Symptoms

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.

Surrender Keith, surrender! Give it up boy, give it up! I watched that programme and the restored film footage CLEARLY shows her attempting to attach a scarf to the dobbin. There was also clear evidence that this tactic was being practiced prior to the event. Yep, with hindsight, "to pin colours to an animal weighing over half a ton and travelling at about 40 mph is ludicrous", might seem a fair observation. I suppose we could describe the action taken by that brave soul in Tiananmen Square, namely, trying to stop that huge tank, as ludicrous. Or what about those taking part in the Warsaw Uprising? Or that woman comfronting that guy in Woolwich. Or Lisa Potts, the nursery teacher awarded the George Cross for saving her charges from a machete attack? The list is endless ... and most could be described, in the cold light of day, by some as ludicrous. The clear conclusion of the programme was that it was NOT suicide, it was a stunt that went wrong. I reckon had she survived the Peelers would have nicked her and she would have served more time in clink and continued to be force-fed.

Just a supplementary thought about tarly toot. One of the reasons why there was so much lino available back then for bonfires was the increasing popularity of fitted carpets in the 60s. The old, ubiquitous, and cheap lino was being ripped-up and being replaced by fashionable shag-pile. The lino was so easy to tear into 12" squares for easy chucking onto the fire ... often followed by lumps of asbestos*. I remember in the 50s my Mum & Dad painting the wooden floorboards with a 16" strip around the edges of the room then the unpainted centre section would have lino or often a home-made carpet. My Dad had a carpet-making frame and made rugs; he even made a stair carpet once. I remember going with my parents to a huge wool store in Byker to regularly pick-up wool supplies which was sold in gigantic hanks which once we got home had to be rolled into balls for convenience. Anybody now living in an old house will often discover those painted edges around rooms as it must have been a very common practice. I also remember my Granny telling us to go a breath the tar fumes when the 'road men' were repairing the road - she said the fumes were "good for our chests". *exploding asbestos on bonfires has featured in previous posts here.

Tarly Toot = oil cloth/lino (the original lino was patterned, bitumen impregrated linen used for floor covering). It fell out of favour when vinyl floor covering emerged but has gone through something of a recent renaissance in posh interior design. Frog Spit = the froth produced by the nymph of the froghopper (Cercopoidea). This froth hides, insulates and keeps moist the nymph. Monkeys' Blood = the raspberry flavoured dribble Mr Whippy squirted over your ice cream cornet.

Oh, and that voyage was only 4 years ago. Back in 1972 I took the London Euston to JockoGlasgow train, changed at Carlisle for Stranraer to catch the Xmas Eve ferry to Larne in Northern Ireland. I think British Rail operated the ferry service. Anyway, eventually embarked on the ferry (it wasn't a car ferry, just passengers) and the thing was heaving with drunk Irishmen all going home for Chrissy. There was nowhere to sit inside, just about every bit of deckspace was taken with heaps of drunks. The bars were packed with groups of guys sitting around stacks, and I really do means stacks, of crates of beer ... they were basically drinking their way down the stacks. Vomit everywhere as it was a really rough crossing ... the North Channel is notoriously rough. I spent most of the crossing sitting on a slatted-wooden bench outside almost frozen to death. But it was fun.

Oh, no! Don't get us started on Yorkshiremen ... too little time, not enough space.

"Wellesley Nautical School" - spot on Vic.

The worst voyage I've had was on Norfolkline between Birkinhead & Belfast (8 hours overnight). Drove onto this rusting hulk and the car deck was up top on an open deck!!! (the car got covered with salt from the sea spray). I had an outside cabin (that's a cabin with a porthole; an inside cabin doesn't, it's a windowless box). Anyway, got the head down for a kip but was woken-up by this load, steady booming/banging noise reverberating throught the hull once we were out of the Mersey and into open water. I went to the Purser's Office to complain and was told it was a loose lifeboat in the davit banging against the ship's hull with every bit of sea swell; they also told me it had been like this for a month!!! Bxxxxxds!

Newsnight did have Tommy Robinson (bossjonnie of the EDL) on a couple of years ago and Nick Griffin's (bossjonnie on the BNP) been on Questiontime; on those occasions they were debated by those with differing opinions and the Beeb staff didn't boycott either event. I say "let them all speak" ... but they must always be challenged. I don't have a problem with deportation if UK laws are broken but any accusations should always be examined in court. GGG you may well be right about the Peelers being reluctant to lift those spouting unlawful hate but they are clearly following orders from the Home Office. We have all the laws necessary to manage the situation but seem to lack the political will to confront the issue firmly. It's all political smoke and mirrors.

Didn't that huge timber importers dock at Blyth go up in smoke in the 70s? Hundreds of thousands of pitprops stacked skyhigh just inside the fence along the Blyth to Seaton Sluice road ... I think it was opposite the Approved School (Collingwood might of been the name of the 'naughty boys' jail???)

I had a 1970 1600E, aubergine in colour, Recarro seats, Rostyle wheels. I took the standard exhaust off it and put on a Jeff Howell full-bore, straight-through exhaust with tuned headers on, Maserati air horns which played Colonel Bogey (I still have these but I'm too chicken to fit them to my current car). It was a great car.

There were a couple of lads (twins) who were at Westridge at the same time as me (62 - 67) and I'm pretty sure they lived on a 'caravan site' at Hartford. The one I knew was Peter Oliver and maybe, just maybe his brother was called Michael; they'd be 62ish now.

Just noticed that BBC4 have a programme on tonight about wrestling.

GGG wrote: "... The entire Muslim community needs to get its act together, not just in condemning this behaviour, but thoroughly isolating the radicals that preach hate, and if necessary, set up their own religious hierarchy which doesn't take it's interpretation of the Koran from evil men in foreign lands." The Muslim community and their mainstream organisations ARE challenging the behaviour of that "small minority". Most Mosques teach tolerance AND integration, it's just that these places never get on the national telly news. My description of the evil intolerent scum as "just a small minority" is just useful code and its use is good enough because it accurately describes their group size. Ditto ... intolerent extreme Left and extreme Right.