Category: School Life

BBYO National Convention & Aftermath, 30 December 1979 to 3 January 1980

I have very few specific memories of the 1979/1980 BBYO National convention.

One reason for my dearth of memories from that particular convention is a complete absence of photographs. I have hundreds of photographs from the previous year’s convention – click here or below for the Ogblog article and links…

BBYO National Convention 29 December 1978 to 1 January 1979

…but I have not a single photograph from the 1979/1980 convention. If anyone reading this piece has photos…even one photo…from that convention, it would be great to see it and/or add it to this Ogblog piece.

Of course, I do have my diaries, but – as was my habit with large scale BBYO events such as conventions – I considered them, at the time, to be such memorable events that I needn’t write down any details about them.

Below is the sum total of my scribbling for the three days 30 December 1979 to 1 January 1980:

…got up very early in morn, set off for convention. Great time at convention, saw in new year… …GREAT DAY. GOT ELECTED AS NATIONAL RESOURCE.

Yet, despite the lack of memories and writing, the 1979/1980 Convention was a momentous event for me. I was elected onto the National Executive for 1980 (I had been co-opted onto the National Exec to edit the magazine for the second half of 1979, but that’s not the same thing as getting elected).

So let me try to delve the memory bank. The National Executive for 1980 had been scaled right back – the feeling being that most day-to-day responsibility should be devolved to the regions and thus a smaller National Executive could be a more strategic or policy-oriented body.

1980, I think, proved this scaled-down executive idea to be flawed for BBYO in Great Britain and Ireland, but the upshot for the 1979/1980 convention was that there were only three posts up for election that year, rather than the usual 6 to 8 posts.

Jay Marks was elected National President.

Jay Marks, Spring 1979. If you could look that cool, you could be National President.

Ivor Heller, my fellow Streathamista, was elected National Vice-President:

Ivor Heller, Spring 1979, enjoying a goodness-knows-what moment with Helen Lewis from Oxford
Incontrovertible evidence that the mystery woman above is Helen Lewis, plus a rare picture of Rebecca Lowi, the BBYO full-timer, chatting with Ivor, Spring 1979

The third and final election that year was for National Resources Officer, which was a combination of several former portfolios such as welfare, programmes, Soviet Jewry and perhaps a couple of others. I remember so little about how the elections worked. I think a candidate had to be proposed and seconded by an elector. Each group that was fully constituted (i.e. had a charter) had two electors. I think candidates simply made a short speech of self-advocacy and the electors then voted.

I don’t recall preparing myself for an election battle in any meaningful way. I think the influencers from the outgoing committee had decided that I had done enough in four or five months of magazine editing to justify supporting me for this expanded and complex portfolio. Anyway, I somehow succeeded in convincing enough electors that a bit of magazine writing and editing qualified me for the task…

…which would be a bit like assuming that a political sketch writer and former editor of a political magazine should be elected to a great political office of state…oh cripes!

We joined those already on the National Executive who would remain; Paul Dewinter (Southern Region President), Raymond Ingleby (Northern Region President) and Jeffrey Spector, who was to stay on as immediate past National President after saying goodbye to formal office.

Of course, conventions are also about goodbyes as well as hellos. This convention marked the end of Jeffrey Spector’s Presidency and indeed the end of two very successful years on the National Executive in his case.

Jeff Spector, Spring 1979

Writing forty years after this convention (in January 2020) and nearly five years after Jeffrey’s premature death, his memory lives on powerfully in my mind and I’m sure in the minds of most who knew him.

Jeffrey will have been honoured with life membership of BBYO at this convention, as would several other stalwarts. I don’t remember all the names, but I’m pretty sure Richard Marks, Tania Silverman and Neil Hyman were amongst them.

Of course there will have been interesting events for us all to enjoy. There will have been singing, dancing, skit competitions and a heck of a lot of spirited stuff. We had the spirit all right.

But in truth, I do not remember any specific stuff of that kind from this convention. I’d love to hear from people who have some very specific memories from this one.

But I do have one very clear memory from the aftermath of convention. It is described in my diary a bit but I do also remember it clearly.

Wednesday 2 January – Really late night. GREAT DAY. Returned, went straight back out to Hillel top stay with…

Thursday 3 January – …Dubliners. Saw off in the morning. Got a lot of admin done.

Yes, something went awry with the travel plans for the Dublin contingent on 2 January – presumably they missed their train or were informed that they would not get to Holyhead in time for the last ferry or something.

Anyone who ever went to one of these conventions will know how tired I must have been when I got home, but I had barely put down my bags when I got the call to please come to Hillel House and stay the night. The authorities there were refusing to give the Dublin BBYO contingent (I think it was 10 to 15 people) sanctuary unless someone suitably senior stayed with them to ensure that there would be no trouble.

So I grabbed my sleeping bag and headed off to Euston for the night, where I joined some very grateful Dubliners in a large room that I think was normally used for functions…

…it will have been good training for Janie’s and my Crisis Christmas forty years later:

A Bit Of A Crisis Christmas, 25 To 26 December 2019

I’m amused also to read my comment about “getting a lot of admin done” while at Hillel on 3 January. However tired I must have been after seeing off the Dubliners, I was clearly awake and motivated enough to get started on my new portfolio that very day. The 57-year-old me is awarding the 17-year-old me top marks for effort there.

The Dubliners, being a warm and generous lot, sent me a lovely thank you and gift voucher when they returned to Dublin. I think David Lapedus was the ringleader of that kind gesture.

With the voucher, I treated myself to a copy of Roget’s Thesaurus, which has been my writing companion for the 40 years since…

“A thesaurus is great. There’s no other word for it” – Ross Smith

…OK, in the last few years, on-line synonym finders tend to do the job, but for several decades the well-thumbed (but also lovingly preserved) book, depicted above, was my constant companion on my all-too-regular writing occasions. Certainly for all the books (so far) – click here to see all of those in a row.

The sight of my Roget’s Thesaurus would often make me think of that convention and in particular that additional night with the Dubliners at Hillel House.

A BBYO convention is great. There’s no other word for it.

Postscript: Jay Marks responded to my shout out for more memories and/or materials in tremendous style – thanks in the most part to his mum. I have annexed – link here and below – a wonderful magazine piece from the Jewish Chronicle at the time, preserved by Jay’s mum and sent through via Facebook by Jay;

BBYO National Convention & Aftermath, 30 December 1979 to 3 January 1980: Annex

The Two Weeks Leading Up To BBYO National Convention, 16 to 29 December 1979

For about four months, I had been on the National Executive of BBYO as magazine editor (a role known as Dovair – not to be confused with the defunked airline in Vanuatu).

I was also still very active with my local group in Streatham. Once the time is right I’ll write up the plethora of Streatham BBYO activity that took place that autumn, including our famous (or should I say infamous) so-called-fashion-show at Bolingbroke.

So the fortnight’s run up to National Convention was a giddy mixture of local and National stuff. I might need help from friends disambiguating some of this.

Let’s start translating my scrawl with the day I broke up from school:

18 December – broke up. Back to Anils. Met Fran.  Went to club in evening, she stayed.

No doubt Anil and I smoked some cigarettes and listened to some of our favourite records. e.g.

Fran had started her dentistry course that term and was staying in digs quite near our house. Mum invited her round for dinner a few times that first term and I’ll guess that term had just finished for her that day too, hence her staying that night before returning to her family.

Fran and I have subsequently reconnected through Facebook, where we discovered we had a shared interest in Middlesex CCC cricket – click here for the Fran tag.

Fran had also helped me to set up my somewhat ill-fated party, which took place several week’s before this December get together:

A Somewhat Eventful Party At Woodfield Avenue, 6 to 7 October 1979

19 December – Left for N [north] London. Took hours to get to Caroline’s [Freeman, now Curtis], dinner, Pinner, Drewey’s, late night

I ate often at Caroline’s house on my visits to “The North” in those days. I remember calculating at one point during my National Exec time that I had eaten more often at Caroline’s house than I had at my parent’s house over a period of several months. Caroline is also someone with whom I have kept in touch – here’s the Caroline tag.

“Drewey’s” is Andrew Melinek’s house. He (or I should say his parents) often and generously hosted meetings.

20 December – early start. Hillel all day, on to Sabra, then home.

Sabra was the Hampstead Garden Suburb chapter. Not too sure what i was doing there that evening – perhaps leading a group meeting. I was going round the groups that autumn showing photos of and talking about Mauritius:

“I’m The Only J In Mauritius”, Recreating My Interview With Isia Birger, Port Louis, 10 August 1979

The other two days of the above week were uneventful.

23 December – …Met Melina & 6 others went to Manhattan & on to party v good

Melina was, I think, Hendon BBYO and I’m guessing the six others were her pals from that part. I so clearly remember going off to see that Woody Allen movie, Manhattan and thinking it was a truly terrific movie.

I remember the strains of Rhapsody in Blue by George Gershwin ringing through my mind for several days after seeing that film.

24 December – Went to meeting at Hillel in afternoon.  Went to Martin’s [Shaw?] in evening, got sozzled, Trafalgar Square etc.

The meeting was no doubt some planning towards convention. I wonder who else was at Martin’s getting sozzled and going up to Trafalgar Square. Shout out to the Streatham gang – who was there and do any of you remember that occasion better than I do – i.e. does anyone remember any details beyond my scanty jotting?

25 December – Went to home in morning, on to Linda’s for coffee. Evening entertained family etc. Quite good.

My recollection is that we went to a home or day centre in Camberwell to do voluntary work for needy and/or lonely folk. “Home” implies Nightingale – perhaps my memory is getting the dates/years confused, but I don’t recall ever doing voluntary work at Nightingale on Christmas day, I just remember the Camberwell place. Linda, Mark, Sandra, Natalie and/or others from Streatham might remember this and be able to explain it.

The next few days seem less eventful. I get the impression I had a bit of a pre-convention cold. 27th mentions Streatham preparation (that would be skits and songs), 28th mentions build up to convention but goodness only knows what I might have built.

29 December – Mike came in evening stayed night…

I cannot work out who Mike might have been. It was a tradition to put up northerners in need of a stop over on the way to a convention when it was in the south. The only Mike I can think of is Mike Rose, but I really don’t remember him ever staying with us. If there is a Mike out there who remembers staying in Woodfield Avenue with us on the way to convention, please put your hand up now.

But if it was Michael Rose…or even if it wasn’t…here’s Mike Rose’s song, which we for sure often sang at convention.

Sunday School: Bernard Rothbart’s Funeral, 9 December 1979

With thanks to Mike Jones for this photograph of Bernard Rothbart nursing Mike Jones’s foot on a 1975 school field trip

In the first term of my last year at Alleyn’s School, one of our teachers, Bernard Rothbart, took his own life at the school. As I understand it, he had ingested cyanide and was discovered in his car in the school car park by some of my fellow pupils who got more than they might have bargained for when sky-larking around out of bounds. Mr Rothbart was a biology and chemistry teacher, so he must have known what he was doing in a scientific sense, but what the poor fellow’s state of mind must have been at the time is a matter for conjecture.

The matter was discussed at length on the Facebook Group for Alleyn’s School 1970s alums; members of that group can read that discussion by clicking here.

But the purpose of this piece is to get my personal recollections down. I remember nothing about learning of Mr Rothbart’s death, but I do clearly recall being asked to attend and then attending the funeral, at Bushey Jewish Cemetery.

I had a memory flash about Mr Rothbart’s funeral in 2017, when I had a different memory flash about a different funeral at that same cemetery:

Uncle Manny’s Funeral & The Hoover Factory, 15 May 1981

I was reminded of my resolve to write up Mr Rothbart’s funeral when I received an e-mail, “out of the blue”, early summer 2020, from one of the scallywags who discovered poor Mr Rothbart, wondering whether I had got around to writing it up yet. I promised to do so, but it wasn’t until late September 2020 that I steeled myself to the task.

Sunday 9 December 1979: Went to school for rock practice and on to Mr Rothbart’s funeral. Easyish evening.

I’m struggling to recall what “rock practice” was about, but I do remember one occasion spending some weekend time in the old gym watching Mark Stevens, Neil Voce and some of their mates practicing in their nascent rock band. I’m guessing that this was that very visit and that I was taking the opportunity to see the lads rehearse as I needed to be at the school in order to join the school’s funeral party.

I’m hoping that Mark, Neil and possibly others can fill in the rock practice bit.

But a more important question in this context is, “why was I, one of Mr Rothbart’s least-distinguished chemistry students, asked…almost begged…to be one of the pupils to attend the funeral?”

The answer is almost solely based on ethnic profiling. I’m pretty sure it was John “Squeaky” Newton who asked me to attend and I’m pretty sure he fessed up to the fact that none of the teachers had the faintest idea what a Jewish funeral was about, so the brains trust had concluded that I might help them in that regard. They also thought that my presence might help put Bernard Rothbart’s poor grieving parents/family a little more at ease with the Alleyn’s School contingent.

There is an adage in the medical (surgical) world, “see one, do one, teach one”, encapsulating the need for (and sometimes disputed benefits of) trickling down experience and knowledge at high speed. Unfortunately, in this instance, by December 1979, I hadn’t yet been through the “see one” phase of attending a funeral. It is not the done thing in the Jewish tradition for minors (under 13s) to attend the funeral itself; in the four years after my 13th birthday, my family had, inconveniently, been bereavement free.

Dad & Mum provided diverse funereal advice – this photo from a 1977 “summer break” in Greenwich

Having neither “seen one” nor “done one” before, my only available source of sage advice on such matters was my parents. Like most people in their 50s, they had experience of funerals which they were able to impart. Unfortunately,they had a significant difference of opinion as to the type of funeral I was about to experience.

Mum was adamant that, as Bernard Rothbart had committed suicide, that we would experience a much scaled down version of the funeral, as the burial of suicides in the orthodox tradition cannot take place on consecrated ground and are consequently minimal.

Dad was equally sure that there was no facility for such burials at Bushey. He suspected that the authorities in such situations often agree to a compassionate coroners’ verdict of “accidental death” in order to spare the bereaved loved ones of the further suffering resulting from a verdict, perceived to be shameful, of suicide.

Dad even consulted with his coroner friend & neighbour, Arnold Levene, who concurred with Dad’s view. They were right. Arnold was nearly always right.

Leatrice & Arnold Levene, 1975

These discussions led to several family conversations on the various ethical aspects of this matter. I’m not sure if we were philosophical/theological/logical or whatever, this was 1979 after all, the year of The Logical Song.

Anyway, it was my job on the day of the funeral to be acceptable, respectable, presentable, (but not) a vegetable. I did my best.

I was at least presentable in my Alleyn’s three-piece suit when I scrubbed up purposefully:

Me & Wendy Robbins On Westminster Bridge, Autumn 1979, the only photo I have of me in “that suit”

I remember briefing the Alleyn’s teachers and my fellow pupils as best I could. I have a feeling we went from the school by coach, but perhaps we assembled for a conversation before leaving the school and then went to the funeral in several teachers’ cars.

I don’t recall which of my fellow pupils attended. I think Chris Grant was there. I don’t know why but I can visualise Paul Driscoll being there. I suspect that this article will trigger some memories in other people who attended; I’ll amend this paragraph in due course if need be.

I do recall feeling quite numb and feeling that I didn’t really belong there. I felt a bit of a fraud, as the supposed fount of ethnic knowledge, for having had to mug up on the topic, about which I had been ignorant, in order to be that fount. A career in the professional advice business since has taught me to have no shame or fear of such situations, as long as you put the effort in to the mugging up on your subject in time.

I also felt a bit of a fraud in my capacity as one of Bernard Rothbart’s pupils. I knew I was pretty hopeless at the organic chemistry Mr Rothbart was supposed to be teaching me. Some of that hopelessness might be attributed to the teacher but most of it was down to my unwillingness to acquire the available knowledge from him.

Indeed, I remember the pangs of guilt from musing, I now realise foolishly, that it was possible that Bernard Rothbart had been driven to suicide by my utterly dismal organic chemistry mock exam paper that was (presumably) on Mr Rothbart’s desk when he died. “If I can’t even get any of this stuff across to a pupil like Harris…”

But of course I will have gone through the process of being a non-principal attendee at the Jewish funeral correctly, followed by other pupils and teachers “seeing one and then doing one” at each stage of the ceremony. Of course I will have said the right sort of thing to the principal mourners. I knew how to behave. Hopefully still do.

I know that Bernard Rothbart’s death weighs on many Alleyn’s alum’s minds. The self-violation of his mode of death. The fact that it was the first time in many of our juvenile/young adult lives that we encountered death. And that feeling of guilt, almost exclusively misguided, as Mr Rothbart had not been a popular teacher amongst the pupils. But of course we hardly knew him…or rather we only knew him in his capacity as a teacher, a career we have learnt subsequently did not please him at all. That is very sad.

I really like Mike Jones’s Lake District field trip photos from 1975. Bernard Rothbart has a smile on his face in one of them and is performing an act of kindness in the other.

“Borrowed” from Mike Jones’s Alleyn’s Group Facebook posting – thanks Mike
“Borrowed” from Mike Jones’s Alleyn’s Group Facebook posting – thanks Mike

With Wendy Robbins On Westminster Bridge, Guessing 26 September 1979

While rummaging for something completely different…

…like, totally different…

…I came a cross this lone, stray photograph:

Me And Wendy Robbins On Westminster Bridge

There am I in my Alleyn’s School three-piece suit, which played an unlikely part in a subplot to a Manchester visit, probably a few months later, in which Mark Lewis and family mistook me for a toff:

A Weekend In Manchester Straight From School, 7 to 9 March 1980

So when might this photo have been taken and how did I end up with this single, stray picture?

Well, I cannot be 100% sure, but that particular suit limited my diary search to term-time, midweek evenings in my final year of school…

…I didn’t get too far into my search when I found the following:

Wednesday 26 September 1979 – went to Hillel in afternoon. Met Wendy. Showed Stuart (USA) around London in eve.

I’m not too sure who Stuart (USA) might have been, but I’ll guess he was a visiting dignitary from the BBYO International Executive or one of the big American District Executives.

I’ll also guess that Stuart had a camera with a flash and colour film in it – plus the kindness and decency to send us a photograph in the aftermath of our hospitality/informal evening tour.

I remember precious little about the evening. Perhaps Wendy remembers it clearly. Perhaps Stuart remembers it, but he might take some serious tracking down.

Wendy and I look a rather dapper pair on that occasion, I have to say. Indeed, in my case this might be the sole piece of photographic evidence I have from my teenage years that I could, on occasion, scrub up quite well…

…at least I could with the help of my Alleyn’s School uniform.

Mauritius, July & August 1979, Overview, Summary and Picture Links

I spent several weeks of the summer of 1979 in Mauritius, with my good school friend Anil Biltoo and his dad, staying with many branches of their interesting family.

I want to write quite a lot about this trip, as it was the most amazing experience for a 16/17 year old youngster. It was hugely formative for me in many ways, not least sparking my lifelong interest in travel and cultures other than my own.

This posting is a quick summary and overview piece, linking to artefacts already available on-line:

M4-30E

All of the letters I wrote home while I was there, which doubled up as my diary/travelogue, have now been scanned, uploaded and transcribed as Ogblog entries. They make fascinating reading for me and I hope are providing interesting reading for others.

The first letter and transcription can be found through this link or below – you can work forward from this one:

First Letter From Mauritius, 16 July 1979

A transcription of my diary entry from the last day – which was a day full of gatherings and parties – can be found here and below – you could work backwards from this one:

Several Farewell Parties, Palmar, Belle Mare & Rose Hill, Mauritius, 17 August 1979

I also want to write up a few additional stories and thoughts with the benefit of hindsight, including some memories that have been triggered by going through these documents relating to matters undocumented in them.

Postscript

I have subsequently (autumn 2019) Ogblogged my journal and recollections from this whole trip, so the above links can get you started on the whole lot, if you wish to read them.

The Day England Lost The Cricket World Cup Final To The West Indies, While I Scored A Different Match, 23 June 1979

I have written up my take on England’s ejection from the first (1975) cricket world cup, click here or below:

A Truly Thrice Awful Day In My School/Sporting Life, 18 June 1975

I did not witness that 1975 ejection, but I clearly had it on my mind that day.

But by 1979, it seems, not only was I (once again) too busy pottering around with actual cricket at Alleyn’s School to witness the match, I don’t even mention the cricket world cup in my diary.

had lazy day (scored) easy evening

So lazy was I, that day, I abandoned capital letters and most punctuation.

“Scored”, on that day, will mean, “scored a school team cricket match”, not the other (chasing girls) type of scoring.

Sociologists of the future will be delighted to learn that, at age 16, I was doing my fair share of the other type of scoring; the page before and the page after in the diary attest to that.

But that week had been an exam week at school.

I have a funny feeling that this particular episode of scoring lazily for the school team was a match at Battersea Grammar School (or I should say Furzedown, as that school had, by then, become) playing fields, which at that time was situated a lazy stroll away from our home in Woodfield Avenue. I say that only because I remember being asked at the last minute to score such a match around that time and the use of the term “lazy” infers that I went to little bother all day, possibly including even an absence of travel bother.

The way that world cup final match turned out is well described on Wikipedia here.

The way the Alleyn’s School match turned out is lost in the mists of time, unless some archivist somewhere kept the scorebooks. Anybody know if such archives are available for inspection? If so, let’s just hope my scoring handwriting was better than my diary handwriting.

The MCC has put up a rather charming half hour highlights package from that 1979 world cup final match – jolly decent of them – in two sections – here they both are:

https://youtu.be/f12h6gWxQzQ
https://youtu.be/iYVam7txqKU

The Day England Won A Cricket World Cup Semi Final On Home Soil, While I Went To School And A Youth Club Committee Meeting, 20 June 1979

No need to hold on to your hats for this diary entry, readers. 20 June 1979 is not one of the more exciting ones:

School OK. Exec meeting – all OK

But like the best Greek dramas, the exciting stuff is all happening just off stage.

This was the year during which I went out with Gillian for many months – several mentions of those activities on the preceding and subsequent pages.

The perceptive reader / interpreter might notice that I describe the youth club meeting the night before as “near revolution”. That can only be to do with the welfare day we were busy organising, with representatives from all around the Southern Region due to descend on our tiny little Streatham enclave on 1 July. I’ll take soundings and write up that whole near-drama soon (he writes in June 2019).

And those keen on drama might note that I sat my AO-level Drama that week. B was the result of that, if I recall correctly.

But the diary is entirely silent about the fact that the England cricket team, who for sure were very much on my mind still that summer, as indeed they were every summer, won a world cup semi-final thriller against New Zealand that day:

Here is a link to the scorecard and Cricinfo resources.

While this link takes you to some video of the match, which I might myself watch some day…but not today.

Drewy’s Party and Subsequent Matzo Ramble, 14 and 15 April 1979

I have been reminded of this weekend by several coincidences in the past few days/weeks.

Firstly, I used the following photograph to illustrate one of my party pieces from 1979 (no photos from the event itself) only for it to dawn on me and other commentators what the origins of the following photo must be.

Taken on the 15 April 1979 Matzo Ramble

Also, as part of my Ogblogging, I uploaded one of my old NewsRevue songs, Privatise, which is sung to the tune of Bright Eyes. It’s a real good one, though I say so myself – click here.

I played Bright Eyes while working on the Privatise/NewsRevue piece and it brought on a solid wave of memory from that April 1979 weekend. You couldn’t get away from Bright Eyes that spring; it was the Easter Number One, it was everywhere. I’ll insert a link at the end of this piece as a reward for those who…scroll all the way down there…I mean read this fine piece of mine in its entirety.

Drewy’s Party 14 April 1979

I don’t remember ever decorating at Anil’s house, but that’s what the diary says I did, before going on to Drewy’s place in Harrow-On-The -Hill for the party.

There was a group of visiting BBYOniks from the USA (New Jersey I believe) in town – earlier diary references cover earlier sessions with them. That is probably why I took my camera. Indeed, the photos of Drewy’s party are the only party photos I took throughout those years (unless you consider the conventions to have been several-days-long parties, which is not a ridiculous contention).

The stack of pictures from the party itself, all 31 of them, can be viewed here. A few good examples follow.

Mixture of Pinnerites and Americans

A few familiar faces (and some unfamiliar ones) in the above picture. All familiar faces in the picture below.

Some Pinner BBYO Grandees

Simon Jacobs showed off his cigarette party trick for the camera:

Simon’s party trick

I’ll need to do some work in Photoshop to enable people to see Simon’s smoke well – but I’m sure you all get the idea.

Drewy, perplexed.

Drewy could do a perplexed expression for the camera in those days, so he did that.

It was a big house, the Drewy house. Many of us stayed. Frankly, that number of people often found ways of squeezing into smaller houses – this Ivor Heller Party piece from the previous spring (1978) refers.

Aftermath and Ramble, 15 April 1979

So how have I managed to find solid evidence that my unidentified fragments of negative, including the above “trews-free in the park” picture come from the same weekend?

Not so easy.

The main suspect in “the mysterious case of the trews-free gentleman” (see the first photo of this piece, above) now lives in the USA himself. When approached, he immediately started pleading the fifth amendment, which I think has something to do with bearing arms – I really should have made more attention when I did that comparative law module…whatever, I knew I’d need to handle this character very carefully indeed.

Still, once the gentleman had been offered immunity (which is apparently what you do with guilty folk in America to get them to sing), he sang like a canary.

More conclusively, now that I have gone back to the original negatives and looked at the whole fragment, I have also found the following picture on the same strip:

Clearing up the Drewy house carpet; see the Simon photo above – case proven

Also on the same strip, a couple of nice pictures of Linda, so she must have been there too. Perhaps she has some memories of this weekend to add:

Given the negative numbers and the fragmentary nature of the negatives, I am vaguely recalling that this roll of film was not finding its way happily into and through my camera. Indeed, from the depths of my memory, I think the camera jammed on the ramble, hence the shortage of pictures on that stack.

Nevertheless, there are a few pictures from the ramble – including a couple of rare pictures from that era with me in them – all of which can be examined by clicking here.

My diary is clear that we went on from Drewy’s place to a ramble:

Case proven.

As I write (14 April 2017) it is the 38th anniversary of the Drewy Party and Matzo Ramble weekend. An auspicious anniversary, as it happens, because this is Easter weekend and also the middle days (Chol Hamoed as they are known) of Passover, an unusual coincidence of festivals, just as it was in 1979.

In the run up to this Easter, there has been a storm in a teacup in the UK about Easter Egg Hunts being renamed as Cadbury Egg Hunts – click here.  Whether this was done for marketing purposes or was, as some have suggested, “political correctness gone mad” to remove the specific reference to “Easter” I neither know nor care…

…but in the spirit of the modern era, perhaps we should rename the Matzo Ramble as a Rakusen’s Ramble. Or, in honour of our recently departed visitors from New Jersey, a Manischewitz Meander…

…now I’m rambling. Have a look at the Bright Eyes vid below. Those with memories that go back that far, might just get a little memory flash of that 1979 spring. If so, I’d love to learn about your memories too.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cGyQmH9NZcw

Confirmed Mauritius, The Overcrowded Barracoon, 10 April 1979

So this was the day that I confirmed that I would spend five weeks of the summer of 1979 in Mauritius.

The kind Biltoo family gave me an extraordinary opportunity, in 1979, to visit the beautiful island of Mauritius as a family guest, not as a regular tourist, for five weeks, along with Anil (my school friend at Alleyn’s) and his father Dat. It proved to be a life-changing, life-enhancing experience for me; an act of wonderful generosity and hospitality on the part of that family.

I have written up the visit extensively, starting here:

First Letter From Mauritius, 16 July 1979

There is a placeholder posting with links to photos and film – click here or below:

Mauritius, July & August 1979, Overview, Summary and Picture Links

As far as I can tell, this is the one and only one reference to my trip to Mauritius in my diary, prior to the visit:

Saw Anil today. Confirmed Mauritius…

I want to use this date to record my thoughts about VS Naipaul’s extensive essay/article about Mauritius, written in the early 1970s, The Overcrowded Barracoon.

Actually I cannot remember when I read The Overcrowded Barracoon at Dat Biltoo’s request. I am fairly sure that Dat more or less insisted that I read the article before making my decision as to whether or not to join the Biltoo family for five weeks in Mauritius.

It’s not a very complimentary piece. Perhaps Dat thought it would put me off. Or rather, that if it did put me off that it would be better that I didn’t join them. Or rather, that if the essay sparked my interest rather than put me off, that I would be a suitable companion for them. It did the latter; I was fascinated.

I think Dat lent me the book and I think that both my parents read the article too.

I remember thinking that the politics of that island sounded incredibly complicated and I remember not really understanding many of the points that VS Naipaul was making. For example, his comments about South Africa and Mauritius not being a place that would appeal to the anti-apartheid protester only made sense to me once I got to Mauritius.

In fact, the only point from the article that really stuck in my mind for 40 years was the notion that young, unmarried women of South Asian origin were chaperoned on Mauritius. Perhaps that point stuck because chasing girls formed a fairly major chunk of my brain space by the spring of 1979. I was 16 for goodness sake. Perhaps that point stuck because my father warned me quite sternly to be careful in my behaviour towards girls.

I do recall asking Dat some questions about the article before we went and that he answered my questions kindly, with brevity, mostly in the style of “you’ll see when we get there”. He was right.

I also recall one of my questions relating to the swastika symbol which I found perturbing but which Dat explained is a good Hindu symbol that had been misappropriated and used as an evil symbol by the Nazis.

On rereading The Overcrowded Barracoon 40 years later (August 2019) I realise what an insightful yet flawed essay that article was. The thoughts on Mauritian post-independence politics were fascinating, with the benefit of my direct experience and then hindsight in the following years.

But I think VS Naipaul’s derision about hopes for the tourism industry and the risk of overcrowding on the island have proved misguided. Naipaul was sniffy at the idea that Mauritius might increase its annual tourist footfall from 20,000 per annum to 300,000 per annum. Within 50 years of independence, Mauritius was happily accommodating over 1.3 Million tourists per annum. The population has also grown, from c800,000 to just over 1.3 Million. Almost exactly one tourist visit per Mauritian resident from 2016 onwards.

Whether or not the place is now overcrowded is a matter for conjecture, but it is certainly no longer a de facto slave colony, nor is it dependent upon munificence from dodgy neighbours and/or former colonial powers. Indeed Mauritius is now perceived as an economic success story and a major tourist destination.

But I had the opportunity to visit the nascent independent Island state (just over 10 years after independence) through and with a large, diverse Mauritian family. As my travelogues attest, that was a very special experience for a 16 tear old kid. I shall be forever grateful to the Biltoo family for giving me that experience.

An Evening At The George Canning, 8 April 1979

I enjoyed several evenings of beer and music with mates from Alleyn’s at the George Canning pub, Effra Road, Brixton.

I was reminded of it (April 2017) while writing up the party and rambling events of the following (Easter) weekend of April 1979 – click here – by spotting the following diary entry from the previous weekend, 8 April:

Went to George Canning in eve

No information in that diary entry on who my companions were that evening. I remember going to the George Canning with Jim Bateman more than once and also I’m pretty sure Mark Stevens. Perhaps also Paul Deacon and/or Graham Majin on at least one occasion; others joined us too, I think, on one visit or another. This aspect of my memory needs help.

But I do remember those evenings at the George Canning reasonably well.

In 1979, the pub looked more like the 1905 picture from this urban history site than the 2003 picture – click here – even though colour photography had just about emerged by 1979 (albeit not often in my camera).

As I recall it, the music on all my visits was British Rhythm & Blues – click here – much like the first albums by bands like the Rolling Stones, Manfred Mann, The Moody Blues, the Animals etc. Whether that R&B was the style of the place always or whether that was merely what you got on the nights we could afford, I don’t know.

But we could afford these evenings on a bit of saved pocket money. The beer was just a few pence more than normal, but if you eked out two pints over the evening you could still get a whole evening of beer and music for a quid.

The George Canning type of pub wasn’t a salubrious environment back then. I’m talking about 1979 Brixton, not the hipster “south-Shoreditch-like” inner London neighbourhood of today.

Indeed I don’t suppose my mum would have approved of us going there had she realised what a dive this pub was at that time; but Effra Road was also the location of the Brixton Shule (synagogue), so (in her mind) what could possibly go wrong just a hundred yards or so up the road from there?

From our point of view, it always felt safe and welcoming enough. The nights we went to the place, it was mostly populated by people who were there for a few beers and some music. Perhaps a few old regulars bemoaning the noise, but on the whole there was a sense of shared music-following purpose.

The place is now far more venue than drinking house; Hootananny Brixton – click here to see the site.

“Over 21s only” it says at the top of the web site…that might have proved to be a bit of a problem for us 16/17 year-olds.

Not bad reviews on Yelp for the current venue – click here.

Not so sure about it as a hostel if TripAdvisor reviews are to be believed – click here.

But looking back to 1979, other old friend’s memories of those outings to the George Canning would be most welcome.

Update: when I shared this piece on the Alleyn’s 1970s Facebook Group, both Mark Stevens and Neil Voce owned up to having been part of that scene.

Mark Stevens wrote:

I used to go and see a blues band there – the Southsiders…I think they were the band that pushed me towards blues more than anything else…

Neil Voce wrote:

Definitely used to go to see them at the George Canning as it was and the two brewers in Clapham