Looking Back

.

I have just been reading a blog-post by Yorkshire Pudding.

He is sorting out all the old photos his parents took way back in the 1940’s and is throwing most of them into his blue wheelie-bin.

.

.

He said……

“If the great PhotoGod were to look down upon me I would have to say "Guilty!" for throwing away so many memories captured on little rectangles of photographic paper.”

I had to, just had to, leave a comment.

“I am saddened to hear that they end up in a blue wheelie bin YP.

My Dad took hundreds too, but I have been scanning them into the PC, labelling them with names, location and date where known. They are then downloaded to a memory stick.

I suppose if there are dozens of the same or similar, it doesn't hurt to have a 'pruning'....but once gone, always gone.

Regards. B.”

He replied:

“The process is partly philosophical. How do we see life? How do we see heritage? How do we feel about looking forward and moving on? "Once gone always gone" is right but that could be very much a positive.”

Here, we have to agree to differ.

To throw away what is yours, may seem acceptable, and if it is of no concern to others, maybe the right course, but how is he to know what future generations may wish to gaze at and get that all important link with the past.

I have met many people who have said “I wonder what my great grandparents looked like?“ They have no photographic links.

Either, no-one owned a camera, or any photos that were taken have been lost (or, heaven forbid, ended up in a ‘blue wheelie bin’.)

Thankfully, our family saved everything; and I can sit here - and on this photograph below, see my Mother, my Grandparents and my Great Grandparents. (to say nothing of many other related great uncles and aunts).

.

.

(Click on the photo to enlarge)

If this had not been saved, I would have felt that I had been ‘robbed’ of a chance to see an extremely important link back to me actually being here at all.

This is just a few of the people on my Mother's side of the family.

My Great Grandfather is seated in the centre row, with Great Grandmother in the 'stripy top'.

My Grandmother (Nan) is standing right behind her with Grandad (Pop) on her left.

My Mother is the lovely teenager sitting on the floor at Great Grandmother's feet.

(I have only just noticed that Mum, Gran, and Nan are vertically 'in line').

Only one person is still with us today......the little girl in the bottom right hand corner.

.

My thanks to whoever took the picture and

my thanks to my family for not relegating it to the wheelie bin.

.

It's important at my age.

.

.

My working friends frequently ask me as a retired person, what I do to make my days interesting.

Well, for example, the other day my friend Fred and I went into town and went into a shop.

No don’t laugh - shopping can be very interesting.

However this wasn‘t a very interesting shop as all it sold, were mobile phones. It said something about 'T' on the outside, but we couldn’t see anyone in there having a ‘cuppa’.

.

.

Anyway, we were only in there for about 5 minutes - and when we came out, there was a ‘plastic plod’ or sometimes called a traffic warden, writing out a parking ticket.

I went up to him and said, "You Rotton Pig, how about giving a senior citizen a break?"

He ignored me and continued writing the ticket.

I called him a "Callous Bastard."

He glared at me and started writing another ticket for having worn tyres.

So Fred called him a "Greedy Money Grabbing 'jobs-worthy'."

.

.

He finished the second ticket and put it on the windscreen with the first.

Then he started writing a third ticket.

This went on for about 20 minutes.

The more we abused him, the more tickets he wrote...

Personally, we didn't care.

.

.

Fred and I had gone into Maidenhead by bus

and had seen that the car had a ‘Save the Euro’ sticker

on the back window!

I like to try to have a little fun each day now that I’m retired...

It's important at my age.

.

Ice Cream Days.

.

.

I was looking for some Somerset music and all I could find was "Drink up de Zider", which wasn't really ideal - so as Devon is just as nice and 'next-door' so to speak - I give you "Dreamy Devon".

Years ago in the days of real steam trains, there was a quaint little railway in Somerset, that linked the towns of Weston-super-Mare, Clevedon and Portishead.
I, of course never got to see the trains, as the line closed in May 1940, exactly 70 years ago.
My very first sight of the seaside would have been at Weston-super-Mare when I was five or six. We went by train from Snow Hill in Birmingham during the Cadbury’s ‘two week holiday’ shut-down. They were wonderful holidays and in those days the sun always seemed to shine.

.

.

Weston-super-Mare

As years went on, Dad splashed out on a car and holidays then, were taken at varied locations, from Tenby, in South Wales, from Towyn in mid Wales to Cornwall, Devon and back to Somerset.
The Somerset holidays were this time at Clevedon in our caravan.
The van was in a farmers field alongside the old railway track and us boys spent many happy hours exploring.
Most railway companies in those days, with long titles, would resort to only using the initials on the sides of their carriages and engines, and the Weston, Clevedon and Portishead was no exception. The only problem they encountered was the amusement caused by the lavatorial connection to the letters “WC & P“.

.

.
Clevedon.

Which brings me nicely to something I found in this mornings papers about a “PB & C” .

It would appear to be the abbreviation for a “Peanut Butter and Cream” milkshake.

Presented in a giant 24 ounce cup the whole gloopy,

gooey mess contains 2,010 calories. (equivalent to 68 rashers of bacon).

It contains 153 grams of sugar. (equivalent to 30 chocolate chip cookies).

It contains 136 grams of Fat, of which 68 grams are Saturated fats.

.

.

It is of course an American concoction originating from Los Angeles, where it has been classified as the “unhealthiest drink in America”.
I would have thought it was the unhealthiest drink in the world.
The recipe is simple - take several very large dollops of chocolate ice cream, throw in a hefty wedge of peanut butter, and some heavy cream, and blend.
The astronomical calorie count comes partly from the use of "super premium" ice cream which is defined as having more than 12 per cent butter-fat content.
No wonder it is nicknamed the “heart attack in a glass”.
.

"Musical Chairs"

.

The other day I mentioned the Beech woods of Bucks and how chair making had become established in this area.

The men who worked in the woods were known as ‘bodgers’ and is the term given to the wood turner who makes the legs and stretchers which make the under frame of the chair.

.

.

In the woods, the Beech was cut and then turned on a pole-lathe. A very crude but effective piece of machinery. A competent operator could turn up around twelve dozen chair legs a day. (enough for 36 chairs). In addition each chair required three stretcher pieces for the under-frame to link the legs.

.

.

A Pole Lathe

The pieces were then taken to the factories in Wycombe to be joined to seats and backs to make the finished chair.

In the mid nineteenth century, there were about 100 furniture factories in Wycombe, turning out by 1874 over 1 ½ million chairs a year.

I found an excellent site here which gives a more detailed history of the Bodgers of Bucks.

And ......would you believe it, there is also this delightful Museum in Wycombe which preserves and shows the history of the chair making industry in this area.

.

.

Wycombe Chair Museum

And now for some 'chair music' - well, a song actually.

Jerkins of Wycombe.

They sings lots o’ songs about varmers and such,

And folks in the country what never do much,

‘Cept diggin’ up turnips and makin’ of hay,

And they tells you, you ought to be thankful to they,

For sending you up all the good things they grows,

What fattens you up from your head to your toes,

But never a word do they sing about me,

Although I supports you it’s easy to see.

I’m Jurkins of Wycombe, High Wycombe in Bucks,

Where I lives with mi’ wife and mi’ fowls and mi’ ducks,

And I turn up the spindles and makes all your chairs,

Aye! I guess I’m the man at the ‘seat of affairs’.

I makes chairs of all patterns and chairs of all styles,

And most of ‘em travels some ‘undreds of miles.

Chippendale for the ladies what like to look smart,

And good old Brown Windsor for the plain simple heart.

I’m Jurkins of Wycombe, High Wycombe in Bucks,

Where I lives with mi’ wife and mi’ fowls and mi’ ducks,

And I turn up the spindles and makes all your chairs,

Aye! I guess I’m the man at the ‘seat of affairs’,

And whether you‘re high-born, or proud as can be,

You‘d all look very “low“ if it wasn‘t for me.

A song by Cecil Sparks.

Addendum:

In contemporary British English slang, bodging can also refer to a job done of necessity using whatever tools and materials come to hand and which, whilst not necessarily pretty, is nevertheless serviceable. Bodged should not be confused with a "botched" job: a poor, incompetent or shoddy example of work, deriving from the mediaeval word "botch" - a bruise or carbuncle, typically in the field of DIY, though often in fashion magazines to describe poorly executed cosmetic surgery.

A "bodged" DIY job is serviceable:

A "botched" DIY one most certainly is not- but a total failure.

.

"And in amongst his Prickles"

.

A quick follow up to yesterdays 'wildlife' bit.

I raked around in boxes upstairs and found last years photos of the baby hedgehogs.

They built their 'nest' in the border nearest the back door so it was not too difficult to sit and listen for the rustling to indicate that they were on the move.

First two little fellows came out to investigate the plate of cat-food that I had put out .

.

.

And then their fellow brothers or sisters joined in the feast.

No sign of proud Mrs Tiggywinkle.

.

.

Lets hope they don't end up squashed on the road.

A Hedgehog cannot make you laugh,

Whistle, dance or sing,

And he ain't much to look at,

And he don't make anything,

And in amongst his prickles,

There's fleas and bugs and that,

But there ain't no need to leave him,

Squashed. And dead. And flat.

Another gem from Pam Ayres.

The Chilterns are home to many Red Kites. They have been breeding in large numbers since their re-introduction some years ago. I have them overhead everyday and have managed to entice them down into the garden for food scraps. But one thing I have never seen, is one settle.

They seem to be on the wing all the time.

Well, on Friday I looked out and there was one settled on top of my conifer at the bottom of the garden.

Dashed in, grabbed the camera, crept back outside and just as I raised the camera, it took off. (I pressed the shutter before it had time to focus - sorry about that - foiled again).

.

.

Let's spare a thought for Red Kites,

And spare a thought for me.

Let's spare a thought for hedgehogs,

As you drink your cup of tea.

Spare a thought for hedgehogs,

Hoverin' on the brinkt,

Spare a thought for hedgehogs,

Lest they become extinct.

.

No Shortage of Wildlife here.

.

.

Well, it certainly doesn't look like rain here in 'Beechy Bucks'. It's wall to wall blue sky this morning.

The south of Buckinghamshire is renown for its Beech woods. The trees seem to thrive on the chalk soils here and whole industries sprang up in area making items from the beech wood (chairs in particular).

I love the woods around here and in fact, love trees of most shapes and sizes.

My back garden reflects this and is a mini haven for wild life.

The four cherry trees were out in blossom a few weeks ago, as were the greengage and apples.

.

.

I have never had a good crop of cherries. The Bullfinches go for the buds, next the wood-pigeons go for the young cherries and finally the blackbirds and squirrels the ripe fruit.

I used to net the trees when they were young, but now they are too large for that.

Look what I found down amongst the cherry blossom.

.

.

A sleepy little mouse.

I read today that some of Britain's most endangered wildlife - from red squirrels to native crayfish - are vanishing from the countryside at an alarming rate.

The report, from the Joint Nature Conservation Committee, revealed that 88 species are in decline, including skylarks, pearl-bordered fritillary butterflies and red squirrels.

It is a pity that didn't include grey squirrels and then I might get a look in with the cherries.

Nothing seems to want to attack the Bramley Apple tree, so at least I get my apple crumbles.

.

.

I have two Mulberry trees in the garden whose young and tender buds are attacked by Wood-pigeons. The lawn beneath the trees is littered with half pecked twigs and buds. It wouldn't be too bad if the eat the buds, there are thousands, instead they just "bite off more than they can chew" and drop the rest!

Now this little 'Tubby Dove' never seems to do any harm. The official name is Collared Dove and this one below is a youngster whose 'collar' has not yet darkened up. They nest somewhere in the garden every year and I've counted a good dozen feeding and queuing up for the bird bath.

.

.

Another visitor, or local resident turned up the other evening.

I was glad he (or she) survived the winter.

.

.

The year before last they started a family and I was feeding baby hedgehogs

with Hazel's left overs.

Must try to did out the photos I took.

.

"Nobody Came."

.

Have you ever been lonely, have you every been blue?

When I hear this song title I always think of Elvis. In fact I thought for a long time that it was ‘his’ song, he certainly made it popular, but …..

“Have You Ever Been Lonely” was published in 1933

and I have this copy in my ‘Music Chest’.

.

.

Peter DeRose composed the music, and George Brown wrote the lyric in which an admirer asks forgiveness of a sweetheart and wonders if she has ever felt the way he does now. In addition to Henry Hall with the BBC Dance Orchestra, other bands like Paul Whiteman, Ted Lewis and Ray Noble assured its popularity on the Big Band circuit.

But it was in the 60s when Jerry Vale revived it that it became a staple among country artists. Chet Atkins, Della Reese, Patsy Cline, Slim Whitman, and Jim Reeves are among the best covers of the song.

A bit later in 1966, Paul McCartney wrote his wonderful elegy for Eleanor Rigby, who picked up the rice in the church where a wedding has been - lived in a dream - then she died in a church and was buried along with her name - nobody came.

.

.

Did you know that today, the number of people living on their own has doubled since the 1970s, and that most of them are (us) older people.

Of course a lot of us are very happy living on our own. Some they will say that they like their routine and their independence and not having to worry about whether someone else wants to watch a different TV channel, or like me, not even wanting a telly.

Retirement was a big jolt.

All those familiar work mates and friends.

There, one day.

Gone, the next.

Everyone promises to stay in touch, and then doesn’t.

I can always recognise a lonely person when you meet them in shops or on buses: they never stop talking, chatting away about this and that as though they’d not spoken to anyone in a week. Probably haven’t.

In this all-laughing, twittering world it’s assumed that we can all find a comforting voice of friendship somewhere. For increasing numbers that just isn’t so.

Most need interaction with others to feel fully alive.

.

.

Another couple of disturbing facts:-

Nearly half the meals in Britain……

……are now eaten alone?

Nearly half the ‘ready meals’ in Europe…..

……. are consumed in the UK?

And another little song which I remember singing years ago,

but don't have a copy of is.....

Of all the saddest words

That I have ever heard;

The saddest is the story

Told me by a bird.

He had spent about and hour,

Chatting with a flower

and here is the tale the flower told.

I'm a lonely little petunia in an onion patch,

an onion patch, an onion patch.

I'm a lonely little petunia in an onion patch

and all I do is cry all day.

Boo hoo, boo hoo.

The air is so strong it takes my breath away.

I'm a lonely little petunia in an onion patch,

Oh won't you come and play with me?

There, that's cheered us up a bit.

Have a nice day.

.

That reminds me of a joke........

.

.

There was this lady who ever since she was a child, had the fear of someone hiding under her bed at night. So she decided to go and she a psychiatrist to see what could be done.

“I’ve got problems“ she said. “Every time I go to bed I think there’s somebody under it. I’m scared. I think I’m going crazy.“

“Just put yourself in my hands for one year,“ said the psychiatrist. “Come talk to me three times a week and we should be able to get rid of those fears“.

“How much do you charge?“ she enquired.

“Eighty pounds per visit,“ he said.

“I’ll sleep on it,“ she said.

Six months later the psychiatrist met her on the street.

“Why didn’t you come to see me about those fears you were having?“ he asked.

“Well, eighty quid a visit, three times a week for a year is an awful lot of money!

I got my husband to cure it”

“Is that so!“

With a bit of an attitude he said; “and how, may I ask, did your husband cure you?“

“He cut the legs off the bed! – Ain’t nobody under there now!!!“

.

.

Sorry, we don't stock that size Sir.

“Of course I won’t laugh!“, said the nurse. “I’m a professional. In over twenty years I’ve never laughed at a patient.“

“Okay then.“ said Norman, and he proceeded to drop his trousers, revealing the tiniest ‘man-thingy’ the nurse had ever seen.

Length and width, it couldn’t have been bigger than a AAA battery.

Unable to control herself, the nurse started giggling, then fell to the floor laughing. Ten minutes later, she was able to struggle to her feet and regain her composure..

“I am so sorry,“ she said. “I don’t know what came over me. On my honour as a nurse and a lady, I promise it won’t happen again. Now, tell me, what seems to be the problem?“

“It’s swollen!“ Norman replied.

.

Monkey Business

.

.

One thing you will probably see with an Organ Grinder, is a toy monkey.

They come in all shapes, colours and sizes. Some are linked in with the cranking and move arms, legs or whatever in time to the music. Others are simply wind-up toys sitting on the organ top. I have a very old toy monkey of this type awaiting repair. It was only a couple of quid from a junk shop and came complete with a broken spring.

As I tinker with clock repairs this should not be a problem. What will be difficult is getting some realistic covering for him.(fur-fabric).

.

.

Way back in Victorian days they used real monkeys.

The monkeys favoured by the Italian grinders, were usually Capuchins (‘ring-tailed’) monkeys from South America, principally from Brazil. Why the Italians preferred this species is a matter of conjecture, as there are many other kinds which would answer the purpose equally well. The ring-tail, however was very quick of perception and learnt rapidly.

A common term for ‘Street Organs’ in the United States is a" Monkey Organ".

This reminds me of a chap who said that he sold Monkey Organs.... A curious passer-by asked him what type of Monkey entrails he sold, the heart, the liver, the spleen, etc?

.

.

Historically, the use of the term "monkey organ" is very deep rooted in both European and American culture. It goes back at least 175 years and is referenced in works such as Henry Mahew's London Labour and the London Poor (published in 1862) which provides a fascinating first-hand glimpse of music on the streets. No organ grinder worth his salt went without a monkey.

.

.

The very last original organ grinder with monkey was, I believe, not an Italian in London or Manchester but an Irishman who worked the South West coast in the summer months from Plymouth to the Isles of Scilly.

He would give his name as Albert Mellors and played a barrel- operated Meloton.

He died in about 1979 but I have no news of what happened to the monkey.

He was very much an end of an era, a decline that had begun as long ago as the 1930’s.

So I’m afraid all you will see now are stuffed toy monkeys.

.

Baby Barrel Organs

.

.

My father, as a boy, had a musical box, a small plain square box with a little handle on the top and a picture stuck on the underside.

It played an old Music Hall tune called “Hold your Hand Out, You Naughty Boy”.

Strange as it may seem, I have yet to find the sheet music for this although I expect I could search the web and buy it from somewhere.

Well my brothers and I used to have hours of fun with this although it was always put away afterwards, out of reach.

“It’s not a toy” he would say, but the truth is he did not want it damaged.

When his first grandchild arrived it was lovingly passed on.

There were more grandchildren to follow, but only one musical box.

I therefore thought it would be nice to make a few more of these to ‘keep in family’ so to speak. Well, rather than the plain little Victorian box, I designed a ‘box’ as a small harp, an exact scale model of a harp I had built some 30 years ago. However it took weeks of work and I only finished two models before giving up. My nephews and nieces were having offspring faster than I could build them!

So a new plan was to make something simpler to manufacture.

A production line of small Barrel Organs.

The making of the little barrel organs required quite a lot of fretwork. Now although I have a ‘go-faster’ electric model I much prefer to use a hand fretsaw.

I still have a number of my father’s carpentry tools including his “Hobbies” fretsaw and all the side frames for the organ cart (16 off - painted red) were cut out with his old saw.

.

.

Using it, takes me back to the days when Dad made all our toys. After the war toys were hard to come by and quite expensive. The earliest I remember, was an alphabet of wooden letters, about 2” high, cut out of ¼” ply. It must have taken him ages and maybe a few broken blades. As there was only one of each letter, we learnt the alphabet but could only make up short words with no repeat letters.

I can also remember “tumbling acrobats”. A small jointed figure, hanging by his arms from a twisted bit of string between two rods. Squeezing the rods together caused the string to unwind and the little figure flew round!

Batch production on the organs continued and the above picture shows the organs and carts having had a 'lick of paint'. I have to admit I cheated and bought the wheels ready made. They came a horrible colour and I had to give them a coat of yellow paint.

Here is a couple of pics of the finished Musical Boxes.

They took me four weeks to make (all eight) with the slowest part being the painting. I had to wait 24 hours between coats. They have now all gone to good homes.

.

.

And a close up of one of them. I put their initials on each one so that they didn't get them mixed up.

.

.

Originally posted on Tracker-bar in March 2009.

.

"A Picture Paints a Thousand Words"

.

Or in this case "A Picture Paints Ten Thousand Tulips".

.

.

Yesterday was my third trip up to Cliveden in as many weeks. It was reported that the gardeners had planted ten thousand tulip bulbs this year in the Long Garden.

The cold weather had delayed the flowering but this visit proved "Third Time Lucky".

(Click on the pictures to enlarge)

And there they were!

"Ten thousand saw I at a glance."

.

.

Actually, that was only half of them!

The Long Garden is really long. (None of the guide books actually give the length)

It is laid out all along the boundary wall on the south side of the estate. It is also relatively narrow. It must be ten times longer, than it is wide. In passing, I noticed that the shrubs along the south wall, included Californian Sweet Bay and a Californian gooseberry with scarlet, fuchia-like flowers which was labelled 'Ribes speciosum'.

.

.

It was not possible therefore to photograph the whole garden with the ten thousand, so I stood in the centre and took photos east and west.

.

.

From the east looking to the centre.

And from the centre, looking west.

.

.

The garden comprises four beds, so each was planted with 2,500 bulbs.

What a back breaking exercise!

A wide mown walk down the centre, bordered with box hedges and topiary heads to a central space with four 18th century stone figures.

.

.

The Long Garden was laid out by the 1st Viscount Astor. His inspiration was clearly the Renaissance and 17th century gardens he had known during his years as US Minister in Italy, with their statuary and formal evergreens.

The original beds were planted with herbaceous plants under the guidance of Norah Lindsay, who was also responsible for all the lavish floral displays at Lady Astor's house parties.

.

.

I felt a bit cheated, as I could only count 9, 996 flowers!

.

A "Right Pig's Ear"

.

I notice PIGS are in the news quite a bit at the moment.

Portugal, Italy, Greece and Spain…… or was the ‘I’ for Ireland?

Just like this country, they are up to their neck’s in debt.

.

.

Have you noticed over the last few months, how the press have been comparing politicians to pigs?

Not fair on the pigs I say.

I happen to like pigs, especially when cured, smoked, cooked and served up between two slices of bread!

I am told that the only part of a pig that is not eaten is its ‘squeek’! Or should that be its ‘oink’?

Foody will know; she is very good at describing sheep sounds.

.

.

This little book from the 1950’s, certainly gives several recipes for every part from its tail to its ears. You can easily find ears and tails in pet shops as ‘Doggie Chews’ but not exactly common on the shelves in Sainsbury’s and Waitrose.

I found one recipe for tails but a good half dozen for ears - how about Pig’s Ears Flamande or Pig’s Ears Sainte-Menehould?

This got me wondering about the expression as in

“Gordon made a right pigs ear of the campaign”.

The phrase "pig's ear" usually means a useless object. To make a (total) pig's ear of something means to (totally) mess it up.

I wonder how it originated?

‘Pigtails’ was easy to track down. It was all here on Wiki.

I also found a fascinating Pigtail poem by W. M. Thackeray, I didn’t copy it but you can read it here.

Now music and pigs, are a bit like chalk and cheese - not often found together.

The Beatles had a song called “Piggies” I believe, but it is not in my collection.

I do however have a taped version and the sheet music to “The Old Sow” (see above picture). A good old traditional Sussex folk song complete with animal noises!

It is sometimes known as “Suzana’s a funiful man”.

That is the way it is spelt in my copy.

Strange people in Sussex.

Do have a listen here.

Very funny, very silly and very difficult to sing.

I know - I have never succeeded in getting it right.

.

.

A nice helping of "Shropshire Fidget Pie" tonight I think.

.

Devonshire Dumpling has requested a recipe for Bacon Badger.

This may not be as good as our expert Kath's recipe is.

But it's a start.

.

(Click to read)

.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh.

.

.

"At least he's pleased at the outcome - for the time-being."

.

In the Hands of a Few.

.

I know this election covers the whole UK but......as an Englishman.....

.

.

Smile at us, pay us, pass us; but do not quite forget,

For we are the people of England, that never has spoken yet.

There is many a fat farmer that drinks less cheerfully,

There is many a free French peasant

who is richer and sadder than we.

There are no folk in the whole world so hapless or so wise.

There is hunger in our bellies, there is laughter in our eyes;

You laugh at us and love us, both mugs and eyes are wet:

Only you do not know us. For we have not spoken yet.

G.K Chesterton

It has just gone 7 o'clock and the polls are open.

I shall be going down later in the day, a futile but necessary gesture.

You see here in the Beaconsfield constituency, one person does not really have one vote.

They have the equivalent of 0.029 votes.

This figure is based on the probability of the seat changing hands and its size.

(You can run your own test here)

45.91% of those who voted in Beaconsfield in 2005, did not vote for the winning candidate. Those votes counted for nothing in our First Past the Post system.

Across the country, the average UK voter has the power of 0.253 votes. That is 8.33 times more power than my vote here.

The future of the country is in the hands of a few - lucky enough to live in marginal seats.

They call this Democracy.

.

Bicycle's, tricycles and tandems.

.

.

Bicycle's, tricycles and tandems. I have had them all.

Of course I started off with a tricycle. I really don't know where the money came from in the 1940's. We were all a wee bit strapped for cash, but I wouldn't mind betting my dear old Grandad was behind it somewhere. I was reading here than Jan had just bought herself a nice new tricycle. It would seem that they are ideal whether we are either six or 'a little' older! (smiley face)

.

.

Grandad looks on.

After a few years, I wanted a bike and I remember having to buy it out of my PO Saving account.

It was a BSA with 18" wheels, maroon in colour and cost Five guineas! (£5 5s 0d - £5.25).

Couldn't find any photo's of that bike or any other bike I rode, for that matter.

But I did find this one of me, all alone, on my tandem.

.

.

No fancy Lycra shorts in those days!

"A Bicycle made for Two". Cue music.

No, I've already done two pieces on Daisy, Daisy here and here.

We did a lot of cycling in those days and I must have got through quite a number of bikes as I grew up. Apart from that first bike, I never had anything from new. They were all second hand. Dad would strip them down, repaint them and fit new parts.

When I got into my teens, I started Youth Hostelling and going further afield.

We always set off west, to Wales, mainly because we knew the area having spent most of our holidays there.

.

.

It took a couple of days to get to the Welsh coast and our first stop for the night was usually at The Long Mynd in Shropshire. We were knackered when we got to Church Stretton and then to cap it all, had to get our bikes up the hillside road, over the summit and down to Bridges hostel.

.

.

The road down from the summit. (photo by Jonathan Billinger)

.

.

The Youth hostel at Bridges. (photo by Richard Law)

They were exciting times - what a shame the children of today

will never know the freedom we enjoyed.

Better stop now - these tales could go on for ever.

.