family

PC 54 The Loo

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Some subjects are so dry it’s difficult to get worked up about them, but my PC about loo paper brought back many memories for my readers, some good and some hilarious. So popular was this PC that it’s inspired me to go the next step and scribble about the actual loo.

Some of you will have visited ancient castles or manor houses in England where the ‘loo’ was a little seat in a turreted corner of the bedroom; an improvement from the portable box! From the outside, the turret overhung enough for the ‘drop’ to clear the stone façade. Some years ago there was a TV documentary series in the UK, trying to take a new look at old designs: one was about the loo. The design of the loo doesn’t seem to have changed much in more than 150 years.

There are many words for this receptacle for our daily waste. Whilst this list if not definitive …….loo, toilet, lavatory, ‘long drop’, khazi, WC (short for water closet), the crapper, the Dunny, the ‘restroom’, bog, the ‘ladies’ or ‘gents’ in a public environment, the facilities, the white phone, latrine, the John, little room and privy.

Funny how words become part of our language. Take ‘crap; possibly a verb and certainly a noun! It’s been around since the C17th referring to waste, but not used for bodily waste until 1846. But the word only became well known thanks to a Victorian plumber, Thomas Crapper. He was extremely successful in manufacturing bathroom fixtures and had a Royal Warrant. So ubiquitous were Mr Crapper’s toilet bowls, with his name written on the rim, that American servicemen stationed in Britain during WWII coined the phrase “going to the crapper”!

Thomas Crapper (1837 – 1910)

I do remember potties under the bed, but was shocked by this story, told to me in 1975 by a female newspaper reporter who had covered the kidnap by the IRA of a Dutch industrialist in County Kildare. Traced to a small village called Monasterevin, the siege attracted the world’s press, who had trouble finding somewhere to stay. My chum eventually found a house that offered the share of a bed (!) …… but was horrified to find that under the bed were emptied beer bottles ….. full of urine!

I am indebted to Paul for sending me this photograph, the latest design of ‘pissoire’ used by men at the Spa motor racing circuit in Belgium. He couldn’t find the female equivalent although you can buy a female ‘P EZ’ funnel on Amazon!

I wonder at what point the rocket-nose-shaped ‘pissoires’ take off?

Back in 1968 I chartered a small 19ft yacht for a week’s sailing in The Solent on the south coast of England. On board was fellow Gunner Gerry and two girl friends (note that this is girl …. friends and not girlfriends!) joined for the weekend. Braganza was a very basic sailing boat, with two small bunks and a little gas stove – but no loo! This doesn’t present a problem if you’re a bloke, but for members of the fairer sex a bucket placed below on the cabin sole of a moving/shifting/lurching sailing boat does not encourage the natural flow of things! On the Saturday evening we moored in Wootton Creek on the Isle of Wight …. and I have a very vivid memory of these two girls rowing the little pram dinghy ashore to find a proper loo. The speed at which they were rowing was possibly indicative of the urgency of their quest.

I remember painful experiences at boarding school. If you wanted to go to the loo before breakfast, you had to go before the breakfast bell sounded. After that, you were simply not allowed to go, irrespective of how desperate you might have been. I really to this day do not know what aspect of social behaviour I was meant to learn? If you need to go to the loo, you need to go to the loo – simple!

If you were camping in the 1960s and 1970s you simply took a shovel and walked off to somewhere where no one could see you. Cousin Susan writes: “…. Then there was the loo paper in Egypt and one small town in particular…..a hole in the middle of the floor, no loo paper and no doors so we had to get our friends to stand in the doorway so passers-by could not see us performing our acrobatic ablutions. My thighs were mighty strong in those days!”  Benedicte has similar memories of loos in China today – but would rather forget them! In the Army the camping arrangements were more formal; the Royal Engineers dug bore holes (should that be bored bore holes I wonder?). If it was cold it was OK, in this hessian-encircled latrine; if hot, the flies ensured it was not somewhere you lingered.

My stepfather loved smoking his pipe, particularly when mowing his wonderful lawn … but also, and sadly for the rest of us, when occupying the small downstairs loo. Part of his morning weekend routine, I guess, attempting the daily crossword in the paper, sucking on his tobacco-filled pipe and attending to nature … all at the same time. The little room needed a quarantine notice on the door for at least an hour afterwards.

Mind you, it isn’t necessarily your own loo experiences that are worth writing about. Jeremy Clarkson, a man made famous as much by his Top Gear TV Motoring programme as his ability to call a spade a spade, has a column in the UK Sunday Times. After someone complained of their hotel in Turkey, his weekly column was full of his own experiences, including this: “Certainly I cannot forget the converted old sheep station in the uplands of Bolivia. During my stay, I was woken one morning by a cleaner who entered my room without knocking, shuffled past my bed with a mumbled ‘Buenos dias’, went into my bathroom and took a noisy dump (slang for ‘going to the loo’!!) before shuffling out of the room with a frankly insufficient ‘gracias’”

I have always remembered a story that did the rounds one term at school; written on a grubby piece of paper it told the story of the confusion that arose between the use of WC for either ‘Wesleyan Chapel’ (Named after John Wesley, the founder of the Methodist Church in the C18th) or ‘Water Closet’. This being the C21st, I ‘googled’ it (That must be a verb by now – ‘to google’?) to get the story correct. It hasn’t lost its amusement after 50 something years and is reproduced in full below.

Celina’s father would sympathise with Paul who, recalling Bronco loo paper, wrote:  “Bronco was absolutely useless of course but then I have always detested loo paper of any sort, as it is just not up to the job (so to speak)! Every house I have ever owned has had a bidet and I would find it uncomfortable now to live without one.” Maybe he should try the combined loo/bidet; choose your music/scent/temperature/softness/air …… and away you go!

This PC seemed to go on and on; sorry! I normally try and constrain myself but seem to have suffered a bout of verbal diarrhoea with this one! Enjoy the scribbles!

Richard 8th November 2015                                               richardyates24@gmail.com

PS. “There was a little old English lady who was looking for a place to live in Switzerland.  She asked the local village schoolmaster to help her and together they found a place that suited her.  She returned to London to get her things, but on the way home she remembered that she had not noticed a bathroom in the new place, or as she called it, a water closet.  So when she arrived in London she wrote to the schoolmaster to inquire about a water closet in her place.  Being somewhat embarrassed to ask about this, she decided to just use the abbreviation W.C. rather than spell out the words.  When the schoolmaster received her letter he was puzzled by the initials W.C., never dreaming that she was referring to a bathroom.  So he went to the local minister to see if he knew what a W.C. was.  Of course, the minister thought it stood for the Wesleyan Church.  So the schoolmaster wrote this reply to the English lady.

Dear Madam,

The W.C. is situated nine miles from the house in the center of a beautiful grove of trees.  It is capable of holding 350 people at a time and is open on Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday of each week.  A large number of folks attend during the summer months, so it is suggested you go early, although there is plenty of standing room.  Some folks like to take their lunch and make a day of it, especially on Thursday when there is organ accompaniment.  The acoustics are very good and everyone can hear the slightest sound.

It may be of interest to you to know that my daughter was married in our W.C. and it was there she met her husband.

We hope you will be here in time for our bazaar to be held very soon.  The proceeds will go toward the purchase of plush seats for our W.C., which the folks agree are a long-felt need, as the present seats all have holes in them.

My wife is rather delicate; therefore, she cannot attend regularly.  It has been six months since the last time she went.  Naturally, it pains her very much not to be able to go more often. I shall close now with the desire to accommodate you in every way possible, and I will be happy to save you a seat down front or near the door, whichever you prefer.

Sincerely,

          Alfred Schmidt

Schoolmaster”

PC 47 Loo Paper

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It was Mark Twain who observed that travel broadens the mind; you don’t have to go far, however, even the local streets are full of rich pickings, if you care to look! I thought my own mind fairly broad, but it’s been stretched further by our recent North America travels, experiencing other places and other cultures. So when I encountered the thinnest, no, I really mean thinnest, loo paper in my life in Seattle, I thought this could be the subject of another PC ….. although it might need a little delicate handling ….. know what I mean? And if you had a rather prudish upbringing, maybe it’s best not to read any further!!

When I refer to ‘loo’ paper I encompass all the various descriptions of the genre; ‘toilet’ paper, ‘lavatory’ paper (very old fashioned maybe) …. and now the word ‘tissue’ is common-place. In France they refer to loo paper as PQ (a contraction of ‘papier cul’- ‘cul’ meaning ‘bum’ or ‘arse’); in German it’s ‘klopapier’ and in Portuguese ‘papel higiênico’. A couple of hundred years ago you might only have had the option of using some torn grass or old newspaper, but now the options are endless. The manufacturers of the ubiquitous ‘Wipes’, available for every cleaning job, have even developed the ‘toilet wipe’, which is ‘flushable’. Oh! Joy!

Back in the days of a less sensitive nation, in Britain there was ‘Jeyes Toilet Tissue’. Jeyes is now synonymous with cleaning products that get around the U-Bend but back then …. here was a cardboard pack of folded sheets of hard paper. The paper was a light brown in colour. It was neither absorbent nor comfortable; fortunately we have moved on. All loo paper used to be white, then coloured bathroom suites came into vogue and the manufacturers made a fortune in making loo paper that matched the various colours on offer – Avocardo, Peach etc. And we all know Andrex’s playful little puppy …… to advertise loo paper! I’m sorry, I simply do not see the connection here; what is the association between a sweet, soft, cuddly, youngster, having fun …. and wiping your bum?

If you worked for Her Majesty, as I did during my time in the British Army, we had ‘Government Issue’ loo paper; like the Jeyes stuff, but on every sheet it said ‘Government Issue’! If you were not a fan of a particular Government, the joke was obvious! And the ration that came in the ‘field pack’ had three small sheets per day; the common thought was ‘one up, one down, one polish’!

In Waitrose, an upmarket British supermarket, you can buy ‘Bathroom Tissue’ scented/coated in Aloe Vera, Jojoba or Cashmere. Do you sniff it before you use it, or do you really appreciate the difference in texture ……. by touching it? The mind boggles! In Yukon Territories, Canada, in a small place called Carmacks, a tourist emporium had a stack of loo paper wrapped as ‘Up North Toilet Paper’!?

The large, round container with a commercial-sized roll means less checking for cleaning staff , but have you ever found that the ‘free’ end is somewhere inside, almost stuck to the whole roll, and getting the free end usable takes forever? The ‘Seattle’ loo paper I think was designed for two (or more?) uses. The first is obvious, but the second? Well, it could easily have been used for tracing paper, it was so thin. And actually very difficult to take off the roll if the end was not obvious; a little like cling film/kitchen wrap when the effing end is completely invisible/undiscoverable!

One of the loos I use regularly (no pun intended!) is in our Bikram Studio complex. The overhead light is motion-activated (I’m sorry, this is just the way it comes to mind) which is fine unless you sit for longer than the timer allows – and the light goes off ….. and stays off until your flailing arms get noticed. In the Riverside Cottages we stayed in in Fairbanks, Alaska, they went one better, or worse! The shower/loo room had a timer for both light and extractor fan, and was customer-operated before you went in and locked the door. Well, here’s a conundrum. How long do you set it for before you enter? Get it wrong and you might end up in the dark, with your knickers around your ankles and …….

Bikram Yoga is practised in a studio where at least two walls have floor to ceiling mirrors. That’s fine, as part of the practice is to observed one’s half-hearted attempts to get into a certain posture; ‘must do better’, the voice in my head is often shouting! But in Brazil I encountered a mirrored wall …. in the loo! Aaaggghhhhh! The first time I used it, I was only wearing my Bikram shorts, ready for the session that would started shortly. After a minute or so sitting down, I suddenly looked to the right and ……. saw ……. well, Rodin’s Thinker is good to contemplate …… this sight was not! It sure hurried up my visit.

Recently I went into a loo, a rather narrow little room, sat down, did what I wanted to do, and then looked for the loo paper. After about 30 seconds, I located the roll, behind my shoulder. I almost dislocated said shoulder in trying to release a few sheets of paper; should I put my arm under my shoulder or above? Eventually the only way was to physically swivel on the loo seat through about 160°.

I don’t think we British have really got into using a Bidet, but I can understand its raison d’être! In an imagined nightmare scenario, you use the bidet ….. and look for a towel. There isn’t one! OK! There are probably some paper towels somewhere ….. but then you realise that in the C21st paper towels have been replaced by a Dyson Hot Air drier, fixed up on the wall. Success in the subsequent physical gymnastics required might guarantee you a place in the 2016 Olympics!!

Very mundane musings for a summer afternoon!

Richard 14 August 2015                                          richardyates24@gmail.com

PC 507 In The Hope Café Again

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We came back from a fortnight in Estoril in Portugal on Wednesday. I have written before about Estoril (PC 454 in August 2025) and am reminded on my morning walk through Estoril and Monte Estoril that ‘it has been home to numerous royal families and celebrities, is one of the most expensive places to live in Portugal and the Iberian Peninsula and is home to a sizeable foreign community.’  It’s sad to sense that so many of these enormous houses are empty, have that unlived-in feel about them, maybe a second or even third home, at a time when ordinary folk struggle to afford somewhere, anywhere to live.

As always, it’s good to come home, providing of course ‘home’ meets your needs and your wants. For Celina and me, our large apartment in Hove ticks many boxes; spacious, high ceilings, dual aspect, modern insulation and the sea is two minutes away. We thank our lucky stars that in the unusually warm weather we have had this summer, our bedrooms are downstairs, in what might be described as ‘lower ground’. They are about 3C cooler than our living room! William and Stefano are renting the apartment above us in Amber House. One day in desperation they asked whether we had a fan! A neighbour kindly lent them her two.

After the delivery of our Waitrose shopping, I popped into The Hope Café mid-afternoon yesterday to catch up with Sami, who I hadn’t seen since mid-June. Amazing where the time goes huh! I joined Sami at a table, having got a double espresso from Josh, who’d asked whether I knew anyone who they could hire, as Libby is finally going to retire.

“Do you?” asked Sami.

“No one springs to mind and this is a difficult time of the year, what with the new Academic Year, a new school for some, others to university or Sixth Form College. Lots of people already committed.”

“I liked your last postcard, Richard, (PC 506 Be the Person you want to be) and that final paragraph when you said ……. let me look at my WhatsApp ….. here we are: ‘We are social animals; we want to fit in, not brave it out, not branch out, be the odd one out. But understanding ourselves better, our extraversion or introversion, the degree we engage/need to engage with others, with our families and with friends, or preferring our own company ….’

We all find ourselves not being who we want to be, presenting an untrue image, hiding behind a façade, and I found this from some psychologist:

‘Some people call it a division between the ‘original self’ and a ‘pseudo self’. A person exhibiting a ‘false self’ occurs when other people’s expectations override the spontaneous expression of the ‘true self’. The ‘false self’ is a kind of masquerade, a self that is presented to the world, a ‘social self’. Not the true, private self, the one ‘inside’.’”

“I am pleased …… and I assume I am talking to the true self, Sami, not some cardboard cutout?! Haven’t seen you since I completed my two linked wooden spoons, have I?”

“You showed me the enormous one you made for your daughter from a discarded scaffolding plank, but this is something else?”

“I had the idea I could fashion two spoons from one plank, the loop at the end of each linked. Once the idea got embedded, I thought long and hard about how I would carve that; this is how they look:

To get there I made a model out of some plasticine; hadn’t bought that for decades although you can still find it! Eventually I got to this point ….

 Then spent some time thinking about how to untie the knot, as it were; slowly but surely managed to separate them. Some wood filler, stain and wax and we’ve ended up with exactly what I imagined!

“Wow! They’re amazing Richard. Well done you! By the way, I know you read a lot when you’re in Estoril ….. and before you tell me about your stand-out book, I need to tell you about mine. I’ve caught your habit of glancing through the newspapers’ obituary column and found that a chap called Philip Caputo had died.

“Who? What was his claim to fame?

“He was an American author and journalist, best known for his best-selling memoir of his experiences during the Vietnam War, ‘A Rumour of War’. In 1973 he was part of a writing team that won the Pulitzer Prize for reporting on election fraud in Chicago. You had written a couple of postcards (PCs 493 and 494) about your stepfather’s deployment to Malaya in 1945 as part of Force 136 and I was curious as to Caputo’s time in Vietnam; I ordered his book and finished it a couple of weeks ago.”

“Wasn’t that the first modern war that the USA lost?”

“Yup! And they left with their tail between their legs, their departure from Saigon (renamed Ho Chi Minh City) in 1975 reduced to a rout.

Caputo had been a Marine Second Lieutenant in Da Nang Province in 1965 for just over a year and his memoir is widely regarded as a classic in the literature of war, being compared to ‘All Quiet on the Western Front’ (Note 1) What I found fascinating was his ability to describe the rigours of jungle warfare in every gruesome and human detail. For instance, the Marines were provided with three sheets of loo paper ….

“The British Army had the same, part of a one’s field ration pack, except ours was made of that hard, unabsorbent, paper. The common saying was: ‘One up, one down and one polish’! Sorry, I interrupted you, Sami.”

“That’s OK. Caputo described how you could never get your arse clean, most soldiers suffered from permanent Diarrhoea, and how you lived and fought in the rain, covered in leaches and being bitten by mosquitoes. He also observed what fighting, kill or be killed, does to the human soul.”

(To be continued ….)

Richard 4th September 2026

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

Note 1 A semi-autobiographical novel by Erich Maria Remarque, a German veteran of World War!1, billed by some as ‘the greatest war novel of all time’.

PC 504 Houses – Buying and Selling

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Last Wednesday I found myself, mid-afternoon, in The Hope Café, taking time-out to recall and reflect. You may remember that postcard ‘Wait ….’ (PC 465 November 2025), but you’d be wrong to think I was waiting for something ……. just ‘being’.

Towards the end of last year, it must have been November, an ex-Army chum Jim informed me he was moving from his house in Suffolk to somewhere near Cambridge to be closer to grandchildren. He moved in June this year – over six months between agreeing to buy the house and moving in. The wise say that this experience is one of the most stressful transactions we do and in the course of our lifetime we may do it many times. Mention moving house and immediately memories of your own experiences will flood your brain!

Hurst Cottage in Fleet; my first house – much extended!

Just as I was finding out from Google that Stamp Duty, payable to HMG in England when you buy a house, is 5% if its value is between £250k and £925k, I see Sami walk in with Lisa, so I put my thoughts on hold.

“Hey! You two! Haven’t seen you together for weeks. You been away?”

“Had a very lovely week in Salcombe at the end of July. I remember you writing about being there when it was wet and cool; this year it was glorious. So lucky! Enjoyed your postcards about Brighton’s Lanes and North Laines (PC 503 August 2026) – you should get a job working for the tourist section of the council.”

“God forbid! I’m thinking about writing a postcard about buying and selling a house.”

“Well, how long have you got Richard …?”

I interrupt. “Actually, my first experience, buying Hurst Cottage on Victoria Road in Fleet, Hampshire for £29,500 in 1978, was fine.

49a, Cavendish Road, Clapham

My ‘lower ground’ flat on Clapham Common South Side went ahead without memorable angst but the next, a Victorian terraced house on the southern end of Battersea, taught me something.”

“What was that?”

“It’s a personable business and we response accordingly. I had written to the owner, to say how much we were looking forward to completing the purchase, recognised that she had made it a charming property and knowing we would be happy there. About three weeks before we thought we would complete, the estate agent said someone was offering another £10,000 and they had an obligation to forward it to the owner. Eeek! We learned later that she didn’t entertain this new offer as our letter had touched her and she wanted us to have it. So, we were not ‘gazumped’ (note 1)”

A sketch for a Christmas card, prior to a loft conversion! A terraced house is a terraced house; 54 Bramfield Road.

Just as Lisa is about to comment, maybe offer some of her own insights, a stranger comes over:

“Sorry to interrupt” she said, “but couldn’t help but hear you talking about house purchases and thought you might like to know that my husband was a reverse-gazumper. Do you want to hear the story?” and she said it in that way, suggesting we were going to hear it, like it or not!

“I am Sally, by the way. We were getting divorced, thank God, and he was really reluctant to find somewhere for himself to live, so I left and rented to encourage him; not sure it did. But we had a buyer, at our asking price. He explained he hadn’t found somewhere and they should be patient. The weeks rolled into months ….” I could tell this was a painful period for her, recalling how her life was really on hold until he found somewhere. “Then he realised property prices had risen over the period, and asked the prospective buyers, with whom we had already exchanged, ie agree the price, for another 10%!”

“Could he do that?”

“The option for the others was to pull out and after all this time they decided they had no option. I was absolutely disgusted. I complained to the estate agent that I hadn’t agreed this but the estate agent said they didn’t need the agreement of both parties and that they had to forward the instruction.”

“Wow! Sally! That’s really greedy. So sorry for you ….. but thanks for telling us. You a local?”

“No. I live up in Essex …. and must go; love The Hope Café!” and she got up and left.

Sami: “This is England right. This would be very rare in Scotland, where the agreement to buy becomes legally binding much earlier in the process through formal letters between solicitors called ‘concluded missives’. Additionally, sellers must legally provide a single survey and energy report, so that prospective buyers can’t argue that their survey found ‘x’ and ‘y’ and therefore would ask for a reduction in their offer.”

“I had that problem as the executor of my maiden aunt’s estate, selling her house on the north side of Clapham Common. Someone had come along, very quickly offered the asking price, and just when the sale was due to be completed, claimed his survey had highlighted major problems and wanted a huge reduction, some 20% if I remember correctly, imagining he had me by the ‘short and curlies’ and I would agree. I found out this individual had a reputation for doing this …… so didn’t agree and put the house back on the market. But this was a probate sale so I was slightly personally detached!

Statistically, once an offer is accepted it takes an average of four months to complete; Jim’s took six. One in three house sales fall through before exchange. The Ministry for Housing, Communities and Local Government has said: ‘We’re stopping gazundering by introducing legally binding agreements that prevent buyers from walking away at the last minute without a valid reason, with fines for those who do.’ But not until 2029!

Our Hove apartment is in this magnificent 1890s building

I could tell that Lisa wanted to add some of her own experiences, but I had to dash, as I had to fashion a pinhole viewing device for the evening’s solar eclipse!”

Richard 14th August 2026

Hove

www.postcardscribles.co.uk

PS The only other house I owned was in the village of Rowledge, for 15 months.

Note 1 A gazumper is a person who steps in with a higher offer on a property after the seller has already accepted an offer from someone else, but before the contracts are legally signed.

PC 502 Heading to The Hope Café

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After lunch on Tuesday, before a dental appointment towards the end of the afternoon, I headed to The Hope Café for a coffee and a catch-up. In a little bag I had some toothpaste and a toothbrush, as I needed to clean my teeth before being subjected to an oral examination. Nothing worse than one’s dentist berating one for poor dental hygiene. This reminds me that we make sure our apartment is clean and tidy ….. before our fortnightly cleaner’s visit; funny what we do, huh? ‘There are standards, Caruthers.’

In my mind I was collecting thoughts for this week’s scribbles and suddenly thought: ‘I have enough …… I don’t need to have a conversation with anyone!’ ….. so popped into Café Nero on Church Road, got a double espresso, plugged in my laptop and looked at my notes.

My regular readers will know Celina and I visited both the North and South Islands of New Zealand last autumn, and on the latter drove from Christchurch to Lake Tekapo. The weather was glorious:

The little stone Church of The Good Sheppard, built in 1935 to honour the first English settler families in the area, is one of the most photographed buildings in the country. On Facebook a couple of weeks ago it looked completely different; I read that Lake Tekapo had recorded minus12.5C!

In my normal perusal of the obituary column in The Times, I found that the former Emir of Qatar, Sheikh Hamad bin Khalifa al-Thani, has died aged 74. He had deposed his father and was credited with bringing Qatar into the C21st. What I found amazing was his ability to procreate! He had married three times; his first wife Mariam, a cousin, gave him 2 sons and 6 daughters, his second, Moza, 5 sons and 2 daughters and his last, Noora and another cousin, 4 sons and 5 daughters, a total of 11 sons and 13 daughters. Quite a brood. The practice of marrying a first cousin, and the obituary didn’t say whether two of his wives were first cousins, is debateable. For example, it’s legal in the UK and in about 50% of the States in America, while banned in many other places. Statistics show that children of first-cousin marriages have a 5% risk of ‘autosomal recessive genetic disorders’ compared to the 3% of the children of unrelated parents. It’s certainly a common practice in the Pakistan community in Leeds where, according to a television documentary, the percentage of abnormal births is very high.

Back from a week in Estoril in Portugal earlier this month, I read another obituary, that of a judge, André Cerdini. What caught my eye was the subtitle: ‘Provincial magistrate praised for his calm restraint during the prosecution of ‘The Butcher of Lyon’ (Klaus Barbie), four decades after the US helped him to escape justice.’ Barbie had been ‘notorious as a sadistic figure, relentlessly pursuing both the city’s Jewish population and its French Resistance members. He was responsible for hundreds of murders and deportations to concentration camps.’ He was one of the monsters in human form, the subject of my PC 324 ‘Monsters’ from March 2023.

You might think that our yoga studio has some background music before class and that it’s all yoga-stuff, spiritual, chanting, Indian etc. Most of the time the music that’s playing as students check-in is the choice of the individual teaching. Last month Eve was playing music that I instantly recognised, from a 1960’s British folk-rock band called ‘Pentangle’. Their single ‘Light Flight’ became popular when it was used as the theme music for a BBC drama series ‘Take Three Girls’ – incidentally the first drama series to be televised in colour.

My postcards reach a wide variety of individuals, maybe the readership expanded by people sharing them with others. Back in March, a photograph from September 1965 of Burma Company Intake 39 at the Royal Military Academy, Sandhurst (RMAS) caught the eye of Nick Whittle, who was researching an uncle’s career and thought he might have been an Officer Cadet at RMAS in my time. Eventually, through a very helpful individual at The Sandhurst Collection, a Dr Sebastian Puncher, we established that Stephen Hall-Jones had been in Normandy Company in Intake 37 (September 1964 – July 1966) and was commissioned into The Inniskilling Fusiliers. Sebastian sent Nick a cache of information that enabled him to fill out the details of his uncle’s life.

At about the same time, a Nick MacAndrews got in touch about a fellow Officer Cadet in Burma 39, Martin Ward-Harrison. I will write about him in a subsequent postcard.

My parents’ house in Balcombe had an enormous garden and at one time the gardener was a chap called Buswell, who cycled about 4 miles from his home. He was a red-cheeked chap, full of enthusiasm for life, although his actual knowledge of plants was minimal! He needed careful supervision. I remember him for all sorts of reasons but particularly for the way he said ‘binoculars’. Why this particular useful piece of equipment came up in the conversation I don’t know but he pronounced it ‘binockerknickers’. And why it came to my mind this week is a mystery!

          I mentioned we’d been to Portugal (See PC 499 Évora 10 July). The new entry arrangements – fingerprinting etc – took no time at all, although we had to have our passport checked by a human being. When we flew back, I presented my passport to check-in my suitcase, got through an electronic gate using my passport, but then had to go to a border force official in a kiosk, showing my passport again ….. then to get into the boarding gate waiting area had to show it again ….. and then again when we started boarding! Absolute nonsense! Then to cap it all, my suitcase took the long route, eventually delivered home by personal courier 36 hours later at 0200.

Last week’s postcard PC 501 ‘Living and loving more, or victim’, the follow-on from PC 485 ‘Live more, live less’, was well-received: ‘Beautiful PC this morning’; ‘This PC really spoke to me’; ‘With 485, this time you’re getting deeper and closer …’, while Eddie commented he only had 7 months left to confound the statistics! If it’s still in your ‘will catch up later’ folder (?) I suggest you spend 5 minutes and read it (well, 10 if you didn’t read the first!)

Richard 31st July 2026

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PC 495 Hope Café Catch Up

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It’s been a while since I was able to get to the Hope Café, to enjoy a relaxing coffee and catch up with whoever’s there. Tuesday was a busy day; after our obligatory 90 minutes of hot yoga, an hour of a new sequence called ‘Shape Shifting’ (Note 1) and lunch, we both went to the Hove Skin Clinic for our annual Mole Mapping. Having had a ‘malignant Melanoma In-situ’ removed in November 2023 and a ‘Basal Cell Carcinoma’ taken off last year, I can’t be too careful, so have an annual check-up. On Wednesday I had lunch with my best friend Stewart in Bill’s in Reigate.

On Thursday I found both Sami and Mo, sitting at different tables but to all intense and purposes alone; we got together at a table near the Brazilian deli counter. You may remember Mo’s mother died earlier in the year and I was pleased she was back to her chatty, urbane self.

“I was thinking of you the other day Richard, as I waited to pay for some fruit from Dean’s. I think you wrote about him in one of your postcards. Hang on ……”

Dean’s fruit and vegetable stall on the north end of George Street

…. and Mo dives into her iPhone and somehow pulls up my postcards from 2017!! (PC 103)

“Here it is. You wrote how …….

“…… having picked up four egg cartons from the side of Dean’s stall, I come around to the front. It’s become such a regular occurrence that it goes something like:

Dean: “Hello! How are you? Just your usual? ….. How many have we got?  …. Remind me, it’s the £1.09s, isn’t it?….. So that’ll be £4.36 ….

(another regular appears)

Good morning, Doris! How are you?……. Sorry! Be with you in a minute.

……. So, is that everything? These strawberries are the first of the season. No! We had the Spanish ones but these are from the Netherlands.”

“Smell good an’ all” says Jim standing beside the stall from where he’s been talking to Dean about the football when there aren’t any customers ….

“I don’t want to smell ‘em, Jim, I want to know how they taste.”

Dean: “Sorry Doris, two secs! ….” turning to me … .“So, two dozen eggs and a punnet of strawberries; £7.35 call it £7. Thanks for that …. three pounds change then ….. See you next week ……

“Now, Doris what did you want? Yes, the beetroot are cooked, real sweet, I can tell, had some for my tea yesterday.”

“Not sure how you managed to find that, Mo, but let me give you another little vignette into life on Dean’s stall.”

“Go on ..”

“On Monday I went there to buy a Fennel, such a versatile vegetable ….. and there was a large cardboard box of cherries on the trestle table. A woman is waiting to be served.

“How much are the cherries, Dean?” she asks.

“£15 a kilo …..

The woman’s face says it all; she can’t get her head around £15 a kilo, all she wants is a handful and now she’s not sure whether they are expensive or not.

“I don’t want a kilo, Dean. How much is a handful?”

“Oh! OK!” and reaching for a paper bag, picks up a handful, tips them into the bag, puts the bag on the scales and says “£3.25”

She pays …. and walks off.

As Dean’s weighing my Fennel, I say: “Why didn’t you say to the woman ‘They’re about £3 a handful’….. and not confuse her with how much you paid?”

“Because they’re £15 a kilo ……”

I was about to say something and thought, you know what, best left alone!! Life huh! Gorgeous!”

Both Mo and Sami are laughing. “That’s funny, isn’t it. Anything else?” asks Mo.

“Well, there was a lovely letter in The Times the other day from a Susie Marwood. She wrote about going to buy a pair of shoe trees in a huge, local, home improvements superstore. “Unable to find any, I asked the young assistant who, momentarily discombobulated, then led me into the garden and patios section and gestured proudly towards a large selection of shrubs and saplings.”

Love the word ‘discombobulated’ – so expressive! Actually, many people simply wear some form of trainers and don’t need shoe trees.” 

“Ah! Not true” exclaims Sami. “I have some very expensive trainers and always put a pair of shoe trees in them.”

“I live and learn! Sami, you and Lisa went to Dubai, no, Sicily last month, didn’t you?”

“Yup! Lisa and I had a wonderful time, not too hot, not too crowded, as it was before the summer holidays. We flew to Palermo, picked up a hire car and drove to Marsala. Three days later we drove to Agrigento for a couple of nights, as we wanted to visit the Valley of the Temples.”

“These are …..?”

“An UNESCO World Heritage site featuring some of the best-preserved Greek ruins outside of Greece. Really enjoyed strolling around these ancient stones and, staying locally, one could see them illuminated at night. Stunning! The local beaches were disgusting, covered in litter and detritus, but we didn’t go there to sit on the beach!!”

“You may remember my postcard about our time in Sicily – “The Largest Mediterranean Island (PC 134 October 2018)”. We were just south of Syracuse.”  

“God, that was ages ago, but I do remember little snippets – something about the difficulties of trying to return your Avis hire car to the depot at Catania airport. Do you realise that was before Covid?”

“There was life before Covid! But listen you two, back in 2020 I recounted a dream I had had about a UK shortage of Smarties (PC 178 April 2020), drawing heavily from my experience of working in the MOD Procurement Executive 1980 – 1982 and its committees! I noted that a tube of 32 Smarties in 2020 cost 60 pence. I rather gave up chocolate, especially my favourite Cadbury’s Whole Nut, last year after my severe food poisoning on a flight with TAP from Rio de Janeiro to Lisbon. Time is always the healer and now I buy the occasional tube of Smarties from Rahmi Gurgur’s convenience store on Hove Street. In six years, the cost has gone up 50% and I only counted 31; 2.9 pence per smartie!  

(To be continued)

Richard 12th June 2026

Hove

www.postcardscribbles.co.uk

PS Three foxes enjoyed playing in Amber House’s garden early on Sunday Morning.

Note 1 In theory ‘Shape Shifting’ is ‘the ability to physically transform one’s body usually through magic, inherent power, or divine intervention. In practice Mary Jarvis chose a series of Hatha Yoga postures specifically to move one’s own yoga practice to another level.