Symptoms

The Forum is a much tamer place than it used to be. I like nothing better than a good old scrap here ... it's a bit like fishing really. The wise fishermen standing on the left-bank often cast their lures into the murky waters swirling over on the right-bank ever hopeful of landing one of those big, bloated bottom-feeders. Battle is joined but the tussle always ends predictably with the scaly beast's thrashings being ended by the knockout blow from the fisherman's priest.

Always a choux à la crème (profiterole) especially the ones with a big dribble of chocko all over them ... yum!

In the 60s my Mum always brought back Fenwick's meringues from the Toon ... they were big, off white in colour and filled with real cream (not that horrible chemical cream).

John - those images of the 'application form' are great .... what sort of date would they have been?

During inclement weather the girls always had first access to the school gym for their lessons and the boys had to make do with the changing-room. What physical activity could we do in there I hear you all ask? Wrestling! Best of all it was wrestling against the teacher. Gym mats would be placed on the floor and the class would form a big circle around this ring ... lads would be sitting on the floor,standing on the changing benches, lying across the coat rack shelves to form a sort of amphitheatre. Mr Cook would call each lad out in turn for a round of grappling - he would fight the whole class and always win. I remember one lad (I know his name but will not mention it) who got pinned-down in a hold by Mr Cook, the lad's arse was next to the teacher's face so he let off an enormous fart 'right between his eyes' ... what a hoot, and it entered the school's folklore. The lad got whacked with the teacher's sandshoe.

Just imagine this happening today ... the beak would get lifted by the Peelers and be done for kiddy-fiddling.

Thanks Micky for the names of the teachers ... I knew it had something to do with food.

I have clear memories of lots of older working blokes 'squatting on their honkers' whilst waiting at bus stops ... I was told by my Uncle that it was a fairly comfortable position for them due to a lifetime working in narrow/low pit seams, often squatting with bended knees.

44 years ago today:

School Visit to Consett Steel Works

Taffy Williams, the metalwork teacher, arranged a coach visit to Consett to look around the steel works, it must have been in 1965. I have a vivid memory of approaching the town and site at the top of some hills and being shocked at the colour of the place ... everything was stained red, including the washing hanging from lines, from the air pollution being emitted from the plant.

The site was huge. We saw the iron ore being conveyer belted into the blast furnaces non-stop, dust everywhere. The steel making section was alight with showering sparks, again non-stop. We had to walk over a high-level gantry and could look down into huge crucibles, maybe 10 feet in dia, of molten steel being moved via rail through the plant; we had a hockling competition at this point - dozens of gobs of phlegm being spat towards the open tops of these crucibles and being vapourised by the amazing heat. The rolling mill was a demonic place where blokes would catch wild, snaking, white-hot lengths of steel in giant tongs to redirect the steel into the rolling machines ... unbelievable stuff. We had lunch in the staff canteen and were teased by the blokes. Oh, and no elf & safety, no high viz or hard hats. Happy days.

Fantastic Eggs!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!. That class photo is 'the missing one' from my collection - I posted on the Forum ages and ages ago that my copy of this photo had been lost in one of my parents house moves but for some strange reason the other half-dozen I've posted here survived. You've made my day/week/month/year/decade. I'll now examine it to add names.

Thanks again and send my thanks to Martin & Susan.

I will send that personal message (PM) sometime this week ... it'll appear, via this site, into your registered email account (and be duplicated here in your user account somewhere).

Rory Gallagher - Irish bluesman ... fantastic!

Just read in the paper this morning about proposed building developments in and around World Heritage Sites in Blighty. Eric 'Where Have All The Pies Gone' Pickles hasn't seemed willing to 'call-in' the proposals for review, so it's likely that unsympathetic development will take place.

Anybody who's familiar with the London skyline knows that all of the iconic buildings have been swamped/blighted/hidden/spoilt/etc. by modern development. I love the look of skyscrapers and most modern architecture but it should be placed in context, eg: Canary Whalf, or be sympathetic to what's already there, like Portcullis House. When I lived in Paris the area known as La Défense was being developed and it's the only part of Paris where skyscrapers are built, and it looks terrific; the net result of this policy was to retain that wonderful, unspoilt Paris skyline. Compare that with just about any town or city in Blighty where, for the last fifty years, most of the lovely old town centres have been flattened. We do have a few notable exceptions and they're always a pleasure to visit. Progress is vital, new buildings essential, but place matters. It's only going to get worse!

http://www.guardian.co.uk/culture/2013/jun/09/westminster-world-heritage-status-risk

Both Martin and Susan were in the same class as me throughout our time at Westridge. I last spoke to Martin was on Percy Street, Newcastle, in 1970 ... I'd just arrived off the King's Cross train and was walking up to the Haymarket to catch a bus for the onward journey to my parent's place (alas, no longer Bedders). The last time I saw Susan was at a party in Bedlington Station (she was with Martin) in 1967 ... I think it might have been a school leaving party... it could even have been in her home (did she live at B/Station?). Martin, if memory serves me correctly, lived at West Lee.

Eggs - I'll send you a personal message through the Forum with my name and contact details which you might like to pass on to Martin & Susan; it would be great to hear directly from them.

From the Beeb's website ... tree planted in her memory at hospital where she croked:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-surrey-22825692

School Camp Tales

Every year during the last week of the Summer Term the entire Third & Fourth Year (before they left school for good) went on the School Camp to a farm near Hawkshead in the Lake District.

A select group of 'big lads' had to report to the School on the Sunday to load a furniture removal lorry with all the tackle for the week: ex-army tents of various sizes and shapes (including marquees), a field kitchen, camp beds, camp furniture, gym equipment (including the trampoline, vaulting horse, ropes), tea-chests full of rations (including giant tins of baked beans I remember). The camping tackle was stored under the school hall stage and had to be humped to the lorry. When all was stowed the 'big lads' got in the back of the lorry for the journey to the Lakes ... 1960s furniture lorries had a half-height rear gate, which doubled as a loading ramp, the open space above this gate had a loose canvas flap hanging down. Obviously, there was no 'elf & safety back then. Us 'big lads' made ourselves comfy in the back of the lorry by sprawling on the tent kit bags ... oh, and making faces out the back of the lorry at cars behind.

Our job once we arrived at the farm was to erect the camp for the rest of the school party arriving the following day in coaches. Marquees up to act as kitchen and dining rooms, ex-army ridge tents put up – the girls' and boys' tents were sited well apart (these were big white tents which could sleep about 8 to 10), laterines dug next to the woods and screens (like beach wind-breaks) fixed in place. The staff tents were nice frame jobbies and were pitched in 'no-man's land' between the boys' and girls' sites ... obviously for chaperoning purposes.

When the coaches arrived the boss teacher (he was the Head of PE but I'm not sure of his name ... it might have been a Mr Cheeseman) would assign billets and jobs. The boss woman teacher was the cookery teacher (she might have been Mrs Cheeseman) and she assigned the domestic jobs to the girls ... yes, the girls were directed to the cooking and washing-up jobs in the kitchen!!! The lads got the heavy stuff like wood collection for the evening camp fires and latrine maintenance. The latrine maintenance constisted of chucking lime powder into the trenches then shovelling in a bit of earth to cover the sh*t. New latrines had to be dug regularly.

The best job was going to fetch the fresh milk from the farm house each morning – big white enamel jugs (maybe 2 gallons) were taken to the farmers wife by a gang of lads. She would lead us into the farm's creamery and begin to ladle them full of fresh milk straight from the moos ... the best milk I've ever tasted. Full 'English' breakfast, cooked by hordes of girls, were served in the marquee, lunch was always a 'packed' jobbie as we'd all be away from the site doing activities. The only thing I remember about the evening meal was baked beans with everything

The gym equipment was setup on a flat bit of the field and ropes tied to high tree branches. Organised tag-team drop-kick competitions on the trampoline were always great fun ... the aim being to knock your opponent off the trampoline, one after another. Again, no 'elf & safety back then. Tree swinging on the ropes and vaulting ... all good fun. Split-the-kipper competitions were always going on ... we all have knives back then. usually a cheap 3 or 4 inch folding pocket knife; I do remember one lad turning up with a 12†Bowie knife ... the teachers let him keep it!!! The highlight for the boys was to watch the girls on the trampoline – skirts bellowing up to show their nicks. There was a nearby Tarn (small lake) where we used to swim ... again, unsupervised – this was always a favourite activity as we were all in swimming cozzers, including the girls. Each day we'd be taken off on walking expeditions up the hills and through the woods and taught about the natural history of the place.

Naughtiness and mischief after lights out. Bugs and other creepy crawlies were collected by us lads to be thrown into the girls' tents ... screams and squeals. Loosening the guy ropes to collapse the tents onto the sleeping residents was also a laugh. One year a bunch of lads were caught sitting high up in a tree spying on the girls who were squatting in the latrines ... they got beaten with the cane by the boss teacher.

In the evenings we'd all sit around the blazing campfire singing songs. Happy days.

Lavery's in Belfast ... a fine old alehouse.

How about a couple of complementary tickets for the two Keiths?

Eggy - it's good to hear that you're in contact with Martin and Susan (childhood sweethearts). I'll amend the 'master' photos.

When I lived in London I lived in a Conservation Area where permission had to be obtained for just about anything ... an excellent regime as it prevented the philistines from wrecking the place. No plakka windows allowed, all (any) tree work had to be approved and was then checked, proper materials use, no front garden paving, limited street signage, really tight development rules, no wheelie bins out the front, shop fronts had to conform to a plan (no garish colours), etc, etc. As a result the place looked great. Had there not been these restrictions in place it would have look a real sh*thole, just like many urban areas in London (and countrywide). It's a shame development rules are being relaxed.

I know that many of the folks who inhabit the 'middle England constituency' (those who are always banging-on about having fought for our freedom and who read the Daily Express or Mail) object to the power of local planning departments need to get real. Thank goodness some parts of "this green and pleasant land" are being protected.

That earlier one took time to alter in Photoshop.

This is a cheap cartoon:

Enough, enough!!! This is 2013 not 1976!!! I've resisted for years looking at this thread but had a quick look today ... and did I laugh? Of course I did and, as a result, I feel very naughty at being amused by all this non-PC stuff.

A village in Northumberland or brothel?

Perhaps this summarises the thread:

HPW's tale of blokes being shifted when pits closed reminded me of my Uncle.

When he was four (1916 I think) he had his arm chopped-off when a coal train went over it. Him and his mates were trying to flatten pennies on the track (penny on rail, train wheel squashes it) when it slipped off and he attempted to retrieve it from below the sleeper but the weight of the approaching loco pressed the sleeper into the ballast trapping his hand, off came his arm above the elbow. Anyway, when he left school he got a job down the Algernon pit at West Allotment as a 'pumpman' ... a job he had his entire working life. When the Algernon closed he was shifted to Backworth, when that closed he went to High Pit, then onto Wheatslade. I remember him saying that most of his workmates went with him, although some of the younger ones moved down to the Midlands to work in some of their new 'superpits'. He was an amazing bloke who could do just about anything one-handed; roll a snout, open a box of matches and strike the match all in one movement, fasten shoelaces, knot a tie, peel tatties, etc. He had a false arm in a drawer but never used it preferring 'an empty sleeve'.

Oh, and he always gave me 'half a dollar' pocket money each week.

KeithLwrote - "That way they would have got media attention - via TV - and the king and queen would have taken notice." What, in 1913? Gas or steam powered telly?

However, you're probably right about a banner ... trouble is it wouldn't have been reported. Just imagine the scene ... the King's Equerry sends for the owner of the Times, "Horace old man, the King wants you to spike the story ... there's a knighthood in it for you". And the rest they say doesn't appear in the history books and the 'ladies' remain in the kitchen.

Just as silly/reckless as a jockey climbing on a dobbin for any race, especially over jumps (I know the Derby's 'on the flat') ... a calculated risk with the everyday threat of death or serious injury anyway. What the glorious Emily did was a calculated risk to promote a worthy cause.

I'm sure the King would have seen the bereaved family taken care of ... perhaps the jock's wife employed as a palace wet-nurse or a princess's bum wiper, the kids could be used to clean the chimneys in the various palaces or used as playthings of various princes.

I'm not ignoring the actions of their wider campaign just narrowly focusing on the dobbin race which I think is the main thrust of this thread. I'm quite prepared to debate the wider questions involved in political action, how these actions are seen and described by vested interests, the ultimate benefits for the disenfranchised, and so on.