Platinum Jubilee Celebrations

Feeling Proud & A Little Emotional

HM Queen Elizabeth II celebrates seventy years on the British throne this year, and public celebrations for this momentous milestone are being held over four days 2-5^th June 2022. At the time of writing, three events have been held and two more will follow (palace concert & Jubilee pageant). 

Vice Chancellor Sir Klaus Moser & HM Queen Elizabeth II at Keele Chapel Oct 1999. Image credit abmj70

The Trooping of the Colour started things off on June 2^nd the official birthday of Her Majesty, and the 69^th anniversary of her coronation in 1953. It was lovely to have the full scale Colour event in the heart of London once again, with crowds lining the streets, after two years of a much reduced ceremony held in the private grounds of Windsor Castle. The British do pomp and ceremony magnificently, no one else can really touch us. Although the Queen did not attend the ceremony at Horse Guards Parade, she was well represented by Prince Charles, Prince William & Princess Anne all on horseback in their official royal/military roles. Before the ceremony began, several other royals arrived (I noted “in line to the throne” order) in a procession of carriages. I didn’t pick up on any Kent representative, and wondered if the Duke of Kent might be with the Queen for her balcony appearance. To my delight, the young Cambridge children were with their mother and the Duchess of Cornwall, with George looking a little pensive (just like his father at that age), Charlotte taking everything in her stride, and Louis waving enthusiastically. Later on, as the ceremony unfolded, other youngsters could be seen watching the proceedings, as well as the Duke and Duchess of Sussex.

The spectacle/music/solemnity of the occasion wasn’t lost on me and I felt very proud and deeply moved, knowing Her Majesty is Head of the Armed Services, and the Trooping of the Colour is a fitting tribute given by the military to their monarch. Through Queen Elizabeth II the royal family military link is even more embedded than ever. Remember, in WW1 the Queen Mother as a teenager tended wounded soldiers at her ancestral Scottish home Glamis Castle, and King George VI seen battle with the navy. In WW2 the Queen herself joined the army and her future husband seen naval action as well.  Three sons and two grandsons joined the military, with son Andrew and grandson Harry seeing action in the Falkland Islands and Afghanistan respectively. And at least a good few cousins, second cousins and a great nephew of the monarch have seen military service too.

As the Queen took to the balcony to watch the troops ride past the gates of Buckingham Palace, she was joined by the Duke of Kent. I was biting back some tears, as the elderly Duke stood upright and saluted the servicemen below, and passed comment to the Queen. I became VERY AWARE that this moment in history will NEVER be seen again. The Queen and her cousin are from a generation that put service to the Crown & Empire above all else. The Queen during her reign has relied heavily on her extended family to represent her across the globe, but that concept virtually does not exist in today’s world. The Empire is gone; the extended family ever diluted in relevance to the crown, have made their own way in the world. So it was most of the Queen’s immediate family and working older Royal cousins who appeared on the balcony. My heart melted seeing the interaction between the Queen and her great grandson little Prince Louis in his adorable traditional sailor suit, enjoying himself and asking questions.

In the evening after the Trooping of the Colour, beacons around the British Isles were lit in celebration. I was a little perturbed when I realised some were not the good old fashioned mini bonfire type, but more environmentally friendly modern light technology beacons instead. However, that made things a lot safer, when the Queen set things going at Windsor Castle. It was announced the Queen had much enjoyed the celebrations of the day, but that after feeling some discomfort, she would not attend the Thanksgiving Service at St Paul’s in the morning. Not a surprise, considering it’s only recently the Palace has finally admitted the monarch’s advanced years have taken an obvious toll.

The emotion I’ve felt whilst watching events on TV stems from the realisation that it’s my Golden Jubilee of royal watching. Ever since I received a 25^th wedding anniversary coin aged two, I’ve followed the Royal Family. And whilst viewing the Thanksgiving Service at St Paul’s Cathedral it literally felt like I was seeing old friends again, although with a certain amount of poignancy added too. You see, as I mentally rattled off names to faces seen (before any TV commentator got a word in), I realised a good few were of a vintage age themselves and looking physically, just that bit more frail now. Of course they were all impeccably dressed with that tell tale bolt upright stance of royal training. Then as the children/grandchildren of these more senior (in age) royals (Kent’s, Gloucester’s especially) appeared, I thought “crikey I’ve watched them grow up, and they have teenage/adult kids themselves”. I knew many of their full names, birthdays etc, better than I know my own family. My emotions were heightened even more when the cathedral choir started singing “I Was Glad”.

The Duke and Duchess of Sussex having stepped away as senior royals over two years ago, attended the  service and had a military attaché escort them to their seats. A seasoned BBC commentator questioned WHY they were not going to be part of the main formal procession before the service began. I couldn’t help thinking his late father who provided commentary of the Queen’s coronation, would have boxed his ears for what I considered such a stupid query. Thankfully, his co-presenter gave a moderated reply along the lines of “the Prince of Wales would normally have greeted and then processed ahead of the Queen, but as her representative today, the two heirs presumptive will proceed together”. Thank goodness, otherwise it could have turned into the Harry & Meghan show instead.

The sermon was littered with horse racing terminology which raised quite a chuckle amongst the congregation. I couldn’t agree more with the phrase “we are so glad you are still in the saddle”. When the Duke of Edinburgh passed away in 2021, I did wonder if Her Majesty would reach her platinum Jubilee. I’m so very glad she did, the occasion gives the country something to celebrate. I like many others have only known one monarch, and the Queen has been a constant presence in the nation’s life. Her Majesty has truly been steadfast in her duty to the country, a trusted hand on the tiller steering a steady course through the choppy waters of international relations and diplomacy. Her role may only be constitutional and symbolic without any real power, BUT considering the behaviour of government elected officials, Queen Elizabeth II is a much needed antidote.

Throughout the celebrations so far, I can’t shake off the feeling that the Prince of Wales definitely looks his age, and frankly rather emotionally vulnerable. I’m wondering if he knows something more about the Queen’s health issues, and the consequences that means for him. After all he has waited a lifetime for a job he never asked for, one he will fully inherit on the death of his mother. The enormity of what lies ahead of him is immense, and Charles looks like that weight is already on his shoulders. Of course, for many the notion of hereditary power and prestige in a democracy is distasteful, although you will never hear any such criticism from Royal correspondents!

Two generations of second sons reigned (George V, George VI) before Queen Elizabeth II was crowned,  by pure chance really when you consider her ancestor Queen Victoria was the only child of George III’s fourth son!!! Undoubtedly there will probably never be a British monarch on the throne for seven decades again, unless some tragedy brings Prince George to the throne at a very tender age. However, if that happened, I can see people saying the monarchy should be allowed to die away too. I do not agree, the Queen’s reign has presided over 14 UK Prime Ministers, and through her example has shown the importance of the crown as a symbol of stoicism and dependability, in an ever changing world of power dynamics. For that I sincerely say “God Save the Queen”.

Royal Party Leaving Keele University Oct 1999. Image credit abmj70

Looking Back Through The Years 2

Losing My Granny 45 Years Ago

Today (13^th September 2021) is the 45^th anniversary of my beloved Granny Bowes passing. I was in the school playground that morning, when I spotted my mammy talking in hushed tones to my teacher Mrs Marshall, who nodded solemnly as she glanced in my direction. I helped Mrs Marshall a lot that day, being allowed to put out new chalk and clean the blackboard too. Excited at being so helpful at school, I went home cheerfully oblivious at the devastating news that awaited me. By teatime my six year old self was left utterly bereft.

Granny’s health for most of her adult life was somewhat torrid to say the least, and really it was a miracle she lived to the age of 78. One story I often heard was about a stomach operation she had, until then only ever performed on a whippet, and the surgeon apologising “I’m only sorry it has to be a woman with a young family being operated on”.  So it’s a wonder that me, as her youngest grandchild (in her lifetime), ever had the opportunity to know and love her. Great grandchildren began arriving six weeks after I was born.

I’ve always had the ability to sleep very soundly and stayed over at granny’s a lot. So I didn’t hear her get up in the night and collapse with a stroke. In the morning I found her on the floor, freezing cold, unable to move, with a strangely twisted mouth. She was trying to talk but didn’t make any sense, and I rushed to awake my Uncle Allan who lived in the house too. I barely roused my hung-over uncle (a FREQUENT occurrence), who muttered “leave the old b*****d there, she can die for all I care”, then went back to sleep.

Running back to Granny six-year old Angela went into action, hauling the candlewick bedspread off the bed and wrapping it round her, in an effort to keep her warm. I dialled 999 for an ambulance giving all the details I was asked for, then got a drink to dab my Granny’s parched mouth and cuddled round her as best I could to offer some comfort. I let the ambulance men in and watched forlornly as they took my best friend out of the house on a stretcher. My uncle had rallied by then, and as the ambulance drove away I heard him on the phone inviting his son over to celebrate “the house being effectively his now”. Then the door was locked as I wasn’t welcome in HIS house, and I sat on the doorstep in my pyjamas and slippers, until my mammy came to collect me from work at lunchtime. She went mental, at Allan’s blatant disregard for Granny’s or my welfare. From that day until my uncle’s passing 21 years later, I think I set foot in the living room I knew so well only twice.

Granny clung onto life for several days, enough for me to have a single visit to the hospital. She was surrounded by some of her children & adult grandchildren, none of whom had darkened her doorstep since my Grandda’s funeral 12/13 years before. That angered me deeply and I vented my fury at them all, on the day of Granny’s funeral. Mammy took me into the back bedroom and acted like I was getting a telling off for being rude, but was quietly praising me for saying out loud what she was thinking herself.

That awful time is forever etched into my psyche and I recall it like it was yesterday. My Granny’s collapse for me was like a seismic event, the very foundations of my existence shaken to its core, the solid ground I depended on becoming more like shifting sand.  Her subsequent death I realise was like a following tsunami, a wave of total desolation that completely overwhelmed me. I had never known pain like it and I didn’t want to hurt like that ever again.

My entire early childhood in Cleland was surrounded by elderly adult company, as my mammy kept house for Granny, ran messages for Jim & Cathy Bryce at no.12, and kept Nellie Neill company whilst I played with her grandson. All of them were gone by the time I was eight, and I literally shut down building a wall around my shattered heart, mentally keeping people at arm’s length. However, through the years some people had got close without me fully realising it. The shock news of a near fatal canoe accident involving a school friend (who survived unscathed) when I was 21, opened the floodgates, and the wall I’d so carefully built around my heart came crashing down. In a way this epiphany helped pave the way to a new beginning for me, starting university, making new friends, making my own way in the world. I even preached a sermon in a student led service on “Frailty of the Human Heart” based on this event.

When the first pandemic lockdown began in the UK in March 2020 I began to really delve into the memory banks, and from those musings I created a new hospital radio show called Beautiful Sunday. Granny has always been with me, I knew that, but her influence on me has been profound as well. Visualising her living room and telling stories about it, made me realise WHY I loved classical sculpture, and just HAD to visit the bull-fighting museum when in Madrid. WHY when Miss Dunsmore said everyone had to create a project book, I drew my adored maps, the first being New Zealand, a much admired map decoration on Granny’s wall. Reading of a friend’s new home with a pantry, I was in Granny’s handkerchief sized kitchen standing in the doorway to the walk-in pantry, gazing up at the brightly coloured tins housing cake, biscuits and teabags. Is that why I have a penchant for tins? There was a coal hole next to the pantry with a heavy metal frontage half way up the wall. You had to make sure the window was open and the pantry door was closed when the coalman chucked in his delivery. Just a word, pantry, but a flood of memories came with it, just like Madeira cake and lemon curd jam.

Since May 2020 off the top of my head 12 people I know of have died, most in 2021 and 6 of them with Cleland connections. Over half I felt very close to, and although many were the wrong side of 80 or 90, the news still hit hard. One was only six months older than me, in the year above at school, who I first met aged two at Sunday school. That’s when things really started to feel a bit too close for comfort. Add in the collapse of a Danish footballer on the pitch during a European Championship game, just 24 hours after I heard the news of another Cleland death, and I’m six again. Feeling powerless to help my stricken Granny, the guilt I didn’t wake sooner, the terror I STILL don’t know any first-aid.  Just like when I was that wee girl, my Cleland connections have changed irrevocably, the foundations I relied on growing up are shifting sands once more. Other changes are happening elsewhere too.

No wonder I feel so rattled and have cried more in 2021 than I have in the last thirty years.  I recently told a friend that grief has no time limit, because I understand I’m still grieving for my Granny. Just the other day I came across a quote from Rose Kennedy, the mother of President John F Kennedy & Senator Robert F Kennedy which says everything:

“It has been said, time heals all wounds. I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone”

My protective scar tissue has been torn by circumstances and that very vulnerable inner six year old has been resurrected. But in writing this blog I hope to give her some peace and understanding. And of course, regardless of the passage of time, I still love Granny very much.

Me & Granny

Looking Back Through The Years 1

My Graduation 25 Years Ago

Today (9^th July 2021) is the silver anniversary of my graduation from Keele University in Staffordshire England.

My dual honours degree was in subjects I never envisaged studying from a university I didn’t expect to attend, in a country I’ve lived in for more years than my native Scotland. And along the way I picked up a husband as well, who as an academic was involved in the degree ceremony I attended, and beamed at me from his seat behind the Vice Chancellor Sir Klaus Moser who said a few words to me. I got my much coveted degree and the photo I wanted so much for above the mantelpiece (which I still don’t have).

For as long as I can remember I wanted to go to university. As a pre-school toddler I had shared the idea of maybe being a vet when I grew up with my beloved Granny. She patiently explained that would need a lot of hard work at school and beyond at university, a word I was familiar with because we watched University Challenge together.  After our discussion, I proudly announced to my mammy when she returned from her bingo session “me going to go to ooniverity to get a degree”. My enthusiasm was met with scorn and the immortal words “if it wisnae fur ma ears and his temper, I’d swear the hospital gave me the wrang wean”. Then Granny got a telling off for putting ideas into my head, but mammy met with a scathing rebuke in return. Granny was born in 1898, a time when working class kids in general were lucky to get a basic education to age 11, and women didn’t have the vote either. If I, as the youngest grandchild had it in me to get to university, then she saw no reason why I shouldn’t go.  This blessing and ringing endorsement was all the encouragement I needed, and so in my young mind I was already heading toward tertiary education. And I hadn’t crossed the threshold of the primary school gates yet!

I was clever, but not the straight A student required for vet school, and I wasn’t sure I had the stamina for the job either, or the money for such a prolonged course. But another lifelong passion is a deep love of maps and anything related to the physical world. So I applied to study geography at Scottish universities. But as I explained in my trilogy of blogs “25 Years at Keele” written in 2016, things didn’t quite work out the way I expected.

Thanks to the worldwide pandemic crisis both the 2020 and 2021 graduations have not taken place, though there is a hope a combined set of ceremonies can happen at Keele in April 2022! Online learning has been the mainstay since the spring of 2020, with only the most mandatory aspects such as laboratory work requiring face to face interactions. Traditional exams have been replaced by online open book assessments which Keele appear to be keeping until at least summer 2022 (if not beyond). It shocked me to realise that those students who entered a three year degree in the autumn of 2019, with the exception of exams in January 2020, could graduate next year without having endured/experienced the ordeal/delights of traditional finals exams. Many will only “know” their lecturers/fellow students through their computer screen relaying various learning forum feeds. I feel so sorry for them having missed out on so much real life interactive student experiences. In my blogs trilogy I explained just WHY these were so important to me, and how I desperately needed the security blanket of campus life to help me grow.  That personal development nurtured through social interactions and experiences accompanied my studies throughout.

My degree certificate states a level of INTELLECTUAL academic achievement in various subjects, but without doubt it was underpinned by the SOCIAL aspect of student life.

Graduation Day 9th July 1996

The Three Pianos

Here is a story spanning two weeks in February, when for a short period three pianos inhabited our small two bed-roomed flat. As a consequence of this event, I discovered that World Piano Day this year would be celebrated on March 29^th, the 88^th day of 2021 representing the 88 keys on a piano.

My husband Rob for as long as I’ve known him has had an electronic piano, having learned to play the family upright piano as a child.  He owned a Yamaha CP-30 model that packed a hefty weight and mighty footprint in our living room. It stood on “legs” created from the outer casing, and was hoofed around for gigs with Rob’s swing band during the 90s. A faithful musical friend, it was played on occasion at home but very quietly, due to living in a flat and not wanting to annoy the neighbours. In recent years Rob has wanted to do a bit more with his playing, perhaps linking it up with external music sources, but with our Yamaha model being more “vintage” this wasn’t possible. So the idea of upgrading was being seriously considered in this last year.

Rob in 2014 playing his old digital piano. Image credit abmj

In late September 2020 Rob’s mother Vi passed away, and her intention that Rob inherit the family piano became a reality. Getting it from Wenhaston Suffolk to Keele Staffordshire during a pandemic crisis/lockdowns was an issue. Rob’s sister knew of a very good local Suffolk based removal man, who had already moved things to Kent for her. Philip agreed to do the job for us, as he thought he could combine it with a removal job taking things to Scotland. But he didn’t know when that would be happening. The sale of Vi’s house went through much more quickly than expected, so Philip moved the upright piano and put it in storage in January. We thought that would be it until after Easter.

With the limitations of our Yamaha CP-30 becoming ever more obvious, frustration set in for Rob.  He knew that VI’s piano would need some major TLC to be properly playable, but it wouldn’t meet his advanced criteria needs of external source connection and an essential headphone socket! And there was no guessing when the upright piano would arrive. So I did a bit of research online, and came across a much lighter more portable digital piano that had decent reviews (recommended by piano teachers too) at a good price. Rob ordered a new Yamaha model and carry case on Sunday 7^th February and both arrived on the morning of Tuesday 9^th.  So at this point we had two electronic pianos.

Rob playing his new digital piano named Yolanda. Image credit abmj

Out of the blue Philip called on the 15^th to say his Scotland trip was happening, and Vi’s piano would be arriving on the Thursday (18^th). Of course that meant the big older Yamaha needed collapsed and the stuff on it re-homed. What joy? Having done this, as well as clearing the hallway and moving the settee chairs, the upright piano arrived. Rob had protested saying my moving extra things was unnecessary, but I KNEW the piano would NOT come through the outside door easily, having a fraction of an inch to spare. And I anticipated the piano would need to enter the living room vertically as well. I was correct on both assumptions, and “M’Dear” (a saying of my mother-in-law) JUST slotted into the living room space previously occupied by the older digital piano. That had been hauled along the floor and was positioned in the doorway of the back bedroom, half in the room and half in the hallway. Mercifully it wasn’t long enough to hinder the living room doorway access. When Philip left us on February 18^th we had three pianos in our home, two digital and an upright for about five days.

When we knew the Suffolk piano would be arriving, Rob seriously wondered how we could get rid of the old digital piano, which still had some good life left in it. He thought of offering it for free to a good home on Facebook, and a teacher friend said his school music department desperately needed to replace their worn out digital piano. Leigh showed up on Tuesday morning (23^rd) and our big old musical pal was escorted into a van and driven to a high school in Chell Staffordshire. The music technician knew the Yamaha CP-30 model well because he had trained on one, and by morning break he was playing Stevie Wonder songs on it. So a good home was found in a school, something my headmistress mother-in-law would no doubt have approved of, even if she was somewhat scathing of the “digital” concept regarding pianos.

M’Dear the Jackson family piano. Image credit abmj

As I write this “M’Dear” is looking resplendent in the living room, an attractive traditional light coloured wooden (my guess walnut) upright beauty, whilst her modern digital counterpart is cosily tucked into a carry case in our bedroom. When “Yolanda” Yamaha is played she sits at the end of the bed and packs an impressive authentic sound, and makes a beautiful noise (to quote Neil Diamond). Rob gave me a demo of the differing voice options, and the resonance from the organ voice was particularly spectacular. Sitting at the edge of the bed I could feel the vibration through the frame, as if I was sitting in an organ loft. Good job we are on the ground floor and Yolanda has a headphone socket!

Off The Beaten Track 9: To Armenia With Love

Giving the Only Gift I Had

Just after Christmas in 2018 (27^th December) I was reminded of the true meaning of gift giving, as I listened to a Crossing Continents broadcast (Armenia: Return to a Town That Died) on BBC Radio 4. In that half hour, as tears of recognition and remembrance slowly trickled down my face, my mind travelled back to 1993, when I was a 23 year old volunteering in Armenia.

I had always wanted to go abroad and do something useful, and thanks to my then fiancée I got my wish. For a month I worked with an international volunteer organisation in Gogaran near Spitak in Armenia, helping to rebuild the village church destroyed by the 1988 earthquake. Residents had been offered housing, but they wanted the heart of the village to be restored instead.  Not only was the church obliterated on December 7^th 1988 but an entire generation of children were taken by Mother Nature as well, when the school collapsed on top of them.

         A Lost Generation. Image credit abmj

The village dynamic I encountered had no children between the ages of around 10/11 to about 17/18, the ornate headstones in the nearby cemetery marking the final resting place of the lost little ones.

                Only Younger Children. Image credit abmj

The radio program featured two Northern Irish fire fighters who had travelled to Armenia in the immediate aftermath of the earthquake, to help rescue/recover the people trapped. As I listened to them talk of their harrowing experiences digging for children in the remains of a collapsed school, I was back in Gogaran again. For me, I lodged in the replacement school building with my team, and a lot of the initial digging involved moving the earthly remains of long lost souls, shifted from their original graveyard by the tectonic catastrophe. The earthquake decimated communities and families, housing was in desperate short supply, and the fall of communism created an economic collapse with limited job opportunities creating a lack of hope. Every aspect described I had witnessed firsthand myself, the young men with no prospects, the makeshift housing, the electricity only coming on for a couple of hours a day. I could empathise fully with what was being said, especially how those memories remained etched into your psyche decades after they were first created.

Never before had a radio program spoke to me with such force, as memories flooded over me. Then the tears I desperately tried to hold back emerged as two particular stories from the firemen were recalled. Years after the earthquake, the men returned to the site of the school they had worked at, only to find the school caretaker still there living in a metal oil tanker container. As I listened to this, I recalled being invited by our cook to her home, a small strangely shaped structure kept immaculate inside that housed her and three children. I was given a feast of flat bread, honey, garden fruits and tea, and it was only when I left did I realise why the home was strangely shaped. Yes, it was the metal chasm of an oil tanker container. My host had offered everything she had, as a way of thanking me in particular as a non-ethnic Armenian, for travelling out there to try and help. That same simple selfless generosity was experienced by the firemen from Northern Ireland as well, one chokingly describing being given a jar of pickled fruit by a grieving mother. She had kept a constant vigil beside the school, enduring bitterly cold conditions, with only a coat and small fire for comfort. Her children were not recovered, but she gave the firemen all she had as a gift of thanks for their effort. On hearing this I freely admit my tears went completely unchecked.

The Monastery of Khor Virap. Image credit abmj

My own Armenian fruit story involves a bunch of juicy black grapes, blessed during the Orthodox Holy Feast Day of the Assumption of the St Mary in August 1993. I’m not sure if this event was permissible under Soviet rule, but I recall being told it was the first one held since Armenia had gained her independence. It was a big deal and TV cameras were recording the service. Since I have a small guidebook for The Monastery of Khor Virap, I’m guessing that’s where our group travelled to witness this momentous occasion. The air was thick with incense, the heady words of blessing completely indecipherable to my ears as the priests resplendent in golden embroidered robes of blue and pinks, gave out bunches of beautiful looking grapes, to a congregation of perhaps a thousand plus.

                           A Sacred Service. Image credit abmj

In this mass of humanity I surged forward and received some blessed fruit. At that moment, the grapes were the only thing I had of any value and meaning, having only the clothes I stood in, a small bum bag with a camera and guidebook. I remember thinking “these must mean something” and Jesus being the vine sprung into my mind. Ok, the fruit is the blood, like communion wine I guessed, and I had an overwhelming sense that someone in that sacred building needed God’s blessing far more than I did. Scanning the vast area thronged with people, my eyes fell upon an old woman, bent double, wrapped in a dark shawl, pressed up against the wall, clinging onto her daughter’s arm. She reminded me of how Old Mother Hubbard was depicted in nursery rhyme books.  Not taking my eyes off the old woman, I broke ranks from my group and pushed my way toward the wall. On reaching Mother Hubbard, I gently touched her arm and held out the bunch of grapes. She gasped, threw her hand to her mouth in surprise as her daughter beamed a radiant smile in my direction, and nodded to her mother. The old woman’s eyes shone like the sun as she made direct eye contact with me and grasped the grapes I offered. She became teary eyed, mouthed profuse thanks and wouldn’t let my hand go. My team leader thankfully had spotted my escape from the group and had followed me; otherwise I’d have had great difficulty finding them again. He gently coaxed the lady to let me go, we waved goodbye, and then I got a rollicking for breaking ranks. He then said “you have NO IDEA what you’ve just done, do you?” I shrugged and replied “I just gave her all I had”. He smiled, gave me a hug and with a catch in his voice mumbled “EXACTLY”.

The parallels between some of the firemen’s memories and mine where uncanny, and through the medium of radio we were brought powerfully together. The ramifications of the Armenia earthquake of 1988 had taken us to that country to help, and we experienced the true meaning of giving through a gift of fruit. And to this day, whenever I see a bunch of juicy black grapes, I see that woman’s eyes too.

              Awaiting the Blessed Grapes. Image credit abmj

Sir Bruce Forsyth: A Friend From The Telly

Sir Bruce Forsyth aged 89 sadly passed away on August 18^th and for many the news felt like they had lost a dear friend. So much so that my husband and I spent the evening chatting away about him and remembering how ever present he had been in our lives. That was the kind of hold Sir Bruce had on his audience, little wonder considering his career, which began aged 14 as the Boy Bruce the Mighty Atom.

Sir Bruce had a natural affinity with his audience rather like the late Sir Terry Wogan. Although Wogan had a great TV persona, it was all based on his irrepressible “gift of the gab” but knowing when to listen. Forsyth on the other hand could turn a delivery into an act be it a joke, song, musical recital or dance. Seemingly a dab hand at the piano, a first rate tap dancer, with impeccable timing, a good voice and amazing facial expressions, Sir Bruce Forsyth was the ultimate performer. There was far more to him than the game show host tag which he probably became best known for.

In my childhood home soap operas and game/quiz shows were the main sources of TV entertainment, if my Mammy got her way which usually happened. So the Forsyth face and his catchphrases were known to me from a very young age through The Generation Game (good game, didn’t he do well!); Play Your Cards Right (I’m the leader of the pack, Dolly dealers, Brucie bonus) and The Price Is Right. I also religiously watched Come Dancing much to my mother’s bewilderment, and desperately craved to have music and dance lessons, which I never got. But I didn’t hanker after ballroom dancing but tap dancing? I had no exposure to anything in the dance world except through what I saw on TV, and I had wondered over the years why tap had been so appealing. Last night I realised who had influenced that notion Sir Bruce Forsyth, who I recalled being enthralled by as he did a tap routine with Sammy Davis Jnr. (the embodiment of Mr Bojangles to me).

Despite never cracking America during his career, it seemed many top names from US showbiz wanted to work with Forsyth when they came to Britain. They sought him out knowing that he was an equal they could work alongside, a credible voice to showcase their latest work, chat over old times and do improvised (though probably well-rehearsed) routines.

Although Sir Bruce began work at 14 he didn’t really make a name for himself until 1958, when aged 30, he was offered the compere role on Sunday Night at the London Palladium.  It made him a star, but his relentless work ethic undoubtedly took a toll on his private life, and two failed marriages followed over the years. In later life with perhaps a healthier work/life balance he found happiness with his adored wife Wilnelia Merced whom he married in 1983.

In closing Sir Bruce Forsyth was a classic old school vaudeville entertainer whose like will undoubtedly not be seen again. He made everything seem so easy to do, but worked excessively hard practicing his craft to make it look effortless. Jokes aimed at game show contestants were never cruel, and his affable manner made him liked and respected by his entertainment peers and audiences alike. Thanks for the memories Sir Bruce an entertainment legend “it was nice to see you, to see you nice”.

CHELTENHAM FESTIVAL 2016 DIARY: DAY 1

Huge crowds gathered for the first day of the Cheltenham Festival where the course Going was officially Good to Soft (soft in places).

       Wonderful Cheltenham. Image credit @Channel4Racing

1.30 Sky Bet Supreme Novices’ Hurdle (Grade1 Class 1): Distance 2m ½ f: 8 Fences: 14R

The front three runners virtually throughout were Charbel, Min and Supasundae with Bellshill holding an early fourth place. Altior was around seventh in the field with six hurdles remaining. Charbel and Min took a two length lead ahead of the field on the back straight. Meanwhile Beveur D’Air had only five horses bunched behind it four from home but began to travel well through the field. On the turn going into the home straight Altior showed a turn of foot to pass Min as Charbel began to fade. Going into the final flight Altior was accelerating past Min as Supasundae faded from any contention. Altior thundered toward the finishing post showing no signs of deceleration to win by seven lengths a 4-1 2F winner. 15-8 favourite Min was second 1 ½ lengths ahead of Beveur D’Air at 10-1.

                        Altior. Image credit Nicky Henderson

Altior gave trainer Nicky Hendersen his first Novice Hurdle success since 1992 and Nicky became the first English winning trainer of the race since Donald McCain with Cinders and Ashes in 2012.

2.10 Racing Post Arkle Challenge Trophy Chase (Novices Grade 1): Distance 2m: 13 Fences: 7R

Going into the third flight Sizing John, Douvan and Fox Norton held the front three spots in the field. With seven to jump Douvan had the edge over Sizing John with Vaniteux in third place just nudging ahead of Fox Norton. The Game Changer and Baltimore Rock followed the front four with Aso as the back marker with three jumps remaining. From here Vaniteux tried to accelerate on the outside of the front runners but fell on landing at the second last flight along with Baltimore Rock. Douvan remained untroubled by the fallers and won easily as the 1-4 race favourite by seven lengths ahead of 9-1 Sizing John in second 3 ¾ lengths in front of 33-1 Fox Norton in third place.

         Douvan & RubyWalsh. Image credit @Channel4Racing

2.50 Ultima Handicap Chase (Grade 3): Distance 3m 1f: 20 Fences: 23R NR Indian Castle

Winner: Un Temps Pour Tout 11-1 seven lengths ahead of Second: Holywell at 8-1 2F odds. Nine lengths behind in Third: The Young Master 14-1 just a length in front of Fourth: Morning Assembly at 10-1.

Un Temps Pour Tout & Tom Scudamore. Image credit      @Channel4Racing

All the jockeys in this race were subsequently given a one day ban for anticipating the start.

3.30 Stan James Champion Hurdle Challenge Trophy (Grade 1): Distance 2m ½ f: 8 Fences: 12R NR Old Guard

From the start Annie Power looked incredibly poised out front and never really came under any threat from the rest of the field. With three flights to go and about five furlongs out My Tent Or Yours was second followed by The New One and Nichols Canyon running in the slipstream of Annie Power. Going into the final hurdle Annie Power had a clear three length advantage over My Tent Or Yours and Nichols Canyon both battling for the minor placings. At the finish Annie Power the 5-2 race favourite took victory by 4 ½ lengths over 10-1 My Tent Or Yours just a head in front of Nichols Canyon at 15-2. Annie Power became only the fourth mare to win this race and the first since the Flakey Dove success of 1994. Annie Power had tasted defeat in her previous two attempts in this race having suffered a fall at the final flight last year. Great credit must also go to the second placed My Tent Or Yours running again after 702 days off the track.

Annie Power flanked by trainer Willie Mullins, groom & owner Rich Ricci. Image credit @Channel4Racing

4.10 OLBG Mares’ Hurdle (Registered as the David Nicholson Mares’ Hurdle) (Grade 1): Distance 2m 4f: 10 Fences: 19R NR Flementime

Desert Queen, Aurore D’Estruval and Melbourne Lady took the initiative at the race start with Vroum Vroum Mag travelling in the middle of the field. With seven to go Stephanie Frances was the back marker and around five lengths separated the front two runners. Desert Queen kept a small advantage at the back straight whilst Vroum Vroum Mag stayed about twelve lengths off the pace. However the horse was jumping well despite an anxious moment when Vroum Vroum Mag was sandwiched between Pass the Time and Aurore D’Estruval, and jockey Ruby Walsh looked unsteady in the saddle. Between the second last and final flight The Governess was allowed to let rip by the jockey and showed a quickening pace whilst Vroum Vroum Mag comfortably eased along in contention. Unfortunately The Governess took a heavy fall at the final jump which proved to be fatal. Vroum Vroum Mag at 4-6 F odds won by 2 ¾ lengths ahead of Rock On The Moor at 66-1. Just a half length behind 40-1 Legacy Gold took third with a length advantage over 80-1 Pass The Time.

Vroum Vroum Mag eases over the final flight. Image credit @Channel4Racing

4.50: 146^th Year Of The National Hunt Chase Challenge Cup (Listed Amateur Riders Novices’ Chase): Distance 4m: Fences unknown: 20R

Winner: Minella Rocco 8-1 by 1 ¼ lengths ahead of Second: Native River 7-1 2F. Six lengths behind in Third: Measureofmydreams 9-1 and five lengths further back Fourth: Southfield Royale 5-1F.

5.30 Close Brothers Novices’ Handicap Chase (Listed): Distance 2m 4f 78y: Fences unknown: 20R

Winner: Ballyalton 12-1 with a half length win over Second: Bouvreuil 14-1. Four and a half lengths behind Third: Double Shuffle 8-1 J2F with a 2 ½ length advantage over Fourth: Bridgets Pet 33-1

Off The Beaten Track 3

May 2014 was a good month for quirky bits of news coming my way about cultural, language, sports and women’s issues.

Four Minute Mile

The 60th anniversary of Roger Bannister’s sub four minute mile occurred on the 6th of May. I was listening to a BBC Radio 4 program called “More or Less” on Sunday the 8th and was intrigued to hear a report that suggested a four minute mile MAY have been run in 1770!!! Professor of Sports Science Peter Radford (former Olympic Bronze medallist runner) is fascinated by pre-20th century athletic endeavours, and has correlated old “documented evidence” of athletic prowess over the years. Using statistical analysis to weed out the more ridiculous claims Peter determined that some of the written evidence may carry some credence, and that an average time of four minutes to four minutes 13 seconds may have been possible times for the mile distance run in past centuries.

So we come to costermonger James Parrott (seller of fruit/vegetables and fish) who was challenged in 1770 to run a mile in less than four and a half minutes. The wager was 15 Guineas a substantial amount to James of probably around 3-4 months wages. The measured mile went from the Charterhouse Wall in Goswell Street in London to the gates of Shoreditch Church. Both the contender James and his challenger would have had independent umpires with watches, which would be locked in a box once started. The box would have been driven by horse and carriage to ensure arriving at the finishing line before the contender. When James Parrott crossed the line on a cool May 9th 1770 the time attributed to his efforts was four minutes exactly. He had won his bet, and a report in the Sporting Magazine was made (although some years after the event).

Peter Radford (like myself) is not so ready to dismiss this athletic endeavour as “fantasy”, as watches/ time keeping and other means of measurement had advanced enough by 1770 to be reasonably reliable. And with a lot of money being at stake the event would have been run scrupulously. But there does seem a tendency to rubbish claims from say before the modern day Olympics began in 1896. At the end of the report I was incredibly disappointed to hear Sir Roger Bannister say that Parrott’s achievement was “inconceivable and not at all credible”. Sir Roger’s sub four minute mile fame wasn’t in anyway being taken away from him, and I think he could have been a little more charitable. After all, if you think about it, today’s builders/architects still look back in wonder at the pyramids of Ancient Egypt. So who knows what else man could have achieved before the “modern age” of athletics?

Divergent Language

The divergence of the Korean language since war split the country was reported on Al Jazeera. A short report highlighted how the political divide had created not only social and economic differences but language ones too. With North Korea being somewhat suspicious of the outside modern world, their attitude to foreign words and western influences are markedly different to that of South Korea. As a result an academic study found that about 52% of words in general were not the same but this variation increased to 66% when used in professional terms. It’s clear that this “schism” in the Korean language is a direct cause of the people having two opposing government ideologies influencing their lives. It’s no surprise to find that the modern day westernised South Korea has words and terms probably not used in the more traditional and isolated North Korea. What I find fascinating though is just how much the language has changed in such a relatively short space of time. Variations in English are to be expected as it’s spoken in many parts of the world involving many people/countries/cultures. But Korean is a much rarer language spoken by relatively few. South Korea has been exposed to influences from around the world whilst the North remains much the same as it was before the war. So I wonder if the North Koreans speak a “purer” form of the language or if they themselves have altered it unwittingly as a direct result of the political clout of one family?

West Bank Bus Driver

I was delighted to see a BBC news report (this weekend) on Najaa Asia who has become the first woman bus driver in the town of Tulkarm in the West Bank. Najaa decided to turn her passion for driving into a career and earned her licence to carry bus passengers in April. Since then she has taken to the roads as the ONLY woman bus driver and is flying the flag for women and equality in an intensely male-dominated region. Well done!!!!

Japanese Sumo Wrestling

It seems that the traditional sport/art form of Sumo in Japan may face an inevitable decline. At the weekend an Al Jazeera report highlighted how the Japanese no longer particularly aspire to become involved in the sport. Many foreigners now form the core stables of participants especially those from Mongolia and Russia. The regime demanded by Sumo is also very taxing, particularly eating high calorie foods to maintain weight. This in itself could pose major health risks to the individual and combined with an almost “monastic” type lifestyle of training, is decidedly unappealing to Japanese men. With attendances declining and revenue falling, this manly Japanese tradition could one day be confined to the history books.

Off The Beaten Track 2

Liverpool this week was filled with the excitement of horse-racing fans enjoying the Aintree Festival (3rd-5th April), culminating with the Grand National race. You can read my blogs on Aintree at http://www.letstalksport.org.uk/aintree-festival-diary in the horse racing section. The city however hosted another sporting event the week before, that was little reported other than on specialist websites.

BRITISH GYMNASTICS NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIPS

These were held in the Liverpool Echo Arena and had the cream of British gymnasts taking part, including Louis Smith (Olympic Silver Pommel Horse) who has recently returned to competitive training. The senior overall championship titles were hard fought competitions, and the spread of medal winners makes interesting reading. The British gymnasts, who competed in Liverpool, will be dispersed into smaller nation status gymnasts during the Commonwealth Games. Of course they will be up against the might of Australia and Canada, so will the partition of Team GB in Glasgow 2014 be a hindrance or a help in winning medals? Only time will tell, but the overall championship senior winners were as follows:

ALL ROUND MEN’S CHAMPION: MAX WHITLOCK, Silver: Dan Purvis, Bronze: Dan Keatings.

ALL ROUND WOMEN’S CHAMPION: REBECCA TUNNEY, Silver: Becky Downie, Bronze: Claudia Fragapane

Champions Rebecca & Max. Image credit British Gymnastics website

WORLD FIGURE SKATING CHAMPIONSHIPS

Around the same time as the gymnastics in Liverpool, the final competition in the figure-skating calendar took place in Saitama Japan. The final awards for brilliance on the ice were as follows:

MEN’S                                                                     WOMEN’S
Yuzuru Hanyu (JPN) 282.59                     Mao Asada (JPN) 216.69
Tatsuki Machida (JPN) 282.26                Julia Lipnitskaia (RUS) 207.50
Javier Fernandez (SPA) 275.93               Carolina Kostner (ITA) 203.83

PAIR’S                                                                     ICE DANCE
Savchenko & Szolkowy (GER)                  Cappellini & Lanotte (ITA) 224.88                                                                    175.43
Stolbova & Klimov (RUS) 215.92           Weaver & Poje (CAN) 175.41
Duhamel & Radford (CAN)                        Pechalat & Bourzat (FRA) 210.84                                                                    175.37

FOOTBALL LEAGUE GIRLS CUP

This is the eighth season that this competition has run for girls under 13 playing six-aside football. Two teams representing AFC Bournemouth and Shrewsbury Town contested the final at Wembley on Mother’s Day (March 30th), prior to the Johnstone’s Paint Trophy final between Peterborough and Chesterfield (3-1).

Broadstone Middle School qualified to represent Bournemouth whilst Thomas Telford School won the right to represent Shrewsbury Town. Each school girl team competed in several rounds to reach the hallowed turf of Wembley. On the big day itself, the final was closely fought with neither team giving much away, during the 14 minutes of play. But a winning goal from Bournemouth captain Molly Pike in the second half, gave victory to Broadstone Middle School.

Bournemouth Captain Receives Cup. Image credit Bournemouth Echo

The Kid’s Cup an under-11 football competition will see teams compete in finals prior to the League Play-offs weekend.

STREET CHILD WORLD CUP

A short news item on Aljazeera brought to my attention the Street Child World Cup being held in Brazil. I was not aware of this organisation until now, but its aims are to give children who have lived on the streets a chance to know something better through sport. These kids have known terrible depravation, and yet the sheer joy for life that they exude is humbling. Their motto is “I Am Somebody” to remind those more fortunate that every child matters and should have the same chances of opportunity, regardless of wealth or status.

The Street Child World Cup Finals took place at the Fluminense Football Club on April 6th. The play-off for third place went to Team Pakistan (Boys) and Team El Salvador (Girls). I managed to watch some superb footage of both the finals posted on the Facebook site of the organisation (www.facebook.com/streetchildworldcup). It is on You Tube described as FINALS- Street Child World Cup, and well worth a look.

Boys Street Champions 2014: Burundi 1 TANZANIA 3 (h-t 0-2).

Girls Street Champions 2014: BRAZIL 1 Philippines 0 (h-t 1-0)

All these children have been amazing ambassadors for change and children’s rights, and they have done themselves and their countries proud. WELL DONE.

The Information Is Out There

The Street Kids World Cup made the news on Aljazeera which I happened to catch, and the World Figure Skating Championships were televised on British Eurosport. But the other events I happened to discover were taking place quite by accident. I wasn’t aware of any of these events getting much TV coverage or exposure at all. As I don’t have subscription TV I couldn’t watch the ice-skating, and I don’t have a permanent connection to the internet at home either. So my web browsing is mainly done on my mobile phone, although with intermittent signals for that too, my search for information can be thwarted at times. So I’m just pleased to have finally got the facts I wanted for this edition of Off The Beaten Track.

And Finally

Sometimes you come across the most unexpected things whilst going about your everyday tasks. Whilst in the local Potteries Shopping Arcade I spotted these beautifully sculpted elephants in the Elephants Parade tour, created to highlight the plight of Asian elephants in the wild. More information on this can be found at http://www.intuelephantparade.co.uk, in collaboration with The Asian Elephant Foundation.org.

Unforgettable Journey on Elephant Parade

Love Story, Flower Impression & Spirit on Elephant Parade

The Butterfly Effect on Elephant Parade

PHILOMENA: A Mother’s Love Quest

Radio 2’s Good Morning Sunday program broadcast on Mother’s Day, contained an amazing interview by Clare Balding. She was speaking to Philomena Lee, an 80 year old Irish lady whose story of loss was turned into an award winning film, simply called “Philomena”. I watched that movie a few months ago in the cinema, and remember how incensed I was at this woman’s treatment at the hands of Irish nuns. Her “crime” was that of committing a “mortal sin” by having a child out of wedlock in 1950’s Ireland.

Philomena lost her son Anthony at the age of three, when she was forced by the nuns to put her son out for adoption. Philomena never forgot the little boy, and returned many times to the convent where she was confined with Anthony, seeking information about his whereabouts. Unbeknownst to Philomena, Anthony now named Michael Hess also returned to the place of his birth, seeking his mother. Neither of them gained the reconciliation they desperately wanted, because the nuns deliberately withheld information from them.

Irish Law to this day does not allow Irish adoptees to access their records, and so Michael (Anthony) was prevented from knowing anything about his early years. He was reliant on the nuns’ compassion over-ruling the law but that never happened, causing undoubted heartache for Michael (Anthony) and his birth mother. His dying wish was to be buried in his birth-place, just in case his natural mother was looking for him. Mercifully the nuns’ did grant Michael (Anthony) this courtesy but never told Philomena about it. It was by chance she discovered her long-lost son’s final resting place.

In the interview Philomena spoke movingly about her early life and the ordeal that scarred her forever. Her daughter Jane Libberton spoke of The Philomena Project, which has been set up to try and get Irish Law changed to allow adoptees access to their personal records. This project is Philomena’s love quest in memory of her son.

Michael (Anthony) was brought up in the USA, worked in Republican politics and was gay. In the film I got the distinct impression he was dying of an AIDS related condition. So I was surprised though relieved that his final wish was granted. I could easily imagine what the nun’s might have thought about Michael’s lifestyle choice!!

The film scene that got me so angry happened toward the end of the movie. An elderly nun when confronted with the “complicity of silence” allegation uttered the Catholic mantra I was expecting. The Sister’s face full of conviction condemned Philomena and her kind as “fallen women full of sin” who deserved to be eternally condemned, more or less. I was absolutely disgusted but not surprised. And I was reminded of the Sister’s complete belief that marriage and children are intertwined, the day before Philomena’s radio interview broadcast.

On Saturday March 29th 2014 Great Britain allowed gay marriage to become lawful. During news broadcasts reporting this event, I heard the idea that marriage is to allow people to have children without “any help from others”, and the notion that love didn’t come into it at all. Try telling that to anyone having gone through IVF, or those who can’t or decide not to have children. Are their marriages any less valid? The words love one another with a pure heart springs to mind. God created us from love, and however that love is expressed is a marriage between those who love and God.

The Philomena Project is testament to the memory of a child and a parent’s never ending love. Philomena has a purity of heart I’m sure will find God’s pleasure when she comes to be re-united with her Anthony.  AMEN.

Philomena meets Pope Francis to highlight The Philomena Project. Image credit Kate Bowe