was easy to do. And you might be right in thinking I only got as far as the letter C …… despite my surname being almost at the end of the alphabet. And that in itself can produce a sense of unfairness, always at the end, the last on any distribution list or handout. I could easily have developed a little chip on a shoulder about this and hope that at some stage in the future someone will decide to start something with Z!

So …. C…. sounding like ‘see’ or ‘sea’ ……

I seem to be in the centre of the letter C. My wife was christened Celina, and her brother Carlos. The parents were Carlos and Cecilia. Carlos junior married a Camilla and Celina’s first husband was called Chris. You might by now be thinking how come she’s chosen me, with a Christian name beginning with R. Ah! I know. Because my middle name is Corbett, through my grandmother’s father Richard Sydney Corbett being born in Recife Brazil and his father migrating to Brazil in 1830 from Lancashire.

The idea for these scribbles began to germinate during a catch-up call with another C, a Crichton. You may think the only Crichton you’ve heard of is that one in the 1957 film The Admirable Crichton about an affluent family who get shipwrecked and come to rely on their butler, Crichton. It starred Kenneth More and Diane Cilento and it’s so long ago that not many people alive will have remembered it. My ‘Crichton’ was born a week after me and I met him for the first time in September 1965 when we joined Intake 39 Burma Company at the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst. Two years later, on commissioning, we went our separate ways, he into the Royal Gloucester Regiment (Note 1) and me into the Royal Regiment of Artillery. Our military paths never crossed but I touched base when a fellow Gloucester officer serving as the Defence Attache in Athens, Peter Saunders, was murdered in 2000. At Sandhurst we learned another alphabet ……

During our time at Sandhurst we both volunteered to take the Basic Parachuting Course, two jumps from a balloon (see PC 28 Balloons, Bloating and … ) and a number, including a night jump, from an aeroplane. The last was onto Hankley Common near Godalming, Surrey for a summer Teddy Bear’s Picnic. Although qualified as a Military Parachutist and entitled to wear the badge, irreverently known as the ‘light bulb’, we hadn’t taken part in the Parachute Regiment’s P Company selection so were no way able to wear the coveted red beret!

I mention this because Crichton’s eldest son John followed his father into an infantry regiment and has completed three tours in Afghanistan and two in Iraq. Apparently his chest is covered in medals, whereas in our time in the army the only campaign medals awarded were for service in Northern Ireland (see PCs 196, 197 & 198 September 2020) and the Falklands War in 1982. By comparison with John’s, my uniform was a little bare; we just did what came up and, depending on your viewpoint, were in the wrong place at the wrong time or the right place at the right time!

‘C’ was the beginning of the title (Note 2) of a heart-rending account of journalist and broadcaster John Diamond’s ultimately futile battle with oral and throat cancer (Note 3), which had been diagnosed in 1997. He was married to Nigella nee Lawson with whom he had two children, Cossima and Bruno, and died in March 2001 shortly before his 44^th birthday. Nigella is now a well-known food writer and television cook; she was married to Charles (another C!) Saatchi from 2003 to 2013.

John and Nigella Diamond

Crichton’s first wife, with whom he had spent many decades, died in 2019 …… of cancer. So the letter C again!

So you can finish with a grin or a laugh, read this: “A man was walking along a street when he heard a crowd in the garden of a building on the other side of a fence. As he got closer he determined they were chanting: ‘thirteen’, thirteen’, ‘thirteen’ over and over and over again. Being a very curious individual, he wondered why they were doing this and, seeing a little hole in the wooden fence at about his height, stopped and put his eye to it. He recoiled as someone stuck a stick through the hole just missing his iris. The chanting continued: ‘fourteen’, ‘fourteen’, ‘fourteen’ ….”

Richard 1^st December 2023

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1. The Gloucestershire Regiment (The Glosters) existed as an infantry regiment from 1881 to 1994. At its peak it consisted of 18 battalions but after WW2 ended it was reduced to one single battalion of some 660 men. That unit covered itself in glory during the Battle of the Imjin River in 1951 during The Korean War. The Glosters were part of the four-infantry battalion 29^th Brigade, some 2500 men, ordered to hold the south side of the river against 27,000 Chinese soldiers. For three successive nights they repelled numerous Chinese attacks, eventually withdrawing to Hill 235 where their stand enabled other parts of the United Nations force to conduct an orderly retreat. Just 63 men managed to get off the hill, subsequently christened Gloster Hill; 56 soldiers had been killed and 522 taken prisoner.  

Note 2 The full title was “C: Because Cowards get Cancer Too”

Note 3 A cousin of mine died of throat cancer aged 55. Awful!

I hadn’t thought of Arthur Stace for way over a decade, but his name came up in an excellent book, The Household Guide to Dying, by Debra Adelaide, recommended by my chum Chris Popham (See PC 348 Frogmore Devon).

Initially I wasn’t sure whether this was my sort of book, the title suggesting something mawkish and sad. How wrong I was! I finished it some weeks ago, sitting by the pool in Estoril, soaking up both the sun and the interesting story. It concerns Delia, an established author, who has written many family guide books, ‘The Household Guide to Laundry’, ‘…. to Gardening’ for example. Suffering from terminal cancer, she persuades her commissioning editor that she should write a guide for her family and others, so they can continue without her; they call it ‘The Household Guide to Dying’. Additionally, there are things she feels she needs to do while she still can, for example go to places that were pivotal in her life and the story is interwoven with these threads.

It took me a while to understand it was set in Australia but when Delia mentions Mr Eternity, Arthur Stace, it made sense.

In theology eternity means an endless life after one’s earthly death – the concept of one’s ‘immortal’ soul destined for eternity. This is a fundamental belief in Christianity, in Islam and in Hinduism. But Buddhism teaches something completely different, that there is no perception of an eternal metaphysical aspect of human personality. The only common ground is a belief that one’s spirit leaves the body. Buddhists believe that, as we are such a mixture of the physical and psychical, the spirit is ‘reborn’ is some form, depending on the laws of karma, the ‘cause-and-effect’ laws of our material existence. All religions believe where your spirit goes depends on how you perform in your life. You might go up, you might go down, you might go sideways although reincarnation in some animal form is viewed in a negative light and is seen as a backward step in the journey to self-mastery. So no concerns about ‘coming back’ as a snake, for instance!

Eternity is a noun and eternal an adjective. Classic philosophy defines eternity as what is timeless or exists outside time. Eternal and forever are synonymous but there is a subtle difference. Forever refers to an endless or seemingly endless period of time. Eternal means always lasting without a beginning or end: think of eternal as existing outside of time. Easy huh?

A British R&B girl group formed in 1992 called themselves Eternal and there are ‘eternal flames’ in cathedrals and public squares across the world that pay homage to those who died in battle. For me the word will always take me back to the closing minutes of the Sunday morning service at the Royal Military Chapel at Sandhurst. Kneeling on hassocks and, hoping our highly polished parade boots were not being scuffed by the flagstones, one thousand officer cadets sang quietly ‘Eternal Father’, in memory of Merchant and Royal Navy sailors who had lost their lives during conflict:

“Eternal Father, strong to save, Whose arm does bind the restless wave, Who bids the mighty ocean deep

Its own appointed limits keep; O hear us when we cry to thee For those in peril on the sea.”

From ‘Here to Eternity’ was the title of a 1953 American romantic war drama starring Montgomery Cliff, Burt Lancaster, Deborah Kerr and Frank Sinatra, based on the James Jones book of the same name. I guess we’ve all seen the B&W photograph of Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr on the beach?

James Jones found that the phrase ‘from here to eternity’ was first used by Rudyard Kipling in his 1892 poem ‘Gentleman Rankers’. Kipling wrote about soldiers of the British Empire who had lost their way and were ‘damned from here to eternity’. It had been incorporated into the ‘Whiffenpoof Song’ by junior students at Yale University and Jones liked it!

In the British Army in the C19th a ‘gentleman ranker’ was an enlisted soldier suited through education and social background to be a commissioned officer, It’s a long poem but the final verse is:

“We’re poor little lambs who’ve lost our way, Baa! Baa! Baa!

We’re little black sheep who’ve gone astray, Baa – aa – aa!

Gentleman rankers out on the spree,

Damned from here to eternity,

God ha’ mercy on such as we, Baa! Yah! Bah!”

Mr Eternity? Oh! Yes! Sorry … got distracted! Somewhere ‘Delia’ mentions Arthur Stace! Arthur Stace (1885 -1967) was the fifth child of alcoholics and brought up in poverty in the Sydney suburb of Redfern, By his 12^th birthday, with no formal schooling and often in trouble with the authorities, he was an alcoholic, had already spent some time in prison and was made a ward of the state. In 1916 aged 32 he joined the Australian army and served for three years during World War One. Over ten years later Arthur Stace was moved to attend church and in 1932 heard these words from the Reverend John Ridley:

“Eternity, eternity, eternity; I wish I could sound or shout that word to everyone on the streets of Sydney. You’ve got to meet it, where will you spend eternity?”

Something clicked inside the head of Arthur Stace; in some way the words spoke directly to him.

He was so touched that for the next 35 years Stace got up early and wrote the word ‘Eternity’ in yellow chalk wherever he could, on pavements, on buildings, on walls. For those living in Sydney at the time, the fresh yellow script was there during their morning commute into work, but whoever was doing it was a mystery; so the man who wrote ‘Eternity’ became a Sydney legend, only resolved in 1955 when the Reverend Lisle Thompson saw Stace take a piece of yellow chalk and write ‘Eternity’ on the pavement. It’s estimated he wrote it over half a million times.

So, see you in the next life …. or more likely, next week.

Richard 24^th November 2023

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Before I scribble about my last visit to The Hope Café, I need to share a delightful ‘You Tube’ link, courtesy of my Greek dentist Rachil. I sent her PC 360 ‘Kaftans, Mimi & Toutou’ as two Greek singers were mentioned in the first part, Nana Mouskouri and Demis Rousos. You can watch them singing a duet, wearing Kaftans, at https://youtu.be/YqtT7fICQFY?si=N61nnthnpzD2-2U6

The first thing I notice when I push open the door of The Hope Café is that Josh, the barista who’s always there, is absent. Libby is manning (womaning doesn’t seem right?) the counter, but Duncan sees me and greets me in the middle of the floor.

“Afternoon Richard, glad I was here to see you as Josh wanted me to give you his best wishes and hopes to be back at some time.”

“At some time? Where’s he gone?”

“You remember back in March 2022 in PC 273 ‘Stories to Tell’ you wrote how Josh had told you his grandparents had escaped the persecution of the Jews in Ukraine in 1938 and fled to England ……”

“Yes! Absolutely! Oh! No! He’s not flown to Israel and joined the Army?”

“He has. He was watching the videos of the indiscriminate Hamas slaughter of 1400 Israelis, the young, the old, the babies and the festival goers, and those taken hostage in early October and sensed that he should do his bit to protect the country that was founded after The Holocaust.”

“Isn’t it amazing …. There’s no other nation on earth where individuals in its diaspora would have heard the unsounded call to leave their safe lives, family and jobs and travel to their mother country and sign up.”

“The whole situation, the Hamas slaughter and the subsequent huge loss of life in Gaza is so so sad, although here the country seems split on generational lines as to who to support, the young siding with the Palestinians and the older age group saying: “But what do you make of the Hamas spokesman who says we will repeat the attacks of 7^th October again and again until Israel is annihilated?”

“Maybe we should keep a lit candle on the counter, until Josh returns?”

“Good idea! Libby’s been in touch with Susie and she’s going to finish off her Gap Year in Melbourne, not go to Western Australia, and return by the end of the year. So we’ll just muddle through without Josh until then.”

“I have an idea. You know I do hot yoga? Well, the other day I was talking to Kate, another aficionado and Hot Yoga teacher, who, it transpires, is a bus driver on the tourist route to Eastbourne. This is a seasonal job and she’s just finished for the winter months. Let me ask her whether she could stand in for Josh; she lives down by Hove Lagoon so not far. If she’s enthusiastic I’ll get her to call you.”

“That would be great. Before you go, how is the triptych coming on, you know, the one you promised by Christmas?”

“Er! Well, the idea’s taking shape, I just need to draw it out and then apply some paint! Don’t worry!”

I see Mo having a Latte, step over to her table and ask how she is.

“Loving the new layout and can’t resist some of the goodies from Teresa’s Brazilian Deli!”

“Ah! Yes. Difficult to stop them becoming a habit.”

“Can I buy you a slice of Queijadinha?”

“No! Please. I do not need another centimetre or two on my waistline!”

“Did Duncan tell you about Josh? He’s my daughter’s age and now he’s gone to assist in the defence of Israel, poor boy! Poor parents! I know from my history that there was nowhere else for the homeless Jews at the end of the second world war, those that hadn’t been exterminated in the concentration camps. Today, 75 years later, and Israel’s the only truly democratic country in the Middle East and it’s surrounded by countries who challenge its existence.”

Mo and I exchange views about The Middle East for some 30 minutes before ……

“It’s tragic whichever way you look at it. Let’s talk about less destressing stuff! Can’t see Sami and Lisa?”

“They were here earlier in the week and I think they have gone up to Derbyshire to get her house ready for renting.”

“Where is it? In Folding over Sheet?”

“Yes and now Sami’s got his compensation after the Post Office debacle they are going to buy something together down here. Seems to make sense. Incidentally I saw some of Sami and Lisa’s photos of their two weeks in the Maldives ……. I won’t spoil it for you as I know they’ll want to show you but what a serene and beautiful place. Did you know it’s at risk from rising sea levels due to climate change? If you’ve never been you need to go soon!”

“Incidentally, as you know, I love trivia – well trivia to some (!) but I read the other day that of those who were born globally between 1930 and 1946, only 1% are still alive.”

“Sorry! Run that past me again ….”

“Records of global births and deaths are difficult to ascertain, with data collections hugely unreliable in some places, but it’s claimed that of all the individuals born between 1930 and 1946, only one percent are still alive (aged between 77 and 93)! I did find out that 90 million people were born globally in 1950 and then 140 million in 2020 but this is probably completely irrelevant!”

“Think you should do more research then this weird percentage could become more interesting. Where are these 1% for instance?”

“Before I go, Mo, I think I’m going to introduce Robert Silcock, over there on the counter by the window, to Lisa when she’s next in. I know Robert struggles with the social aspect of life and, given her own journalistic background, she could give him some encouragement.”

“Good idea! See you next time! Big kiss!”

Richard 17^th November 2023

Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

I hope we’ve all done it, sitting around the table amidst the detritus of a lovely supper, an attacked cheese board and accompanying pear peel, some strawberries, an empty bowl of ice cream, soft lighting revealing dirty plates and contented faces, and the conversation just drifting with little direction. During the summer in Estoril with Celina’s mother and cousin, our shared experiences are often not the same, my knowledge of Brazil and growing up in Rio de Janeiro miniscule compared with my own English upbringing. After-dinner chats roll in a desultory way……

One word started the process, in this case ‘forever’, maybe referring to how long the redecoration of the four-apartment building on Avenida General Carmona was going to take …..

 ….. and I go ‘Forever and Ever’, being the title song from a 1973 hit ….. and someone poses a rhetorical question: Who was that chap, that big man, who wore a Kaftan or some other somewhat feminine garb, his falsetto voice at odds with his long black hair and mass of curly locks protruding from his chest? Maybe that’s what made him a star in his time. And sure enough the name Demis Roussos rises to the surface of one’s memory. Celina reaches for her iPhone, opens Spotify and suddenly he’s back with us in the room, and we remember one of his other smash hits, Goodbye My Love Goodbye.

“It says here (Wikipedia!) he died eight years ago at the early age of 68 …… oh! and had a huge hit here in Portugal with Vocé Vocé e Nada Mais (You, you are nothing more) in 1977.”

“Well, well! Who knew?! But he always performed in a Kaftan so he didn’t look so big as he was over 20 stone (130kgs)!

“So, no tutu for Demis!! And there was another Greek singer from about the same time …… Nana …..?”

“Nana Mouskouri.”

“Nana Mouskouri! Yes. The White Rose of Athens was her most famous song but did you know she recorded over 200 albums before she took a break to become a Greek member of the European Parliament? She’s still with us, aged 89!”

“I bet she never wore a Kaftan.”

“Actually she did!! Or so this photograph from some museum suggests!”

“But never a tutu!”

The word brought up another memory and I look across at Toni and ask:

“Did you ever hear the story of Mimi and Toutou (Note 1)?”

“Sounds like two very short skirts? (Note 2)

“No! No! Not Mini! Mimi ….. and Toutou with extra ‘o’s.”

“No! I haven’t. But I sense you’re going to tell me ….”

Many years ago I had been so taken by a Times review of the book ‘Mimi & Toutou Go Forth’ that I ordered it. It was before the Kindle so a paperback copy came through the post. Knowing everyone likes a good story, I thought I could give them a summary.………

“OK! We go back to the First World War and the minor skirmishes in East Africa. History buffs will know that the colony of German East Africa was surrounded by Belgian and British colonies, with Lake Tanganyika, a huge body of water some 670 kms long acting as the inland border. News reached the War Office in London’s Whitehall that the Germans had moved a naval ship to the lake via the railway from Dar es Salaam and we, the Brits, had nothing. Deep in The Admiralty a plot was conceived whereby a couple of armed boats would be shipped to South Africa, a British colony, then north by rail to Fungurume in the Belgian Congo and on overland to Lake Tanganyika.

This hairbrained scheme needed a wacky Boys’ Own Adventurer-type to carry it off; officer files were searched and eventually the oldest Lieutenant Commander in the Royal Navy, Geoffrey Spicer-Simson, twice court-martialled and known as a complete liar, was chosen.  

At his insistence the two 12m motor launches were commissioned as HMS Mimi and HMS Toutou and armed with 3 pounder Hoskiss guns. In July 1915 Spicer-Simson, twenty seven other naval personnel and the two launches arrived in Port Elizabeth after a month long voyage from Portsmouth. Loaded onto railway wagons they were then transported 3250kms northwards, and then the real adventure began. With hundreds of hired native Africans, they dragged the two launches across 140 rivers and gorges, building temporary bridges and using oxen and steam engines, the four hundred kilometres to the western shore of the lake.

HMS Mimi on route

Arriving on 28^th September, HMS Mimi and HMS Toutou were deployed three days later. In their first skirmish with the Germans, they captured the Kigani and subsequently renamed her HMS Fifi. Eleven days later they attacked and sank the Hedwig von Wissman but sensibly did not engage the much more heavily armed Graf von Götzen. An Anglo-Belgian attack on German land positions the following year resulted in the scuttling of this large vessel (Note 3)

HMS Mimi with HMS Toutou behind her

The Battle of Lake Tanganyika was summed up as: “No single achievement during World War One was distinguished by more bizarre features than the successfully executed undertaking of 28 daring man who transported a ready made navy overland through the wilds of Africa to destroy an enemy flotilla on Lake Tanganyika.”

Lieutenant Commander Spicer-Simson never held a Naval command again and died in 1947 aged 71.

I think I still had Toni’s attention but Cecilia and Celina’s had wandered somewhat. Nothing worse than someone banging on …….

“Hey! Ho! Let’s clear the table …..”

Richard 10^th November 2023

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PS There’s plenty of stuff on You Tube about this or you can read Giles Foden’s book, ‘Mimi and Toutou Go Forth’

Note 1 Mimi and Toutou are often known as childish onopatopoeia for cat and dog in French. (Meow and Fido in Parisian slang.) Mimi’s also the name of Celina’s bestest friend, although she was christened Marina.

Note 2 What’s that slang description of extremely short schoolgirl skirts – pussy pelmets?

Note 3 The ship was raised after the war and still operates on Lake Tanganyika as the MV Liemba

The temperature of the sea water on Portugal’s Atlantic coast doesn’t encourage many to swim unless you’re into triathlons or some such and swim in a wetsuit. Often it’s a very quick in-and-out and a wrap in your towel. Got me thinking about my own experiences of swimming, in seas, in rivers, in lakes and in pools.

My early years were spent in Bath and by nine was a boarder in a school on the southern hills of the city. The obligatory weekly swimming lessons required a walk down to the small public swimming baths. Larking about one day, suddenly the challenge was to swim under the rather grotty wooden steps by which one entered the water. It probably required three strokes – I was not a confident swimmer and almost, almost got stuck. I can feel the wood of the steps against my back today!

Balcombe Lake lay in the valley below my parents’ house. During the summer school holidays I used to walk down across the fields to the water’s edge, strip off, and wade in. The bottom was thick mud and I didn’t dwell on what might be living in it, absorbed by the sense of freedom and being close to nature, the thrill of naked swimming. ‘Wild Swimming’ has become very popular in Britain in the last few years although sadly its attraction has highlighted another issue in the United Kingdom, the poor quality of the water in our rivers and streams, often as a result of ‘permitted run off’ from farms, both cattle and chicken.   

During one Summer break from school Mr Proctor took a group of us to the Brecon Beacons in South Wales for some hill walking. We had some basic tents and blankets, sleeping bags being a luxury, and when not out on Pen y Fan or Cribyn were based in the Army’s hutted Sennybridge Camp. About a kilometre away lay the youthful River Usk, a cool, clear fast-flowing stream that eventually emptied into the Bristol Channel 120kms away. After a long day walking, it was heaven on earth to lower one’s body into the water and, hanging on to a boulder, let the stress of the day float away!

Dauntsey’s School had a long outdoor swimming pool built by the post-A Level students. It was fed by spring water, but a year after it was opened another project saw the water pumped into a large tank, from where it ran over some sun-heated corrugated panels; early solar heating I guess.

The first six weeks at The Royal Military Academy Sandhurst were designed to sort the ‘wheat from the chaff’, so to speak, with an accent on getting us physically fit. Part of that process was time spent in the large swimming pool. The eventual test was something like today’s: “Jump in and swim for 50 metres wearing a lifejacket. (Not in my time! More: “If you sink Mr Yates, Sir, an instructor will save you!”) Jump in with combat jacket and trousers, tread water for two minutes and then swim 20 metres.”

Almost without exception, when one swims one has a vague idea of how deep the water is; in a swimming pool it’s obvious, along a beach less so, but in the mid-Atlantic I knew the bottom was almost two thousand fathoms below my feet!

We imagined there were no shoals of fish here ….. so no sharks ….. but we kept a lookout and allowed only one person in at once. Very strange feeling, this during a transatlantic yacht race on a Nicholson 55 in 1976. (See PC 161 The Atlantic Sept 2019)

Have you ever thought to yourself: ‘God! I am a complete dickhead!’ or similar words? When I worked for Short Brothers’ Missile Systems Division my area of responsibility was ‘India and the Far East’ and on one trip in 1988 flew from Singapore to Brunei. I stayed in the capital Bandar Seri Begawan and gave a presentation at their Department of Defence. On the Saturday I drove out along the coast road to visit the Brunei Armed Forces’ Air Defence Battery, commanded by a friend of mine Andy Fellowes, seconded from the Royal Artillery.

Brunei lies due east of Malaysia

One particular stretch of the coast road ran parallel to the sea. On my return, it was a typical hot steamy late afternoon and I suddenly thought I could have a swim. There was virtually no traffic and certainly no visible humans, so I pulled off the road onto the sandy verge, locked the car and walked across the warm sand to the water’s edge. Toe in! Bliss! No one around and I thought just a quick swim, so stripped off my clothes and waded into the tropical water. Ah! After ten minutes of splashing around I thought I must get back, dry off somehow and return to my hotel. It was then I realised a little worrying undertow not only was taking me down the beach but also further out. I was only about ten metres from the shore but those ten metres were the longest in my life; major physical effort saw me back exhausted, lying on the sand thinking how stupid I had been. I sort-of saw the headlines in the newspaper: “Abandoned car and a pile of clothes! Mystery of the vanishing British sales executive.”

The river entrance is just north east of Aarosund

It was more of a hardship to jump into the fjord when sailing with chums in Denmark one year. We were in the south of the Little Belt and had sailed up the Haderslev Fjord to ensure a peaceful night at anchor in the river, only to find that the heads (WC to those of you unfamiliar with nautical nomenclature) was blocked. The only answer, it seemed, was to get over the side and reach under the water to the outlet pipe ….. and poke around until ….. it became unblocked! As the skipper, I didn’t ask for volunteers, just got on with it!

Richard 3^rd November 2023

Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

As I asked Libby for a double espresso, she showed me a long email from Susie. “I must say hello to Mo, then I would love to see how she’s doing. I’ll be back!”

Mo was head down into the latest Peter James novel. James is a hugely successful local writer whose detective character in his ‘Dead’ series is DS Roy Grace, played by the actor John Simm in two televised dramas.

Like all stories that feature the same characters, they tend to get a little samey, even if time and effort is spent developing and aging them. When we first came to Hove and someone introduced me to ‘Grace’, I hoovered them up like a maniac. They are all set in and around Brighton & Hove so there is that ‘Oh! I know where that is’ that makes them more interesting to those readers who live here.

“Have you read this yet Richard?”

“No, not yet, but it’s in a pile in my Kindle!” (Can you say that?)

Mo wonders whether I had seen the news item here about possible changes to the legality of assisting someone to end their life. Our Crown Prosecution Service (CPS) have said: ‘Charges are unlikely in cases where a victim clearly wanted to die and they suspect put real ‘emotional pressure’ on a friend or family member to assist.’

 “My mother is loving living in her ‘retirement house’ in Shoreham where people are on hand to help if necessary, but otherwise the elderly live normal independent lives. She comes over here quite a lot and helps on Thursdays for the ‘lonely table’ mornings but she has said that, at 83, she may need help at some point to leave this life! It’s one of the most complex issues any society has to deal with, the conflict between the wishes of someone which goes against the laws of the land.”

“This sort of dilemma pulls at the heart strings, doesn’t it? We knew someone in Portugal who was diagnosed with a particular nasty cancer and contemplated going to Dignitas in Switzerland. By the time she had decided to go, she was too unwell to travel! Mo, I haven’t much time this morning and I promised Libby I would see Susie’s photographs from Tasmania, so I’ll leave you to get back to ‘Stop You Dead’ and catch up next early in November. OK?”

Libby comes and sits at my table as the café is quite quiet this morning. I think she’s rather enjoyed standing in for her niece while she has been away on her belated Gap Year and I suspect she’ll do a deal with Duncan to stay in some capacity.

“Hi! Richard! About time you caught up! By the way” Libby says, lowering her voice and nodding towards the café’s corner, “the woman in the wheelchair’s Anna; she’s become quite a regular and you should make an effort to get to know her.”

“How did she end up in a wheelchair? She’s what, late 20s?”

“She told me she was on a tombstoning holiday in Cornwall and ….”

“What’s that, tombstoning?”

“Apparently, it’s an extreme sport where individuals jump off cliffs or harbour walls for instance. She got it wrong once and is now paralysed from the waist downwards. But she’s plucky and works in marketing for a spinal injuries organisation.”

“Sounds as though they chose an appropriate name for that sport! So what about Susie?”

“You know that she got offered a job in Hobart, Tasmania, working for Margie in her catering company?”

“Yes! Until the end of October wasn’t it or …”

“No that’s right. She says she fitted right in and has loved living on this rather strange island, where lots of the towns are named after places in England and Wales. (Note 1) She sails in the evenings in a Spring dinghy regatta in Hobart harbour and has managed, with Margie and her partner Stephanie, to see something of the island during the weekends.”

“That’s great! Where has she been?”

“Well; the first weekend they went up the coast to Wineglass Bay, says the seawater was freezing ….

and then took the little ferry to Maria Island, famous for its rock striations

Oh! And they stayed in a great B&B in Swansea and did some hiking in the Freycinet National Park.

“She’s obviously having a good ‘overseas experience’. Hasn’t Tasmania got a bit of a dark history, apart from its Tasmanian Devil?”

“Sadly yes! Susie’s had time to read Robert Hughes’ ‘The Fatal Shore’ about the colonisation of Australia. Hughes wrote how Aboriginal people were herded north and shipped across to Flinders Island where, without much support, they eventually withered.”

“I read that book many years ago – brilliant! Has she seen the ruins of the convict prisons at Port Arthur?”

“Let me have a look through these photos, Richard. (pause) Yes, here’s one of those buildings …..

…… and one of Macquarie Harbour on the west coast.”

“I remember Hughes’ description of Macquarie Harbour’s entrance, ‘Hells Gate’. This coast is the first landmass east of Argentina and the southern ocean’s waves made navigating the gap between the rocks treacherous. Susie’s having a great time; any sense of when she’ll return?”

“Not yet …..! By the way, you know Lisa gave Sami a birthday treat of two weeks in the Maldives?”

“Yes! She told me she took him to Terminal Five at Heathrow and he had no idea where he was going. Perfect 65^th Birthday present! No doubt we will hear about it from them on their return.”

“No doubt we will!”

Richard 27^th October 2023

Hove

http://www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 He now lives in Jersey, I assume for their more favourable tax regime. I read one of his non-Grace books, ‘I Follow You’, about a man obsessed with a female runner; it was based in Jersey and absolutely brilliant if a little spine-chilling!

Note 2 For instance Launceston, Richmond, Beaconsfield, Devonport, Sheffield and even Brighton.

These scribbles may, I suspect, be more interesting to my male readers than those of other genders but who knows, living in the alphabet-soup of today’s options!

In August 2015 I scribbled about Loo Paper (PC 47) which attracted some delightful reminiscences but was probably ‘placed or arranged the opposite way to the way it should have been’ ie ‘arse about face’ – as subsequently I was prompted to write about The Loo (PC 54 November 2015) and the delightful Mr Crapper.

I can guarantee that if you are a living mammal you urinate! Mammals, for clarity, are ‘warm-blooded vertebrate animals that are distinguished by the possession of hair or fur, females that secrete milk for the nourishment of their young and typically the birth of live young! There are seven sub-groups of mammals, of which one, ‘Primates’, covers us humans.

Having a pee is something no one can do for you, although if you’re a very young boy and not really able to hold your penis and, more importantly, aim it into the loo, then some parental help may be necessary. I will not comment on what happens when you’re very old! Urine is extremely corrosive – you can see the result of dogs urinating up against a lamppost, how the bottom gets rusty, unless you have them coated or covered. If you are of a certain age (Note1) you may remember the Avocado bathroom suite with its matching bath mat and mat around the base of the loo? The latter needed regular washing if there were males in the house.   

I remain fascinated by what can only be described as coincidences and have written about them in these scribbles many times. It was almost a coincidence that Facebook posted a photograph of Sean Connery and Ursula Andress from the film Doctor No (see PC 349 ‘Coincidence? Nah! Big Brother’ August 2023) as I had seen the exact photograph in a hotel corridor not thirty minutes before. Now I believe that, however spooky it is, algorithms follow me everywhere!

So it is extremely odd that, on Monday this week, I saw this photograph on Facebook and yet hadn’t posted anything about loos (ie this postcard was only 70% complete). How very appropriate and how very coincidental! I have always ‘stood up’ to pee and, much like swearing allegiance to the King and queuing, standing up to take a pee is apparently a British tradition, but it isn’t one that’s shared by other countries around the world. According to data collected by YouGov, only 9% of British men prefer to sit down for a pee, (Note 2) compared with 40% of German men; in Japan, that land of strange habits, a whopping 70% of Japanese men put their backsides on the pan!

Studies suggest that it pays to take a seat when you pee. Researchers from the department of urology at Leiden University Medical Centre (Note 3) found that men who sat down to pee were able to empty their bladders faster and more effectively. That’s because when you stand, you activate muscles in your pelvis and spine, but they’re completely relaxed when you sit. Sitting down to pee obviously helps with aim issues and is ‘a better option for men with prostate conditions or men who just can’t stand up for a long time,’ says Dr Jesse Mills, Associate Clinical Professor at the UCLA Department of Urology.

One of the worst situations for having a pee is on a lurching yacht in foul weather, when it’s raining and the deck is constantly covered in salt water spray. You need to grab onto a stay or life rail, unzip your oilskins and find ‘it’ – probably shrivelled due to the cold and wet – relax and let it go – and ignore the involuntary dribbles.

Going to the loo on an aeroplane has its own challenges. How often have we thought I’m just going to have a pee and at that same instant the drinks’ trolley is wheeled into the aisle, effectively blocking it, or the seat belt sign comes on as the pilot identifies some turbulence ahead? Or you stand outside an engaged loo and wonder why the occupier is taking so long …. and all sorts of strange ideas come to mind!

Flying back from Portugal last month, at 30,000ft I popped to the loo and wondered how one has a pee in the Embraer E190 (Note 4)? Unless you’re only 1.6m tall and not carrying too much weight, the space is tiny.

I enter the loo …. and my head hits the bulkhead ….. to get close to the pan standing up I need to bend my knees, so it’s a good thing I regularly practise Awkward Pose in the Hatha Yoga series …. this is NOT me!

 …. but this is not a position that encourages the natural flow of things! Waiting for it to work my thighs begin to feel the effort …. the lurching aeroplane doesn’t help …. and just as I’m wondering whether it would have been better to sit down at the beginning…… a dribble starts …. so I need to be patient …… hope the seat belt sign does not illuminate …. and finally I finish, with a huge sigh of relief.

And I am told it gets worse with age ….

Richard 20^th October 2023

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PS Recently I bought some denim dungarees ….. and immediately understand I need to almost completely undress to get ‘it’ out. My female readers will probably think: “So?” whereas other males who undo their belt and loosen their trousers will wonder what the fuss is!

Note 1 A chum here in Hove lives in his now deceased mother’s house, complete with a 1970s pink bathroom suite ….. including the loo mat and pink wall tiles.

Note 2 That figure might change if asked about peeing in the middle of the night!

Note 3 Leiden in Holland has the country’s oldest university and is the birthplace of Rembrandt (1606 – 1669)

Note 4 This 100-seat aeroplane, comparable with the Airbus A220 and known as the Cityhopper, is made by Embraer of Brazil.

(Continued from PC 355)

Clutching my coffee I make my way over to the table where Sami and Lisa are sitting. Sami was expecting me and he’s got a coffee and a Brigadeiro; Lisa has a mug of Macha tea and a biscuit.

“Hi! Richard! You look well. Portugal OK was it?” asks Sami.

“Well, you know! Lucky to be able to live somewhere else for a while, indulge in different routines and rhythms … but good to be back! While I was away I read that Kevin Hollinrake, the Postal Affairs Minister, has offered compensation of £600,000 to ex sub-post masters like you. You going to accept this?”

“For some this isn’t enough, to compensate for lives being turned upside down, for time spent in prison, but personally I want to move on and so, yes, I am accepting this. I think that those who went to prison and had their reputation trashed should hold out for more, but personally I can’t continue to look backwards as my own future is today and tomorrow ……. with Lisa.” I notice Lisa smiles!

“I think that’s a good decision, Sami, but the British public needs to keep the pressure on to ensure those who were responsible for the cover-up at the Post Office are held to account. Not sure why I doubt what I’ve just said but ….! Incidentally I watched that docudrama called Partygate about the parties held at Boris Johnson’s Number Ten Downing Street during the Covid lockdown periods ……”

“We did too …..”

“So you understand the claim that those involved in the No 10 parties were fined £50 and those in other areas of the country partying during lockdown were fined thousands of pounds? Do you think it’s true? If so you understand my scepticism about calling the Post Office management to account?” 

“Mmmm. One rule for one and another for others!” Sami looks up and around at the renovated café, abuzz with people and conversations. “So what do you think of the renewed Hope? Think Duncan’s done a great job. Did you read the piece Lisa wrote for The Argus about it, praising how the regulars came together to get the work done?”

“No! I missed that. Lisa, could you email it to me please? Love to read that! In Portugal I rely on my digital subscription for The Times to get my news, but I don’t have one for The Argus. I sensed I really missed out being away but I have offered Duncan a big triptych to go on the wall above us!”

“I’ll look forward to seeing that, Richard” says Lisa. “While you were away did you see that Sugarman, Sixto Rodriguez, had died?”

          “Yes, we did. We’d never heard of him until we watched that documentary ‘Searching For Sugarman’. Absolutely lovely story of his career being resurrected by South African fans decades after he’d given up in Detroit.

“We bought his CD, ‘Searching for Sugarman’ and simply love some of his lyrics, (See PC 283), particularly those in his song ‘Cause’: ‘Cause I lost my job two weeks before Christmas, And I talked to Jesus at the sewer, And the Pope said it was none of his God-damned business, While the rain drank champagne.’?”

“Yes! Yes! And then ‘So I set sail in a teardrop and escaped beneath the door sill’. Somehow I can visualise that! He rather summed up his life with this: “My story wasn’t rags to riches, it was rags to rags and I’m glad about that. Where other people have lived in an artificial world, I feel I’ve lived in the real world. And nothing beats reality” Despite his later success he still lived in the same house in Detroit he’d bought for $50 in 1976 and never felt he needed a car or computer!”

“Talking of those whose lives have ended, you wrote one of your postcards about that television series ‘Seven Up’ (PC 213 January 2021). You probably missed it but Nicholas Hitchon, a nuclear physicist and one of the eleven kids who found fame in that series, died of throat cancer aged 65.”

“That’s sad Sami; too young an age to die. While I was researching that postcard, I read that the assumption driving the episodes was that the social class into which the children are born would create obvious winners and losers. In fact they have showed that achievement, fortune and contentment are influenced by more fundamental things than class. They showed that our lives unfold through both circumstance and our own choices and it’s up to us what we make of them. We all have a choice, whether you take the road less travelled or not!! Using tobacco, in any form, and excessive alcohol consumption, both of which I was guilty of, are the two greatest risk factors for developing throat cancer. His death reminded me of my cousin Susie Mayhew, drinking and smoking her way to an early grave aged 53.

And by the way! We bought some little tins of good Olive Oil in Portugal and, knowing how expensive it’s predicted to become, thought we could give some as a gift. Here’s yours!”

“That’s lovely, thank you!” says Lisa.

I give a can to Mo with a ‘must catch up on my next visit’ comment and walk up to the counter to give Josh and Libby some oil. Libby starts reaching for her iPad, as she’d promised to show me some photographs from Susie in Tasmania.

“Libby, I’m really sorry but I have to dash. Will definitely find some time next week as I am dying to see photos from Tassie!”

…… and with a quick look at Teresa’s counter, the new coffee machine and the tables full of animated people, I head for the door. Good to be back.

Richard 13^th October 2023

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PS I remember Nicholas saying “I am still the same little kid (Ed: ‘as I was, aged 7’), really. Probably all of us are.”

If you are not a regular reader of these scribbles you could easily have imagined I was going to reflect on renewed hope for the state of the world in the months and years ahead. For sure, we need to see something other than dictators manoeuvring, posturing and strategizing for their own enrichment and hardly ever for the benefit of the people over whom they have control.

However this is about my first visit to the Hope Café here in Hove. Due to the generosity of Edith Tadstein (Note 1) an idea for an enlarged meeting place became a reality and work started on the 26^th August. Since then numerous regulars have given of their time and expertise to make the renovated Hope something to be proud of. In PC 351I included a sketch of what Duncan and his team were going to do. And now this is how it looks:

I popped in the other day, hoping to catch up with the regulars who I hadn’t seen for over six weeks, and to meet Duncan, to get the low down as to how the renovations went. He greets me with a huge grin on his face:

“Well, the stranger returns and you missed it all! What do you think?”

“Think it looks fantastic; so much more space, more and yet somehow you’ve managed to retain the cosy atmosphere you had engendered before (Note 2). What are the highlights?”

“Well, first and foremost we wouldn’t have embarked on the renovations without the generosity of Edith. So I’ve had a little brass plaque engraved and placed above what she considered her normal seat. Look!”

We walked across to the bench seating and read:

“Edith Tadstein – we loved her hope”

Duncan continued: “She was of a generation who didn’t boast about their age, so she wouldn’t have wanted to see ‘1935 – 2022’! Think she’ll like this. Now, what else? We have made the front doors wide enough for wheelchair access and they can be opened by a push button at the appropriate level. The loo on this level’s been changed to accommodate wheelchairs; I haven’t written Disabled Loo on the door as this has a double entendre!

For years I have been aware that the noise of modern coffee machines, those that grind the beans for instance, is quite intrusive, so we’ve invested in the quietest one we could find; everyone thinks it’s well worth it. Incidentally the coffee cart we hired from Brad Stevens was extremely popular, a life-saver for some; such a nice chap to deal with, Brad. And Josh and Libby, and Susie when she returns, will be pleased we’re now paying our staff just more that the living wage, which is itself higher than the minimum wage (note 3) We’ve got a new App so our regulars can claim a freebee once they’ve reached a certain level of spend.”

Walking over to the front windows on the left, Duncan points out some laptop and mobile charging points. Already there’s a chap I recognise from Amber House, Robert Silcock. I understand he’s a budding journalist and potential novelist, who normally works from his apartment, so it’s good to see him in The Hope Café, not only working but also soaking up the friendly, inclusive atmosphere. I know all the people who live in Amber House, so I smile and lift my hand in silent greeting, not wanting to disturb his chain of thought.

The Brazilian Deli run by Teresa has now been incorporated into The Hope, having its own counter. As the Hope itself always provides snacks for its customers, she hopes to provide very Brazilian fare such as:

Brigadeiros, Quindim – a baked desert made from sugar, ground coconut and eggs, Cocada – a coconut confectionery……

Queijadinha – a custard tart made from sweetened condensed milk, grated coconut and cheese, Mousse de Maracuja – sweetened condensed milk, heavy cream and passion fruit juice, and Tapioca pancakes made with Tapioca flour and are either savoury or sweet, depending on their filling!

“Now I’ve seen your colour scheme, Duncan, and given that I was not able to help with the renovations, what would you say if I painted a large triptych to go on the right hand wall – say 80cms by 200cms?”

“That sounds great – by Christmas?”

“I’ll try, Duncan!.” ….. and walked over to speak to Josh and Libby, still standing in for Susie who’s now in Hobart Tasmania, helping Margie until the end of the month in her catering business. Libby doesn’t think we’ll see Susie before Christmas.

“She’s having a ball, a real eye-opener this OS (overseas experience) thingy so I’m beginning to wonder whether she will come back! She sent me some more photos but they’re on my iPad and it’s charging so ask me before you leave? Now, can I get you a double espresso?”

(to be continued ….)

Richard 6^th October 2023

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 I had first met Edith standing outside the Trinity Medical Centre in April 2021 (PC 224). Twelve months later I see her in the Hope Café and she tells me she, aged 3, and her great friend Marie Kobel (later known as Madeleine Albright and US Secretary of State under Bill Clinton) had fled the Nazis on the Kinder Transport and arrived in Britain in 1938. She never returned and made England her home, living in Hove for decades.

Note 2 Before we left Portugal we went for a drink in the Palacio de Estoril (see PC 141 December 2018). I guess every commercial operation is constantly tinkering with its external message but I was amused to see that the little paper mats for my drink glass had the hotel’s name and crest and a new little strapline: ‘Grand and Cosy’.

Not sure I would ever describe a five star hotel as ‘cosy’

Note 3The National Minimum Wage varies dependent on age; for example it’s £10.18 per hour for someone aged 21-22. The Minimum Living Wage is £10.42 and is 66% of the National Median Earnings.

I am no more qualified than anyone else of my gender to write this postcard, but I am indebted to Caitlin Moran for raising the issues in her book, ’what about men?’ – printed with no capital ‘W’ so very modern!

I mentioned earlier in part one (PC 352 15^th September) that teenager boys are now frightened about talking to teenage girls. Curiosity about females is often met by a visit to a soft porn site, easily accessible through their mobile phones. Years 7 and 8 will watch porn in groups, huddled around someone’s mobile and begin to think that what they are watching is real life, it’s what they expect when they try sex for the first time!

Recently there was an interesting piece by 30 year old Sean Russell, a features sub-editor and writer at The Times, on just this subject: “The Problem with porn and teenage boys? I should know.” (Friday 18^th August 2023)  It’s a long article so read if you can: (https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/2b5f2a4e-b8f6-404c-993e-2ffca1a161ba?shareToken=f6a3836070dd738b4d8e661572034d00) Simon finishes by saying ‘After some time and having formed proper relationships in my twenties, porn became something separate from sex and it was wonderful.’

And for an IRL example? Two 15 year olds formed a relationship over this summer and the strength of their feelings eventually led to a bedroom. After the initial inevitable fumbling, they got into it …. until the boy started to choke the girl, having learned from some porn site that this was what girls wanted. Sadly these two teenagers are no longer together, both probably traumatised by their experience and fearful of committing to a future relationship. Rejected and confused boys often get drawn to the misogynistic world of Andrew Tate and his influence has become odious (Note 1).My daughter, a teacher in a secondary school in Farnham, says Tate’s views are absorbed by innocent teenagers like water by a dry sponge.

In Estoril there is a bronze piece of three men sitting on a bench. It could be titled ‘A Male Conversation’ as the body language frozen in bronze suggests little empathy or interest between the three! (Note 2)

Moran has a great vignette of a male conversation involving two male cyclists. They had just competed in a time trial up and down mountains and get onto the same train to go back to their respective homes.  I looked up the dictionary definition of a conversation: ‘a talk especially an informal one, between two or more people, in which news and ideas are exchanged’.  In the overheard conversation these two exchanged every aspect of the race they had just taken part in but a simple exchange of information without a drop of personal emotion. When they arrived at the rail terminus they probably simply said: “Bye! Good talking to you.” And went their separate ways without even knowing the name of the other person; whereas two women, according to Moran, would have known each other’s names, how many children etc etc!

Many years ago a group of us went to see Australian Mark Little’s “Defending The Caveman”, a one-man show in Wimbledon London. The show ‘catalogues the instantly recognisable traits that separate men and women’; understanding our differences, he suggests, gives us the potential to build bridges rather than engage in open warfare.’ Moran’s simple vignette of the cyclists mirrors Little’s sketch about two male anglers, who arrive at the river bank for a few hours of fishing. They immediately stake out their pitch with a suitable distance between them, cast their flies, and settle into contented silence.

After half an hour, one shouts to the other:

“Fancy a beer? There are some in the car.”

A minute goes by.

“Yup!”

Another minute.

“You goin’ to get them?”

Another minute.

“No! I paid for them. You go!”

Another minute.

“OK! Then.”

This is a good example of the average male’s ‘deep and meaningful conversation’.

But how can we accept the stark statistical differences between the sexes:

Boys underachieve at school compared with girls, are more likely to be excluded, less likely to go into further education and more likely to be prescribed medication for ADHD.

After school, men make up the majority of gang members, of the homeless, of the unemployed, of suicides (75%), of the prison population (95%) and are most likely to lose custody of their children in a divorce.

Statistics are always open to interpretation and one glaring factor skewing the percentages in adulthood is the fact that only females can give birth. But it’s an extremely depressing list of lost opportunity, lost lives, of negativity and we all need to change what some see as the inevitable!

A British MP has suggested there be a Minister for Men to mirror that for woman. Predictably the columnists had their field day but one more credible suggestion was a Minister for Young Men or even Boys? I obviously have my finger on the national pulse, as a few days ago an ex-client of mine who works at AWE, Bob Kingston, posted on LinkedIn about someone wearing a T-shirt with the words ‘Boys Get Sad Too’ emblazoned on the front. Further enquiries revealed a website (www.boysgetsadtoo.com) promoting male mental health. Bob wrote: “I think what they stand for is very true in this day and age, in that boys/men don’t share feeling and bottle them up as it’s seen as a sign of weakness. In my view sharing feelings should be seen as a strength.”

I am proud to be a man; my gender at the time of my birth was not my choice! Would I want to be any other gender, as Moran questions? Never given it much thought, although nowadays gender fluidity offers new options! So if you are a man, read this book. If you are a woman, also read this book.

Richard 29^th September 2023

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 Andrew Tate is an extreme misogynist encouraging young teens to, among other things, become ‘incels’, a woke description meaning involuntary celebrate.

Note 2 It’s not meant to illustrate male conversations! The three men, Jan Karski, Jerzy Lerski and Jan Nowak-Jezioranski were Poles living in Portugal and were noted for helping their nationals escape the clutches of the Nazis during WW2.