It's That Time of the Year Again.

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Oh I do wish they would leave our clocks alone.

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A corner of my 'Clock Room'.

"British Summer Time."

Many Britons suppose that this device is a grand British gift to the civilized world, eagerly accepted by all. In fact, only 30 other countries, out of the 362 listed in the 1964 Admiralty Nautical Almanac, follow our 'folly'. That is a mere 8%.

The rest of the world, if it wants to get up early.... gets up early, without tampering with the clocks.

So should we.

This thing began in 1916 by a Mr Willett, who during the second year of the War, introduced it to conserve fuel and artificial light. It was also applied during the Second War from 1941-45 and in 1947 we had to endure "Double Summer Time"....a move forward of TWO hours.

The British, of all people, should not do this thing.

They should be too proud of Greenwich, and the place of Greenwich Mean Time in astronomy and navigation, to abandon it for six months.

My cats got up at the same time for breakfast this week as they did last week.

And so did I.

Now let's see what music I have about clocks.

How about "My Grandfather’s Clock”.

Now I do actually have my grandfather’s clock. It is late Victorian alarm clock…and how do I know? Two reasons, firstly, a repairer has put a date inside when he worked on it and secondly, it plays “Soldiers of the Queen” as an alarm instead of a bell.

The Queen of course, being Victoria.

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Now I expect everyone has heard the song “My Grandfather’s Clock”, the one that ‘stopped short, never to go again, when the old man died’.

It was of course not a mantle clock but a Longcase clock.

The song was written by the self taught composer and lyricist Henry C Work (1832-1884). The story goes that in 1874 he was visiting England and stayed at the George Hotel in Piercebridge near Darlington. He noticed that the Longcase clock in the hall was not going and found out from the proprietor the story of why this was so.

Early, that century, the Hotel had been owned by two brothers called Jenkins. The clock had been bought to mark the birth of the eldest son, some 90 years earlier.

The clock had an eight-day movement and had always been extremely reliable, however when the younger brother fell ill and died, the clock started to lose time.

It got worse and worse until it was losing over a quarter of an hour a day.

Then a couple of years later, the other brother, who was nearly 90 was taken ill and died at five passed eleven.

At this exact time the clock downstairs stopped.

New people took over the George but the clock defied all attempts by experts to get it going again.

Henry Work was so intrigued by this that he thought of writing a song about it.

The rest is history, as they say, but since Work published his song, most people refer to Longcase clocks as “Grandfather Clocks” and I believe this old clock still does not go and still shows the time, as five passed eleven.

Blimey What a Mouth

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“Take Your Finger out of your Mouth, I want a Kiss from You”.

How on earth did anyone dream up a song title like that?

Actually, I have some in my collection even more corny than that, I wonder if publishers were trying to out-do each other in order to boost sales. Notice - this was a “Sensation of 1927” at the seaside in Douglass, Isle of Mann. It has a very good tune and I have arranged it for 26 notes. The only problem is, that when played today, no-one recognises it. However, I like to think that it is my ’mission’ to revive some of these lost tunes.

“What a Mouth! What a mouth! What a ‘North & South’!“

Now here’s a song that I’m sure everyone knows, although some further a-field, may be wondering about the ’North & South’?

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It is of course “Rhyming Slang”. I have never heard anyone ever say “Shut your North”, but ‘north’ means ‘mouth’.

‘Plates’ are ‘feet’… as in “Plates of Meat”.

I know! You must think the English, or to be more accurate, the Cockney’s are completely barmy.

A sample:

“In the morning he would put on his almond rocks, and his Dicky Dirt, and his round the houses, and set off down the frog and toad, until he reached the outskirts of the Bristol.

And people would stare at him, for his Dicky Dirt was torn, his how-d’ye-do’s were full of holes, and his coat was Westminster Abbey. He was also somewhat unclean; being too poor to purchase any Cape of Good Hope, his bushel and peck was extremely Two-thirty. He was truly a pitiful sight - his north and south drooped, his mince pies were watery,

and he had a big red I suppose.”

Now how else can I link a mouth with music, apart from singing?

“Mouth music”

Mouth music was traditionally known as puirt-a-beul (tunes of the mouth).

It is a Gaelic tradition of a cappella song (ie without musical accompaniment) that uses tongue-twisting, meaningless Gaelic words chosen purely for the rhythmical sounds they create.

According to legend, the style originated in Scotland after a 1745 uprising when musical instruments, like bagpipes, were banned.

Mouth music - also known as ‘diddling’ or ‘lilting’ - was sung for entertainment and at work places. A similar rhythmic style can be found in many musical cultures, such as ‘scat’ singing in American jazz.

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Scat Singing?

Hey, I wonder if that is where “Hey Diddle Diddle“ originated?

Almond rocks = socks

Dicky Dirt = shirt

Round the 'ouses = trowsies

Frog and Toad = road

Bristol = city

How-d’ye-do’s = shoes

Westminster Abbey = shabby

Cape of Good Hope = soap

Bushel and peck = neck

Two-thirty = dirty

North and South = mouth

Mince pies = eyes

I suppose = nose

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Labour pledges to :-

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Well, Gordon Broon, the Prime Monster, has just told an open court that we shouldn't expect him to be telling the truth with his promises, and that no manifesto pledge can be considered to be binding in anyway.

In the court case brought against him, by a UKIP member, for breach of contract over a referendum on the EU Constitution, Brown's personal barrister just told the court that :-

"Manifesto pledges are not subject to legitimate expectation".

Sorry folks, the future looks grim!

Perhaps we should vote for someone else?

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Spring has Sprung.

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My Spring Garden

When we were at Junior school there was, at the back of the class, a ‘Nature Table’.

In the Spring there would be jam-jars full of Catkins (Hazel) and ‘Pussy Willow’ twigs. Later would come sprigs of ‘Sticky Buds’ (Horse Chestnut) and in the Autumn the table would be covered with berries, acorns, conkers, hips and other wild fruits.

And I can remember being taken on ’Nature Walks’. A long snake of children would weave it’s way out of the school gates and down into Bournville Park.

In pairs, and if I remember correctly we were supposed to hold hands when walking along pavements. Once in the park we were sent off to find wild flowers and such things. In those days there were no restrictions on picking wild flowers. Even bird’s eggs were not protected as they are today and sometimes the Nature Table would contain an old dilapidated bird’s nest.

We also used to take in jam-jars of frogspawn: I can remember the tadpoles but can’t recall a classroom full of frogs. I expect the teacher would had released them to the wild after school.

One day I remember Dad finding a wasp’s nest in his shed. After much spraying of “heaven knows what”, (probably DDT or something like that), I was allowed to take down the delicate, now empty nest, and proudly take it off to school for the Table.

I wonder, with all this Elf ‘n Safety, whether the schools still do this sort of thing?

My garden is a bit of a ‘nature reserve’ at the moment. The frogs have been busy by the look of it. I had read that there was a shortage of frogs due to some disease, but certainly not in my ponds.

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I get Pheasants all the year round, and once a Red-Legged Partridge.

A Heron pops in to see if I have any goldfish.

Seen here yesterday on my neighbours roof.

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The Red Kites circle to see if I have thrown out any chicken scraps.

But the most unusual visitor I have had was a Muntjac deer.

The photos, I’m afraid weren’t very good. They were taken through my lounge windows which were in need of a clean and the deer himself was right at the bottom of the garden.

Originating in South-East Asia, it first set hoof in Britain as a legal immigrant in 1900, brought into the country as a plaything by the then Duke of Bedford.

The ones in this area are from the Estates like Clivedon and Dropmore.

Some suspect their escape wasn't entirely accidental and that they were released into the wild in different locations.

It is a conspiracy that remains unproved, but one thing is certain: once free, they made themselves right at home - and their numbers have boomed.

Standing just 20in tall, they are expert at hiding away in brambles, rushes and long grass. As my picture wasn’t very good, here’s an official one.

They are more likely to be heard than seen. Also known as barking deer, they tend to bark at night and can be confused with dogs.

Oddly for deer living in Britain, they have no breeding season and the doe can give birth to a solitary 'kid' at any time. The gestation period is only seven months and within days the doe is ready to mate again - enabling them to reproduce at breakneck speed.

My garden is quite well behaved compared to the goings on at a Lincolnshire Wildlife site. The LWT have asked visitors to remember that there are rules to be observed while birdwatching and that the hides are for "quiet enjoyment only".

The misuse of the structures, which remain unlocked all night, came to light after a bird spotter heard loud sexual sounds coming from a nearby hide.

A blushing spokeswoman, Rachel Shaw said: "Someone complained that they thought they had heard someone having sex in the bird hides.”

“Nature reserves are for quiet enjoyment only and anything else, could possibly disturb or cause harm to the animals that live there."

"There's certain things that happen at nature reserves that really shouldn't.”

Unless of course….you are a pair of birds!

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"Pow !" "Zapp !" and "Clunk !"

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When I was ten, my 'pocket money' was ten old pennies (10d = 4p in 'funny' money).

When I was eleven I got a penny rise!

In those days, us boys didn't have worry about inflation and rising prices.

That extra penny meant an extra gob-stopper or the ability to buy the 'Eagle'.

Comics in my early days were nearly always the 'Dandy' or the 'Beano'. Sometimes I would buy 'Film Fun' for a laugh at Laurel & Hardy. These only cost 2d, and there was more left over for sweets.

Now the 'Eagle' which I preferred cost 3d.....it was a comic for big boys with real money!

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Was it Dan Dare that interested me?

No, it was those cut-away pictures in the centre fold.

They were cut away to show how things worked, trains, planes and boats.

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I just loved them. I now have a book which contains about fifty of these fascinating drawings.

Above are just two.

I loved science and mechanics and as I got into my teens I left comics behind and bought magazines like Railway Modeller and Practical Mechanics (re: another post).

Last week I was watching those programs on the history of the chemical elements and this week tried to watch a program about photography, and capturing very fast movements with cameras.

I said ‘tried’ there for the whole program was a constant swirl of epilepsy inducing flashes, fast lights and pop-ups.

I gave up half way through!

Why does every programme have to have all those fast-forwarded bits and pieces, bursting and fissing?

It's very annoying, it drives me mad!

It reminds me of those days of Comics, where every movement was accompanied by a ’Wizzz’, ‘Pow!’, ’Zapp!’ or ’Clunk’.

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Even ‘Gardener’s World’ had succumbed by flashing up a blank white screen between views and attaching a sound resembling a ‘Fissst’! (Sorry, don’t do sounds).

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And as if that was not bad enough someone at the beeb has decided to abolish silence. You will be extremely lucky to go for longer than 10 seconds without some so-called music in the background. Except that it's not even in the background. It's in the foreground, because more often than not it's louder than the narrator's voice. And it's got absolutely sweet FA to do with the content of the programme.

Every single British programme is now being shot in the style of a 2-minute promo for the next edition of The News of the World.

The world went a good fifty years with cameras being held steady, nice and horizontal for longer than a second. Memorable films, programmes and documentaries were made. I'm not saying that everything should look like the Weather Forecast. They can still experiment, like many film directors did for decades without turning everything into something resembling a rock festival.

OK, so I am a Grumpy Old Man.

I hope you all have a quiet and peaceful day

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Goodbye to Robertson's Marmalade.

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I once had a friend who's cat was called Marmalade - a ginger Tom no doubt.

I also have a record somewhere of some vintage jazz with a tune called 'Clarinet Marmalade'.

I found a 1920's recording here. Far too complicated for the Street Organ, but I do have an excellent tune called the 'Clarinet Polka' and I have popped up Bob playing the roll on his 26 note. He has taken the front off for all to see the 'works'!

But back to Marmalade.

A story goes that marmalade was invented in 1700, when a storm-damaged Spanish ship, carrying Seville oranges, sought refuge in Dundee harbour. The cargo was sold off cheaply to James Keiller, a down-on-his-luck local merchant, whose wife turned it into a preserve.

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And now after 300 years, I read that marmalade may soon be history itself.

It appears that it is gradually vanishing from the nation's breakfast tables – along with, maybe, the breakfast tables themselves!

But not in my kitchen! I have both a ’breakfast’ table, (how posh - mine’s a kitchen table) and a jar of marmalade. The latter coming from the market in Thame. Home made by the WI - although they now call themselves ’Country Markets’.

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This jar of Grapefruit marmalade was made in a lady's kitchen at ‘Brambles’ Cottage in Haddenham, (not far from Kath I guess), whereas this old photo below shows a somewhat larger WI production line.

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History shows, that there is good evidence, that orange marmalade was made in England from Tudor times. A certain English lady, Mrs Hasell-McCosh has in her possession a record book compiled by an ancestor in the early 17th century which contains recipes for orange marmalade.

"The Scots can't claim this one," she says. "We are the home of marmalade."

It sounds to me however, that her ancestor may have come from north of the border with that early recipe?

What can be said with some certainty, however, is that the Keillers of Dundee were the first to establish a marmalade factory, and to put the spread on the mass market to which it now struggles to cling.

For years, the big marmalade manufacturers have been trying to spiff up its image – introducing new flavours, and even, repackaging it as "orange jam".

Labels have been jazzed up and plastered with extravagant health claims. The blameless Robertson's golliwog, who served for almost a century as the emblem of the nation's biggest marmalade firm, was removed after complaints from anti-racism campaigners.

Well they haven’t confiscated my collection yet!

These are still in my Mothers old cookbook along with vintage Certo labels.

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As children we used to collect these gollies from each jar and when you had a set or certain number, you could send them back to Robertson's and get a badge.

I still have one of these on my ’Grinder’s waistcoat’.

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So successful was this accommodation of PC zealotry that last year Robertson's ceased to exist as a brand, being quietly replaced by Hartley's.

Amen.

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So Noses at the Ready!

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After a run of serious posts I’ve decided to lighten things up a bit.

Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately for you, my ‘joke folder‘ is currently empty.

So I shall resort to some humour from the past, which has me in stitches, but I suppose many will find silly rather than funny.

The gentleman in question was Billy Bennett.

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Billy Bennett 1887-1942

Bennett was born in 1887 and first became a stand-up comic during the First World War entertaining the troops in the canteens. On leaving the Army he did in fact go on to the Music Hall stage as a soldier act, still wearing khaki in front of the footlights.

This costume was to become more and more ridiculous in its appearance.

He was chiefly famous for his monologues in which he threw common sense overboard so that although extremely silly, they were certainly not predictable or boring.

He would start off with the lines…..

“Friends, Romans, countrymen,

Lend me your ears,

Because I have a story to tell.

Lend me your ears;

If you’ve not got them with you,

You’re noses will do just as well.”

So noses at the ready!

To the bar of a Thousand Flat Ales,

From the ship came a conjuring man;

A Celenese from over the seas,

By the name of Hugh Pi Kan.

In the bar each night, the Chinks he’d delight,

And out of a Chinese caddy,

He’d bring three rabbits (two bucks and a doe),

And he’d ask them to ‘find the lady’.

He’d bring oranges out of his nostrils

And present them as souvenirs;

He’d bring flowers and plants from out of his pants,

And raspberries from out of his ears.

Poor Wong-Wong fell for his magic;

For Hugh Pi Kan’s love she was yearning,

And Uncle Wun-Lung said to Auntie Who-Flung,

“Wong-Wong’s going to take the wrong turning.”

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When the bar was closed and Limehouse dozed,

Uncle watched and Aunt kept nix,

They saw the yong man called Hugh Pi Kan,

Showing Wong-Wong his box of tricks.

With a yell that woke all Limehouse,

Wun-Lung drew his snicker snee;

He stabbed Wong-Wong in her em-bong-pong,

And sliced Pi Kan’s vertebrae.

Then he tied both their pigtails together,

And the pair in the river he threw.

As they floated away tied together,

He sang “I’ll string along with you”.

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All is silent in Limehouse causeway,

There is nothing but pea soup fog,

It’s so thick you can’t see the lamp-posts,

That’s tough luck for a limping dog.

And that is the story of Wong-Wong,

For a floating corpse is she,

With her conjuring man from Suckitan,

Who sailed o’er the Suckitan Sea.

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I'm Going through a Bad Spell

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And do you know?

I couldn't find any music to go with today's post!

Firstly I want to apologise to those who cannot, for some reason, leave me comments.

I know of two, Francien and Myrna.

I’m really sorry.

The problem seemed to start when I put up this fancy background and opted for comments to appear ‘under’ the relevant post, rather than in a ’pop-up’ box.

None of my blog is held on my machine, apart from a back-up of the html content.

The blog is located at ’Blogger’, wherever that is. My photos are all held by Picasa, videos linked to YouTube and I notice that ’Comments’ by me and my visitors are held in yet another location. Nearly every day, when I reply to all your comments I get the message “Your comment could not be published, please try again”.

It always works the second time. I have no idea why. Does anyone else know?

I “allow” all comments except anonymous ones and only have comment moderation on, on posts over 7 days old. This is so that I can locate older comments without having to check every post.

The latest thing from blogger to irritate ….. is that when (on others blogs) I am typing the word verification, I get a ‘drop-down’ prompt of previous WV’s which completely obscures the new WV I am trying to read!

Fancy giving a prompt on ‘word verification’!! It will never be the same, will it?

Which brings me nicely round to spelling.

I was mentioning to Mrs Successful, of how I used to get words like necessary spelt wrong. We were taught little phrases to help……this was only OK, if you got the phrases right!

To get necessary right, it used to be

“One collar ( c ) and two studs ( ss )” but I kept on thinking it was

“One shirt ( s ) and two collars ( cc )” as in those days, my grandfather would have one shirt and several collars which could be washed separately. They were attached to the shirt by two studs, one front and one back.

Mrs S mentioned stationary and stationery and a way of getting them the right way round. I bet there must be loads.

As spellings go, "definitely" shouldn’t be one of the trickiest ones to remember.

But ‘definitely’ is the most commonly misspelt word in the English language, according to a recent study, with flummoxed Britons regularly writing it as ‘definately’.

Did you know that the ten most miss-spelt words were:-

1 Definitely (Definately);

2 Sacrilegious (Sacreligious);

3 Indict (Indite);

4 Manoeuvre (Maneouvre);

5 Bureaucracy ( Beaurocracy);

6 Broccoli (Brocolli);

7 Phlegm (Phleghm);

8 Prejudice ( Predjudice);

9 Consensus (Conscensus);

10 Unnecessary (Unecessary).

From a study by www.OnePoll.com)

Just for fun I tried to see if I could get them all into one sentence ……

“There is definitely a manoeuvre by the health lobby to get us to consume more broccoli, however, there is a consensus that their almost sacrilegious attitude is nothing more than prejudice, leading to all this unnecessary bureaucracy.”

Got stuck with:-

Indict

Phlegm

I expect you have all heard of this though.

I have a spelling chequer

It came with my PC

It cheques out all off my miss takes,

The ones I cannot sea.

Eye put this poem threw it,

I’m shore your pleased to no,

It’s rite in every detail,

My chequer tolled me sew!

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How the world has shrunk.

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I remember, a couple of years ago, when I first loaded Google Earth, I could ‘fly’ around the neighbourhood and peer into locations that I had not known existed. I could now see what was behind those six foot walls and which of my neighbours had a swimming pool.

The novelty soon wore off!

The next exercise was to nip ’home’ to old familiar places. Where I was born, where my grandparents lived. Where my Great grandparents lived!

It was quite reassuring to see those old buildings still standing and in many cases the trees in the gardens. The very same trees that I would have shinned up as a boy, probably if visiting Gran, in my ‘best clothes’.

Then came holidays.

I wondered about that caravan site at Towyn in Wales in the 1950’s.

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A caravan breakfast in Towyn.

Yes, it was still there. It was called Towyn then, but I notice on modern maps the Welsh have decided to re-name everything, probably to confuse the ‘visitors’.

We then had a different caravan, this time at Clevedon, down in Somerset.

That site was still going, but I noticed hard-standing for the vans and concrete drives.

It now looked very residential.

It was a farm site back in the fifties.

Cows in the fields.

Dad, always good for laugh decided (to pretend) to take a bath in the cow's drinking water!

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Farm camping in the 50's.

I checked out every holiday location. Every place I had worked. Every house I had lived in. Been there, done that, but I have to admit that I do not have all the T-shirts!

But coming up to date I have found it interesting to fly around the world and see where fellow bloggers live. Not to peer into their gardens or anything like that. Just the area and the surroundings. After all you don’t know the exact addresses anyway.

Visiting Jan in California, I found the river that she described.

Popping over to Deb in Rockport MA to see the lighthouse and the island that she sailed out to, to tune a harmonium!

How the world has shrunk.

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Australia - Here I come!

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"Beauty Lies in the Eye of the Beholder"

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Valerie though that I may have been a wee bit harsh in calling Birmingham an unattractive city. Of course this is not a fact, it is a personal opinion.

Birmingham does not attract me to it.

It may attract many people like shoppers, but I could never imagine it becoming a tourist attraction.

This is not to say that I have always felt this way. Birmingham has certainly served this country well. Many famous and important people have been born, lived and worked there. In Victorian days it was known as the ‘Workshop of the World’, with very many famous manufactures being based there.

To me as a child, going to ‘town’ was an exciting adventure.

With Dad away fighting the war, my mother and I lived at my grandparents in Linden Road. From here we would walk up to Cotteridge to catch the tram into town. Much to my grandmothers despair, I always wanted to go upstairs on the tram and sit at the front. As going out was a treat, I usually got my way. Cotteridge was the terminus for the trams, right on the outskirts of Birmingham, right alongside the Warwickshire countryside. The ride into ’town’ probably took a good half hour.

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The one place in Birmingham I remember most was the old Market Hall and Bull Ring. Here is an old picture of the Bull Ring and on the left is the Market Hall complete with its roof. The hall is the one on the left with the large columns.

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The roof was later to be blown off thanks to one of the Luftwaffe's bombs. Now one of these bombs, unexploded of course, had been placed at the top of the Market Hall steps, just outside the entrance. A slit had been cut in the top and the bomb was used to collect money for, I assume, the War effort.

Well it was a big bomb, must have been 18” in diameter, and as a little boy I remember being lifted up to sit astride it and drop a penny into the slot.

Even though it had no roof, the old hall continued to house market stalls and in those days they were of an amazing variety. Apart from the usual traders there was a pet shop selling cats, dogs, rabbits and white mice. There was a music stall where my Mother would have bought her music (she was a violinist - but that is another tale for later).

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At the east end was another set of steps down with brass banisters running down to the Bull Ring. Again I was picked up and slid down the rail with Mom holding on!

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The 'Bull Ring' as I remember it.

The open Bull Ring market was mainly fruit and veg but I do remember a stall selling live baby chicks. After the war, with all the food shortages, many people kept chickens or rabbits in the back gardens. The chicks were put into little cardboard boxes with tiny holes in the sides ready for the homeward ride to Cotteridge on the tram.

Around 1962 the old hall was demolished and a new ‘Bull Ring Centre’ was built. For some reason it was known as ’The Big Top’.

I managed to get a few photos on my old box camera before is disappeared for ever.

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Not really attractive any more.

But just think of the memories it held of my younger days.

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The ’New’ Bull Ring centre was again demolished to make way for the present Centre, which I have to admit I have yet to see. Cherry Pie tells me it is 'attractive' now.

"I Wanted to go to Birmingham" . . . . .Really?

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"Oh! Mr Porter, what shall I do?"

"I wanted to go to Birmingham........in 75minutes!"

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Today's headlines in our local papers tell a sad tale.

"The owners of 440 homes face having their properties demolished to make way for the first stage of a 250mph rail line from London to Birmingham”

The proposed line after leaving London will slice through our beloved Chilterns, an area of outstanding natural beauty.

All of those places that I have been posting about recently are likely to be affected.

Amersham, Great Missenden and Wendover.

Already, as you would expect, the people of these villages are forming protest groups, and rightly so. But what we have here is a proposal, a blueprint and is not being supported by the Conservatives.

A change of government could see a change of plan.

What I am unable to understand is WHY there is a need for a third line to Birmingham? It is certainly not one of our most attractive cities.

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Old Amersham High Street.

We already have a rail service running quietly up through Amersham to Aylesbury.

We already have the Chiltern Line serving Beaconsfield, Wycombe and Princes Risborough. Both can take you on to Birmingham gently and peacefully.

Why this obsession with speed?

Who would benefit from arriving in New Street ten or twenty minutes earlier than at the present?

A few wealthy business travellers, that’s who.

Everything seems to be wrong with this proposal.

Spending £30 billion on another railway line linking cities which are already well linked by road and rail, merely to reduce the time spent in the train for a small minority, is truly stupidity and extravagance on a monumental scale.

We are told it may provide up to 10,000 jobs (for Labour voters), but I believe it to be an utterly pointless waste of effort, a waste of resources and will bring about the destruction of a huge swathe of our already diminishing countryside.

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A back lane in Princes Risborough.

Theresa Villiers, the Tory shadow secretary of state for transport, poured scorn on the plans. She said,

“We have made a clear pledge to the travelling public that we see no point in building a line which only the rich can afford to use. No equivalent promise has been made by Labour.”

“The next Conservative government will begin work immediately to create a high speed rail line connecting London and Heathrow with Birmingham, Manchester and Leeds, with construction to begin in 2015.”

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Peace in Little Missenden.

So friends, a change of government will only bring a change of route and will still upset thousands of people, gobble up millions of square yards of our countryside just so the wealthy can save minutes off their journey to one of the most unattractive cities in Britain.

“Fast trains are like fast food: the wrong diet for healthy growth”

I've Got Sixpence.

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Well I guess I'm not alone in this.

However I notice that the Bank of England has announced that £20 notes with the image of the beloved English composer Sir Edward Elgar will not be legal tender after June 30 this year.

Sir Edward, whose melodies have come to capture a certain type of Englishness, is to be pulped a mere 11 years after he had the honour of gracing the £20 note.

They were introduced in June 1999 along with a view of the west face of Worcester Cathedral.

Previous £20 notes have featured Michael Faraday, and before that William Shakespeare.

Michael Faraday, was an English chemist and physicist (or natural philosopher, in the terminology of the time) who contributed to the fields of electromagnetism and electrochemistry.

William Shakespeare was an English poet and playwright, widely regarded as the greatest writer in the English language and the world's pre-eminent dramatist.

He is often called England's national poet and the "Bard of Avon".

William Shakespeare managed 23 years in our wallets before he was discontinued from the £20 note.

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Edward Elgar was born in the small village of Lower Broadheath outside Worcester, England to William Elgar, a music dealer, and his wife Anne.

By the age of eight, he was taking piano and violin lessons, and would often listen to his father playing the organ at St. George's church, and soon also took it up. His prime interest, however, was the violin, and his first written music was for that instrument.

Surrounded by sheet music, instruments, and music textbooks in his father's shop in Worcester's High Street, the young Elgar became self-taught in music theory. On warm summer days, he would take scores into the countryside to study them

Thus there began for him a strong association between music and nature. As he was later to say, "There is music in the air, music all around us, the world is full of it and you simply take as much as you require."

At the age of 15, Elgar had hoped to go to Leipzig, Germany to study music, but lacking the funds he instead left school and began working for a local solicitor. Around this time he made his first public appearances as a violinist and organist. After a few months, he left the solicitor and embarked on a musical career, giving piano and violin lessons, and working occasionally in his father's shop.

At 29, through his teaching, he met Caroline Alice Roberts who was eight years older than him. Alice became his wife three years later in May 1889, at Brompton Oratory.

Their only child, Carice Irene, was born at their home in Fulham on 14 August 1890. Carice is a contraction of her mother's names Caroline and Alice.

Now this music reflects my financial situation at the present time.

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Or should that read 'Six new pence'

It is a fitting tribute to science, music and literature that The Bank of England should choose these three outstanding gentlemen to feature on our £20 notes.

From July 1 2010, only notes with the image of Adam Smith, the Scottish economist, will be legal tender.

I wonder how many people know who this economist is, or have even heard of him?

Oh well. I suppose we have to be grateful it wasn’t Herman van Rumpy-Pumpy with “all the charisma of a damp rag“.

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Fame at last

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My word! I am getting known in high places.

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All Gone.

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I am very saddened to see small businesses closing down.

Small shops and Pubs all going.

I think I read somewhere that pubs were closing down at the rate of fifty a week.

The labour party’s smoking Ban being the final nail in the coffin.

I went over to Farnham Common the other day to buy my Fax rolls (nothing local now) and on returning through Burnham, I noticed something, I had never in my life, expected to see.

A pub turned into a….Tesco!

When I look back to when I was working in Taplow, we used to go over to the “Red Squirrel” when there was a leaving ‘do’. It was just that little bit larger than the small pubs in the woods.

And there it was…a Tesco Express.

I also used to go over to Farnham to a model engineering shop. Tools, not new but mainly second hand, brass, steel, drills, nuts,.. You name it, Burt probably sold it.

It was more than a shop actually. It was a meeting place for all like minded blokes to meet up and sort out each others mechanical problems. These experts helped me out on numerous occasions. Then on Saturday mornings there was coffee and biscuits. Burt only drank Coke so there was never any milk in the shop, but never a problem, next door was a little shop that sold milk. All so convenient and friendly.

Yes, you’ve guessed….all gone.

I no longer see all those chaps any more. Only a few occasionally.

Here in Bourne End the Toy Shop closed (been there for thirty years): then the Wool Shop (Patricia’s); Then another. Then another.

Now all we have are Chinese and Indian restaurant’s. The Toy shop is now a ‘place to get your finger nails painted’!

The Bank is now a Vets and the shop that used to sell pine furniture is to open as a "Coffee Lounge".

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The biggest blow to me though, after the loss of Burt’s shop was the loss of Bourne End Antique Centre.

This was another place for meeting up with like minded people, who loved raking around junk shops.

We were all friends. There were thirty traders with stalls and you could spend hours chatting……and yes they would always offer you a cup of tea.

There was a different person serving every day, so a visit brought new news, new stock and many times new friends.

All gone.

Now when I go shopping I hardly get to say more than the words “Thank you”.

Just imagine what life will be like when everyone shops online.

Oh, yes I forgot…..the Antique Centre is being converted to a ‘Coffee Lounge’.

Just what Bourne End needs…..two coffee lounges.

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Have a nice Sunday.

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Sundays, when I was young, would be a day for ‘going out’. A day in the country or a day visiting Aunts and Uncles. A day for washing behind your ears (little boys hated washing necks and ears) and putting your best clothes on - the Sunday Best.

Dad must have bought his first car around 1947 or there-abouts, so these drives out on Sundays would have continued until I left home in 1962.

All my working life, weekends have been..... Saturday -shopping, Sunday - a day out (or a day in the garden if you were hard up).

The strange thing is - all these years on and now retired - and being able to go out on any day of the week, it is hard to get out of the habit of ’getting changed’ and ’going out’ on a Sunday.

Last Sunday found me behind Great Missenden church with the snowdrops, just one of many places I visit. Looking back through my ’pictures folder’ I found dozens of photos that I hadn't published.

So today I thought I may post up a few of the places from last years Sunday outings.

Sunday always seems to be

The day my thought go flying free

And times gone by return to me,

From yesterday

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The river Misbourne at Amersham.

A Sunday bell’s a timeless knell

That chiming casts a magic spell

And ringing has a tale to tell,

From yesterday.

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The Church at Remenham, near Henley.

A Sunday street’s a bygone street

That echoes someone else’s feet

And other voices soft and sweet,

From yesterday.

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A quiet moment at Turville.

A Sunday rest is gently blest

With memories that come unpressed

To fill the mind with all that’s best,

From yesterday.

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"Tuppence" at Henley on Thames.

Sunday is the day I find

That speaks of times I left behind

Yet linger fondly in my mind,

From yesterday.

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The Abbey Gate at Dorchester on Thames.

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All the pictures should enlarge with a left mouse click.

Have a nice Sunday.

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