#428 theoldmortuary ponders.

When I was a child our annual holiday was always taken in Devon. Getting there, or here as it is now for me,involved setting off from Essex in the dead of night in order to be at Glastonbury by sunrise. We did this every year without fail. Not to mark a solstice but simply to experience the stones at dawn. We were nearly always the only people there. Our car the only one in a chalky stoned car park with minimal fencing not too far from the site itself. We had foil-wrapped bacon sandwiches which emerged from a towel filled cardboard box, in my memory they are vaguely warm with the bread damp from softened butter. We sat on a blanket with our backs against the chosen stone and my dad made tea with a primus stove surrounded by whatever new contraption he had invented to make the process more slick. We ate our sandwiches, drank our tea, watched the dawn, packed up and went on our way. Dawn was at about 5:45, we were usually at our destination of choice, in Devon,by about eight in the morning and would park the car somewhere, usually by the sea, and sleep until lunchtime when the holiday properly began. This all seems mildly eccentric with hindsight. Although this was the sixties my parents displayed no other outward appearances or attitudes of being in any way New Age. The last time we did this my dad had filled the Primus Stove with fertiliser instead of fuel. There was no tea that year and never again was the strange holiday ritual enacted. The Primus Stove did not survive the fertiliser incident and with the loss of this one item, the spell, whatever it was, was broken. No photographs have survived of these events. I suspect there weren’t any, there were only ever three people in our little family and a photograph could only ever have shown two.

I drive past Stonehenge many times a year and am never tempted to stop. Now the ancient monument is protected from human touch for most of the year. Commercialised and controlled in the name of heritage preservation. I feel the urge to be with those stones but not in any way that is possible now. A mass experience would not be the same at all, but perhaps I could tolerate it with a warm bacon sandwich in my pocket.

#427 theoldmortuary ponders

Winter Solstice, the sun rises on the shortest day of the year and in Stonehouse there is no scaffolding on the prettiest terrace of houses. Some of these old houses have needed a little facelift this year. The sound of scaffolders, plasterers and painters has been the background noise of morning walks for most of 2022. The other morning constant is a trip to the tidal pool, as a treat to mark the Solstice a golden cloud has been, briefly, trapped in the still water of the early morning. Small pleasures.

Tomorrow morning thousands of people will celebrate the end of the longest night at Stonehenge, a live stream event will be broadcast from 7 am tomorrow. Available on Youtube from English Heritage.

The sunrise at Stonehenge has been celebrated by gatherings of people for thousands of years.The rock monument at Stonehenge is a man-made structure. The sun has been rising over Drakes Island, Stonehouse for considerably longer. Less fuss, fewer people.

#426 theoldmortuary ponders

©Steve Blake

Those of us who live by the sea or large rivers know the debt of gratitude that is owed to the Royal National Lifeboat Institution in Britain, a volunteer service of water-born rescuers who keep our island nation as safe as possible while on our coastal waters and rivers. 41 years ago 8 lifeboat men lost their lives while trying to rescue the crew of the Union Star, a ship whose engines had failed in Mounts Bay off the South Coast of Cornwall. The Soloman Browne lifeboat was launched from Penlee Lifeboat Station near Mousehole in rough seas. The lifeboat rescued four of the ships crew members but both the lifeboat and the Union Star were overwhelmed and lost at sea. 16 lives in total were lost.

41 years ago news gathering was much slower. The news leaked out to the wider world in hourly news updates on the radio. Locally the news moved slightly quicker by word of mouth, much as it would have done in seafaring communities for centuries. The BBC have created a radio docudrama that gives a sense of the event unfolding in real-time and being reported as it would have been 41 years ago. Worth a listen.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/m0012plp?partner=uk.co.bbc&origin=share-mobile

©BBC Radio

It has become tradition, in Mousehole,to honour the lives lost at sea in what has become known as the Penlee Lifeboat Disaster by dedicating, to them,the illuminating of the small fishing village of Mousehole each December.This tradition started in the sixties and the lifeboat was launched to a backdrop of festive lights. Money raised from the hundreds of visitors goes to the RNLI.

©Steve Blake
©Steve Blake
©Steve Blake

#425 theoldmortuary ponders

When seeking images for Advent+2022 this snowy image appeared. I was not really certain how I could weave it into a ponder. Yesterday @theoldmortuary went out for our works ‘do’ and a ponder was born. The Kings Head, Westmoreland Street, Marylebone was opposite The Heart Hospital where I worked for quite a while. On occasions, if a patient ‘got lost’ between the wards and various clinics they could be found propping up the bar or having a fag by an outside table. The Kings Head is like a country pub that has become rehomed in the city. Although not a regular occurrence it was not intimidating to have to cross the road in scrubs and go and find a patient. Sometimes they were obvious because they were there with their drip stand. The Kings Head was once the home of John Wesley.

He is the glue that sticks this ponder together.

Earlier this week when the weather was brutally cold and icy we decided on a very local pub as the location for our ‘works do for two’. Our journey would be easily manageable in the cold snap. A five minute walk to the Cremyl Ferry and a ten minute crossing on the Edgecumbe Belle to reach The Edgecumbe Arms on the Cornish bank of the Tamar.

Note below taken from Plymouth History Festival 2020

Cremyll Ferry

This ancient crossing is thought to have originated in Saxon times and was first documented in 1204. It was worked by rowing boat, then steam boat and now motor boat.

This postcard features a coloured photo of the landing stage at Cremyll Point, with the quay, Edgcumbe Arms and cottages in the background. The HMS Impregnable training ship in the Hamoaze can be seen in the distance. Bystanders and passengers are waiting on the quay and there’s also a horse-drawn carriage. It’s postmarked 1907.

This postcard also dates from the early 1900s and shows the other side of the Cremyll Ferry’s journey at ‘Admiral’s Hard, Stonehouse’. It features the landing stage and quay just off Durnford Street. The ‘Armadillo’ ferry is approaching. A horse and cart is waiting in the water at the end of the slipway, and several men can be seen in small boats alongside the jetty.

Yesterday the weather changed. South westerly winds blew the cold away and brought rain and stormy seas. The ferry crossing was rougher and longer than we have ever experienced. Longer because there are absolutely treacherous currents that run on this particular stretch of the river. The tides and weather of yesterday meant the ferry had to head out towards the sea to find a safe place to cross.

Waves were crashing over the boat and we rolled and dipped alarmingly. Alarmingly for a journey that most times we don’t notice. We were, of course in expert hands. Waiting for our return journey I discovered that John Wesley of Marylebone had made the same journey in difficult circumstances.

Wesley also uses the old name of this stretch of water. Crimble Passage which in itself is a useful addition to Advent+2022.

#424 theoldmortuary ponders

Yesterday’s breakfast in Cornwall

This weekend is shaped very differently than planned. Train strikes forced us to cancel a trip to London. Not for us a festive visit to experience the sights, smells and textures of, what was once, our local market. We were supposed to meet some friends for a decade old tradition of breakfast at Borough Market. We have yet to re-establish our pre Christmas treat with them after the Covid years. But in the spirit of Advent + 2022 I can share a little story never before seen on ponderings.

Texture at Borough in the past

I was waiting alone, at Borough on one occasion, waiting for the other three festive marketers to join me. They were all a little late but as we all worked in the NHS that was nothing unusual.

A man approached me and asked if I was his Tinder date. I explained, politely that I wasn’t

15 minutes later we were both still there and he approached me again, asking if I was sure I was not his date. I assured him that I was not. He was shuffling and a bit agitated by then, his old and ill fitting ‘ date clothes’ making him look like an extra from a 1970’s Police drama.

Moments later he approached me a third time and came out with a sentence I have never forgotten. “Even if you are not here to meet me, you will do, do you want a coffee?”

© Mark Curnow. Yesterday’s breakfast at Borough

Politely, I declined.

#423 theoldmortuary ponders

Pondering has always seemed to me to be an intangible act. Private and personal and not obvious to others. Unless like me the ponderings are laid bare on paper or electronic media. Ezra’s branch of my particular family tree set forth from an insignificant corner of North East Essex for the New World just before 1620, predating the sailing of the Mayflower. Thus they missed the notoriety and celebrity of being popular histories ‘Pilgrim Fathers’

They migrated having produced a child a year, at least prior to migration and their fecundity continued unabated when they settled in Rhode Island and later The Bronx. All those babies and children while simultaneously making history!

Meanwhile my branch of the family made no history.

Late Night pondering, shared. Hopefully keeping the rust off my cerebellum. If simple pondering is enough to keep the rust away, or do I need to philosophize properly to keep things buff. Google is not much help.

And this my friends is why I should not drink three utterly delicious black coffees with caffeine in one day, all before noon. When my normal quota is usually one. Oh the giddiness of Christmas excess. Oh the insomnia. Oh Advent+2022.

P.S New family motto. Actually we were there already but didn’t make a sing and dance about it.

#422 theoldmortuary ponders

The sunset on my evening dog walk.

For someone born 60 miles inland, I have spent an extraordinary amount of time living on the coast. Yesterday I had a great day by the sea. In the morning I went to a post-Covid, reunion,social gathering of women in the majestic buildings of the Royal William Yard. Quite cheeky really as the word reunion did not apply to me. I had never met many of these people before. The cafe we met in has several massive sofas that can fairly comfortably sit ten people. I was not the only cheeky one. Lola and Hugo came with me because there is nothing they love more than a walk that terminates in a cafe. Lola is always a sociable soul, Hugo more reticent. By the time I left Lola had cuddled and been cuddled by everyone on the large sofa. I realise that makes non dog lovers recoil but there was no recoiling from her warm curly cuddles yesterday. Hugo noticed the attention she was getting and made slower progress along the row of laps. After a brief interlude of domestic admin* I was back for a small afternoon gathering of friends, mulled wine and rats.

We met in old Stonehouse pub that has recently reopened. A bar that also sells coffee and cake, a game changer for me. I am fairly certain I have never paired coffee cake with mulled wine before. It works. Hidden in the pub are four small rats. I plan to only ever find three, that way there is always a reason to return.

Did you say Quiche?
Do you have any Coffee Cake?
Yes, I am the Bass player, who’s asking?

* Who gives a crap about my domestic admin? There was a small order error when I ordered the festive toilet rolls. The error was quickly rectified, rather generously, by the company. Yesterday’s most pressing domestic admin task was to find homes for 100 toilet rolls.

42 rolls on each shelf.

Suddenly I have become the sort of person who over-caters for Christmas.

#421 theoldmortuary ponders.

The Beast from the East © theoldmortuary *

This painting made during the last truly cold spell in South West England, illustrates the strange phenomena that is unusual, bitter coldness in this small area of the Devon and Cornwall borders. This part of the country is much more used to wet winters. A huge shock to me when I first moved here over 30 years ago. I arrived in mid- November and the rain didn’t seem to stop until March. I had a very small child and no friends. For nearly a month I contented myself with sorting out a new house, driving to supermarkets and waiting for the rain to stop. When it didn’t stop I went out and bought properly waterproof clothing for the first time in my life. Unlike in Canada, the U.S and parts of Europe seriously wintery coats don’t get a lot of wear, so they stay around for many years, not a fashion item more like a winter friend.

House moves and changing needs mean that my actual “Old Friends” winter coats have made their way into other peoples lives by being donated to Charity shops. They have been replaced as needed by other peoples ” Old Friends” from the same or similar sources. One of them is certainly older than me. Worn only in darkest December and early January it is a Hollywood Starlet 3/4 length fake fur jacket bought on eBay for £15 about 15 years ago.

A more recent purchase is an extra long length tweed coat that called to me from a charity shop window two years ago. Essential for November to March. The shop was closed because of Covid restrictions so I had to play the long game to get it. My instincts were correct it is a fabulous garment, 100℅ wool it shrugs off all but the most persistent rain. It must also have had the most fabulous life before I met it. It was bought at Saks Fifth Avenue probably in the 60’s then very expertly remodeled in the 80’s. By the time I got it in 2020 it had been very little worn. Risking the £40 spent on it I decided to unpick the remodelling and take it back to it’s 60’s swing styling. The remodeling may have saved it, although it looked good it was almost impossible to wear as a highly styled garment because the tweed is so dense. None of the surplus fabric had been cut away which added to the discomfort but made my life so much easier when refurbishing. Quite the travelling coat from North American luxury store to and English Charity Shop found in the the Barbican, Plymouth. A reverse Mayflower journey.

My last winter coat is the newest to the collection. A barely used Barbour wax jacket from a Charity shop in Wimbledon. This one definitely is the most useful. I bought it in October this year and expect it will still be useful in April.

I am really not certain what set me off on this second hand clothing journey. Probably a love of style but not always fashion what I wanted wasn’t always available new, nor could I always afford it. What started on a whim has become a lifestyle choice for me and increasingly the ethical choice, the exact opposite of fast or throwaway fashion. When I am tired of these glorious coats they will find themselves back in a charity shop. Their unknown journeys will continue.

* Beast from the East – currently on loan but is For Sale 1.5 metres square. So quite a big beast.

#420 theoldmortuary ponders

This joyful scene of snowy hospitality from Monday makes me smile because I am not contemplating trying to get to work with slippery roads and an unreliable train service. In the spirit of Advent+2022 it also gives me the chance to share a photograph that has never made it into a previous ponder. This snowy view or even the same view without snow is immediately outside Gipsy Hill Station in London. Gipsy Hill Station is the home of a very famous London cat.

Fanny has her own Twitter account.

I follow Fanny on her Twitter page and was pleased to see she approves of this year’s Gipsy Hill Christmas Tree.

© The Gipsy Hill Cat

Not that she was neglecting her normal duties.

© The Gipsy Hill Cat

When I returned home to Gipsy Hill Station and Fanny was on duty I would get a warmer welcome from her than the aloof and reserved cat I shared my home with. In fact even after the aloof cat and I moved to the West Country I would still get a more joyful sense of recognition from Fanny when I returned to my London home than ever I got from my own black and white cat.

Fanny has a loyal following both locally- https://gipsyhillfriends.org/2017/11/05/the-gipsy-hill-cat/

Nationally and internationally. In 2022 she has her own calendar.

And the local brewery has a beer with a name that probably isn’t accidental.

Happy hump day and here is my own picture of Fanny making sure I swiped my Oyster card.

#419 theoldmortuary ponders

There are bonuses to being up early to take the van for a repair. Firstly this gorgeous frosted leaf and secondly an empty beach for the dogs to scamper on.

They were full of fizzing joy when they discovered they had a whole beach with no canine competition and all the humans intent on catching waves.

Even the frost got in on the making waves on some driftwood.

The winter waves have bought massive tree trunks onto Wembury Beach. Almost whole trees were just tossed onto the ground at the high tide line like the tiniest of sticks.

Winter mornings don’t get much better than this.