Hardly had the ink dried on :-https://theoldmortuary.design/2024/11/12/1103-theoldmortuary-ponders/
Where I bemoaned the anticyclonic gloom. Moments later the anticyclonic gloom lifted, revealing the most perfect autumn day. Bright blue sky, sunshine and a temperature 5 degrees cooler than yesterday. We filled all the daylight hours with gadding about in the South Hams.
An unplanned trip to an unusual War Memorial at Slapton Sands.
After all the music, marching and speeches of Remembrance Sunday. We took a quiet morning walk at the Plymouth War Memorials. No crowds and some lovely family flowers just quietly laid among all the vivid redness of the more iconic Poppies.
One statue returned to being the favourite perching place of seaward looking seagulls.
Lets see what the shape of the world will be like in a year’s time. We may well remember but we don’t learn. It’s all a bit shit really.
In the mid seventies I occasionally took a trip from sleepy North East Essex to Dewsbury in West Yorkshire to experience Northern Soul in the North. A friend’s dad, who was from Dewsbury, would drive us up after his work and our school on a Friday ( 3 hours drive) drop us off at a club, go and visit his mum and then drive us back some hours later in time for our Saturday jobs. It all felt other worldly and exciting. We were extremely fortunate that 70’s Disco was very available to us locally and 60 miles away in London. Northern Soul in the North felt edgy and niche to us.
50 years later I mentioned this to a friend from Yorkshire, who had not experienced Northern Soul, even though it was on her doorstep. Her family probably were aware of the reputation of some of these clubs . Also she was 9 when I was 15 We ‘Essex Girls’ were blissfully unaware, it was just fab music, great dancing and men with exotic accents. Definition of an Essex Girl below. We did not conform to the stereotype in Yorkshire or at home.
Since then the four of us ( 1 Essex, 1 Hong Kong, 1 Oxford and 1 Yorkshire) living in the far South West have all become a little hooked on watching Northern Soul Dancing on Youtube.
Then inexplicably we found a Northern Soul Club night in Plymouth.
There are a couple of links below to show how Northern Soul should be done and what it is. And that perhaps is the best place to stop this blog. It is harder than you think and older knees, not so forgiving.But there were older knees than ours there, giving it their best effort.
English was my favourite subject by a long way. I went to a very normal State school with an excellent English department. The staff there encouraged my natural love of creativity and communication using language.
In this week of a puzzling, to many, decision by nearly 51% of the American electorate to give Donald Trump a second crack at being U.S President, I was sent a copy of a letter by an old school friend. He is equally obsessed by English. Below is his letter to The Age, an Australian Newspaper.
In the Charles Dickens novel Martin Chuzzlewit, (1843), one of the characters asks,: “f I was called upon to paint the American Eagle, how should I do it?” His companion replies,” Paint it like an eagle, I suppose.”
“No that wouldn’t do for me. I should want to draw it like a bat for its short-sightedness,, like a bantam for its bragging, like an ostrich for its putting its head in the mud. And like a phoenix for its power of springing anew from the ashes of its faults and vices and soaring up into the sky.”
While the American electorate were acting like bats and ostriches, Donald Trump somehow managed to transform himself from a bantam into a phoenix. Except as everyone but the American people know, the phoenix isn’t real it’s a myth. Meanwhile the American Eagle’s future is more uncertain than ever.
David Pullen
Martin Chuzzlewitt, fictional character created by Charles Dickens could have made this observation yesterday. From abroad it feels like a cousin ( The U.S) has entered into a relationship that outsiders can see is not healthy.
I had read an enormous amount of the works of Arthur Conan Doyle before I was twenty.My book club has directed me, this month, to read the first novel to feature Sherlock Holmes. I am loving it, particularly because the life I have lived beyond twenty has exposed me to many of Conan Doyles real life locations. Where his fictitious detective operated. I used to regularly catch my bus home from work opposite 221B Baker Street and a different bus home took me on the Brixton Road. The first crime scene where Homes and Watson work together. When I was training at Barts Hospital I was familiar with the laboratories where Holmes and Watson first met in A Study in Scarlet. Wimpole and Harley Street were neighbouring streets to my workplace in Westmoreland Street. Holmes and Watson are frequently in these streets.
So I find myself in a strange place reading a book where, once upon a time, I was free to build my own imaginary locations as a twenty year old with little life experience. Re-reading it I have none of that freedom but with that understood I find the reading of the novel even richer in detail than I did before. Places I love are brought back to life, 150 years before I ever knew them.
In another curious coincidence I currently live very very close to the location of Arthur Conan Doyles G.P practice in Durnford Street in 1882. I know where the actual Baskervilles are buried. They were Conan Doyles patients, he used their name. Who knows if they even had a hound. My house was being built while he worked here. Funny to think that our quirky old lady was just a building site or ‘ New Build Home’ when Conan Doyle was wandering these streets.
Without a Book Club I doubt I would have re-entered the world of Sherlock Holmes, I am finding the experience rather interesting.
When we decided to replan and redecorate the room I use as a studio we knew exactly the colour we wanted for the chimney breast. The green of our local harbours in the winter.
Colour chart investigating led us to Hesper.
The name intrigued me and a little googling took me not to the sea but to a Mexican Palm Tree.
Now I am wondering if I could grow a Blue Hesper Palm in the yard. More googling, perhaps not.
There is not a tiny part of me that thinks the trashy celebration of Halloween is worthy of my time. But here I am , on a day when I have precious little time sharing two Halloween images that have tickled me.
What’s something you believe everyone should know.
Spending time doing unexpected tasks can be enjoyable.
This morning I did not expect to be making knitted bunting. But an experiment at 8am worked out rather well. I picked out autumnal colours from some donated knitted triangles that had been given to a tennis club I help to run. At 11am myself and a friend were sat overlooking the sea,sewing bunting that could be used in the clubhouse during the late autumn. By midday we had had great quality nattering and had produced 3 strings of colourful bunting. Neither of us had planned to do this but the fruits of our unexpected task looks rather lovely in situ.
I have always struggled with the statement above. How can anyone pass through puberty and genuinely remain a kid at heart. Once we are adults everything is viewed or expressed through the experience of metamorphosing from child to adult in the years of adolescence. Wishing or pretending to be ‘a kid at heart’ is just magical thinking, presumably just cherry picking the wonderful things about being a child. I realise this comes over as a little grumpy so here is a chocolate croissant heart to lighten the mood.
Here is the blog I didn’t feel I could write . It wasn’t quite my story to tell. Early in September two old school friends went to a football match. Nothing unusual about that,except 50 years has passed since we were at school in Essex, and now we live on opposite sides of the world. When I moved to Plymouth 35 years ago, I visited the local museum and noticed a Plymouth Argyle player in a 1928 team line-up with the same name as my school friend. The two men also looked similar Our letters, emails and nattering has taken all that time to come to the point when we were both at the same Plymouth Argyle match. It turned out to be quite the day out. The sun shone, we were treated like V.I.P’s and the team won a spectacular match.
@theoldmortuary guest writer Dai Pullen will take over from here.
My grandfather Jack Pullen played for Argyle a hundred years ago. To some, that might seem like nothing more than ancient history. but for the club, it is a history about which it is both very proud and respectful. I got to experience this first-hand recently when I was invited to visit the Home Park while I was staying in Plymouth on holiday from Melbourne Australia. My visit was hosted by Paul Hart (Forever Green Ambassador), Bob Wright (Greens on Screen official photographer), and Matt Ellacot (curator of the Plymouth Argyle Heritage Archive). It is impossible to imagine any club in the land having a nicer, more enthusiastic and dedicated set of representatives totally committed to collecting, preserving and archiving material which illustrates, the club’s long and distinguished history. They also want to acknowledge and celebrate players who have represented the club throughout its history, by creating a community of former Pilgrims who will continue to be welcomed to and be included as part of the club long after their playing days are over. To quote Paul Hart, “We want to make sure that everyone who has worn the green and white will have access to care, training and support should they need it.”
It is this level of genuine commitment and inclusion which helps set Argyle above and apart from the rest of the pack. My day at the club was absolutely outstanding, I was treated to lunch in Thatcher’s Sports Bar where I was seated with a group of true club legends, Duncan Neale Martin Phillips, Steve Davey and Marc Edworthy. I’m not sure what they put in the water down in Devon, but a nicer, more charming collection of lunch guests would be hard to find. But wait, there was more. Paul escorted me down to the pitch where he presented me with a Forever Green collection of items celebrating my grandfather’s Argyle career and in return I donated a number of precious items of memorabilia to the care of the Plymouth Argyle Heritage Archive. This included the champions medal he won as a member of the team which finally won promotion to the second division in 1930. There was also the shirt he wore when selected to represent Wales in an international against England in 1926, along with the Welsh cap he was awarded for this appearance. These items had been in my possession since I was a boy, and it had been a difficult move to offer to donate them to the club. Having met those charged with managing the Argyle Heritage and its artefacts, however, I was left in no doubt that I’d made the right decision. This is an organisation which honours and respects its past, while simultaneously looking ahead to an even more glorious future.
Even then my day, wasn’t quite over, there was a home game against Sunderland to be played. There were a few things about present day Plymouth which my grandfather would not have recognised. The refurbished stadium, for example., and the bowling green-like pitch. The giant video screen would have blown his mind. The one thing, though, that would have been instantly recognisable was the roar and full-hearted support of the home crowd. What an atmosphere there was in the stadium that afternoon. And when Joe Edwards, scored the winner, in the final minute I swear I felt the spirit of old Jack right there with me in the stand. What an experience, what a club.
Best day at the football, ever!
Giddy with excitement, I then paid a call to the club shop and spent a fortune on merch. But never mind. I was feeling Gert Lush. And impatient to do it all again. A huge thanks to everyone who made my visit to Home Park so memorable. Forever Green? really how could I not be.
