The opening...

It's about time my husband J got more of a mention. So - no doubt to his horror! - I have decided to Post a photo of him handing over the key for the opening of some flats in the 1950's His grandmother is behind him, behind the microphone. Margaret Thatcher (who was at that time a local M.P.) was at the ceremony, but I don't believe she is in the photo.
My husband's only real memory is that he didn't want to do it! After a lot of searching we eventually tracked down newspaper reports held on microfiche - where the, low rise, flats were described as being 'very gay and continental' !

I opened the back door - and - Well, I never!

Pictures in the flames..

The weather has turned cold and although we have heaters, we still like to light our fires as they are such a source of comfort... We have one fire which is left open, whilst in the other room we have a glass fronted Parkray fire.

I grew up with a coal fire and it was one of my jobs to light it - sometimes a tricky business! I also recall the chimney catching light once - but that was before it was my responsibility and at the time it seemed rather exciting to have a fire engine turn up!

In those days it was the only source of heat - if one discounts the gas ring that used to be kept on for some warmth...

The fire would only be lit in the evenings during the week; and at mid-day at weekends. Coal was far too expensive to burn all the time. We would all try to get close to its heat - men would stand with their back to the fire warming themselves, whilst the woman would sit as close as they dared - one side of their body freezing cold and the other side far too hot. It was very common to see women with what we used to call at that time 'tartan legs' - caused by being far too close.

I think everyone, almost without exception, used to look for 'pictures in the fire'... what can you see?

We had several coal tax posts in the town that my husband and I grew up in. I took a photo of one today which I have added here. We went on a walk down memory lane this afternoon - and I will tell you more about that soon...

The weather is changing!

The day started with a clear blue sky - and then at lunchtime this came along!

Book Cull

Tired of books piling up on the floor in front of the bookcase (solid Mahogany -made by J!), J and I have spent the afternoon having one of our regular book culls. The books which are to be discarded are on the right...

Nice and clear? Well.... if you don't count M's books overflowing in his room, the books under our bed and the boxes in the eaves of the loft - yes!

Sometimes...

Whever there is a video in the postings please make sure you stop the auto play music in the top left hand corner first.

Knitting scarves...

I got a bit bored knitting scarves so I have few - half made - that I have put to one side for a bit. However I did finish this one as it was in simple garter stitch (to show off the colours)

Hand dyed yarn (not by me) from the rare sheep breed, Wensleydale. The fleece from this sheep has a lovely lustre and the staples are long and curly. I have spun this fibre in the past and found that because of the long staple length it was quite easy to do so.

I no longer spin large amounts of any fibre - only enough for something to incorporate into what I might be making - no more jumpers thank goodness!

Gurkha Justice update.

Anyone who signed Loanna Lumley's petition will have received regular updates from her - and this is the latest one.


Dear Friend,
Just a quick note to again thank you for your support and update you on the Gurkha Justice Campaign - http://www.gurkhajustice.org.uk/
With over 80,000 signatures and rising, we are still getting thousands of new supporters every day. We're still working to get the message out about the campaign - last week Al Murray gave us a tremendous boost on his show Al Murray's Happy Hour.
If you haven't already done so, PLEASE pass on our need for signatures to everyone you know and ask them to do likewise. Please send it to your address book. We really need this campaign to spread all across the country - like wild-fire.
This week I'm pleased to say there will be adverts in the next few days in a number of newspapers including the Daily Mail, Guardian and Telegraph promoting the campaign.
We've had some great stories from supporters across the country, from people collecting signatures at car boot sales and street stalls, to people putting links on their web sites and telling all their friends - it is making a big difference. Thank you so much to all those who have written and emailed - there are so many we simply can't reply to all of them personally, so please forgive us. I PROMISE they are being read and appreciated.
The huge number of messages of support and offers of help have been fantastic, but we still really need more help. If possible, can you can help us get the message out in the following ways: 1. If you have a blog, web site, Facebook page or similar, please put a message about http://www.gurkhajustice.org.uk/ encouraging people to sign the petition. You could also post a message in any discussion forums you use online.
2. Print out the form at www.gurkhajustice.org.uk/gurkha_campaign_petition_form.pdf and get friends and family to sign. Please make sure you return it to us by 16th November.
3. Pass the message to as many people as you can. Whether you forward this email to your contact list, give people a call, or write a letter to your local paper to ask others to sign the petition at http://www.gurkhajustice.org.uk/ - we really need your help.
A great example of one supporter promoting our site is a video we saw on YouTube last week. We found it extremely moving. See what you think at http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=MEPvmPdDzYc
Finally, a very special date for your diary - 20th November. There will be more details soon, but we will be handing in the Gurkha Justice petition to Downing Street on that day. Some special guests and I will be meeting in Parliament Square at around 11am. Anyone who can come along to join us and show their support for the Gurkhas campaign in person on that day will be most welcome.
With warmest good wishes,
Joanna
http://www.gurkhajustice.org.uk/
PS. We've sold hundreds of Gurkha Justice t-shirts and sweatshirts at our online shop http://gurkhajustice.spreadshirt.net/
Thank you to all those who have bought them - I hope you are wearing them with as much pride as I do mine, and helping spread the message about the campaign.

A lifetime ago...

In response to a post by Myfanwy, I wrote about my mother this morning - which got me to thinking...

She died 51 years ago but when I look at this photo taken of us together in about 1951 or 1952 I realise just how old she looked for her age of 45.

She'd had a hard life and she was ill from my birth and it was hard for her to get out (and I now know exactly how she felt as I inherited her disease) so this was one of few outings, the memory of which I have carried with me down the years.

This was the local Lido - we would take our food with us which would seem such a treat.

She made (all hand stitched) the dresses that we were both wearing. Her material was pale green background with white and black flowers on the top - and mine was pale green with tiny white spots; the top of which was smocked.

I recall this outing so clearly...

Simply...

It is SO hard for me to make something in a simple way... but I have tried to do that with these - inspired by the autumn colours which are all around us.

Dark and brooding...

Needlefelted and then embroidered by hand.

Joan Regan - Our doctor - and that oil painting...

By one of those strange co-incidences, I was thinking about the 1950’s singing star, Joan Regan, this morning and wondered where she was and how she was faring.
Then, my friend dropped us off the local paper - where I learned that Joan Regan was still performing and was heading the bill at a charity show in Catford, London, for the Mayor of Lewisham’s charity fund - The lavender Trust for the prevention of breast cancer, and the Water Rats charity.
In the 1950’s she was a very popular singer and regularly seen on television variety shows whilst also performing on stage. As someone young in the 1950’s and 60’s I much preferred Roll and Roll and then in the sixties the likes of the Rolling Stones and the Beatles. However, her appeal with the older generation was legendary.
My - second hand - connection with her came from the fact that she was married to our doctor (what I now understand was her second marriage and which had occurred in 1968)
For the first 2 years of our marriage (69-71) we lived in a flat and just around the corner from us was a G.P.’s surgery which we quickly registered at.
The arrangement for seeing him seemed to be quite haphazard - the surgery was held in a very large Victorian house (whether someone lived upstairs I just don’t know) and patients would all sit and wait in what would once have been the front drawing room - and the doctor sat in the breakfast room.
There was no appointments system (although there was a row of filing cabinets to one side of the waiting area which presumably held our records) and we just used to turn up at opening time - and wait...
There was no receptionist - so, no-one to give us an order number or to leave our name with - which meant we all just had to count heads and try to remember faces as we all waited our turn (in the true British way of queuing with fair play - sadly lacking today).
The doctor himself was such a nice man and would always listen and not hurry anyone. On the wall to the side of his desk was a massive oil painting of Joan Regan and on asking him about it he smiled and said she was his wife.
I think his filing system was definitely lacking something... He seemed to write out a new card every time I went and I have no idea if he ever filed them himself after surgeries ended! Just prior to when we moved, he did get himself a receptionist - perhaps this was due to Local Health Authority pressure...
I recall one occasion my husband was taken ill and not knowing what to do I looked up his name in the phone book (it was his home and I rang him!!! - oh my goodness) and within a short time - he lived a little further out in Kent - he turned up - in his dinner jacket!
After a few months of living there I became quite seriously ill with what was later diagnosed as Ulcerative Colitis (which in turn led on to Ankylosing Spondylitis - one of my tissue types is B27 positive) Within weeks I had lost an immense amount of weight - and Dr. C arranged for a Consultant to come to see me at home! After which I was quickly followed by the local hospital for a good number of years (even when not active, the disease is still present)
At the time he seemed quite old to me - but perhaps he wasn’t... I have no idea whether he simply retired, died or their marriage failed... All I have been able to find out on the Internet is that Joan Regan later moved to Florida (with no mention of him?) where in the 1980's she had an accident and suffered a serious brain injury which she struggled to recover from. Also, that she now lives back in Kent.
All of that was nearly 40 years ago, so I’m glad to read that she is still performing and helping to bring pleasure into people’s lives - and wherever you are Dr. C - thank you!

A tribute for Deena - Deena's Garden Of Dreams

Whilst Deena has been receiving her latest course of treatment I have been making this.... (it's PINK Deena!)

Deena isn't afraid to show her feelings... something we should all emulate.

(I had a job with these photographs due to the reflections on the semi-precious stones - and I do hope you can see the little faces in the centre of the bronze pansies...)

The last of the blackberries

These are very late and now it is a bit colder I wonder if the last few will have time to ripen?

Anyway...English folklore warns about picking blackberries after Michaelmas Day, for then they belong to the Devil. It is said that when Satan fell from Heaven, he landed in a blackberry bush. He was so angry with the bush that he spat on it and cursed the blackberries still remaining

So tiny...

These mosses and lichens are so tiny - but so beautiful! Looks like a little faerie forest... and perhaps it is!

Victorian Photographs

I bought this Victorian album about 25 years ago and have always loved it. I wonder what the lives of the sitters were like...

Sea themed collage

First of all - apologies to all of you to whom I owe an e-mail... I have been preoccupied with watermarks (still not over happy about how they look - or even which is the best way to do them) also, not only have we had so many hospital appointments, but I'm not very well at the moment. When you have no immune system, even the simplest germ or virus makes you quite ill.

This collage was quite hard for me as it used other fabrics as well as silk!

Briefly...I crocheted the seaweed in thick silk, printed the Thames barge onto cotton fabric, top shells are real & bottom ones are bead. Bottom left of the barge is sea glass I collected which I wrapped in 925 sterling silver wire. The middle seaweed was felted organza - all the rest is probably self evident.

Oh yes.. I haven't hemmed or backed it yet!
Now back to bed...

This one is for you Tony!

O.K.... how do you feel about the economic crisis we are now in? Yes, let’s just forget it - far more important things to think about...

So what about ‘remember when?’

Our - no through - road had little traffic which travelled at a sensible speed (and we had to campaign to re close the end of the road after the council opened it up)

When all the children played out the front.
When we didn’t hear sirens and police helicopters,

Before they constructed the London City Airport over the other side of the River Thames from us,
We knew all our neighbours (we didn’t always like all of them, but we knew them!)
Wally came round looking for scrap,
We had a Queen's Jubilee street party in 1977,

We had an anniversary of V.E. day street party in 1995 - and J, M and myself were the ONLY ONES who dressed to period!
The gipsy’s’ horses roamed our streets and ambled down our back alley,
The sad deaths of Donna and Susan...
Ted and Henry’s pig farm at the end of the road.
Jack, over the road, holding us captive for hours talking about the railway and guns,
Prince going from gate to gate for biscuits,
Nancy Brown sweeping the front and washing her windowsills and steps down every day.
The old boy up the road who would come down each day picking up the rubbish
Mrs Wade sat out the front in her wheelchair knitting.

Alec (known to my dad and all other workers at the Royal Arsenal as 'curly' due to him only having about 3 hairs on the top of his head) selling vegetables out of his van in the road.
Cyril, Charlie, Violet, Ernie and Alice, Bet and Queenie, Arthur and Lily - and all those other characters who - with all their quirky ways - enriched our lives... Most of them now no longer with us.
When we had to wait at the railway crossing in the village for the gates to open,
When we still had the old bus garage (previously for trams - where the last London tram came out of)
When every week the flood siren was tested,

When the smell from the old sewage works http://www.crossness.org.uk/ was LESS than after they added new treatment plant,
When the lead factory poisoned us!!!!

Happy days!

Meet Caspian...

I think perhaps I am 'blogging' a bit too much! am I overwhelming everyone?

Anyway... here is Caspian the cockerel we hatched out this year. Our old cockerel, George, was very old and we knew he was getting frail. Sadly a few months ago we took him to the vet thinking he had arthritis, but it turned out to be a neurological disorder and he had to be put to sleep.

He was gentle soul and had a wonderful personality (yes! chickens do have individual personalities - many years ago I read a piece on local radio about the quirks of the hens we had at that time).

In the weeks before he died he would stay out in the run catching the last rays of sun... he would look at me and I almost felt I knew what he was thinking... On the morning he went to the vet and was put in a box he just called gently to his hens - all the way to the vets, right up until the end...

We brought him home to bury him - but his girls didn't know where he had gone and for days whenever we went down to them, they would all come to the door with expectation (not wanting food)and seemed to be waiting for his return...

Caspian - Mmmh... he came from bought in eggs which we hatched and was from show stock. He is placid - mainly because his main preoccupation is with himself!!!

He only seems to fancy one hen - he will peck the necks of some of the others (normally as a prelude)- then shake his head with horror and go back to preening himself.

He dislikes getting messy feet when they run out in the garden and when the pecking order comes into play (they all take their grievances out on each other), he pays no attention whatsoever.

And he certainly doesn't have dust baths - far too messy!

Flowers for Uncle B

Uncle B was a gardener; so it seemed more appropriate that I made up the flowers for his funeral myself

Textile - Reflections

Needlefelted base - topped with small pieces of dyed scrim and then embroidered with silk threads.

Harvest Festivals draw close - and Sir John Betjeman's mouse would like to speak...

Diary of a Church Mouse
by Sir John Betjeman (1906-1984)
Here among long-discarded cassocks,
Damp stools, and half-split open hassocks,
Here where the Vicar never looks
I nibble through old service books.
Lean and alone I spend my days
Behind this Church of England baize.
I share my dark forgotten room
With two oil-lamps and half a broom.
The cleaner never bothers me,
So here I eat my frugal tea.
My bread is sawdust mixed with straw;
My jam is polish for the floor.
Christmas and Easter may be feasts
For congregations and for priests,
And so may Whitsun. All the same,
They do not fill my meagre frame.
For me the only feast at all
Is Autumn's Harvest Festival,
When I can satisfy my want
With ears of corn around the font.
I climb the eagle's brazen head
To burrow through a loaf of bread.
I scramble up the pulpit stair
And gnaw the marrows hanging there.
It is enjoyable to taste
These items ere they go to waste,
But how annoying when one finds
That other mice with pagan minds
Come into church my food to share
Who have no proper business there.
Two field mice who have no desire
To be baptized, invade the choir.
A large and most unfriendly rat
Comes in to see what we are at.
He says he thinks there is no God
And yet he comes...it's rather odd.
This year he stole a sheaf of wheat
(It screened our special preacher's seat),
And prosperous mice from fields away
Come in to hear the organ play,
And under cover of its notes
Ate through the altar's sheaf of oats.
A Low Church mouse, who thinks that
I Am too papistical, and High,
Yet somehow doesn't think it wrong
To munch through Harvest Evensong,
While I, who starve the whole year through,
Must share my food with rodents who
Except at this time of the year
Not once inside the church appear.
Within the human world I know
Such goings-on could not be so,
For human beings only do
What their religion tells them to.
They read the Bible every day
And always, night and morning, pray,
And just like me, the good church mouse,
Worship each week in God's own house,
But all the same it's strange to me
How very full the church can be
With people I don't see at all
Except at Harvest Festival...

Rocks

I made the felt background using the dry felting method and then embroidered and embellished on the top - I forced myself to stop whilst it still looked quite simple as I have such a tendency to overdo things.

Cheeky!

My husband just ran up to me to get my camera - and these are the results!

I bear no real animosity to foxes (although over the years they have done awful things to our past chickens) however - apart from the general smell - and what they leave behind! they do have mange - which is easily picked up by domestic animals.

So, after the photo shoot, he was made to go.

Another death - and remembrance

Two weeks ago an elderly family member died in the most tragic of circumstances and his wife is now in hospital.

The funeral is next week and after the service Aunt W wishes us all to go to the Social Club, where years ago - in simpler times - we all had so much pleasure.

Some months ago I had a massive 'cull' of my Posts on this blog and the writing that I am now going to re-add was one of the casualties.

However, for the memory of Uncle B and for all of that, now long dead, generation, I am putting it here once again...

A Social Child

During the early years of my life ‘The Club’ (as we all called it) was still very much a man’s domain. It was not until 1957 - and then after much bitter argument - that women were allowed to pass through the hallowed doorway marked ‘Bar’.
The forbidden territory was considered to be the men’s sanctuary. A room filled with smoke haze and the smell of stale beer; its floor and tables littered with discarded raffle tickets. Tickets bought by world weary men whose hopes for a better life after the war had not yet been realised.
Dressed in their shabby suits and liberally covered with grey dusting's of cigarette ash they drank and gambled; laughed and argued and reminisced.... This was the working man’s escape from the harsh realities of the outside world.
Any woman confident enough to come with her husband on an evening without entertainment in the hall, would find herself relegated to the small and not very comfortable ‘Ladies Room’. A gloomy place that they shared with us children. Its dullness only relieved by the occasional brief visits of the menfolk who stayed just long enough to dispense glasses of shandy, bottles of lemonade (with a straw) and bags of crisps.
Only at weekends when the hall was opened, was there more chance of integration, for at those times there would be a dance or games of ‘Housey - Housey’.
For a number of years however, Sunday evenings began with some variety entertainment and for the price of a 6d ticket we were able to sample the delights of show business.
The talent of the performers might have been open to question, but what impressed us most was the dazzling glitter of their costumes which brightened our dull lives and caused us to show our appreciation with much hearty applause.
Some people then - and probably even now - would have a poor opinion of parents who subjected their children to such late nights... Well, deprived of sleep we may have been; but not of enjoyment... We had a wonderful time and somehow felt more secure by knowing that we belonged to something and were part of a community. There were the summer outings to the coast, the autumn evenings we journeyed to Southend to see ‘The Lights’. To say nothing of all the coach trips to sample the nightlife of other Working Men’s Clubs.
Then, of course, we had our own party at Christmas. A day when we could eat and drink as much as we wanted and were not forced to eat bread and marge with our tinned fruit...
Replete with food; almost immobile through greed, we would settle ourselves for the stage show - and finally, the games...
As the party reached its conclusion, we readied ourselves for that crowning moment when we queued for our presents - a toy, some sweets, an orange... and five shillings... That was a great deal of money in those days; Such wealth!
But we did not need special occasions to enjoy ourselves - those of us who were regulars eagerly looked forward to the weekly dances..
Even the preparation of the floor filled us with a feeling of nervous excitement; how eagerly we waited for the moment when a member of the entertainment’s committee would circle the dance floor throwing out generous handfuls of French chalk. It was then that we children were allowed - indeed, invited - to slide up and down the floorboards to help prepare them for the dancing.
Engaged in this serious and demanding task we would only vaguely be aware of the arrival of the band. Resplendent in their dazzling white shirts, black dinner suits and black bow ties, we would catch sight of them as they settled into their positions on the stage.
It was only then that we would become conscious of a change in the atmosphere - a feeling of expectation... Strange screeching and crackling sounds would whistle through the microphone and then the band leader would lean forward to speak...
"Good Evening Ladies and Gentlemen. Take your partners for a quickstep..."
And then the dancing began...
Taught and encouraged by patient adults, we waltzed and quick stepped with the best of them. Of course we had our favourite dances. How we held our breaths in anticipation of an announcement heralding the ‘Gay Gordons’ or ‘The Valletta’.
Then there were the ‘Spot Waltzes’ and a chance to win ten cigarettes and a box of Milk Tray. An interesting prize if you happened to be children! Not that we actually had a spotlight! Someone on the stage, with his back to the floor, would call out directions to a committeemen down below:-
"Forward eight paces... Three paces to your left... Touch the couple on your right..."
Those of us participating sometimes engaged in some sly shuffling around!
Not every week - but now and again - came the moment that we children prayed for. The moment when the word was given for the band to play ‘Pennies from heaven’
From toddlers to teenagers we stood on the dance floor as the ‘grown-ups’ threw their pennies out to us. The later the hour and the more merry the drinkers, the more generous they became. With grim determination we pushed and shoved each other to lay claim to more and more coins, for seldom did any of us have money of our own. On a good night we could make two shillings...
Then, all too soon, the last waltz would be announced
With dimmed lights and a strong feeling of sadness we would go with our partners onto the floor. The band would ease itself gently into the music and soon we would all be dancing and singing along to the tune of ‘Now is the hour’.
A song that evoked poignant remembrance for the old folk and a strange unfathomable emotion amongst us younger ones. An emotion we could sense but, as yet, were unable to completely understand, A brief moment in time when the air seemed filled with ineffaceable memories and harmonious accord.
It was almost unbearable to hear those last few strains of music die away. The dancing was over.
But only until the next week...

Bee in a bubble...

I took this photograph on Sunday - when the sun was shining and it was still relatively warm! I do hope this poor Bee hasn't fared too badly since then. It seems so sad that the busier they are are, the quicker they wear out their wings and die.

Why worry...

I suppose that I was always one of life's worriers - not that any amount of worrying or tears has ever changed anything at all... so now I do try to accept what happens - just trying to deal with it in the best way I can.

My dad died nine years ago, but I can hear him say so clearly (as he said to me so many, many times!!!) " yer'll worry yerself to death gal! yer livin it before it 'appens!"

And he was right!

Just a peep...

These pictures are just a tiny peep at two separate collages I'm currently working on.

Am I finding them a challenge? - yes!

Up to now I have either worked with pure silk fabric which I've embellished - or I've embellished on top of felt backgrounds which I've made up myself.

However, these are experiments using silk and cotton background mixes - and I am finding it very hard to work on... Silk is easy to decorate - cotton is proving far more difficult! Normally I like to do most of the work by hand - but I am having to use my sewing machine more - and we have an uneasy relationship with each other.

My machine is old - and doesn't think it should be forced to work in its retirement - and my right foot on the motor pedal (is it called that? gosh, I've forgotten all the terms...) seems to have a life of its own and I find I am continuing to sew when I mean to stop!

I will struggle on - but as I have made three felt backgrounds, I might ease the strain by doing some work on them first.