Journal Entries
A lovely Sunny Morning, with a twist at the beginning.
Posted May 10, 2005
If we get up out of bed soon enough, and look and listen, each day we can learn something new, herewith today's little gem.
I have often heard the dawn chorus, usually just before the city was invaded by us human city dwellers as a daily routine. It is quite easy to be the very first person out and about, when you have been out all night on patrol keeping The Queen's Peace. No medals for it, but you do actually get paid for the inconvenience and risk.
Today there is no longer the same risk, and the weekly wage is not there either, but the abject pleasure is still available and most welcome.Yet there was one missing factor this glorious morning,the dawn chorus was not available, but compensation was instantly available.
(Stop Teasing H, get on with the story.)
Right; ignore the previous conversation! here goes. I live at the base of a beautiful hill adjoining the magnificent Lancashire moors, the area is absolutely full of the most fantasic wildlife, seldom seen and most certainly never fully appreciated. Name a species in possible habitation, and it is most probably within the sound of a gun shot, a barking dog, or being the inspiration of the story the raucious sound of the human voice at full volume.
Daily the countless dog walkers trudge up the very steep hill, a few of whom are very concientious owners, and they clean up the mess off the footpath. The remainder carefully look the other way, or they just walk away from their property. The dog follows and the remainder of the property stays behind, firmly attached to the footpath.
But the dog does not always follow the careless owner, and the sound of this raucious human voice ranges over several miles, bellowing instructions and orders in swift repetition, with no response at all from the dog, who most definitely does not speak the same language, and does not like the tone of the one sided conversation either.
But someone else was listening very carefully to both the tone of voice and the words as well, certainly much more carefully than the various dogs. No! it was not reported as the public nuisance inflicted on this beauty spot. But it was accurately recorded, set to gorgeous music and sent back in perfect harmony over the hills.
The culprit is a bird that I can not see, it is concealed in the brand new leaves of a tree in next door's garden. There he goes now, over and over again, the most welcome sounds immaginable as he repeats perfect musical notes, over and over again, ending with clear as crystal, "COME HERE!"
Cheers H.
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Latest reply: May 10, 2005
A Very Good Day In The City.
Posted Apr 14, 2005
Those Times That Time Forgot.
It may be too early in the day to read this little gem, perhaps it is really too early to attempt to write it, but I will if you draw up a comfy chair by the fire, grab a piece of toast and a pot of tea while I struggle on with the tale.
I know that you are lost already, especially if you have never had a bit fun on a hearth rug, so how can you possibly appreciate the superb delights of a pile of hot buttered toast, fresh off the toasting fork, without a television or any electrical gadgets whatsoever?
This was the time of the sparking clogs, when the kids played safely in the streets because the policeman was there, bang a dustbin with a stick during the silence of the night and he would appear, also because he was there.
There was no need to lock front doors, because there was nothing of value to steal really, and if you saw someone coming out of your house, they had most probably just taken something in.
Later came the war and work was plentiful, and despite the hard times, lack of some foods from abroad, and the blackout, the sparking clogs were clearly demonstrated by contented happy kids with a smile on their faces most of the time, and there was usually not a penny in their pockets.
If they did manage to appropriate two pennies, that was enough for a seat at the local cinema, and another penny would purchase two ounces of sweets as well. This was the time when the country was occupied by foreign troops and soldiers of the British Empire from all over the world.
They had travelled to the United Kingdom to fight for their King and Queen, and when the National Anthem was played at the end of a performance, any lad who was not sharp enough to have got away before the lights came on and was still sitting down, was likely to receive a clip round the ear, from a more patriotic customer.
The Royal Princesses were a regular feature on the newsreels, and most lads really fancied Princess Margaret, she was pretty as a picture then and grew up to be a real beauty, but in a class society like ours, there is no chance of meeting any of them at all. Times and circumstances can change, but surely not that much, or can they?
With the good old days flashing by, and by now the proud owner of my very first old motorbike and a decent pedigree dog, it was off to see a great city for the first time in my life. London 1950’s style, and finally Cruft’s Dog Show at Olympia, and what a debut this turned out be.
The first incident of note was while I was standing on the balcony by the rail, and trying to look down at the main ring where my dog was being shown. There was a long table by the edge of the balcony and standing on it were a group of about eight men, they had a great view of the judging for Best In Show, but it was difficult for anyone else to see the main ring.
A little girl of about ten years of age said to her father, “ Dad I can’t see the dogs.” Being a helpful Lancashire lad and not knowing the very strange ways of city dwellers at this time, a situation to be corrected in the very near future. I just leaned down, effortlessly picked her up, and placed her firmly on the table.
Well! you would not believe it, but perhaps you will, especially when I tell you. One of these b*****s looked me straight in the eye and then he deliberately trod on my fingers as hard as he could.
Well! being of a warm if not hot temperament, with swift automatic reflexes, I just reached up with my free hand, grabbed his immaculate old school tie and pulled him down towards me, and as he was falling and still in mid air, clipped him hard on the chin, and he slumped silently to the floor.
Noticing the look of amazement and gratitude on the face of the girl’s father, which only made two of us in favour, and a healthy seven in opposition, I decided to leave the area as quickly as possible.
A little while later, having won best of breed with our Lhasa Apso dog, I was introduced to the great Sherpa Tenzing conqueror of Everest, and eventually invited to an evening meal at the home of the Henderson’s, who had previously owned a tea plantation in Sikkim.
They were fantastic people with two lovely daughters, both of them had recently been sent to London to study medicine, but it was actually to get them out of the reach of the Maharajah, who had a roaming eye, hands to match, and divine rights.
At dinner I was seated between a pretty nineteen-year-old girl on my left and a more mature lady on my right, She, had a gin and whatever in her right hand, but her left one kept sliding down to touch the top of my leg, while her foot for some reason kept drifting about under the table.
I decided to move nearer to the pretty one and she responded quite nicely by closing up the small gap between us even more, and I thought “ooh cracked it here.”
After dinner, which until now I had presumed to be about dinner time, not late evening, the drinks were being consumed faster than ever and everyone seemed to be getting a bit merry, all except the pretty one, she, had become a little bit bored, I could see that quite clearly.
On the opposite side of the room was a very beautiful woman of about twenty five years old, it does not happen very often, nor does it happen to everyone, but the static electricity flew right across that large room and it hit me right between the eyes, and of course I wandered across for a better look.
She very quickly made a space for me to sit by her side, and then it happened, two rather large body guards moved right behind her, and one of them indicated that it was time for me to go, and I had not said a word.
At the same time the pretty girl who had missed nothing at all, just leaned forward and looked me straight in the eye too, but she also crooked her forefinger in my direction, and beckoned me back across the room, of course not being one to ignore such an open invitation I went to her.
Actually she was not very pleased, I could tell that by the way she said,
“ You can take me home now!” Of course, we had only been married for about six months at that time.
Ooh! I nearly forgot to tell you in case you were wondering, the beautiful stranger, she really was one of The Maharajah’s daughters, yes a real "Princess," and even my wife will still tell you today “she really was very beautiful.
The End.
Cheers H.
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Latest reply: Apr 14, 2005
VENGEANCE IS MINE.
Posted Apr 14, 2005
"Vengeance is mine!" said the child silently, after the School Dentist with the smelly, cigarette stained fingers had painfully ripped out a back tooth, damaging the tender young mouth. I will be bigger than you quite soon, and I will be back.
"Vengeance is mine!" said the child, now a little taller but still silent, after the brutal sadistic headmaster had delivered one of his normal, extremely heavy handed strokes of the Strap to a quivering right hand, the bottom lip also quivering but the tears in check. I will be bigger and stronger than you quite soon, and I will be back.
"Vengeance is mine!" said the slim youth, still silently, as he discovered that his precious, hard earned wage had been stolen from his jacket pocket. This time a little bolder, but still cautious as he looked the suspect thief directly in his eyes. I will be bigger and stronger than you quite soon, and I will be back.
"Vengeance is mine!" said the man, now confident with authority, as he knocked on the unpainted door of a neglected, dingy looking house. The well established,official sounding, extremely confident rat a tat tat of the door knocker ringing throughout the empty sounding house.
A faint rustling sound betrayed the fact that there was someone behind the unpainted door, it slowly opened to expose the figure of a man framed in the open doorway. Alcohol abuse and old age had shrunken the previously enormous figure to a shadow of its former self, and the weakened old eyes did not recognise the figure of absolute authority at his door.
"Sorry to have bothered you Sir, I appear to have the wrong address," as the handcuffs were slipped silently back into a pocket, and the well rehearsed words of the official caution cast aside together with the remainder of the ancient quest. Offences of theft may remain on the books indefinitely, but vengeance has no place there-in.
Cheers H.
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Latest reply: Apr 14, 2005
One For Logicus.
Posted Apr 12, 2005
MEMORIES ARE MADE OF THIS.
The aim of my writing in the first place was to restore and record historical events that should never be forgotten, and the numerous people on the highway of life that I had passed by so often. I could try to make an impression by mentioning the famous persons that I have met on that bumpy road, over too many years, but they have been needlessly recorded over and over again already.
My main concern was to record events concerning infinitely great people who now sadly no longer exist, except perhaps in my head, and of course now in H.M’s Buckingham Palace Library a postumous tribute at last.
It is back in the late 1940’s, and although we are only teenagers, we are working fully loaded passenger trains in and out of The Big City during the blitz. While the German bombers were using the firebox glow as a guide, and trying to score a bull’s eye down the engine’s chimney.
The gallant engine drivers knowing our fears, often say “ Don’t worry son, I have done this run all week and I will get you safely home tonight,” and with a great skill never acknowledged, they did just that. They never mentioned that their proper firemen had also done it all week, and we were only there because he had gone off sick, but who could blame him?
Somehow we seemed to have obtained a sense of complete immunity from harm, slight injuries did actually happen by accident, but as my mum said, “you will heal, but be careful with your clothes.” I am sure that she was only joking, but replacement clothing was difficult to obtain at the time, except of course the railway issued uniform.
At this time I had already escaped instant death several times, so my sense of invulnerability was probably even stronger than anyone else’s. Especially when one near miss of a broken neck at the age of about eighteen years was only prevented by what can only be described as a supernatural miracle. (Yet another story.)
There would be many more near misses, no more miracles, but there would be several definite warnings of danger later as my senses and reactions became honed to a fine edge by my own experiences, and the expert tuition of two great philosophers of life in the City.
Later, when I was fortunate enough to be teamed up with Police Dog Storm, the fine edge was honed even sharper, as some of his superhuman abilities seemed to be transferred in my direction. We could confidently enter the largest of buildings in the dead of night, and we both knew immediately if there was anyone in there or not.
This unique partnership was demonstrated quite clearly one morning when a Uniformed Inspector of little talent himself, called me into his office about 9am.” This is David Furness he is the son of the Chief Detective Inspector, and our latest Cadet. I want him involved in a good arrest as soon as possible, and I have been told that you are the man who can do it.
Take him with you for about a month, that should be long enough, but get him to court as soon as possible. “Has he got a pair of handcuffs?” I said, and after the Inspector had been to the large cupboard in his office, he handed David his first pair of the brand new American styled handcuffs, and off we went in my police van.
By now being in great favour in high places, I had actually sprayed the brand new police van dull green, and removed all insignia and reflective chrome parts, this was a great advantage towards actually catching thieves in action.
We went into Osborne St warehouse, a large railway building just off Oldham Road, Manchester. Storm and I just looked towards each other and I said, “ You are in luck David there are two in here now, taking lead off the roof.”
There was not a sound from anywhere that we could hear, and David was obviously not convinced. But he most certainly was when I gave Storm silent permission to detain anyone inside the warehouse, and away he went to the top floor and began to bark furiously. We both joined him, and I said “ Come down here both of you and bring some of that lead with you.
” Alright, but fasten that B dog up first” followed by “ Please” as Storm gave a further warning growl.
Down from the roof with a bump, came a small rolled up piece of lead flashing weighing about twenty pounds, followed by two very dusty figures, men of about thirty years of age.
I knew quite well that a lot more lead had been stolen, but by now the patient words of my mentors had taught many lessons. Such as, if the thieves thought that they were gaining an edge, they would plead guilty to the theft of a smaller value the next morning, I also knew that the value was of little importance, I only wanted the guilty plea. If there were any problems I would have to take the evidence to court, perhaps several times, and the lighter it was the better.
David was back in the office with his two prisoners in less than two hours from setting off, and his brand new American type handcuffs had been put to good use in record time. The arrest of two thieves, on the first day of service was also quite a record in itself.
He was completely bewildered, he could not understand exactly what he had just seen and heard. Although he rose swiftly thorough the ranks as expected, and eventually became a Chief Detective Inspector in that other big city London, he never found out just how it was done.
I do know that he made enquiries in that direction from my own tutor and good friend, the legendary Chief Inspector Shelton, but that old fox could not be quizzed by lessor mortals and the secret remained so, until now of course.
It is a fact that two persons can become almost as one, knowing almost exactly what the other one is thinking. On the other side of the coin, occasionally two persons may actually live together for many years, and still have no idea of the thoughts of their partner on any subject at all.
If the partnership is with an animal of superior senses, such as scent discrimination, hearing and speed, then that team is a great deal more efficient than just a human one.
Our partnership had become The Perfect Team, so that even the slightest glance conveyed a message or a silent instruction that no one else could detect. Even expert judges in police dog competitions, never knew how we communicated to such a perfect standard as time and time again we obtained maximum marks in obedience and control. Except Chief Inspector Terry Shelton of course, he was actually the foundation of our success.
The remainder of the mystery is easier to explain because the arrest of the two men was actually due to good old-fashioned police work, an art seldom practised today.
Enquiries had been established previously regarding the right time to expect a good result, and as it was usual for the thieves to work in two’s to steal lead flashing, there was no reason to doubt that the scenario would be any different to normal. The apparently supernatural predictions were nothing more than educated guesses, assisted by the cooperation of a superhuman police dog, the legendary Storm.
Cheers Logicus,
How's about that then.
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Latest reply: Apr 12, 2005
DANGEROUS ENCOUNTERS.
Posted Apr 12, 2005
My great schoolboy friend Colin was always in trouble, and his mother usually blamed me for it, he could charm his way out of any problems because he had the gift for it. On joining the Air Training Cadets he could still get away with anything, Summer Camp was fantastic, usually by the sea and a very rare experience for the war- time children of inland towns, the food was also very good and there was plenty of it.
As food at home was strictly rationed and in very short supply, the cookhouse was a main attraction as far as we were concerned, exceeded in popularity only by the usual flights in R.A.F. and American planes. It seems that we had not really lost the yearning for the clear Blue skies after all. The Yanks seemed to really enjoy taking us up in what they termed as “ A real airplane kid. “ That was the world famous Flying Fortress.
Even here Colin was to make his presence felt, his personality stood out a mile. He was the one chosen by the W.A.A.F. Officer in charge to be fully and personally informed of the do’s and the don’ts in the use of parachutes, and what a sound piece of misjudgment that was. Colin passed on his newly acquired knowledge on a very windy airstrip, something like this. “ She says this is for emergency use only, and in no other circumstances are any of you to pull this ring.” As he did so there was a loud crack, the wind caught the mess of silk at his feet and he was dragged away at high speed across a very busy, wartime airfield.
Fortunately he was rescued by an American Aircrew who had only just landed a Flying Fortress right in his flight path, the W.A.A.F’s who had seen the event said that the show was well worth the effort of repackaging a chute, and would he please do it again the next day because the officer had missed it. They were only kidding, but it proves just how much he could get away with.
The third encounter was horrific, and probably the most serious. A person can only be eternally grateful at just missing a horrible death, or even being burned at all in the following circumstances. The German’s had dropped a couple of bombs on the town and a few houses had been damaged, but there had been no casualties. The local children were out collecting bits of shrapnel all over town, but I had to go one better.
The German planes must have dropped some material with the intention of causing fires, and no one had noticed. I found a piece of bright Yellow rock, something like a small stick of chalk or rock sulphur in appearance. I picked it up in the Blackthorn School playground at about eleven am, and it spent the next hour in my pocket in the classroom. (Sincere apologies to teachers and class.) Then home on the bus, and during lunch it remained a sleeping giant for a further hour or so. On walking back towards school I was most fortunate to meet my good friend and brother in law George Trickett delivering milk on his rounds. George was always interested in all topics and I was very pleased to show him my find. The damned thing was now giving off a thick Blue smoke, and he started to say, “ Throw it, ” but it was already on its way.
There was a small explosion, Blue and Yellow flames sprang up instantly, and very luckily they ran along the cobbled road away from us, the flames were over two feet high and when the furious fire subsided, the road was burned yellow and blue in a six-foot wide circle. The heat from the fire was intense, and the marks were on the road for many years. Only once more would I ever see a similar effect; this was from mortar type bombs used by members of our own Home Guard, on the moors of course.
MR HARGREAVES THE BACUP COWBOY.
The fourth encounter of many soon materialised and once again the Guardian Angel was there dead on time. One Saturday morning I was helping George to deliver milk on his round, this was good fun because he was a kind, very happy sort of person always joking. “ What is the definition of nothing, “ he would say, and when he failed to receive the answer he would then enlighten his audience. “ That it is what a farmer gives you for sticking to his horse,” he could keep going all day long with good jokes and witty remarks, and his customers loved it.
He had recently bought me a new pair of clogs with good thick irons on them. On the spur of the moment he had noticed my pathetic pair of well-worn shoes, and going into Radford’s the clogger’s shop, he had said. “ Make this lad a good strong pair of clogs that will stand hard wear and keep the wet out.” How prophetic were those words, no one could possibly have guessed just how much wear they would have to stand almost at once.
The road surface on New Line in Bacup had just been given a coat of loose, stone chippings, and a car went passed us much too fast while George was in a house delivering milk. The car threw up a stone, it hit the horse underneath his belly and he was away at full speed, my very first runaway! Being more than a bit quick myself, I jumped out of the float and caught up with him, took hold of his head by the bridle and held on to him.
Unfortunately my weight was much too light to deter him from his mad gallop, and I was dragged away at full speed. The noise from my feet dragging on the rough road surface only made him go faster, but at least my feet were well protected by my new clogs. The wheels were whizzing around just behind the horse’s steel shod hooves, and they were only inches from my head as his knees kept pounding into my right side.
After almost a mile of this very undignified and extremely dangerous method of travelling, the usual assistance was waiting, this time disguised as a sign “ School ahead.” For some strange reason the horse altered course and swerved onto the pavement. The sign did not have to move at all as the float hit it perfectly with the wheel, and the steel post just missed my head by about four inches, then the horse stopped.
As the post hit the ground with a crash, the silly creature set off once again. Enough is enough I thought, as I let him please himself by letting go off his head. As the horse and float departed at high speed around the bend by St Saviour’s Church, a very kind man who had been chasing us in a van stopped right by where I was sitting on the pavement in deep shock. He just said, “ Jump in and we will catch him “ You might I thought, because my own interest had waned quite a lot.
However I did take advantage of his kind offer, and about half a mile further down the road at the junction of Newchurch Road and New Line, the cavalry had already arrived in the form of the local rag and bone man. That is not really a fair description, because he was actually the owner of the company that purchased materials for reprocessing, and he also supplied ponies and donkey’s to collect them.
He was driving a small pick up type vehicle at the time, and he was on the opposite side of the road to the runaway. Mr Hargreaves obviously knew a lot more about runaway horses than I did, because he stopped his vehicle, ran across the road and in the very best tradition only seen before in cowboy films, jumped into the back of the float as it went by him at full speed. He then climbed over the front of the vehicle, jumped neatly onto the horse’s back and he hauled him to a stand in seconds.
The horse gave him no further argument as he soothed him down by stroking his nose, damage to persons was nil, except for a few bruises that were soon forgotten in the wonders that I had just seen. My brand new clogs had scarcely any irons left, being almost completely worn away. Our milk and eggs were scattered over about a mile and a half of road, and all of our stock for the day was gone. “ One long omelet, but as long as you are all right, everything will be O.K. tomorrow, ” said George when he finally joined us.
On leaving school at fourteen years of age George had said to me, “ Get yourself a job with a pension and prospects, the best place to try is the railway, that is a secure job.” His advice was sound because for a hundred years it had been, and one would presume that the prospect was a good bet to continue in the same manner. Always ready to take up good advice away I went to the Locomotive Sheds, only to be told, “ You are too young, come back when you are sixteen.” It is funny how one is either too young or too old, there never does seem to be a just right time. As a result of this futile conversation with Joe Lord the office clerk in the pin striped suit, I left those giant steam locomotives reposing in their shed. But the sight, sound and smell of them had left its mark never to be erased.
Cheers H.
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Latest reply: Apr 12, 2005
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