Symptoms

Maggs wrote: "The Guardian today has an ..." Thank goodness I'm not the only one here who reads it.

Of course, it doesn't need to be a fully functioning station - it could just be a 'halt' (a bit like a request bus stop). Are the 'old' platforms still in situ? Where I now live just about all the stations are like this and the network is thriving - you buy the ticket on the train from the conductor.

I remember that stone wall too. At one section it enclosed a grazing field (probably where streetview shows Tower Close) and the wall was about 5' tall. The field ran across to the back of Patterson's yard where they used to park their removal lorries - access to the yard was from Front St. Again, I've looked at streetview and the only opening looks to be through an arch lower down Front St than I remember (I had a recollection it was right next to the Vicarage). The field always had a few cows and a couple of horses in it and I'm sure they belonged to the Pattersons. We used to 'nick' across the field as a shortcut to get to the yard ... I knew the son but can't recall his given name as he, like most of our mates, were known by nicknames - his was Patterninny. He'd be 60ish now and I think he may have joined the Peelers.

Tales of the Bog Blaster I can't remember ever coming across a locked store cupboard or stockroom at Westridge; needless to say these were rigorously examined by Sym. I loved Science with Mr Hogg – now, this was in the days before the dreadful 'elf & safety Taliban spoilt all our fun with their rules about safety specs, safety screens, gelded chemistry sets, teacher only practical experiments, high viz jackets, no naked flames, and ..... this list is endless. Hoggsie used to show us how to make explosives by mixing various stuff then setting it off in the lab ... brilliant stuff. Anyway, he once showed us how volatile sodium could be when a drop of water landed on a piece, bursting into flames and giving off a cloud of gas. This intelligence was just too valuable to go unused. I snuck into his stockroom one lunchtime (the classrooms were never locked either!!) and nicked a pair of tweezers and an oil-filled jar containing some sodium blocks. These blocks were about the size of a ¼â€ cube. The plan was to booby-trap the bogs just before breaktime the following day. Easy with the boys toilets ... using the tweezers I placed a sodium block above and balanced on each of the chrome dome urinal grids. This position kept the sodium clear of the piss puddles lying in the bottom of the urinal channel. However, and all the blokes reading this will know, the irresistable temptation is to aim the stream of pee at the hole in the top of the chrome grid – this is what I was counting on. Imagine the scene at breaktime, dozens of lads barging into the bogs, getting their todgers out and letting forth into the channel and wetting the sodium. Flames, clouds of white gas ... what a hoot. The plan for the girls bogs OBVIOUSLY was different. Sodium blocks were very carefully positioned inside the bogs pans near the front on that gently sloping bit. The action happened when the girls dropped their drawers, squatted down and did the biz splashing the sodium. Yep, flames, clouds of white gas ... what a hoot. No pink wobbly bits were harmed during the action but the screams from the girls' bogs was unforgettable. I was never caught.

HPW - I bet they've still got a file on you.

My parents bought me a cheepo acoustic guitar when I was 11 and I started going for lessons with Geordie Peel (he lived in Dene View East ... I've previously posted about lessons with him); I probably went for six years. As I'd joined a band ( group in those days) for my 14th birthday pressie my folks took me to a guitar shop in the Toon ... it was on the old New Bridge Street, just past the Oxford Ballroom – I'm sure it was Jeavons 'other' shop. They bought me a cherry red Futurama III (just like HPW's), a green Shaftesbury 515 combo amp, a microphone and a stand. The guitar I PX'ed for a Fender 12 string acoustic just before I went down to London as a student in '69; the PX was done in a 'swap shop' in Blyth – it was located near the police station and footy ground. The amp came down to London with me and was 'lashed-up' to an old Dansette record player which I used to blast out the Halls of Residence ... what a hoot that was – it was really loud! With my first pay cheque in '74 I PX'ed the 12 string for a 6 string National Resonator (one of those all metal guitars - the sort used by the old Blues guys and which I still have) ... this deal was done in London's Denmark Street (Tin Pan Alley). What a place this was – almost every shop was a musical instrument shop, upstairs shops selling sheet music, cellars were music clubs of every description. Later, when I was a bit more flushed with cash I got an ebony Gibson Les Paul and a Hi-Watt 100watt amp stack; the Les Paul I still have but the Hi-Watt went, then an Orange but now I just have a Marshall Combo amp. I can't remember where the old Shaftesbury amp ended-up. I previously mentioned in another post that I also went for piano lessons for years and did the exams; the theory exams were in the Toon, above a piano showroom at the top of Northumberland Street but I can't remember what it was called ... help with this info anyone??? To keep me practising piano when I went done to London my folks got me a 'silent' practise keyboard in Jeavons in Percy Street ... I've still got this. Needless to say, all that my stiff, wizened old fingers are good for these days is strumming a few chords on the guitar and a bit of vamping on the piano ... it's so bad that even my dog goes and hides. To a country boy like me London back then was a mesmerizing place with lots of 'quarters'. Denmark St for music, off Charing Cross Road for books, Tottenham Court Road for hi-fi, not to mention High St Kensington and Camden High St for us hippies. The place I was fascinated most with was Lisle St in Soho (no, not for that reason!!!) but it was the quarter for government surplus, every shop was packed with stuff – ex-military gear, electro-mechanical stuff, electronics, optical gear (eg. bomb-aiming sights), aircraft hydraulics, the list just went on and on and on. The stock changed all the time as it was a period of massive technological change and all government ministries were updating and getting rid of stuff. I bought an ex-Lancaster bomber wireless set, a huge reel of copper wire for an antenna, porcelain bobbins, and was into ham radio for a time – I could pick folks up from all over the world. Sadly, all the government surplus dried-up and in the late 70s the shops shut and the character of the place went really down-market with sex-dens and clip-joints taking over. It's now part of China Town.

HPW wrote: "... how the hell did you think them up?" I was a naughty little boy. I'm at an age now, a bit like Michael Corleone in Godfather II, sitting in my chair reviewing my life - minding past escapades and thinking of old friends. I'm surprised at how vivid my recall is ... it bodes well for the old grey matter not shrivelling away.

And so ... "The Great Grand Piano Scandal". It was a drudge always being marched into morning assembly expecting the same old God bothering tosh. Us kids stacked-up from front to back, boys on the left, girls on the right, with the beaks on guard at the outside edge. In he'd march with his team in tow to mount the stage, with a scowl to check all was well he'd signal us all to sit down at ease and those tubular chairs with their canvass slings, clattered back to take the strain. When he'd move forward to the lecturn spot and command us all to sing then his wife at the piano crashed down the keys ... THUD, THUD, THUD. One morning before school started I pinched a roll of Izal* bog paper from the boys' netty, then crept into the assembly hall via the stage doors (back corridor near the workshops and changing rooms). The piano was always parked on stage ready for Mrs Hemmings to bash-out the tunes. I lifted the lid, depressed the sustain pedal (to lift the hammers off the strings) and slipped in a double layers of bog paper into the space between hammers and strings. Closing the piano lid I then made my escape. The effect of this was to completely muffle the piano's action rendering it silent ... I knew about how pianos worked because I went for piano lessons. I'd noticed that Mrs Hemmings always had a exuberant playing style and she usually led-in with a rather flash, and extended introduction to the hymns ... a perfect target for a jolly jape. I was never caught. *Izal bog paper - hard shiny stuff ... non-absorbant and could easily produce 'paper cuts'. Amazingly, it's still available! Perhaps next time - "Tales from School Camp".

Buried in the news on Buggerit Day was a report that Barclays had, yet again bunged whopper bonuses. Some guy called Rich Ricci trousered a brown envelope for 17 million. Photos showed him as being a well-scrubbed tubby bloke, a bit like Cameroonie, with a smirking snear on his face ... the image just seemed to fit somehow!

Here it is: Aroond the bend they rattled by Aroond the bend they rattled by Screeching an' a hollerin' as the wheels spun round Screeching an' a hollerin' as the wheels spun round Pottsie took his grip to the steering ties And the hiyellas gigin' as they slowed on by.

No, I haven't written it yet.

The Supabogie Blues by Blind Lemon Symptoms (sung to the tune of Pearl Harbour Blues by Doctor Clayton and His Buddy) The hiyellas screamin' as they'd rumbled and a tumbled The hiyellas screamin' as they'd rumbled and a tumbled Pottsie's four-wheeled bogie rollin' doon the bank As the lads aboard ain't comin' back Oh Lord, they ain't comin' back No Lord, they ain't never comin' back.

Beeb website today reports that the MoD have flown 1 million euros out to Cyprus as emergency loans to our military stationed there.

Those of a certain age will remember Scott Dobson producing a range of books, tapes, etc. called "Larn Yersel' Geordie". I don't know if they're still published but they are available on ebay,

KeithL wrote: "I'll dig out my kipper tie and iron my flares." I still have my denim 'originals' from 1970. Levi jeans covered in leather patches and a denin overcoat complete with sheepskin collar ... obviously, they no longer fit me due to the late development of muscular waist. I'll get them down from the attic and photograph them for you all to admire. Also up there is my old leather overcoat (bought in Marcus Price in the Toon in 71ish). I used to wear knee-high brown leather boots* (bought in Ravel Oxford St in London) outside my jeans at the time. When I used to travel up to the Toon on the train to see my folks during student vacs I used to get some strange looks when walking from the Central Station up to the Haymarket to catch the bus home. *unfortunately, my beloved boots were eaten by mice years ago - little bastards!

Wonk - I was just about to challenge the so-called bravery of those bike riders and skateboarders by throwing in the true heroes of daring-do were the bogie boys, but you slipped-in a reference. When I was a young teenager in the early 60s building and racing bogies was an all-consuming passion for most of us but sourcing good wheels was always a problem. Obviously, old pram wheels were widely used but their availabilty soon dried-up. I've mentioned before here that my old man was friends with the boss at the Remploy factory at Bedlington Station where they made and serviced invalid carriages (those old blue three-wheelers) and wheel chairs. Anyway, he came home one day with four brand new pneumatic 12" wheels on steel-rod axles from a wheel chair for us to use and let me say they proved to be fantastic in use. Just a construction detail ... how to make the bolt hole for the steering pivot - remember back then DIY tools weren't that common, including 1/2" drills to make the hole for the pivot bolt. Solution ... heat-up the poker in the fire to cherry red and burn the hole through the wooden front axle mount. We also tried mounting a car starter motor on the bogie with the drive via the motor's Bendix directly to the tyre ... it was quite successful but the systems always let us down 'cos the battery never lasted long. We should have patented the system ... just imagine the scene now with Sym living in his mansion living off the royalties from the Toyota Prius.

I was working when a colleague rushed in and told me to turn the telly on ... this was shortly after the first plane hit; I was glued to the box for the rest of the day. Quite honestly it was the most shocking thing I've ever witnessed. Even all these years later those sometimes repeated familiar images continue to shock. The visceral nature of the attack goes someway to explain the subsequent attitude and behaviour demonstrated by American foreign policy.

"Giz ya gowk"? = please let me have your apple core so I can finish it off. Commonly heard at school when lads who were eating an apple got down to the core which would have been chucked. Somebody would ask for it and then eat the core, seeds, toenails, and all. It always seemed to be the kids from poorer home who asked ... maybe they were always hungry.

Virago Books 40th anniversary this year.

What about ... "Giz ya gowk"?

Well, Franky gets the nod. I wonder what mischief happened on his watch beyond the River Plate?

Perhaps we could 'open a book' on how long the new one'll last before Horseface Willy gets sick of her?

And now for the tale of the 'Great Fruit Lorry Heist' ... It must have been one morning in the Spring of '66 when that laden lorry lurched into view bearing its bounty into the plump clutches of the school's cook. The puffing beast (the lorry, not the cook) shuddered to a halt with grinding gears and screaming howls of protest from its straining brakes just beyond the cook's rear delivery door. Engine still spluttering with a thunderous pant the driver leapt forth with news of his fare into the arms of the plump cook within. The signal went up and waves of boys with intrepid young Sym in the van clambered aboard amongst the mountainous load ripping forth sacks of fruit and veg to behold. The manor was caste to the hordes below when suddenly the truck with a crash of gears trundled away with it's addition load of scavenging youth. Away we sped, what a sight to be sure, as ragged-trousered lads fell from the deck the lorry bouncing in tune. As if by magic the truck slewed still those that remained scuttled safely away. The gadgie driver chasing way behind gathered his charge returning to the plump cook to supply her plentiful needs. This is a true story ... nobody was caught including the boy driver. I do know his name but won't reveal it here ... he was the school's 'daddy' and 'boss' of the smoking area. The driver should never have left the keys in the ignition or the engine running! More tales to follow ... maybe "The Great Grand Piano Scandal".

Maggs* - I'm afraid that intolerance exists everywhere and should always be challenged. Bigotry railed against, prejudice denounced, narrow-mindedness protested against, fanaticism fought, small-mindedness broadened, Conservatism sniped at, stop!, stop!, stop now! The few of us brave enough to gloriously engage with these forces of darkness, forces dreaming of a return to the values the Middle Ages, need to make our presence felt here. We must constantly guard these ramparts, we must fight them on the landing grounds and on the beaches, we must resist them in the hedgerows until victory is ours.... again stop, stop, stop! Don't desert our thin ranks Maggs. *I hope you don't mind being called that?

"My owld boiler ... " - stop it now Mal. You have a responsible role here and perhaps have ambitions for elected office; these things will come back and bite you in the bum, not to mention the 'show trial' that CAN be arranged. Just a friendly warning!