Work, Andy Levinson & Watching Football, Possibly The Horse & Groom In Streatham, 28 & 29 June 1986

Saturday 28 June – Worked hard today – went to Levinsons briefly – [squiggle] etc. Mainly work.

Sunday 29 June – Did exam in morning – went to G [Grandma] Jenny in afternoon – watched cup final early evening – went for drink with Andrew after – met Mary etc.

I was working hard at that time, doing my accountancy exams (presumably that Sunday morning thing was a self-administered mock) while working full time and helping to bring dad’s business (he had sold the shop in Feburary) to a graceful closure with the tax authorities.

This was still less than a year after I left Keele; my diaries suggest that I almost exclusively spent my spare time with old friends from Keele apart from my work crowd and some of my old BBYO crowd.

This reference to spending time with Andrew Levinson is the first reference to an old friend from the street or school in 1986 (unless I’ve missed saomething on the skim).

It might well have been Andrew who told me about the sad fate of Wayne Manhood, which I misremembered as something that happened about a year after I left school…but I have it on authority now that it happened about a year after I left University.

“Mary etc.” I think must be a lovely young woman I knew at Keele named Mary who kept popping up wherever I happened to be in that first year after I left Keele. I remember bumping into her when I was doing accountancy courses in Latimer Road and also that she ended up in Streatham for a while.

I dread to think where Andrew and I went for that drink and therefore where Mary etc. were also hanging out back then – our end of Streatham was not great for pubs and I doubt if we wandered far. Horse and Groom most likely – it’s had a makeover fairly recently (he writes in 2020) but was well grimey back then.

Not this type of grime…

…but no doubt you get the gist.

A Two Week Break After Summer Job, Then Return To Keele, Late September To Early October 1983

Keele Beckoning

After finishing my 1983 summer job with a swathe of nights out…

…the diary suggests that I spent a couple of weeks seeing friends, buying records and making tapes – the perfect preparation for the 1983/84 academic year that would be my P3 year (i.e. fourth year at Keele, third and final year of undergraduate studies).

It seems I was enjoying myself so much I even got my days mixed up in the diary:

Monday 26 September 1983 – …Paul [Deacon] came over for dinner _> Radio Kings in evening – click here for article on that event.

Wednesday 28 September 1983 – …went out for dinner with Jilly – came back here [Woodfield Avenue] after – late night

Thursday 29 September 1983 – Went to Brixton with Jilly in morning – lazyish afternoon – Andrew [Andy Levinson] came over late afternoon – dinner – wine bar

Frankly I wouldn’t have remembered that Streatham Hill had such a thing as a wine bar in those days. Perhaps it was new and we wanted to try it. I vaguely remember one in the 1980s on Sternhold Avenue – perhaps that was the one.

Saturday 1 October 1983 – went to visit Marianne [Gilmour] – pleasant lazy evening

Sunday 2 October 1983 – went to Makro with Dad in morning. Wendy [Robbins] came over in afternoon

My “business ” at Makro on that occasion was probably limited to a few record albums at discounted prices (see link to my October 1983 album purchase list) and some stationery for the forthcoming academic year. Goodness only knows what Dad wanted there.

Monday 3 October 1983 …went up West & to R&T today…

R&T meant “Record & Tape Exchange” as it was then named.

I bought lots of albums on that visit – the use of a different colour of ink listing them on my log tells me exactly which ones, so I have listed them in a separate article – click here or below.

6 October 1983 – went to shop with Dad in morning – went to office – met Caroline for lunch

I suspect I helped Dad prepare his books that morning, hence stopping at the office (Newman Harris) on my way to lunch. Efficient, I was, even back then.

7 October 1983 – …went to G Jenny’s in afternoon. Paul came over in evening.

8 October 1983 – Busy day packing etc. taping too – getting ready to come back to keele

9 October 1983 – Left early – came to Keele lunched at Post House – unpacked some – went to Union – quite dull

I can only imagine that this meant that Dad drove me up on this occasion, as I cannot imagine why else I’d have eaten at a roadside convenience place such as The Post House. Of course nothing much up at Keele would have been open on a Sunday. In the circumstances, The Sneyd would not have been a diplomatic choice.

I love my comment that the Union was quite dull – yet again, in my enthusiasm, I had come back to Keele ahead of the excitement. But there was plenty of fun, as well as hard work, to come in that Autumn 1983 term. watch this space.

Keele Students’ Union – only dull when there is no-one around.

A Visit To Billingsgate Fish Market With Andrew & Fiona Levinson Plus Pen Friend Valerie, 20 August 1977

Flying Fish In Old Billingsgate

I was reminded of this 1977 impromptu summer holidays outing at a recent (November 2017) gathering of the old school clan – click here or the link below:

Rock ‘N’ Rajasthan Evening, Mostly Alleyn’s Alumni, 14 November 2017

Not only did both Andrew and Fiona Levinson come up in the conversation that evening, but I realised, when the 1977 Billingsgate visit popped into my head, that the venue, The Rajasthan Restaurant, is just across the road from the old Billingsgate Fish Market.  Weirdorama.

Here is the relevant page of my diary. Not much going on at that stage of the summer…

..apart from England winning the Ashes! Happy days.

This was the first year I didn’t go away with my parents during the summer school holidays since I was a toddler. I don’t think dad had the money for a holiday that year – business was not good.

Still, it seems that, on the Sunday before, I:

won 1p at kalooky [sic] all OK

Why Jewish grandmothers liked to play Kalooki – Jamaican Rummy is a mystery to me.  I think it explained to some extent in Howard Jacobson’s book Kalooki Nights, which I commend to you.

That 1p will have contributed handsomely towards my bus fares and stuff.

On the Friday, the diary notes that I:

went out with Andrew, Fiona and Valerie (pen friend from France). No 23 in evening.

No 23 was my grandmother (of kalooki fame)’s flat. There was a three line whip for the family to gather and no kalooki on a Friday night. Don’t be ridiculous. On the sabbath? No, no, no. Kalooki was a Sunday thing.

What Andrew, Fiona, Valerie and I did on that Friday is lost in the bowels of my mind, so unless one of the others reads this and knows (please chime in if you do) the nature of the Friday activity will be lost for ever in the mists of time.

The Saturday diary entry is more explicit:

went to Billingsgate first thing with Andrew, Fiona and Valerie.

I do recall making a very early start of it and venturing out to Billingsgate with my camera in hand.

Old Billingsgate, dapper head gear

Left to right: two fishmongers, Andrew, Fiona, Valerie

Andrew pondering the price of fish as we leave Billingsgate

Who would have thought back then that I would end up writing a book on commerce, The Price Of Fish, using a multitude of fishy examples, some of which were spawned all the way back then at Billingsgate – click here or below:

But I digress…

…let us return to the 20 August outing. We clearly did a little more sightseeing before we went home – click the link below for the whole photo roll, which is available for all to see on Flickr – click here or below:

BILLINGSGATE 1977 (1)

As a footnote, I’d like to make it clear that our behaviour with Fiona’s pen friend from France was exemplary, showing her the sights, sounds and smells of Old London Town and generally being hospitable.

I feel the need to make this “good behaviour” point explicit, because some of our fellow Alleyn’s alumni took a somewhat different attitude to French pen pals. Messrs Wellbrook and Grant, for example, hang your heads in shame as I link any Facebook-enabled readers to David Wellbrook’s confession piece on the matter of Chris Grant’s French pen friend in the summer of 1976 – click here for Facebook or below for the Ogblog imprint: 

Guest Piece by David Wellbrook: The Long Hot Summer Of ’76 – Recollections Of A 14-Year-Old With Special Appearance By A Lunatic Frenchman, c1 July 1976

Tish tish.

My Very Brief Junior Career As A Limbo Dancer, The Peacock Club, 10 August 1975

This event came to me as a memory flash while in e-conversation with Rohan Candappa in December 2020 on the topic of that “limbo period” between Christmas and New Year. Rohan pointed out:

Limbo is a strangely schizophrenic word. It’s either a time when nothing is going on, or the most extreme dance you can imagine.

Suddenly it all came flooding back to me. The dinner & dance the day after my Barmitzvah. The Peacock Club in Streatham. The limbo dancer my parents arranged as entertainment for said evening. My limbo dancing “career”, not just remembered but I knew for sure that I have photographs.

Why the choice of limbo dancer for a Barmitzvah party? The answer to that question is truly lost in the mists of time. Some would suggest that it was a very “South London” choice. Others that it was an inappropriate choice steeped in cultural appropriation.

My guess is that someone dad knew through his photographic shop business was connected with the charming young lady in question.

Dorothy.

I know that she is/was named Dorothy because the pictures in my parent’s memory book / photo album have clearly been labelled “Dorothy”.

[Infantile readers may insert their own version of the joke revolving around the idea that “Ian was a friend of Dorothy when he was thirteen years old” here.]

Dorothy [Thinks]: What a funny little boy he is.
Ian [Thinks]: I could be in here…whatever “being in” might be.

Dorothy showed us how it should be done.

Steve Lytton was one of several people who had a go. Unfortunately for him, his photo survived and has lived peacefully in my parent’s memory book for 45 years and counting:

Friends from the neighbourhood and school might recognise Andy Levinson in the background of the above and following picture. He’s hiding behind is mum. It seems he didn’t have a go at limbo dancing.

My technique showing real promise there. If only I had persevered with the practice, I could have been a contender.

Then Dorothy started to show off.

I mean, really, was that completely necessary?

Seriously, I do remember Dorothy being sweet with me and making the whole event feel special. She was clearly very talented at limbo dancing.

One day I’ll write up other aspects of my Barmitzvah. Sadly, for lovers of music and theology, there is a recording of me singing my rite of passage passage and I’ll feel Ogblog-honour bound to upload it, if only for the sake of completeness.

Anyway, the limbo dancing was great fun. Dad clearly felt that he had pulled off a blinder by booking Dorothy…

…while mum did far more dancing than was good for her, just three months after having a hip replacement:

Update/Footnote Post Publication

I managed to track down and get in touch with Steve Lytton after publishing this piece – it seemed only polite to let him know that his youthful limbo dancing efforts were now in the public domain.

It was really nice to catch up with Steve and e-chat after so many years.

One thing that Steve said solved at least part of the “why a limbo dancer at my Barmitzvah party” mystery:

…what a coincidence. We had a limbo dancer at MY Barmitzvah party…

…said Steve. The penny dropped. We had a limbo dancer at my celebration because I/we had so much enjoyed the limbo dancer at his, a year or so earlier. So the question now really should be, “why did Steve have a limbo dancer at his Barmitzvah party?” Or maybe it was simply the fashion for such parties at that time.

My “First Soccer Match”, Chelsea v Middlesbrough, 22 March 1975

I stumbled across this page of my juvenile diary in July 2018, while searching for something completely different.

For those viewers of this page with reading difficulties – which, in the context of my handwriting, means “everyone, even to some extent me” – the Saturday entry reads:

went to first soccer match – Chelsea v Midsbro  concert  mum & dad  Trial by Jury

I’ll write a seperate piece about that little concert series quite soon, but the only element of the concert business that affects this blog post is the strange juxtaposition of spending Saturday afternoon at Stamford Bridge, then traversing London to play in an Alleyn’s School concert early that evening.

I’m struggling to recall what happened, but my only memories of going to Stamford Bridge include Andy Levinson, who was keen on Chelsea (at least he was at that time). I do have a memory of going up to Stamford Bridge with Andy on the bus and watching a match, but I think that must have been some time after this first one.

I do recall that Andy was also involved in that lower school concert. More on that anon.

But in any case, I find it hard – almost impossible – to believe that our parents would have allowed us find our own way to a football match and then make our own way from Stamford Bridge to Alleyn’s School to play in that concert. I have a funny feeling that Norman Levinson (Andy’s dad) might have taken us to that first football match and chauffeured us from Chelsea to Dulwich after the match, while my parents probably took Marjory (Andy’s mum) from Woodfield Avenue to the concert.

Andy and I were pretty independent 12-year olds…but I don’t think we’d have been allowed to be quite THAT independent in March 1975. I hope Andy has better recollection of what happened than me. If Andy does chime in, naturally I’ll add his resultant thoughts to this piece.

Of course, the internet allows me to find out everything I could possibly want to know about the match in question and more besides.

Here is a link to the 11v11.com entry for this match.

I was delighted to discover that the Chelsea team that day included Ron “Chopper” Harris… click here to see Ron Harris...whose name (and association with mine) had coincidentally come up in conversation during the MCC v HAC tennis match only a few days before I made this diary discovery.

Other names that leap out of that team sheet page at me are John Hollins, Ray Wilkins, Jim Platt and Graeme Souness. But perhaps several others are hugely famous and I am simply showing my profound lack of football knowledge.

The result wouldn’t have pleased Andy; nor me I suppose, with Middlesbrough prevailing 2-1. Younger readers who might mistakenly think that “League Division One” is something quite lowly should rest assured that the division named thus in those days was the very top, crème de la crème, division.

Most of the football I saw at that age was at White Hart Lane, where Stanley Benjamin would sometimes take me (and Andy too on occasion) if some members of Stanley’s family were away and thus he had one or more season tickets to spare.

But this very first one…if Andy’s memory can’t help I suspect the rest of the story is lost for ever in the mists of time.

Postscript

Andy Levinson writes:

What a team they, Chelsea, were! I remember we sat yes in the posh seats. I don’t remember that specific match but I suspect you are absolutely right that we would have been chauffeured there by dad and on to Alleyn’s after as we were both involved in the concert!
I do remember that we were able to get autographs from the players as their only access from their gym pre match was via the public stairwells in the stand and our seats were not far from the gym. Sadly I think I threw away my autograph book that had any of the signatures of the Chelsea team of those “golden years”!

I’m glad that is resolved. I’m also glad that the “partial memory” I had invoked in myself of Norman Levinson sitting with us at the football, gently smoking his pipe while the match played out, must be a genuine one.

I don’t think I joined you in the getting of autographs though, Andy. I always remember somewhat recoiling from doing that and quite early in life resolving not to be an autograph hunter. But it is also possible that, on that occasion, my first, that I joined in and that my “collection” of autographs also failed to make it through time’s relentless journey.

Back When I Didn’t Know My Asif From My Sarfraz, Cricket On Tooting Bec Common, Summer 1974

Although I started keeping a diary at the beginning of 1974, after just four months of that daily routine I then took a sabbatical for nearly seven months. I must have been exhausted from all that scribbling.

So May to November 1974 is a bit of an unrecorded blur, which is a shame.

But my memory tells me that much of that blur revolved around cricket. Further, my chance encounter with a charming chap named Michael at Lord’s on the second day of the Pakistan Test in May 2018…

Three Days On The Trot At Lord’s For England v Pakistan, 24 to 26 May 2018

…triggered a flurry of memories.

Michael, like me, had grown up around Tooting Bec Common. Lord’s might be our field of dreams now, but back then, the only cricket pitch we were likely in any way to experience live once school was out for the summer, could be found on that common:

Open-air exercise class, Tooting Bec Common - geograph.org.uk - 1316311
Tooting Bec Common – our field of dreams back then

1974 was the second summer of my proper cricket awareness – avidly following the major games on the TV and/or radio, wanting to catch a bit of the Sunday League match on telly if I could…

…but probably was the first summer that I and my entourage summoned the courage and sufficient equipment to venture onto the common to play.

If some of the bigger, older teenagers wanted the pitch, at that age it meant game over for us little-uns. I recall us challenging this pecking order once and returning home with bruises for our trouble. So our lot was sometimes reduced to trying to play on a relatively flat, well-shaved but ordinary patch of grass on the playground side of the common.

Tooting Bec Common (1) - geograph.org.uk - 285916
Just beyond the right hand side of this photo. I fancy a bowl on that.
I don’t suppose the pitch (or lack thereof) made much difference to our games back then, when we were 11 on 12. We weren’t yet physically equipped to use the full length of a pitch properly, nor were we playing with a proper cricket ball. I seem to recall using a rubber ball – heavier than a lawn tennis ball but nowhere near the weight and hardness of a cricket ball…mercifully.

I have a very clear memory of trying to emulate the players who had captured our imagination that summer; the players of England and Pakistan in 1974. The commentators had made much of Sarfraz Nawaz and the prodigious swing he was able to achieve with his bowling. We wanted to do that. Here’s a clip of possibly his finest hour, a few years later, against the Aussies:

My strongest memory, though, does not involve using any technique that the cricket coaches might deem helpful in making the ball swing…or for that matter in bowling with any form of accuracy or purpose.

No.

My strongest memory involves doing a little sideways jig at the start of the run up and then lolloping towards the crease to bowl. False memory had combined this unusual approach with Sarfraz Nawaz. His was a most memorable name; by the early 1980s expert marketeers were naming pop groups in similar rhyming style because such couplets are so memorable.

But I digress.

My research for this piece reveals that it was another Pakistan bowler whose run up had us “class of 1974” kids jigging hither and yon before bowling: Asif Masood. Here’s a clip of him bowling that year (at 2’56” and possibly other places) – dig the jig:

I would like to analyse Asif Masood’s run up a bit more. Wikipedia describes it thus:

a backward step before a loping approach to the wicket which John Arlott likened to “Groucho Marx chasing a pretty waitress”.

Whereas his Cricinfo entry describes it differently:

a bizarre start to his run-up in which he turned sideways to the wickets and leaned backwards before starting his approach.

You can judge for yourselves, dear readers, by watching the above clip. I am reminded of a Lancashire expression, which Asif Masood himself would no doubt understand now, as he married and settled in Bury after his cricket career:

‘Ere’s mi yed, mi arse is cummin.

The premature arrival of my upper torso and limbs does nothing but harm to my performance at ball sports – I’m pretty sure that the same applied to my friends on the common – but that didn’t stop us from becoming convinced that the secret of success was to emulate that run up. I’m here to tell you that we were mistaken.

Of course we didn’t want to BE these Pakistan stars; we wanted to BE the England stars. Geoff Arnold, for example, with his furtive look of teeth-gritted concentration as he ran up – we emulated that too. I cannot find a clip of Geoff Arnold bowling, but he is still hanging around at Surrey, would you believe, so you can find recent interviews and all sorts by clicking here.

Chris Old was my England bowling hero at that time. Not least because he was part of the Yorkshire team that I met five years earlier

A Short Holiday In Brighton, During Which I Met Geoffrey Boycott & The Yorkshire Cricket Team, 3 September 1969

Chris Old’s days of glory against Pakistan came four years later – this was the only fairly relevant clip of him bowling I could find – don’t blink or you’ll miss it:

Quite lollopy too, Chris Old’s run up. Not as lollopy as Asif’s, obviously, but enough lollop to enable the 11 year old impersonator to switch from being Asif to Old by the simple expedient of eliminating the sideways jig.

So who were the heroes of that summer of 1974? I’m not talking about the actual test match and ODI heroes – you can look them up through the above links for pity’s sake – no, I mean the Tooting Bec Common heroes. The 11/12 year olds who were performing far more exciting feats of glory. No “three test matches – all drawn” for us.

I’m struggling to remember, so will simply brain dump what little remains in my brain in the hope that it triggers some memories in others. Apologies to those forgotten or misrepresented through inclusion.

Andrew (now Andy) Levinson lived in our street and was a perennial companion in those games. Stuart Harris (no relation; one of the “Naff Harris’s” from the posh end of the road) would sometimes join us, for sure.

I recall getting into a scrape with David Pavesi, Andy and others, when some bigger boys thought we were on their patch, but I think that might have been Clapham Common nearer to the Pavesi house, as I recall Mrs Pavesi nursing our bruises and egos after the incident. I don’t recall David venturing to join us at Tooting Bec but he might have done.

Alan Cooke would often come around to my place and I suspect that some of those games involved him.

Other Alleyn’s folk, such as Paul Deacon and Jonathan Barnett, were certainly cricket lovers with whom I watched and talked cricket, but I don’t recall playing cricket with them in the holidays. I also remember talking cricket a lot with Richard Hollingshead that summer term (another story for another day), but I don’t recall playing with him.

Lloyd Green might have joined us occasionally, as might Stuart and Jeremy Starkin, Richard and Graham Laikin…although I remember those lads for football on the common, not cricket.

I don’t ever remember playing cricket with girls, not since Mandy Goldberg got hit accidentally by Richard Dennis in the primary school playground the previous year, which led to cricket being banned at Rosemead for the rest of the school year.  Click here to see the scene of the crime – that former Rosemead site now n. Family Club Balham.

What better way to get a kid like me enthused about a sport than to give it a sense of danger and prohibition. Thank you, Miss Plumridge.

To summarise, in the summer of 1974 we wanted to play cricket and we wanted to look the part. Roll the clock forward several decades and I think the following photo proves that I did indeed acquire a fair chunk of that “look the part” skill, without acquiring much, if anything, else that could be described as skill.

With thanks to Charles Bartlett for this deceptive picture of me circa 2004

But a love for a game like cricket is also a gift. I might not have been born with talent, nor could I acquire very much skill through graft or imitation, but the love of the game is certainly also a gift. And part of that love for cricket was formed as a kid, playing those silly games, emulating our heroes, on Tooting Bec Common.

A Fortnight During Which A Character Named Motel, Ted Heath & An “Elderly” 41-Year-Old Alleyn’s Alum Featured In My Diary, Late February To Early March 1974

Edward Heath & Richard Nixon, February 1973, Their Respective Falls Imminent

A few out of the ordinary matters cropped up in my diary at that time.

Sunday, 24th February 1974

NOT usual classes. Visited Motel in hospital. Kalooki 19p.

Monday, 25 February 1974

PE – v. good. Handcraft good. Cricket Banson in [??].

Tuesday, 26 February 1974

Classes good. Likely Lads, v good.

Wednesday, 27 February 1974

Chemistry, good. Fives v good though I lost 16–14, 10–15, 15–10.

Thursday, 28 February 1974

Election day. Classes, polling station. Annex, 440–700.

Friday, 1 March 1974.

Election cliff hanger. Water polo, good. Drama, good.

Saturday 2 March 1974

School morn, good. Penalty prize good. Exam tomorrow – prepared.

Sunday…Visited Motel In Hospital…

Motel was someone my Grandma Anne had picked up along the way. Goodness knows where she found him…probably in a kosher hotel in Bournemouth. Or in central casting having asked for “an alte kaker from the schmutter trade”.

“…even a poor tailor is entitled to some happiness!” Presumably Motel, Fiddler On The Roof, Otterbein University Theatre & Dance from USA, CC BY-SA 2.0

Grandma Anne’s friend Motel was always nice to me but consistently promised more than he ever delivered. On one occasion he told me that he was going to make me a little velvet suit…I’m still waiting. Not that I think, in retrospect, that I was or am the little velvet suit type.

I’m pretty sure it was on this occasion, in hospital, wired up to a cardiogram machine, that Motel, hand shaking, “gave me a little something”, probably 10p, which, according to my father, sent Motel’s cardiogram readings haywire. Perhaps my dad exaggerated for effect.

Monday…The Banson Mystery

Until this week, my cricket training reports had been either pithy – “good / v good” or explaining my own derring-do such as taking catches or wickets. This week I mention something pertaining to Mr Banson and I cannot for the life of me read the word. Here’s the entry blown up and enhanced as best Photoshop can:

So what was “Banson in…?” My memory of him is mostly as an impatient, old school games master whose motivational technique was primarily based on applying his hand to the boys’ heads with some force.

I would really appreciate it if the hive mind of Alleyn’s alums were to transliterate the offending word/words.

Rest Of the Week

A rare mention of loss in the fives on Wednesday. The unnamed warrior who beat me was almost certainly Alan Cooke.

Thursday and Friday I am clearly pre-occupied with the general election. I have no idea what 440-700 means in that context on the Thursday – possibly the number of people they estimated to have voted at that Synagogue-annex-cum-polling-station in Brixton. Marcus Lipton prevailed in that constituency, which will have pleased my mum who always spoke very highly of him.

No idea what “Penalty prize” means. I don’t think it was a TV show – perhaps it was something we did as games on a Saturday at school.

Sunday, 3 March 1974

Exam went well. Andrew [Levinson] came for lunch, editing learned how to splice.

Monday for March 1974

Cricket good. HEATH RESIGNED.

Tuesday, 5 March 1974

Art papier-mâché. Classes good. Okay walk.

Wednesday, 6 March 1974

Fives, v good. Instruction from elderly man – played in old and new courts.

Thursday, 7 March 1974

Physics 9 out of 10. Classes paper. Purim at Bolingbroke – female singer.

Friday, 8 March 1974

Water polo scored and saved goal. Drama v good.

Saturday, 9 March 1974

School morning. Typed play in afternoon. Doctor Who v good.

I’m a little surprised to see “learned how to splice” at such an age – I thought I’d been editing tapes from an earlier age than that. But on reflection, I realise that the splicing method required for reel-to-reel tape included an open blade and my guess is that my dad needed convincing that I was ready to use something as potentially dangerous (to myself I hasten to add) as an open blade.

Still available from places like ebay

Monday: Our Political Correspondent Writes

I love the fact that “Cricket Good” is trumped by, in block capitals, HEATH RESIGNED on the Monday.

Tuesday: Spelling Bee

My attempt to spell papier-mâché has to be seen in the original to be believed. Still, how would you have spelt it, dear reader, had you not seen my spell-checked version in this article?

Wednesday: Rugby Fives Tuition From Elderly Man, Aged 41

When I raised the matter of this “elderly man” with Mike Jones a few years ago, he informed me that it must have been John Pretlove, a name that rang a bell. A fine county cricketer and doyen of Rugby Fives, John was, at that time, often at a loose end and would come down to his alma mater, Alleyn’s, to watch and give informal instruction to the boys.

I was a little shocked when Mike told me that John was 41 in early 1974.

“But I seem to remember having to help the elderly man down from the viewing bench when he offered to help me”, I said. “He was already not in good shape by the early 1970s”, said Mike, “he’d worn out a lot of parts playing multiple sports”..

This might have been the occasion that Barry Banson had clipped me around the back of the head and called me “uncoachable” in front of John. I was upset, as I had been humiliated in front of this senior fellow. But after I helped John Pretlove down from the viewing bench he showed me what he thought Banson was trying to show me – getting my front leg well forward, getting right down to the ball and using my shoulder to give the ball some humpty around the walls. It became my best shot, both left and right-handed.

Rest Of The Week

I’m not sure which was the greater miracle – me scoring 9/10 in a physics test or me scoring and saving a goal at water polo. Several of the people in my year who really were good at water polo might read this piece at some point. Please let me know what you think…as if you guys need any encouragement to let me know what you think.

I’m not sure which of our “plays” this might have been, but this was the fruit of our drama class so it is just possible that this “typing of play” reference is about the Greek classics piece I have previously written about.

Sir (Ian Sandbrook) certainly won’t remember, but he might just be able to make out what I was saying about Mr Banson on that first Monday of this fortnight. After all, Mr Sandbrook had a lot of practice trying to make out my scrawl 9and that of others) 50 years ago. Here’s the extract again, in colour this time.

My Fifth Birthday Party, Standard 8 Home Movie & Photos, Woodfield Avenue, cAugust 1967

I’m pretty sure my fifth birthday party was not held on my birthday because so many people were going to be away late August, including us.

I vaguely recall mum telling me that it was due to be held soon after school broke up but lots of people had measles/mumps/chicken pox or whatever was doing the rounds that season, so they rescheduled the party.

So perhaps it was held in early August.

It certainly looks summery from the cine film and photos.

Dad did a pretty good job of filming this event. Not exactly taxing on his skills.

There are a few photos too – click here for the album. The cutest photo is shown below.

 

Andrew & Fiona Come To Play, Standard 8 Home Movie, Woodfield Avenue, c August 1966

This is a supremely cute little home movie, including “an outbreak of” kissing and eventually “an outbreak of” squabbling. Not quite a Tarrantino ending but…

…I certainly sense Dad’s cinematographic machinations all over this piece – good on him.

It was filmed at our house.

I’m no expert on children’s ages, but although mum and dad guessed summer of 1967 (making me and Andrew about 5 and Fiona about 4), from reviewing other materials (photos and cine), I think this one might be a year earlier, 1966, with me and Andrew around 4 and Fiona 3.

I’m pretty sure the birthday party film – click here – is 1967 and I think we look a little older in that one – although no less cute.