A Conversation for Gyre And Gimble / Come and Contribute

Graham Spence

Post 1

G

I journeyed my way to the centre of the CAC, and needed to leave no chalk marks. "Butlin's, Conception and Pleated Skirts, the directors cut" is below. Having said that, I am probably about to do this wrong.


Best Regards, Graham Spence

Butlin's, conception and pleated skirts.

Although I joke now that being conceived at Butlin's, and born in Leith was the least auspicious of beginnings in life, I can as a result rationalize my subsequent upward social mobility as predictable and unsurprising, if for no other reason than downward social mobility from this point would have been virtually impossible.

My conception was no doubt preceded by my mother's consumption of a sweetheart stout or two at the Pig and Whistle, followed by a romantic dance to the dulcet tones of "The Vibratones" or whoever was the resident popular singing combo in the Beachcomber Ballroom that year. Against a backdrop of Red Coats, Knobbly Knees and Glamorous Grannies, the "Vibratones" no doubt provided the overture to countless thousands experiencing a similar start in life to mine. I can visualize my Father, filled with the promise of imminent romance splashing out on a Babycham for my mother in the ambient charms of the Beachcomber Bar, whose décor could only be described as Early Sub-tropical Rainforest. Complete with artificial tropical storms and lagoon they undoubtedly sat at a table on the shore as the words "Are you lonesome tonight" filtered down from the ballroom. So, with rainforest, Elvis and Babycham, the setting was almost complete: the outcome made inevitable however by the backdrop of the papier-mâché volcano who’s regular, spectacular and voluminous eruptions offered my parents the promise of forthcoming eruptions of an altogether more personal nature.

I assume the consummation of all this promise did involve a bed and a chalet, for although I can push my thoughts of my parent's sexuality as far as the seduction scene, I reach a barrier thereafter that is only fit and proper. There are some things no one should have to suffer and I certainly can not handle the thought of my parents having a Knee Trembler surrounded by industrial strength steel wheelie bins up the back of the Gaiety Theatre. At least the chalet of my imagination allows the benefit of a door that can be firmly closed, leaving my mind with the more manageable images of the distant creak of the cable cars, gently swinging red and white street lanterns, and the sound of waves crashing on a beach against the backdrop of the Isle of Arran silhouetted against the night sky.

In the 1960s, romance and Butlin's went together hand in girdle.

So, like a baby salmon who instinctively knows where to head when his hormones kick in, Butlin's had entered my consciousness before I had one. Over subsequent years, Butlin's became a magical place, a place of fun and freedom to roam that children born subsequently, my own son included, will sadly never know. Through each stage of my childhood, Butlin's is there: as a toddler in the crèche and fun fair with toddler size rides. Or at seven, with my friends and no parental supervision on the miniature steam train with its ear-splitting whistle that we simultaneously hated and loved. To the children's delight, the driver blew the whistle with all the vim and vigour of a Red Coat on amphetamines as the train entered the incongruous fibreglass tunnel that had been built to order by Hornby. As a ten year old, my idea of heaven was to spend a whole week in the swimming pools, both indoor and outdoor, complete with huge slides, three tiered fountains and vast viewing windows that allowed you to see under the water from a walkway at the side of the pool, and more importantly for a child, to see into the walkway from under the water. And finally when the boy reaches the point where fun fairs seem less important and girls start to become interesting, there was no better place to learn the Rules of Engagement that accompany the never ending battle of the sexes. In these lessons, the camp discotheque played a major role, which was not surpassed until much later in life when I discovered an altogether more exciting and more tastefully decorated form of camp discotheque, but that is another story. Butlin's was however to leave me with two more deep scars on my psyche.

Our final holiday week at Ayr with the extended family was to be followed by two weeks on Crete: everyone of my generation can remember where they were when they heard that Elvis was dead, and I was in the games room of the Beachcomber Ballroom playing air-hockey with a kid from Easterhouse. Had the fat bastard (Elvis that is, not the kid from Easterhouse) consumed one less deep fried banana, peanut butter and burger sandwich with extra jelly, and had lasted another week, I would have been in Greece during the fateful event. Whilst this may seem unimportant, consider this: as long as Elvis is remembered, there will be a part of me that is forever in Butlin's, on the 16th of August 1977. As a result, whatever I do, whatever I achieve, I will remain resolutely working class. Had he lasted one more week, I may have made it to the dizzy heights of the lower middle classes, and felt so much more at ease in subsequent years with the exotic charms of Benidorm, Can Picafort and Agios Nikolaos.

Once again, Elvis Presley and Billy Butlin had conspired to change the direction of my life. However, through self-analysis, hard work and appropriate counselling, I have since learned not to take it personally.

The second wound is altogether more pleasant, and is worn with the pride of an aesthetically correct facial scar borne by a Hussar in memory of some noble duel. At the time when young lads hormones enter full flush, the presence of all this freedom, sunshine and Lady Redcoats was an intoxicating cocktail. Particularly the Lady Redcoats. Their authority, glamour & sexuality created in the mind of a 12 year old boy an immovable icon of perfect femininity un-abrogated to this day. Given to them at an impressionable age, I am indeed theirs for life. Now in my early forties, the hormones are on the decline, the hair is thinning and I am more likely to be found re-potting a begonia than shirt-off-up-the-front at Cream. But there is something about crisp white pleated skirts combined with seamed, flesh-coloured, stepped heel stockings that will endure until I die. They may even be my last ethereal thought, as I lie on my deathbed and utter my last word “Berlei” to the confusion of all around me. Newspapers will not spin in cinematographic implied urgency nor will a film be inspired of great artistic significance, but if made, it would undoubtedly create a certain specialist following. But these items of authoritative femininity can still fill this forty-something body with the unbridled hormonal release of a teenager, and due to the cyclical nature of the fashion industry, I look forward to the of the summer of 2005 with baited breath.

However, if during that year someone releases a camp-house version of "Blue Suede Shoes", I may find myself back in therapy before you can say "Good Morning Campers"...either that or shirt-off-up-the-front at Cream.

Graham Spence


Graham Spence

Post 2

G

Yes, I've done it wrong. If God had meant us to have the internet, he would not have given us the Royal Mail!

G


Graham Spence

Post 3

~ jwf ~ scribblo ergo sum

Tuesday 6pm, Nov 26, 2002

Mister G,
I see none of the usual suspects have come forward in response to your submission. To assuage any feelings of neglect you may be suffering, let me hasten to assure you that neglect has here-to-fore never been deliberately directed at anyone by our group. Shunning is contrary to our mission and mandate. It has occassionaly resulted from our being quite innocently braindead or otherwise pre-occupied in a kinduvva collective all-at-the-same-time kinda way. A rare but not impossible coincidence of the stars.

I say this because it is just too difficult to imagine any one of the others reading your entry and failing to say something. Which is very easy for me to say, because I have not actually read it myself.
Yet. But I'm going to. Now.
Even it prooves to be a true gob-stopper, or even if I hate it, I promise you the courtesy of saying so.
Eventually.
peace
~jwf~


Graham Spence

Post 4

~ jwf ~ scribblo ergo sum

*notepad*
Butlin's? (Must be a resort town...)
Babycham? (Champagne? Maybe 'Baby Duck' Champagne? Which was a 1980's and 90's socially fashionable 'dating' bevvy. Possible anachronism.)
Do Rules of Engagement 'accompany'...or do they regulate, define, characterise, perpetuate or complicate the battle...?
Benidorm, Can Picafort and Agios Nikolas...? They're all Greek to me!
Billy Butlin? Musta been the founder of this theme park called Butlin's.
Lady Redcoats sounds like a showgirl troupe... and one of them's named "Berlie"...maybe.
Spinning newspapers! Nice touch.
Summer of '05? What!

*puts down notepad*

Mister G,
I loved it.
And being a Canadian, unfamiliar with most of the references noted above, I wish I'd undersood it better. My (unsatisfied) ignorance of so much local cultural tradition jolted the flow of a very compelling confessional. And I was startled to hear that Elvis had died. Again.

Perhaps, our only currently active 'Brit' member, 'Spiff', might be able to speak to those details that left me scratching my head. My uncertainty made me a tad suspicious of my emotional reaction to the piece. Not knowing any of the names or places, I was unsure of any common ground for me to verify my reactions - oh except for the hormones and even longer memories of (probably even longer) legs. That I understood and that's what it's about.

Our other three members include a Texan, a Yankee and a German. I bet they won't understand any more of the geography than I did. It is also quite possible they have already read it and are currently suffering severe flashbacks to personal memories of summer sun and sea and sand and skin and the sounds of music and laughter.

The emotional intent does cut thru the cultural barriers and I would like to feature this in an upcoming issue. I will make a copy on a new A-numbered Entry on the <./>AGGGAG</.> page in a few days.

Perhaps the beauty and charm of it, for me, really is in the mystery of the details, since I have to supply my own translations. But if you have any suggestions on how to clarify some of the more obscure details noted above please make any changes or additions in the meantime.

When I have made a copy, it will also appear on your homepage as the 'writer/researcher' and you can still advise me of any further changes you might wish to make. I'll try to stop you from boiling it down to some lowest common denominator. That said, I will happily run it as is. I would not presume to change a word or suggest that you do. It is Art. But I want you to know it is slightly inaccessible to the uninitiated. No one under 40 will get it. And everyone over 50 won't really mind if it's Butlin's, the Boardwalk, Coney Island, the Hamptons, Blackpool... Or have I missed the point completely?

smiley - peacedove
~jwf~


Graham Spence

Post 5

Munchkin

*A passing Munchkin speaks*
Probably not my place to comment, but I followed the links all the way from the Post and have a couple of comments. As a lad from Ayrshire I must say that it gives a wonderful sense of place. If you were to have been to Ayr and its distinctly un-chic beaches you would understand. Not that this is a dig at you, jwf, for not understanding Butlins and the Clyde coast, but it does invoke the place so well in my somewhat less distant memories. Perhaps some footnotes to explain the cultural bits, but don't dare let them intrude into the narrative.
G, its great, do come back and receive your just praise. smiley - smiley

Munchkin, holidayed on Arran instead.


Graham Spence

Post 6

~ jwf ~ scribblo ergo sum

You're absoxxxinglutely correct my little Munchkin buddy. smiley - ok
And I do appreciate that you are NOT taking a dig at me because I'm sure you read where I said, "The piece stands as 'art' and I would not change a word."

It struck a deep and nostalgic chord in me, because it invoked my memories of 'other places'. I just couldn't be sure if my response was valid, because I am ignorant of the 'facts' of the place. (Still am, BTW)

So I was pointing out to Mister G that the detail of his story will be lost on a forriner, and, wondering aloud if the general reader would get 'lost' in strange places and fail to 'translate' it into their own terms, their own experiences. And if they did, would it be a valid translation.

If you say it "does invoke the place so well..." then I'm sold! smiley - cheers

I am thankful for your knowledge of the place confirming that it works in the specifics. Now, even if I'm still in the dark about what it is and where it is, I can rest easy, knowing it really has the greater Truth I was hoping I had correctly responded to emotionally.

*he-he-he ...I knew I had been saving a close reading of your entire Egyptian chronicles for a 'special occassion'... smiley - devil*

peace
jwf



Graham Spence

Post 7

Munchkin

jwf, in you perusal of British TV, have you ever come across a programme called Hi-De-Hi? It was a rather poor sit-com but was set in a fictitious holiday camp not unlike Butlins. I think it was also set a little earlier than this tale but might give you an idea. smiley - smiley


Graham Spence

Post 8

Spiff

Brit-member reporting for duty, SAH!

er, i kinda saw this in PR and commented there. Only just got here and red the thred. smiley - smiley

meanwhile, saw summat o'ruther in a Post thread that seemed to suggest it was goin in as woz in it's own right. don't know what's goin on. nothing (k)new there.

btw, my family home is very close to Skeg and as a li'lun our fave treat was a trip to the video arcades and 'amusements' there. The original Butlin's itself was, if i'm not mistaken, actually a couple of miles down the road in Mablethorpe. Indeed, there's still one there, i think. not sure. There's definitely a zoo. Much the same thing, to an observer of upright apes like myself. smiley - smiley

feeling a bit wonkey right now, after a visit from a friend and a whole lodda things to think about. thus little hootoo activity, and specifically cack-all CACkle. sorry bout that. As they used to say at school, 'could do better'. :-p

all that, and not a word on your piece, Graham. dear me, i really am losing it. but i said elsewhere that i like it as it is. we'll have to get it read somehow. smiley - smiley

cya
spiff

*off to change my monicker to 'CACkler's only remaining Brit-Member'


Graham Spence

Post 9

~ jwf ~ scribblo ergo sum

>> set in a fictitious holiday camp not unlike Butlins <<

Ho Ho, no Hi-De-Hi here. But I wonder if it might be like something I saw on Dr Who. It was a three-or-four-parter set in what appeared to be an abandoned version of a combination caravan park, amusement midway and circus site with carousels and mechanical clowns. There was an antique motorcycle involved.
This 'fair ground' had a bit of a stucco wall round it that looked like it was Mexican adobe of the Spanish colonial style. There was one huge Edwardian ballroom pavillion and a midway of booths, a House of Mirrors...

Now smiley - yikes I can picture at least two doctors there!
And James Bond too!
Oh no! It's the Prisoner!
Being chased by the Avengers.
Aaarrrggghhh! smiley - run
~jwf~


Graham Spence

Post 10

Munchkin

I know exactly which one you are on about (Delta and the Bannermen) and that was indeed a holiday camp. smiley - smiley


Writing

Post 11

Dan

Excellent stuff, well done on being hunted down by R4 - I wish you the best for this, you obviously have the talent. And some of it I can clearly tell came from some sort of first--hand observation, I won't say any more for fear of the boss reading it, but to wit,

"as anyone who has witnessed the sad sight of a 43-year-old overweight, balding and slightly sweaty mortgage broker attempting to pull a 26-year-old dancer will know well."

perhaps a colleague?

An unexpected conversation, very much enjoyed having my preconceptions about certain types of employees exploded. My email address is [email protected], so hear back perhaps!


Writing

Post 12

~ jwf ~ scribblo ergo sum

Greetings Dan.
And Welcome!
I see this is your first posting to a conversation at h2g2 and I'm glad you found our ramblings entertaining. There are literally thousands of similar conversations going on around here all the time.

Because you appear to be new here, forgive my assumptions in trying to be helpful, but there are a few things you should know. First, put something, anything, on your personal space (homepage) by clicking the 'edit page' button and typing anything from a grunt to 'Hi I'm Dan' in the 'dilaog box' that will appear. Then click on 'submit introduction'. This 'activates' your page and you can always change and update it later. Clicking on my name above (or anyone's name) will take you that person's homepage where you can learn more about the people who made them.

The main reason to activate your homepage is so that a volunteer group called the ACES will know you are here and they will then be able to post 'welcomes' on your page which will include more information than you can possibly absorb in a month, but it'll get you started. Until you 'open' your page, no one can post to it smiley - sadface which is why I'm mentioning all this here.

The ACES are the ones dedicated to being 'helpful' but feel free to ask questions here or anywhere. It is a very friendly site and I'm sure you'll be having a lot of fun soon. Hope to run into you again.

peace
~jwf~


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