…one might have expected the week to have become less exciting as it went on – not a bit of it:
Here follow transcriptions and explanations of the highlights:
Wednesday 17 August 1983 – …Chinese meal for lunch – met Jim [Bateman]after work in Bloomsbury – quite pleasant. [This was no doubt similar to after work “meetings” reported previously]
Thursday 18 August 1983 – Lotsa work to do today – went to Daquise with Ashley [Michaels] after work in evening.
Ashley had an approved, private evening job arrangement with one of the firm’s client’s, Daquise Restaurant, to keep the books of account in good order ahead of audit. Over the years I went there with Ashley after work a few times – a symbiotic combination of mentoring and helping him to get his tasks done.
The following wonderful video shows more, for those who like this sort of thing. Very slow start (the first two minutes is very dull) but after that the acrobatics is simply stunning and the “interview” hilarious:
Serge Ganjou was ever present at Daquise in those days, so I got to know him quite well on the back of my visits with Ashley. Serge’s wife, Juanita, was also there in the restaurant sometimes. Ashley and I were always fed on those occasions – I already had a taste for that sort of Central/Eastern European food.
Friday 19 August 1983 – Work OK – Chinese lunch – quick drink after -> [then on to] Andrea’s New Mansion – stayed over.
Andrea Dean a few years earlier
Andrea’s dad Paul headed the National Physical Laboratory, which resulted, around that time, in the family taking up rather grand residence within Bushy House.
I love the casual mention of it in my diary at that time, “->Andrea’s new mansion” as if I thought I’d get used to visiting folk in mansions. Mind you, forty years later, in the autumn of 2023, for one reason…
I remember a good few fun parties and sleepovers at Andrea’s grand place – no doubt they will come up in future diary notes.
Saturday 20 August 1983 – …got back lunchtime. Lazyish afternoon – Mays [George and Winifred] came over in evening for dinner
Sunday 21 August 1983 – …Angela & Vivienne [Kessler] came to tea…
Angela & Vivienne 1980 at Auntie Francis’s place
I have no idea why (or whether) John wasn’t there. My diary squiggles are almost illegible, but I think he was away on business on that occasion.
The following week was very quiet by comparison:
Tuesday 23 August 1983 – …went over to Jilly’s for evening – most pleasant
Friday 26 August 1983 – drinks at lunch – went home – lazy evening [those were the days, eh? Half holiday ahead of a bank holiday]
Sunday 28 August 1983 – birthday – went to Inn On the Park for lunch – v nice.
All that ahead of a significant change in work pattern after the bank holiday, as I was then assigned to Laurie Krieger’s Harlequin, Pricebuster & Leisureplay empires. All will be explained in the next instalment.
That holiday weekend, my head was probably still full of adagio acrobats and mansions.
The cricket world cup final of 1983 changed the world of cricket pretty much overnight. Spoiler alert: India beat the mighty West Indies, at which point the entire population of India, which previously had not really seen the point of one day cricket, suddenly got it and adopted the shorter form of the game, for ever.
Meanwhile I was at Keele enjoying Festival Week and the entire event went unmentioned in my diary and probably largely unnoticed by me, other than reading about it in the newspapers afterwards.
That Saturday diary entry reads:
Went shopping in morn – Ashley came over in afternoon – we all went to Candles – Pat came over after.
“All” will have included Liza O’Connor (then my girlfriend) and Wendy Robbins who was visiting for a few days, as well as Ashley Fletcher.
Candles was a restaurant – in Hanley if I remember correctly.
I owe Pat a massive apology but I cannot recall who he (or she) might have been. Pat has other similar mentions in the diary around that time but those mentions aren’t helping my memory. Perhaps someone else (or Pat personally) might find this piece and chime in.
I do recall a bit of an atmosphere during that Wendy visit; I’m not sure that Liza appreciated Wendy’s presence and I’m pretty sure that I didn’t appreciate Liza’s lack of appreciation.
Wendy was (and still is) a big personality and I suspect that Liza felt somewhat upstaged. We were all very young then.
I also missed seeing any of the 1979 final, in which England lost out to the West indies in the second cricket world cup; no doubt because no-one else at Alleyn’s school was sufficiently willing to score a first team cricket match rather than watch the final:
But I have a seemingly weak reason for missing the entirety of the 1983 semi-final, in which India made short-shrift of England, while on their way to that historic trophy-lifting victory in the third cricket world cup.
So what could possibly have prevented me from hanging up those boots and spending at least some of the day watching the cricket on TV? It was, after all, festival week, a time of year that I especially loved at Keele, after all the term work and exams were over, when I could enjoy all that Keele had to offer without even the slightest pang of guilt.
The relevant passage reads (and yes I did need a magnifying glass and some deep thought to translate it):
Rose early – went – hitched- to London to see Sean and Marlenne [sic] – got train home – tired and pissed off after.
Sean and Marlene (I’m pretty sure I have spelt the name wrong in the diary) were the brother and sister-in-law respectively of my then girlfriend, Liza.
This was the one and only time I hitched all the way from Keele to London and it was an experience that, clearly, I was so keen not to repeat that I insisted on us getting the train home rather than trying to hitch home.
I don’t remember all that much about that London-bound, hitch-hiking journey other than the several discomforts of it; both physical (when sitting in passenger seats of 1970s/1980s lorries and mental (when I got that creepy feeling that the driver was more interested in my winsome, blond companion, Liza, than in the communitarian/sharing economy principles of helping a young couple who were hitch-hiking).
Sean and Marlene were (possibly still are) a very nice, very welcoming couple who lived in Stanmore. Sean, like Liza, had been raised in Keele itself, so they were not natural London sub-urbanites but seemed to fit into that mould very readily.
I recall that Sean was a hairdresser and the other thing that sticks in my mind is that they lived next door to a chap who had been in The Vibrators.
The diary entry infers that this day did not please me greatly. I am sure this was not Sean and Marlene’s fault; nor should I really blame Liza who had probably suggested the idea ages before – i.e. long before I realised that this 300 round trip to visit family in Stanmore was scheduled for bang slap in the middle of Festival Week and the day of the cricket world cup semi final to boot.
You can watch the highlights of the cricket match below:
https://youtu.be/8P4Rq9mtxhc
Highlights (or should I say lowlights?) of the debates Liza and I might well have had about the quality of that day out and the possible repetition of such excursions are, mercifully, not available.
It seems I spent the last full week of March 1983 trying to catch up with my class work (glandular fever had seriously disrupted that second term of my P2 year) and spending plenty of time with my girlfriend Liza. Also I signed on (as we had to do in those days if we wanted money to cover our holiday weeks) in Newcastle, as I was planning on spending most of the Easter break at Keele, not in London.
In addition to Liza, I mention Veera [Bachra] in my diary that week. Veera was a lovely lass who lived in the Barnes flat on the opposite side to ours (L52 I suppose – ours was L54).
It might have been on this occasion that I remember Veera discussing with me her very serious worry that her parents, who were traditionally Sikh, planned to arrange a marriage for her with the son of some family friends. As I recall it, she felt she was in a very difficult situation as it was not, culturally, in her gift to reject the proposal. The man could reject the woman but if the woman were to reject the man, that would bring shame on her family and a rift with the friends.
Too Much Too Young – picture produced in collaboration with Dall-E
I asked Veera about the “lad”, whom she thought was a nice enough fellow – very good at maths – but not for her. I suggested that Veera conspire with the lad, explain how she felt and suggest to him that it might be best for all concerned if he chose to reject her. I also recall Veera telling me with delight that the plan had worked when we returned from the break.
My own issues with parents (more specifically my mother) and relationships were, on the face of it, less serious. But I was spending a lot of time with Liza by then and could hardly disguise the fact that I was only going to spend a week or so in London that break – some of it with Liza. Let’s just say that mum did not react very well to the idea of me going steady with a non-Jewish girl.
A Week Or So In London For Passover & Easter
Anyway, after my return to London, I spent some time with my parents, Michael and Pam (Harris uncle and aunt) on the Sunday, then Seder night “just with the Aarons” [Lionel & Dinah] on the Monday.
By the Wednesday, I had toddled off again, to spend 24-36 hours with Liza in the company of her brother and sister-in-law, Shaun and Marlene, who lived in Stanmore. I recall that Shaun was a hairdresser and also that they lived next door to a former member of a punk band – I think it was The Vibrators – which I remember thinking at the time made Shaun and Marlene extremely cool. Only with the benefit of hindsight do I sense that the musician in question was, presumably, not particularly cool. Further, his proximity to Shaun and Marlene had no bearing on their coolness or lack thereof.
I’m not sure what “lunch at Marlene’s” comprised but I’m guessing that she worked in town and that Liza and I went to the flicks to see The Dark Crystal in central London somewhere before retreating to Stanmore. I recall little about The Dark Crystal other than not liking it very much. It will have been its muppetness that drew me in, whereas Liza did like fantasy epic stories.
I have no recollection of taking Liza to dad’s shop, nor to Anil [Biltoo]’s house, but if the diary says we did that, we did just that. What Liza made of the zombie business that was my dad’s shop by 1983 goodness only knows. It is possible that my purpose was, in part, to get dad on-side in the matter of calming my mother down about Liza!
Dad’s shop in the 1950s, but it looked little different in the 1980s
An evening with Paul [Deacon] will have been heavily music related and I do recall spending a large percentage of my short stay at my parents’ house that time recording mix tapes and scraping albums onto cassettes.
A blog piece on the music from those recording sessions (plus those of my friends and/or lovers made for me) will surely follow.
Good Friday visiting Grandma Jenny and Uncle Louis [Barst] – the latter being Jenny’s brother. Marie (Louis’s wife) must have died by then and Grandma Jenny will only very recently have moved from Brixton to Surbiton in order to live with her recently widowed brother.
Grandma Jenny a few years later
It was an arrangement that worked very well, both until Louis’s death and then afterwards as Grandma Jenny lived out her dotage as a superannuated trustafarian, thanks to the forethought of Louis and Marie. Mum was frantic about this new arrangement at the time, feeling that Jenny would be too far away and wondering what would happen to her if/when Louis passed away before Jenny.
On Easter Sunday I went to Makro in Charlton with my parents. I might write more about Makro some other time – our heyday of going there was in my schooldays. I wasn’t wild about the place (I never much liked shopping) but my dad liked it. I found it useful for getting some albums at low price and cheap stationery for my student life. The place encouraged you to over-purchase. Forty to fifty years later, I still stumble across some as yet unused stationery from there.
Easter Monday at Il Caretto in Streatham, about which I have waxed lyrical previously and no doubt will do so again. That would have been just me, mum and dad. I suspect the food was hot enough but the atmosphere with mum decidedly cold.
Liza was a bit poorly on my return to Keele, but she soon felt better and we did a fair few things together before the new term started.
I’m not sure which Sleeping Beauty we went to see – it might have been the Disney (which I still think is a great animated movie) or it might have been one of the Sleeping Beauty updates that were all the rage in the 1980s. Not sure I’d have tolerated a bum-numbing 160 minutes of ballet, though.
Keele film buff Tony Sullivan helpfully chipped in with listings, which prove, by dint of the show times, that Liza and I must have seen the Disney:
Tony admits that he went, not Sleeping Beauty, but to see Caligula. With the benefit of hindsight, I might have got more out of seeing the latter, as I had seen Sleeping Beauty before.
Tony also proves that Liza and I probably saw The Dark Crystal at The Plaza (although it might have been the Classic Oxford Street):
Many thanks for that top class web-sleuthing, on my behalf Tony. And now, back to the main story.
Back To The Main Story
I also recall enjoying some hospitality from Liza’s parents, who were, I think, keen to bond a bit with me (and Liza) ahead of Liza slipping away from their nest (The Sneyd Arms in Keele Village)…
…to a less salubrious welling in Shelton (more convenient for her third term at North Staffs Poly) to share with her friends Mike and Mandy.
Two events during that period stick in my mind.
One was going off early in the morning with Liza and Geoff (her dad) to collect some stocks of food from his wholesaler for the pub. At one of the roundabouts just outside Newcastle, we encountered a queue of perhaps four or five cars ahead of us. It took nearly a minute to get onto the roundabout. Geoff exclaimed:
…it’s traffic jams almost all the time around here now – it gets worse and worse!
I remember thinking that, in London, we wouldn’t even consider such a minor queue as traffic, let alone a jam.
My other memory was of a family meal upstairs at The Sneyd (presumably one of Geoff’s days off), where they had prepared a joint of venison for our dinner. I think it was the first time I ever tasted venison. Certainly the first time at a family table. It all felt very English and I did like the taste of it.
Most of my diary notes from that period suggest that I had my head down working at that time. My impressionistic memory tells me that I was quite urgently seeking to switch from halls in Lindsay to a flat in Barnes at that time, although the diary is silent on that matter until a bit later in the month, when I pulled off that switch.
Still, the diary highlights some interesting events at Keele and an eventful trip to London at that time. Forty years on, it’s time for me to share the highlights.
Friday 5 February 1982 – …stayed in most of evening apart from dreadful film, “The Main Event“.
Yup, that’s not my kind of movie. Never mind.
Saturday 6 February 1982 – Went to Newcastle quite late. Did very little work really. Went to Michelle [Epstein]’s party in evening. Sharon & Louise came back after.
Richard van Baaren &/or Benedict Coldstream might well also have been at that party, as I recall Sharon & Louise being part of that crowd. No mention of Anju on this occasion – perhaps she had something else on. We missed Mari Wilson & The Imaginations for that party, so for sure there were other things to do on campus that night. At that stage, I think Michelle was going out with a character named Joel. I don’t think Michelle got together with Neil [Infield] whom she married – I kept in touch with both of them for many years – until much later in our time at Keele.
Sunday 7 February 1982 – Did some work during day. Went to see Carrie & Scanners in afternoon/evening + did some more work
I have one very clear memory from that psycho-thriller movie double bill at Film Soc. I went to see those movies with a young woman whose name completely escapes me. She was a close friend of Katie’s (aka Cathy) – she of my dad’s embarrassing moment a few month’s earlier. Those two were very close pals of each other and I remained a casual pal with both of them for much of my time at Keele
Update: Katie (Cathy) has put me back in touch with Linda (Jones), who was that young woman at Film Soc 40+ years ago.
In fact, we might not even have gone to those movies “as a date” but possibly both ambled along there solo and simply chosen to sit next to each other, as Film Soc folk often did.
*** Spoiler alert for the movie Carrie ***
At the end of Carrie, the following “jump scare” scene occurs:
…at which point, my young woman friend screamed, jumped and pretty much landed in my lap. Fortunately for me she was quite a skinny, light girl, so she did me no immediate damage. Nor did she injure herself with her jump, other than a little injured pride perhaps as she couldn’t stop apologising for her scare-movie-timidity for the rest of the event.
Ever since then, I haven’t been able to think of the movie Carrie, nor even jump scares in movies generally, without thinking about that young woman and her reaction to that wonderful scene. I was reminded of it the other day (as I write in February 2022), almost exactly 40 years on, when a young woman in front of me and Janie at The Royal Court jumped almost out of her skin at the pre-interval coup de theatre in The Glow:
In February 1982, I didn’t think Scanners was in the same league as Carrie.
Monday 8 February 1982 – …went to [Barnes] G3 for dinner…
It was the G3 crowd (which I think included Rana Sen and Kath), who helped me to find my Barnes flat. I have a feeling that the cunning plan that led to my flat room-for-halls room swap a few week’s later might well have been seeded at that very dinner. More on that swap next time.
Tuesday 9 February 1982 – …went to see Gloria in evening – OK-ish.
Again, not my kind of movie I feel.
Wednesday 10 February 1982 – very busy day – tutorials moved etc. J-Soc committee & Internal Affairs – very busy day all in all. Presidential forum – Simon [Jacobs] & Jon [Gorvett] came back for coffee.
I only vaguely remember being on Internal Affairs committee. Spike Humphrey (who was VP Internal that year) had been a leading light on Concourse the previous year, so I suspect that I was “open to Spiky persuasion” when asked. Forty years on, a simple googling of the fellow, still with his Keele nickname, finds him still doing committees. In the fulness of time that link won’t work, but here is a scrape of it in February 2022.
The controversy-ridden presidential election for 82/83 will have been the following day, but I make no mention of the election in my diary, perhaps because I wasn’t really involved with such things at that time. Yes, Truda Smith, who had, until recently, been going our with Jon Gorvett, was one of the candidates. But I didn’t actually support Truda for that election; I was supporting the official Labour candidate, a lovely lass named Jan Phillips, whose candidacy was ill-fated, perhaps because of Truda’s or perhaps because the power-brokers-that-were (e.g. Toby Bourgein) felt that Jan was unelectable. Meanwhile the Tory contingent, mostly under the Machiavellian guidance of a chap named Chris Boden, were looking to disrupt the election process that year. I’ll explain the resulting hoo-ha next time. Seems that I simply voted on the Thursday (not a noteworthy event) and got ready for my rare London trip.
Thursday 11 February 1982 – Lazyish day – did some work. Went to buffet supper in evening – did some work after.
Friday 12 February 1982 – Left for London early afternoon – Grandma Jenny had come for dinner – injured herself – spent evening in Kings casualty
If I recall correctly, the family crisis had already started to unfurl when I arrived at my parents’ house and we all went straight off to Camberwell. Now THAT’s my idea of a Friday night out in London!
Saturday 13 February 1982 – Got up quite early. Did some taping – spoke to people. Mum & dad went out – had relaxing evening in.
Sunday 14 February 1982 – Got up late. Went to Polyanna’s for lunch. Made tapes and spoke to people for rest of the day – quite enjoyable.
I should return at some point to the tapes I was making back then, some of which catalogue the soundtrack of our lives in the early 1980s.
Not sure who dined at Polyanna’s – probably just me and my parents, as I don’t mention anyone else. Polyanna’s was a rare example back then of a proper European-style bistro restaurant on Battersea Rise. It seemed well-decent back then compared with most suburban fare. Now The Humble Grape.
Monday 15 February 1982 – Met Caroline [Freeman, now Curtis] for lunch – > came back to Keele. Went to lousy UGM in evening -> Simon’s for coffee.
The lousiness of the UGM was no doubt linked to the presidential election hoo-ha, about which more next time.
Tuesday 16 February 1982 – Busy day as usual. Worked in evening – got quite a lot done. Didn’t go out at all.
Wednesday 17 February 1982 – Useful day. Spent afternoon in the library. Went to see Andrea [Collins, now Woodhouse] in early evening -> John Cooper Clarke -> Simon & Jon came back – up till quite late.
I am relieved to see several mentions of Simon Jacobs in the diary around this time, as Janie and I are seeing him for lunch tomorrow – Simon doesn’t much like these forty years on pieces unless he gets a few mentions!
I remember the John Cooper Clarke concert very fondly and am really glad I attended it.
Dave Lee’s book The Keele Gigs! has more on the topic of this concert. Dave kindly not only reminded me but sent me a copy of support act, Mightier than Kong, singing their only minor hit, a rather good cover version of Hey Girl Don’t Bother Me.
As for John Cooper Clarke himself, Evidently Chickentown went down extremely well, as did most of his set. Here is an audio of a live performance from around that time (late 1981). Trigger warning: contains…indeed more or less comprises…bad language.
I also recall a Ringroad sketch entitled John Cooper Clarke which was a parody of a JCC poem, each verse of which ended with the line “John Cooper Clarke”, each preceded by an increasingly bizarre simile which rhymed with Clarke. Was it one of yours, Frank Dillon? I might have a copy of it in my “Ringroad cornflake box copies file” at the flat – if so I’ll scan it and upload it in the next week or so.
There is an internet adage known as Godwin’s Law, which states (I paraphrase) that any internet discussion will eventually descend into a Hitler comparison.
But surely my own safe space, Ogblog, can be a Hitler-free site? Well, up to a point.
I had a massive recovered memory over New Year 2018, because Janie, bless her, decided to treat us to a quiet caviar-fest:
I don’t suppose this is making any sense at all to the casual reader, so I had better get on with it and explain.
Edwina was a GP who went way beyond the call of duty.
For example, because I was…how should I put this?…more than a little fearful of my jabs as an infant, she came round to our house to dispense the vaccinations. On one famous occasion, when I was feeling particularly averse to being stabbed, Edwina indicated to mum that my rump might make a better target in the circumstances. I worked out the coded message and tried to bolt. The end result was a chase around the room and eventually a rather undignified bot shot delivered by Edwina under the dining room table – I was, later in life, oft reliably reminded by my mum.
Not even the trike was fast enough for me to escape Edwina’s needle
This extraordinary level of pastoral care and attentiveness went beyond zealously inoculating reluctant Harris miniatures – Edwina and her family became close friends with our immediate family, Uncle Manny’s branch of the family and especially Grandma Anne:
Grandma Anne With Dad (left) & Uncle Michael (right), c1930
In the early 1970s, at Christmas-time, my parents would go to Edwina’s house for a seasonal party, along with many other patients and members of the local community. Naturally, my parents plied Edwina and her family with gifts…many of Edwina’s other patients and guests most certainly did the same.
A strange tradition arose around that time, in which Edwina reciprocated our present giving by handing down a generous gift she would always receive from a family of wealthy Iranian patients; an enormous jar (I think a pound; probably twice the size of the jar shown in the photo below) of Iranian Beluga caviar:
By Mai Le [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia CommonsEdwina and family didn’t like the taste of caviar. Nor did my dad, as it happens. But mum loved it and I acquired a seasonal taste for it too.
Each year, mum and I would eat Beluga caviar on toast for breakfast for the first couple of weeks of the year.
Even back then caviar, especially Beluga caviar, was very expensive. Not equivalent to the “critically endangered, barely legal, hard to get hold of” price levels of today, but still very much a pricey, luxury item.
I remember mum warning me not to tell my friends at school that I was eating caviar on toast for breakfast, because they would surmise that I was a liar or that we were a rich family or (worst of all) both.
There was only one problem with this suburban community idyll; Mr Knipe. Don Knipe. Edwina’s husband.
Don liked his drink. Specifically Scotch whisky. More specifically, Teacher’s, as it happens. A bottle of Teacher’s always formed part of our family Christmas gift offering, but that sole bottle formed a tiny proportion of Don’s annual intake.
By ramkrsna (http://www.flickr.com/photos/ramkrsna/384365364/) [CC BY-SA 2.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia CommonsEven when I was quite little, I remember being warned that Don Knipe was eccentric, that I shouldn’t pay much heed to some of the silly things he says, etc. But I guess as the years went on, Don’s eccentricities gained focus and unpleasantness. Specifically, Don’s views became increasingly and extremely right wing. He joined the National Front, at that time the most prominent far-right, overtly fascist party in the UK.
I recall one year, when I was already in my teens, my parents returned early from the Knipe/Green party. I learned that Don Knipe had acquired a large bust of Hitler, which was being proudly displayed as a centrepiece in the living room. My mother had protested to Don about the bust, asking him to remove it, but to no avail. Mum had taken matters into her own hands by rotating the bust by 180 degrees. When Don insisted on rotating Hitler’s bust back to its forward-facing position, mum and dad left the party in protest.
Mum explained to Don and Edwina that they remained welcome at our house but that she would not be visiting their house while Hitler remained on show.
One evening, just a few weeks or months later, I think, my parents had Edwina and Don (and some other people) around at our house. The topic of Hitler and Nazi atrocities came up. Don started sounding off about the Holocaust not really having been as bad as people made out.
Edwina And Don At My Bar Mitzvah, Natch.
My father stood up and quietly told me to go upstairs to my bedroom. I scampered up the stairs but hovered on the landing out of view to get a sense of what was happening.
My father was a very gentle man. I only remember him being angry twice in my whole life; this was one of those occasions.
“You f***ing c***!”, I heard my dad exclaim.
I learned afterwards that my father, not a big man but a colossus beside the scrawny form of Don Knipe, had pinned Don to the wall and gone very red in the face while delivering his brace of expletives.
I heard the sound of a bit of a kerfuffle, a few more angry exchanges, ending with “get out of my house”. Then I heard Don and Edwina leave the house. Edwina was weeping, apologising and trying to explain that Don doesn’t know or mean what he says.
Dad – a supremely gentle fellow…usually
The story gets weirder as the years roll forward. Edwina remained our family doctor, although social visits were now at an end. Uncle Manny’s branch of the family and Grandma Anne continued to spend a great deal of time socially with the Knipe/Green family.
Most importantly, for this story, the seasonal exchange of gifts remained sacrosanct.
For reasons I find hard to fathom, I became the conduit for the seasonal gift exchange. Why my parents (specifically, my mother, who organised the errand) felt that I would be less defiled then they were by visiting a household that displays a bust of Hitler, I have no idea.
Maybe it shows that mum had great confidence in my judgement such that, even as a teenager, I wouldn’t be corrupted by Knipe’s vile views…or his habits. But perhaps the lure of a huge jar of Beluga caviar was so great that all other concerns and considerations went out of mum’s mental window.
Anyway, for several years I would go to Edwina and Don’s house to deliver our presents and collect the fishy swag. I think there was an unwritten rule that I didn’t go into the large living room where Hitler’s bust lived; the Knipe/Greens had quite a large house – I would usually be received in a smaller front drawing room.
As I got a bit older, Don would ask me to join him for a whisky and a cigarette on these occasions; offers which I accepted.
My diaries are utterly silent on this annual ritual, other than, each year, the mention of the word “shopping” on one day in the run up to Christmas. I vaguely recall that I would always bundle the errand with my single little shopping spree to get small gifts for my immediate family. The shopping trip provided a suitable time window; a smoke screen (as it were) and a bit of a sobering up period from the underage drinking involved.
Don never raised political topics when I made those seasonal visits. He’d make the occasional oblique reference to it being a shame that he didn’t see my parents socially any more. I can’t recall what we talked about. I think he just asked me how I was getting on and we chatted vaguely about my family and the weather.
But I do recall what we talked about on my last visit in this ritual. 1981.
Grandma Anne never really recovered from the shock of Uncle Manny’s demise and died in the autumn that same year.
By late December 1981 I had completed four terms of University at Keele and was far more politically aware/sensitive than I had been in earlier years.
Don greeted me at the front door, as usual, but this time said, “come through to the living room and have a whisky with me.”
“Not if Hitler is still in there,” I said.
“Oh don’t start all that”, blustered Don, who I think must have made a start on the whisky before I got to the house that morning. “I really want to chat to you about your late uncle and your grandma.” Don started to cry.
I relented and entered the forbidden chamber.
There was the bust of Hitler, resplendently positioned with books about the Third Reich and such subjects on display around it.
I accepted a generous slug of Teacher’s and a Rothmans; then I reluctantly sat down.
Don was crying. “I miss your Uncle Manny and your Grandma Anne so much”, he said, “you have no idea how fond of them I was. I love your family.”
I remember saying words to this effect, “Don, I understand that you sincerely love my family, but I cannot reconcile that love with Hitler, Nazi memorabilia, your membership of the National Front and you keeping company with those who hold such views. Those are antisemitic, out-and-out racist organisations and people. It makes no sense to me.”
“It’s not about Jewish people like your family. I love your family.”
“So what sort of people is it about?” I asked.
“Other people. You don’t understand”, said Don.
To that extent Don was right. I didn’t understand. I still don’t understand. It isn’t as if members of our family were so secular and Westernised that you wouldn’t recognise the family as ethnic. Uncle Manny’s branch of the family were (I believe still are) traditional, orthodox practitioners of Judaism.
“Godwin’s Law, Godwin’s Schmo, Don Was Always A Mensch Towards Me”
So I don’t understand who or what these “other people” might be, nor why someone like Don Knipe would be attracted to racist ideologies, despite knowing (and even loving) plenty of good decent local people from diverse ethnic groups.
I think I was polite in making my excuses and leaving fairly quickly. The visit certainly didn’t end in any acrimony or hostility. But I did resolve not to run that errand again and (as far as I recall) didn’t visit the Knipe/Green house again.
Strange case.
All that memory came flooding back simply as a result of sampling caviar with Janie…
…and returning to Keele, I squeezed in quite a lot of activity.
Some of the activity is more than a little illegible or indecipherable. I know that Lloyd Green and I were working hard those last couple of weeks towards a Keele racism awareness day, Anti-Facsist Day as it was badged. That activity, at places such as Hillel House, needed to be co-ordinated around the Jewish Holidays – Rosh Hashanah (New Year) was 30 September/1 October that year. Col Nidre/Yom Kippur 7/8 October.
Interspersed with those activities (with minimal regard for the rigours of the Jewish holidays on my part) were plenty of socials:
Sunday 27 September …Anil [Biltoo]’s for dinner party…
Wednesday 30 September …Met Jim[Bateman] at Rose & Crown…
Friday 2 October …Paul [Deacon] came over in the evening
Saturday 3 October …Anil came over for supper – went on to a party with him & friends -> back to Anil’s till early hours
OMG – “buy books” – at last a mention of something that might be vaguely connected with preparing for a new academic year at Keele. I was certainly preparing well for the social side of it.
Even by 1981 the congregation was on the wane; just a few dozen people. I was one of a handful of younger people who would still show their faces there.
I’ll write more about that congregation elsewhere, but I was reminded recently (forty years on) of one regular attendee on those high-holy days, Miriam Margolyes, who would regularly attend with her partner. Far and away the most interesting “nodding acquaintances” amongst what was mostly a small group of traditional old men.
With all of that effort preparing an honourable education campaign against racism and the many hours spent atoning for my first year at Keele, I might have anticipated an easy time getting back to University the next day.
But no.
Friday 9 October 1981 – Left home midday – [Lloyd Green’s] car broke down – arrived late – key not to be found – stayed at John’s
By my reckoning, the journey to Keele from Streatham would normally be about three hours, so Lloyd and I clearly had quite a lengthy ordeal as a result of that break down. I don’t remember the details – Lloyd might of course and I’ll certainly report back here with his remembrances, if he has any. It might be that breakdowns twixt Keele and Streatham were a fairly regular event for him back then.
I think “The Lloydmobile” was something like this
I owe “John” both thanks and an apology. Thanks for putting me up/putting up with me that night and apologies because I have no idea which “John” this diary mention is talking about. If there is a John out there who wants to put up his hand and claim the merits for this act of charity, please chime in with your claim.
Saturday 10 October 1981 – Rose Early – Freshers Mart – went to town after. Simon [Jacobs]’s party quite good in evening.
Judging from the headline picture above from 10 October 2021 – thanks again Dave Lee – Freshers Mart has not changed much in forty years. Did I mention that Dave is at Freshers Mart forty years on selling his wonderful book The Keele Gigs!?
I have managed to rescue an old reel-to-reel tape, nearly 40 years after it was made and given to me by Paul Deacon.
I went through a process of digitising all my old reel-to-reels around 2008, but this small spool, which Paul named The Free Bonus LP, was accidentally missed out of that process.
Being me, though, I hadn’t scrapped the box of tapes, nor had I scrapped the trusty Sony TC377 tape recorder, I had merely decommissioned the machine and put all the stuff into storage in the City.
Then, a few weeks ago, my good friend John White asked me if I still had a reel-to-reel, as he and his sister Pippa had found some old reels while clearing his late parents’ house. In good pal mode, I went to the storage basement, rescued the machine and schlepped the weighty object back to my flat.
While in the storage room, I thought I’d have a quick look for the missing Paul Deacon spool which, for kind reasons of its own, had found its way to the top of the first box of spools I opened.
Having completed the White stuff, I ventured this morning to The Free Bonus LP and what a treat it was to hear it again after all these years.
Side One comprises Paul talking me through some dreadful versions of well-known songs, out-takes, bloopers and the like. Some of it I still found very funny. The highlight…or are we talking lowlights here?…the lowlight, then, is towards the end of Side One. A gentleman named Paul Marks who was working with Paul at that time on the hospital radio station Radio Kings. Paul Marks’s blooper about a Renaissance dance troupe’s costumes is comedy gold, as is Paul Deacon’s seething interview with Paul Marks about it for a single listener, me, on The Free Bonus LP.
Ladies, gentlemen and children, I give you, Side One:
Side One in all its glory
Side Two is a collection of five comedic/novelty recordings.
I especially like the first one, Bo Dudley, while recognising today how very un-PC is some the language used.
Hearing this tape again also reminded me how very funny The Heebie Jeebies were…indeed still are.
So here it is….Side Two:
Side Two
Paul and I used to spend hours putting compliation tapes together for each other – Paul I think more prolific in doing so than me. I have digital copies of all of those and this is, I think, the only recording that had, until today (7 February 2020) remained undigitised.
I realise that this one in particular must have taken ages to pull together. I probably never thanked you properly or enough for those efforts, Paul…
…again, until today. Many, many thanks for The Free Bonus LP, Paul.
…and how do you know to date the thing 26 September 1981?…
…I hear you cry. Because Paul, helpfully, stuck a label with the date on the spool. Thanks again, Paul.
…a rather sedate week of work with very few socials thrown in: lunch with Caroline (Freeman, now Curtis) on the Tuesday and dinner at Anil (Biltoo)’s place on Saturday evening.
“Lazyish day” on the Saturday would have mostly comprised watching the third day of the Old Trafford Ashes test on the TV, much as “relaxing evenings” on the two preceding days would have included hunkering down in front of the old B&W TV in the tiny spare room to watch the highlights.
My faint memory only recalls that Saturday as “Ian Botham going berserk, scoring runs for fun, all-but winning the match for England, as usual”, because, to the youthful me, that was an unremarkable norm in the summer of 1981. The Ridiculous Ashes podcast provides more detail on that match and that day, in particular the contrasting sloth of Chris Tavaré that day. Scorecard ? – the match panned out like this.
I probably discussed the cricket with Mr Feld that day, as was our wont by that time. Feld might even have been listening to the match on his transistor radio behind the counter, as Day Four of this match was played on the Sunday – an experimental thing for some of the tests that year, I believe.
There is no doubt in my mind that Grandma Anne will have implored Mr Feld to shake the borscht jar, eaten her last plate of borscht that day and that she would have berated Mr Feld with the phrase, “your borscht tastes like vorter today” had the borscht not been up to snuff…which, frankly, it almost certainly wasn’t.
As the diary scribbles attest, Grandma Anne was taken into hospital in the early hours of the following Tuesday morning. Apart from a dinner at Anil’s on the Thursday and dinner with Michael and Pam on Saturday (who were no doubt primarily in the area visiting Grandma), my life was all work and visiting Grandma for a few days.
Here’s what I wrote in the diary for the following few days:
Sunday 23 August 1981 – Went to hospital – bad news – returned – back to hospital – G. Anne died.
Monday 24 August 1981 – Went round sorting out admin side. Met Uncle Michael – returned home.
Tuesday 25 August 1981 – Lavoyah (funeral) & shivah (mourning) today – tiring and gruelling.
Wednesday 26 August 1981 – Back to work – too much of – did little in evening.
Thursday 27 August 1981 – Met Jilly [Black] for lunch. Spoke to several people in evening.
Friday 28 August 1981 – Nothing special for b’day – work as usual – slap up meal in evening.
Saturday 29 August 1981 – Lazy day – went to Grandma Jenny for lunch – shopped a little – lazy evening.
At that time Grandma Jenny still lived in Sandhurst Court on the Acre Lane in Brixton. I’m pretty sure that shopping spree was “down Brixton Market” to gather some bottles and jars of condiments to take back to Keele with me in a few weeks’ time, in order to try and perk up the otherwise rather bland weekend diet.
My diary, from forty years ago as I write, tells me that this was one crazy weekend, during which I zig-zagged my visiting Keele friends, Sim & Tim (Simon Ascough & Tim Woolley), hither and yon across London for a couple of days.
Sim was from Doncaster and Tim was from Moseley, South Birmingham. I have an inkling that they had never been to London before…or at least “not visited a Londoner” before.
Reading my diary and assessing the activities I inflicted upon them, they might have formed a lifelong skewed opinion on what London life is like. I’m not sure I had a weekend quite like it before or since.
Friday 7 August 1981 – A Mini Pub Crawl Following In My Alleyn’s School Footsteps
7 August – Work OK – Sim & Tim arrived -> ate -> Fox -> Dog -> met Mark from Keele -> his place ’till late
Mum will have given us all a hearty family meal on the Friday evening ahead of the mini pub crawl. I cannot remember whether we did all of our dashing around London by car or by public transport. I think it must have been the former; if so it must have been Tim who had a car with him.
That first evening, I wanted to show Sim & Tim the places I used to drink with my friends before I went to Keele. The Fox On the Hill (aka The Fox) on Denmark Hill and The Crown & Greyhound (aka The Dog) in Dulwich Village. I thought we might bump in to a few old friends from Alleyn’s in at least one of those places, but that didn’t happen.
Indeed, my most vibrant memory from that whole visit was my embarrassment in The Fox when, for the first time ever, the barman questioned whether I was old enough to buy drinks in the pub.
I remember feeling like saying…
…but I’ve been buying drinks in this pub for years…since I was fifteen… and no-one has ever questioned it before…
…but I feared that such an admission might prevent me from being served or get me barred, so I simply asserted myself as a University student down after my first year at Uni and had my word accepted.
No ID cards for pub-going youngsters in those days. Why The Fox had started asking questions all of a sudden back then I have no idea – perhaps they had experienced some youngster trouble since my previous visit.
As for “Mark from Keele” whom we met in The Dog, I’m not sure which Mark this might have been. I don’t think it was Mark Bartholomew – perhaps it was a mate of either Sim or Tim’s who lived in or near Dulwich and was named Mark.
Diary says we didn’t return to my parents house until late – in fact I am trying to work out what the sleeping arrangements might have been. There was a studio couch in the small (fourth) bedroom which was ample for one sleeping visitor but would not have been comfortable for a couple, let alone two individual sleepers. Perhaps one of them slept on the floor in a sleeping bag.
Saturday 8 August 1981
The Saturday really was a crazy day of haring around town. Allow me to translate that diary note – I needed a bright light, a magnifier and a cold towel around my head to work it all out:
8 August – Earlyish start -> Knightsbridge -> Notting Hill -> Soho – met Mark Lewis -> Ivor’s -> eats -> Hendon -> Ivor’s -> home (knackered).
Frankly, I’m knackered just reading about that day.
I’m hoping that this article will help me to track down either Sim or Tim or both of them – perhaps their memories of this day will help me to unpick it.
I suspect that we went to Knightsbridge because one (or both) of them had a crazy craving to see that place, with its Harrods & Harvey Nicks reputation.
Possibly the same applied to Notting Hill and Soho. Possibly I encouraged the Notting Hill idea, as it was, even by then, a place with a hold on my heart, not least for the second hand record stores, which I had been visiting for a few years by then.
What we got up to in Soho I have no idea. Given that, whatever it was, we did it with my old BBYO friend and now media law supremo Mark Lewis, I suggest that readers keep their baseless allegations to themselves.
…then Hendon, where I imagine we visited Melina Goldberg, as I don’t recall staying in touch with anyone else from that BBYO group…
…then back to Ivor’s – why the diary doesn’t say – perhaps Ivor had organised a bit of a gathering of old friends from Streatham BBYO – it wouldn’t have been the first time nor the last.
Sunday 9 August 1981 – Lunch & Then Wendy’s Place Before Sim & Tim Left London
Took it easy in morning -> lunch -> Wendy’s -> Sim & Tim left, I returned home & slept a lot!
What a bunch of wimps. We’d hardly done anything the day before.
Anyway…
…I’m sure mum would have wanted the visitors to have another hearty, home-cooked meal before heading off – otherwise what might they think of us?
Eat, eat…
Then on to Wendy (Robbins)’s place, in Bromley, for a final visit of the weekend.
Not sure whether any of the other Streatham BBYO people were there. Andrea possibly, Ivor possibly…
…in any case, Bromley is probably not the ideal location out of all the places we visited that weekend from which to head back to Birmingham and Doncaster on a Sunday afternoon – but those logistical details matter a lot less to 18/19 year olds than they do to me, forty years on, re-treading the tangled maze of visits that was our London odyssey that weekend.
Goodness only knows what Sim & Tim made of it at the time, nor what they might make of it now, if they see this piece and are reminded of the weekend. I’d be delighted if others, e.g. Sim and/or Tim, got in touch with their memories to help me enhance this Ogblog piece. If they do, I’ll publish a postscript.
