It’s hard to believe quite how much went on in that one frantic week at the end of the Keele 1982/83 academic year. Let me divide the story/stories into their several component parts.
First Part Of The Week – Cricket On & Off
Cricket has played an important part in my life, on and off, throughout my life. But it played only a tiny part in my life at Keele. Still, I did participate in three festival week “Players Of The Left v Gentlemen Of The Right” cricket matches over the years, 1983 being the second of the three. These have each been written up on Ogblog and also as a single piece about my cricket nom de plume, Ged Ladd, on the King Cricket website:
Aficionados of “noms de plume” might enjoy the idea that my 1980s Keele Concourse non de plume, H Ackgrass, is writing a cricket biography of my subsequent nom de plume, Ged Ladd.
My participation in the 1983 match started with a net session on the Monday before the match. How I performed in the nets is lost in the mists of time, but my “thanks for coming” level of involvement in the fixture was probably the result of that net performance. The late, great Toby Bourgein, bless him, was loyal to the extent that he selected me again, given that I played as a last minute substitute in 1982…
Yet there was more to that week for me than cricket, as the diary attests…
…despite the fact that the 1983 Cricket World Cup was coming to its exciting (and probably cricket history transforming) conclusion. I wrote up Wednesday 22 June 1983 a few years ago, the concluding phrase, “tired and pissed off after” still resonating with my older (but perhaps not much wiser) psyche:
There are references to seeing several movies that week, which certainly warrants a mention. Not least because the least famous of them sticks in my mind peculiarly.
Thursday 23 June 1983 …went to see Young Frankenstein and Wild Women Of Wongo.
Probably chosen by Liza and her art school gang, although I have always been a sucker for animated films and I remember this one being very well animated, although not really my first choice of subject matter. I should try and see it again some time.
Third Part Of the Week – Wendy Robbins Visits & The Keele Festival Week Socialising Is In Full Sway
Wendy Robbins c1979
In fact Wendy Robbins had arrived ahead of us all going to see The Secret Of NIMH so undoubtedly was with the group that went to that movie and then came back to L54.
Wendy was an old friend of mine from Streatham BBYO (youth club) and even earlier. When you are 20, people whom you have hung out with throughout your teens are “old friends”.
As was his wont, my flatmate, Alan Gorman, had fled Keele as soon as his study commitments had concluded, allowing me to invite Wendy and provide her with a room in our flat. I think Hamzah had already gone too. Indeed, Chris Spencer might also have disappeared ahead of festival week that year, so perhaps I and my friends had the entire run of the place.
Whoever else might have been there, the flat for sure became “festival week/end of year central” in my Keele world for that weekend.
Saturday 25 June – Went shopping in morn – Ashley [Fletcher] came over in afternoon – we all went to Candles – P? came over after
Sunday 26 June – Lazy day – late rise. Played cards etc. Ashley ? went to union in eve – I went meet Liza – pissed off ???
I’m not 100% sure what the pissed-offness was about. I know that Liza had taken a job to help pay off her share of rent for Shelton and I know this put strain on her participation in the end of Keele year social activities.
I also recall that Liza didn’t take too kindly to Wendy, for reasons I could and still can only surmise.
The diary for the next week says that Wendy left on the Monday – I took her to Hanley so I guess she came up by coach.
Forty years on, Wendy and I are still in touch, although i haven’t seen her for a while.
Me, Jilly, Simon [Jacobs], Andrea & Wendy in 2017. Janie took the picture so once again she isn’t in it!
In the spring of 1983, one of the “big hit” comedy books that captivated the young (and young at heart) was The Complete Naff Guide.
Available second hand – click image if you wish
Not long after, there emerged a short publication at Keele named The Keele “Naff” Guide. It is attributed to Adrian Bore and Daphne Canard, but is actually the work of Frank Dillon, with a little help from his friends. I plan to e-publish the “tome” for the May Bank Holiday weekend 2023. Watch this space.
Point is, on the short list of Naff Union Positions gracing the back cover of the Keele “Naff” Guide, Chairperson Of Constitutional Committee does stand out as being quintessentially naff.
How Frank himself, with a little help from his friends, persuaded me to run for that position in the spring of 1983, is one of life’s mysteries that would probably best remain unsolved. But I’m going to try and solve it anyway.
I have mentioned before the shenanigans around several union elections in 1982 and 1983, largely caused by the Tory faction deliberately trying to game flaws and loopholes in the election rules in an attempt to disrupt the smooth running of the union.
In May 1983 my memory would still have been fresh with the (in my case literally sickening) shenanigans that February – click here or below:
Yes, I was on Constitutional Committee (which was also Election Appeals Committee) that year. Yes, I suppose I was seen as one of the good guys. Yes, only one person had put their name forward for the 1983/84 role – Adam Fairholme, who was a Conservative, albeit from a benign corner of that grouping.
I think it was a small posse that ganged up on me and persuaded me to run. I’m pretty sure that Frank Dillon himself was part of that posse. Also Vincent Beasley. I have a feeling that Genaro Castaldo (he who pleaded me away from my sick bed when things went awry in February) and possibly also Viv Robinson (who had been elected to succeed Genaro) leant on me.
I said I didn’t really want to do it. I said I had no time to put together a manifesto and contest the election. I said it was better that they find someone else.
Just do whatever you can. We think you’ll win the election anyway.
I sat in the Main Bar and wrote a few lines in large block capitals on a side of A4 paper. I wish I still had that scribbled-so-called-manifesto to show you. It was so sloppy and shoddy that, I recall, Viv Robinson and I subsequently used it in a guidance note to people who wanted to run for elections in 1983/84 as an example of what NOT to do.
It included my name writ large with a large cross in a box top and bottom. I recall that I pledged to
uphold the spirit and the letter of the constitution
explain constitutional matters in ways that would help and encourage students to participate in the union
seek to revise the constitution to block the loopholes that had recently been exploited to frustrate the union’s purposes.
In fairness to myself, despite the brevity of the pledges and shoddy presentation, I did see through those pledges to the best of my ability during 1983/84.
Having signed my nomination papers and deposited my scrappy piece of hand-written A4 purporting to be a manifesto, I then went back to Shelton for much of the next week, returning to the campus just for classes, a bit of private study and some infeasibly long tennis matches with Alan “The Great Yorkshire Pudding” Gorman. I don’t think I went to the union again until election day.
I’m pretty sure that my diary entry on 6 May which reads, in part “union for a while” reflects the above.
Friday 13 May 1983 – Busyish day – classes etc. – election for const. comm. – won – went to Shelton- had 1st drink (or 2) there.
I think I won the election on a small turnout but a significant percentage. Something like 120 to 80. I recall that Adam Fairholme was bitterly disappointed not to be elected; I think he campaigned quite hard and fancied his chances against an all-but-absentee candidate. Actually Adam was a good bloke and we became friends, albeit not close friends. I’ll write more about him and his demise come the 40th anniversary of that tragedy.
“1st drink (or 2)” relates to the fact that I had been completely off the sauce since February on the back of doctors orders due to my glandular fever (infectious mononucleosis). In May, Dr Scott told me that my “six month ban” could be reduced to “three months” for good behaviour, as I really hadn’t touched a drop.
But did I have the constitution for it?
Saturday 14 May 1983 – Rose quite early – came back to Keele for a while – dress and tennis – went back to Shelton – drag at party – not too pleasant – v late night.
I only very vaguely remember this party but I’m guessing it was some sort of costume party involving drag (they were an arty crowd, Liza’s North Staffs Poly crowd – I suppose that’s what you get when you study art). I don’t think I enjoyed it much, based on my diary entry.
Sunday 15 1983 – decadent day in bed – talking etc. – v pleasant – felt v ill – temp up – both [me and Liza] came back to Keele.
Even at the age of 20, I think its clear that I preferred smaller gatherings of friends/people I knew and liked, to big parties – regardless of costumes or lack thereof.
Even clearer is the fact that I did not yet have the constitution for drinking again. I voluntarily stayed off the sauce for quite a while longer. While my body didn’t tell me that three to four hour tennis matches might be overdoing it, it did tell me that one or two drinks was still one or two too many for my post-virus constitution.
The UGM That Never Was (Photo: KUSU-Ballroom-1962-John-Samuel)
Don’t ask me why 7 March 1983 was noteworthy in my diary as “UGM That Never Was…”. Presumably some of us sat around for some time hoping for a quorum but the quorum never came.
Lots of mentions of Liza visiting me and even me visiting her at The Sneyd, so any hangover form my post-glandular-fever grumpiness had presumably abated…
…lots of activity and lots of mentions of being busy…although I do recall getting uncharacteristic waves of fatigue for many weeks after my release from the Heath Centre.
Friday 11 March 1983 – Rose early – did quite a lot of things. Alan went home – election appeals – went to see film with Liza – back here after…
…I think Alan had some serious partying to do back home that weekend and had finished all of his course work for the term that Friday. I recall that Alan returned to Keele several weeks later looking a whiter shade of pale green, having been out on the lash with his mates just before returning to Keele. I wondered whether a single binge-boozy-party had been sustained throughout all of those weeks and asked him that very question.
ALAN: Feels a bit like that today.
ME: You look a very funny colour, to be honest.
ALAN: You haven’t exactly looked rosy-cheeked yourself lately, mate.
ME: Fair point.
But I digress.
I’m irritated that I didn’t write down the name of the film that Liza and I saw that night – but I needn’t have worried. A private message to Tony Sullivan, Filmsocista extraordinaire from that era, secured the vital piece of information.
…Liza, Mandy and I went to Hanley, saw Rocky Horror…
This must have been the Theatre Royal Hanley production – the theatre had just reopened in a new guise and I think we saw a pilot or preview version of the production of Rocky Horror that ran there for years. There is a wonderful web page of memories from that production on this “Memories Of Theatre Royal Hanley” WordPress site. (If anything ever goes awry at that site, here is a scrape.) Also this newsreel footage from when the resulting touring production closed in 1988. Lots of Keele students must have seen this show in the 1980s:
I had seen the stage production of Rocky Horror in London in the late 1970s with my BBYO pals, so felt very much “ahead of the curve” in the company of Liza and Mandy that night – a rare feeling in the matter of the arts with Liza and her “art school crowd”.
To add to the horror, I did a class test on the Tuesday morning (15th March) which must have been the formal last day of term as I signed on 16th March. [For younger readers who haven’t been following this series avidly for years, “signing on” was something students all needed to do each holiday if we wanted in effect to have our grants extended to cover holidays. The thought of the bureaucracy required to have most higher education students signing on and off the dole three times a year is truly mind-boggling.]
Friday 18 March – Easyish day – did a little work – watched TV in eve with Hamzah and Yazid.
Hamzah Shawal was my Bruneian flatmate. Yazid was one of the Malay guys who lived in a Q-Block Barnes flat with three other Malay guys, not too far away from our Barnes L-Block flat. I have no idea what we watched, but it is interesting that it was such a rare thing for me to do that I noted the fact that we watched TV. We might well have watched The Tube early evening, as Bono was interviewed that day:
I’m pretty sure this would have been one of the rare occasions I cooked for the South-East Asian gang, rather than them cooking for me. They were quite strict on Muslim dietary laws, which rather restricted my meat-based diet.
However, I did have a couple of tricks up my sleeve which satisfied their religious structures. I always had a supply of Osem Chicken Soup Mix
This product is not only kosher but it is actually vegetarian, allowing me to make chicken soup & kneidlach (Matzo Ball Soup) for vegetarian and carnivore friends alike.
With thanks to Dall-E for collaborating with me on this image
My other piece de resistance for the halal & veggie crowd was potato latkes:
Again Dall-E produced this image based on my instructions.
If or when I can find my mother’s yellowed, hand-written pages of instructions for these delights I’ll publish the recipes. Hers were variations on the traditional Florence Greenberg & Evelyn Rose recipes.
Cheap, cheerful and heart-warming food.
Saturday 19 March 1983 – Liza came over in morning. Went to meet Julie -> Mike & Mandy’s -> dinner -> cam home quite early.
Sunday 20 March – Rose quite late – went down to lakes & back to Sneyd. Visited Ashley later.
I’m so glad that Ashley gets a mention that fortnight – albeit right at the end. Ashley has been known to complain if there aren’t enough pieces about him.
Thanks to Susan Gorman for this photo of Alan Gorman
A week after my discharge from the Health Centre, my post-glandular-fever student life reads, in my diary, a little like my pre-glandular-fever student life, with just one or two clues hinting at the differences.
Project
Several mentions of “project”, which can only be the statistical/econometric assignment that we were set as part of our economics course that year. Peter Lawrence would have supervised it and I’m sure he remembers all the intricate detail.
Actually, I remember my chosen assignment quite well. I looked at national statistics, examining the correlation between factors such as GDP and per capita GDP and numbers of radios and television sets per capita. The main conceit of the assignment was to consider whether I was finding true correlation or spurious correlation, primarily using the Durbin-Watson statistic which, as it happened, was available on the University Mainframe computer.
The analytical part of this project was fairly straightforward as I recall it. The grunt work involved setting out the data in a highly-specific format to enable the computer to pronounce on its Durbin-Watson statistic. What are, today, “work of a moment” tasks took hours of painstaking (and sometimes trial and error) data preparation and data processing work.
I have asked Dall-E to help me envisage what that 1980s University mainframe computer might have looked like:
Dall-E reminisces about 1980s computing
For those readers dying to know whether there is (or rather, was) true correlation between GDP and numbers of radios and TVs, the answer is, basically, yes; especially when using GDP per capita data and especially in the matter of radios. In the developing world, at that time, televisions were sparse enough that I suspected the numbers were more to do with government policy on whether to have a state broadcaster and the like. Also there did tend to be some interesting outliers in the data – for some reason there were an enormous number of radios sold in Gabon in the late 1970s and early 1980s, relative to the GDP per capita.
I think Peter liked my little study, because, while “answering the exam question” pretty well, it also raised far more questions than it answered.
I have but one memory specific to this occasion, which I recall Annalisa de Mercur referring to many times subsequently, because she thought it so funny and typically Plesch.
One student asked if our hosts would mind if they smoked. (It was certainly not me by then, as I had quit smoking on the back of my glandular fever. I don’t think it was Annalisa either).
Oh yes, of course, please make yourself at home…
…said Traudi, ever the hostess, who then spent at least five minutes bustling around the room opening windows (this was February, at Keele!), moving away precious-looking porcelain ashtrays, replacing them with utilitarian-looking ones. In short, despite her instinctive desire to make the smoker(s) feel at home, Traudi’s actions made it quite apparent that smoking was not exactly what she wanted in her living room.
They were in truth charming and generous hosts, the Plesch couple. The above-linked November 1981 article says plenty more that doesn’t need repeating here.
“Bloody Party In The Union – Left Early” Friday 4 March 1983
Not like me to be snippy about a party, but I guess I was not myself still at that time.
Dr Scott had told me to stay away from alcohol for six months following my glandular fever. He subsequently reduced my sentence to three months, for good behaviour.
The mention of the “bloody party” comes after a note about a rushed day and an election appeals meeting, both of which might have set my teeth on edge ahead of that particular bloody party.
I have no idea whose party it was, nor why I found it bloody. I apologise to the host of the party if someone reading this happens to be such a person. I don’t think it was about you/.the party, it was me.
In truth, at that time, quite possibly I found all parties a bit of a drag. Seemingly everyone else having a good time and getting noisily paralytic, while I nursed some ridiculously expensive yet ghastly-tasting soft-drink, which had no doubt been dispensed through a soda gun like the one below…
…those carbonated soft drinks never tasted like “the real thing”, if you get my meaning, even if they were sold as such. In the SU Main Bar at that time, indeed, they all tasted like a bit of an amalgamation of each other, which is probably what they were.
When not in bars or at parties, I had standardised at home on Sainsbury’s Tropical Fruit Drink (still available 40 years later)…
I wondered out loud with Dr Scott on one occasion whether it was OK to be drinking all this sweet stuff. He said he thought I was close to dangerously underweight at the end of my glandular fever experience; thus he was keen for me to put on some weight. I persevered with Supercans of Coke throughout the rest of my Keele years, even after I had reverted to drinking alcohol.
How the Great Yorkshire Pudding Got His Name, Early March 1983
The Great Yorkshire Pudding
There is no mention of the events that led to Alan Gorman acquiring the nickname “The Great Yorkshire Pudding”. At the time, I probably found the matter that led to it too painful to write down. Even now, I’m finding it hard to compose my thoughts about it and reflect on the matter fairly and faithfully. It doesn’t help that Alan Gorman sadly died in 2015, so cannot add his own thoughts on this matter forty years after the event.
The bare facts are these. Chantelle announced that she wanted to move out of the flat, Barnes L54, and that we should seek a replacement fourth person. Alan and I had already agreed that we would continue to flat share the following year. Hamzah, who was about to do his finals and had planned to go home as soon as they were done made it clear that it was entirely up to me and Alan to choose Chantelle’s replacement.
Ashley Fletcher was spending a lot of time at the flat in those days. He was Union Treasurer but living off campus, so it was a convenient place to hang out. He was good friends with my girlfriend, Liza (indeed Liza and I had more or less met through Ashley and his gang) and seemed to get on very well with Alan too.
Ashley wanted to move in to the flat. I wanted Ashley to move into the flat. I put the idea one evening to Alan.
Ashley back then
Alan basically said no. He was uncomfortable with the idea of having a gay flatmate. At one point he said that he wouldn’t be able to explain it to his friends back home. When I said that I thought that was not a good reason, he agreed that he had given a very poor reason, but still, without really being able to articulate why he felt uncomfortable, that he was resolute on the matter.
I remember feeling that I didn’t have the strength to argue and also at the same time realising that debating the matter for longer would in any case have been futile. I remember going to bed that night very upset and I also so clearly remember dreading telling Ashley the news.
Strangely, Ashley didn’t take the news as hard as I thought he would…nor as hard as I took it. In my naivety, perhaps, I had assumed that the idea would fly and hadn’t expected that outcome. Ashley had strongly suspected and at least half-expected that response.
When I told Ashley what Alan had said, Ashley just paused for thought momentarily and said:
The Great Yorkshire Pudding!
Those readers who don’t know anything about Alan Gorman might look at the picture I have used in this piece – Alan was even skinnier in 1983 than he was when that picture was taken a few year’s later. He was also from Brinscall, near Chorley, which is, unequivocally, in Lancashire, not Yorkshire.
The nickname, The Great Yorkshire Pudding, stuck, at least for the remainder of that academic year and the next one. Alan accepted with good grace that the expletive nickname had come from Ashley’s heart and that he sort-of deserved it. Alan would respond with a nickname of his own for me, “Bagel Boy”, which could get him into a spot of trouble today, not only with the authorities (had someone chosen to complain) but with Alan’s own wife and children!
Alright already, I like bagels…who doesn’t?
The epilogue to this story is, I suppose, not so bad. I remained friends with Alan and Ashley. Chris Spencer moved into Barnes L54 with us instead and proved to be a very suitable flatmate, staying on in the flat for the rest of my time there and I think until he graduated.
When Ashley dropped out of Keele the following year, I wondered whether that would have happened had he moved into our flat. Ashley of course is still around to debate that point and/but Ashley might argue that leaving Keele at that juncture was the right thing for him to do in any case. He has certainly gone on to do many worthwhile things, not least his laudable and often charitable work as a therapist.
But at the time, the story of How The Great Yorkshire Pudding Got His Name affected me deeply. I wish the older and wiser version of me could discuss it now with the older and wiser Alan. Perhaps over a smoked salmon bagel or two…and a glass or two of fine Californian white wine.
Annalisa (right) & Others, Keele Campus Store, c1985, with thanks to Mark Ellicott
I hadn’t had flu. I didn’t get better after being sent home from the Health Centre with some tablets. I got worse.
Saturday 12 February 1983 – Variable health – Liza [O’Connor] shopped for me – Annalisa [de Mercur] visited. Early night.
Reading that passage, plus some of the subsequent ones during my illness, I am reminded that I had several kind people in my circle, in addition to the attentiveness of my girlfriend Liza, who I particularly remember as having been considerate during my extended indisposition.
Sunday 13 February 1983 – Felt bit better this morn/afternoon. Evening came over all ill. Early night.
Monday 14 February 1983 – Schlepped straight back to [Health Centre] HC – pretty ill. Liza visited in evening.
I don’t think that was in line with the plans Liza and I had laid for Valentines Night. I was mightily hacked off as well as ill.
I have collaborated with Dall-E to create this virtual-artist’s impression of me looking ill and hacked off in the Keele Health Centre.
Dr Scott now suspected that I had infectious mononucleosis, also known as glandular fever. His suspicion was soon confirmed with a blood test.
Glandular fever was sort-of the 1980s equivalent of Covid 19 – it was not as well understood then as it is now. The medics were very fearful of epidemics amongst student populations, for some unknown reason. It was also known colloquially as French-kissing disease, although I’m sure there were other ways of getting it and no doubt French people knew of it colloquially as the English-something-or-other.
One side effect of that illness is to make the patient feel low, to the point of feeling depressed. I have to say that my only ever experience of feeling what I might describe as “depressed” was when I had glandular fever.
Tuesday 15 February 1983 – Still pretty ill today – bored and depressed – won’t let have visitors.
Didn’t they know who I am?
I was not a good candidate for isolation. Nor was I a good candidate for some of the clinical interventions required, such as blood tests and injections. Dr Scott – Scotty – was sympathetic yet firm. But there was one matron/nurse I particularly remember as being dragon-like, whose method was more of the cruel-kindness variety.
“If you don’t stop making a fuss, I’ll go and get my long rusty needle and use that on you instead”.
Note to students of psychology: that sort of shock therapy doesn’t work on trypanophobic people – at least it didn’t work on me.
Scotty at that time had a “kill or cure” therapy for glandular fever – a short sharp (high dose at first but rapidly decreasing) course of steroids. His theory was that it helped most people to get better quickly enough that their studies needn’t be deferred, whereas without his treatment many students ended up deferring their exams – in effect taking a year out of their studies, which I certainly didn’t want to do. For some people, the cure made their symptoms worse, but “kill” is too strong a term, as the drugs were only given under health centre supervision and would be stopped/reversed if serious adverse effects came into play.
The steroids worked on me without any serious side-effects, although they did have a strange effect on my being, which I’ll return to explain a bit later.
Wednesday 16 February 1983 – Moved into a room with James – got visitors today – Liza and Michelle [Epstein] – feel somewhat better.
Thursday 17 February 1983 – Several visitors today inc. Liza – feeling much better today – fair bit bored still.
James was a rather strange fellow. He was not merely depressed about having glandular fever and being isolated in the health centre with me. He absolutely hated Keele. He had a girlfriend who also absolutely hated Keele. Together, they had found a way of making their University life tolerable – basically by going away from Keele together every weekend – primarily to visit historic churches, if I remember correctly.
e.g. St Peter’s Church, Wormleighton, Warwickshire
“Got visitors” was a rather strange, socially-distanced thing while I was in this isolation wing with James. The visitors were not allowed into the health centre to visit us – they could stand at a window outside our room and we could talk to them through that window. I vaguely remember that there was an element of elevation to our room, with an inadequate mound upon which our visitors might stand. Thus it was harder for me to chat with vertically-challenged visitors, such as Annalisa, than it was to speak with the more vertically-assured, such as my lanky (in several senses of the term) flatmate, Alan Gorman.
James’s only visitor was his young-lady-friend, who would join him for a mutual moan about once a day. Their shared beef was that they would be unable to escape the Keele campus together at the weekend and visit churches again until James was better.
My visitors were more numerous (several daily) and a more diverse bunch.
Friday 18 February 1983 – Still bedridden – feel much better – getting a fair bit agitated. Liza and others visited today.
I’m not sure which of the “multiple visitors” days included Ashley Fletcher, but I do remember him bringing with him some reading matter for me – I suppose technically he smuggled it in to me by throwing the reading materials to me, where I caught them at the window. It was either Miriam or Heather who was, through Ashley, lending me the booklets in an attempt to help relieve my boredom. The booklets were basically lesbian porn story magazines.
I’m not sure I was ever qualified to offer lit-crit of that reading matter…nor lit-clit come to think of it. Forty years later, the memory is dim, but I did read a few of the stories which were, to my mind, very predictable tales with almost identical plot lines. An unlikely encounter would suddenly, “unexpectedly” result in a shared realisation followed by an almost identical outcome – **SPOILER ALERT** – a sex romp. Sometimes it was two females, sometimes two females and a man, sometimes several people with a focus on the females. I suspected that the same stories were probably gender-reassigned for other similar publications targeted at other groups, with some “characters” (characterisation was in truth almost entirely absent) simply having the name, gender and some small aspects of their dénouement activity changed.
The reading material was absolutely nothing like this wonderful novel
I do remember trying to discuss with my sole companion in isolation, the church-loving James, how peculiar and dull, rather than exciting, I found these story books. But James was simply horrified and disgusted by the presence of these booklets in our room.
Still, I was really touched by the thought and the effort that Ashley and the lenders of the material put in to try to cheer me up and help alleviate my boredom. I do remember Liza finding the whole episode hilarious.
Meanwhile, my use of the word “agitated” might well have been written to remind me of the peculiar effect the steroids had on me. I think that effect might have come to its peak the next day, by which time I think James had been released.
Saturday 19 February 1983 – Let me get up for first time today. Sat in lounge – very exciting. Liza visited.
Dragon Matron – yes she of the long rusty needle threat- came in to my room. I remember suddenly feeling a hot flush and thinking, “she’s not actually that bad looking”…
…the outcome was extremely swift, hands-free, involuntary and I am pretty sure indiscernible to anyone other than me. But it was a seriously weird feeling.
I have asked my friend, Dall-E, to help me to illustrate the scene:
Nothing to see here
In truth the care team in the Health Centre were very kind and really were trying their best to make our lot tolerable.
That Saturday evening, when they let me sit in the lounge, I remember that they had identified another student, a Spanish guy who was, I think, called Miguel (I knew him through Rana Sen and that lot), who knew me. So they arranged for us to watch TV and have a juice together in the lounge, before they served us dinner together restaurant style. It really did feel like a release from isolation by then, although in truth Miguel and I didn’t know each other all that well and mostly discussed how nice it was of the staff to be making that effort for us.
The Tv programme we watched together was Dynasty, which I had never seen before nor have I seen it since. I thought it was incredible – by which I mean that I could not really suspend my disbelief to engage with the programme. I think Miguel quite liked it.
Sunday 20 February 1983 – Let me out for a walk or two today. Very exciting.
Monday 21 February 1983 – Discharged from HC today – got busy laundry etc. Liza came over in evening…
In my impressionistic memory I was isolated in the Heath Centre for ages. Intolerable ages. It came as a bit of a surprise to work out, from my diaries, that a week was all it took to be “intolerable ages” when I was 20 years old.
DALL-E 2 helped me imagine this sack of Maris Piper potatoes
There’s not a lot of interest to the general reader in my diary for the first 10 days of that term. Just in case you are curious, here is an image of the first week.
Studying, shopping and…not much else – let’s talk about food shopping.
In our flat, Barnes L54, we had a rota, based on three of us eating at the flat (Hamzah was outside that rota, mostly eating Halal food with the Malay crowd in Q-Block Barnes) and all four of us needing to do our bit cleaning.
I’m pretty sure that Chantelle was at least semi-detached from me and Alan Gorman by this stage – doing her bit but basically shopping for her share of the food duties with her share of the kitty.
Alan and I would make occasional trips to Newcastle-Under-Lyme together for the big food shops. No doubt 12 January 1983 was such a shop.
Sainsbury’s was the focus of such a shop. Periodically we needed to buy, not only the regular groceries, but also a sack of potatoes. Normally, in those days, Maris Pipers, which were cheap and available in large sacks at Sainsbury’s.
Actually my cooking very rarely used the potatoes. I would tend to make the rice and pasta/noodle based dishes that added some variety to our diet. But Chantelle was a “meat, potatoes and two veg” sort of lass, while Alan was such a lad. Chantelle did sometimes do a mean spag. bol. (who in those Keele flats did not?) so it wasn’t all potatoes with those two. Alan I recall, was partial to pies and sausages. There was an excellent sausage-specialist butcher on the High Street and we’d often venture there for top quality sausages at affordable student prices. I have previously discussed – click here or below -the fact that, for those two, the main meal, in the evening, was named tea.
But there were other meals. Lunch (or as the other two might call it, dinner) would normally comprise something based on sliced bread. One of the staples we tended to have to go on that sliced bread was a form of liver-based pâté sold in tubes at Sainsbury’s at that time for relatively small change.
Forty years on, I don’t think Sainsbury’s sells that stuff any more but Asda sells something similar – see image below.
White bread, own-brand margarine and that variety of pâté was never our dinner (tea) but was quite often our lunch (dinner) and/or our supper. Alan insisted on pronouncing that word pate (which might rhyme with gate or hate) – he had no truck with a pretentious pronunciation such as “pâté“. To be fair, I don’t think merchants like Sainsbury’s dared to put the accents on labels for such comestibles in those days, so the tube label probably read “pate”.
“Supper”, students of this Ogblog series might recall, is the ad hoc meal later in the evening (especially favoured by Alan) after a session down the boozer or possibly after a session of evening study.
Indeed, the sack of potatoes came into its own for supper, as quite often, the preferred “dish” was a chip pan full of chips.
Now look here, Dall-E 2, when I said “well used” I didn’t quite expect…but this will do.
Actually “our” chip pan (by which I really mean Alan’s) was filthy-looking on the outside but didn’t look “caked-on-gunge-like” inside, because we permanently kept it topped up with oil/fat, so it would never dry out. We mostly used rapeseed oil as the chip fat – that was the cheapest source of cooking oil in those days – which seems strange, forty years on.
Mince was very reasonable at Sainsbury’s back then, but my “dining on a budget” bankable meat protein was chicken livers, which you could get at that time for 29p per pound in Sainsbury’s, jammed into conveniently small frozen tubs, so I could have a few on standby in our tiny freezer drawer. These would serve two purposes:
a signature dish of chicken livers and rice – the livers casseroled with tomatoes and onions to make a rich gravy. My wife, Janie, even today, talks highly of that dish of mine, although it is some while since I have made it;
occasional production of a batch of chopped liver (gehakte leber) with egg and onions, using my mother’s recipe. Strangely, I might yet find a yellowed piece of paper with that recipe in her own hand, inside a recipe book somewhere. It is a course form of pâté (or do I mean pate?) which I used to make using a potato masher or, I seem to recall at one stage, a hand-controlled grinder device that my mother let me take to Keele with me as she by then had a better one. I recall that Alan very much liked this dish, although I’m not sure whether or not he preferred it to the flavour-enhanced tubes. Whether Alan’s youthful exposure to this quintessentially Jewish dish played a part in him marrying a Jewish lass many years later we can only wonder.
I’ll write more about shopping in Newcastle and some more sophisticated dishes at some future stage, but for now, I think I’ve ground out enough material from this topic.
With thanks to Graham Sedgley for these photos: Sunset At Keele, Winter 2022
For reasons I probably don’t need to explain in detail, I stayed up at Keele for best part of a fortnight after term finished in December 1982. The diary mostly mentions seeing Liza (who lived at The Sneyd Arms, so of course was still around) and doing a bit of academic work.
For those who haven’t been avidly following this “forty years on” series and weren’t around in the heady days of the early 1980s, students were required to sign on the dole every holiday if they didn’t have a holiday job and needed the financial support. But I especially like my above Tuesday write up:
Rose late. Did little. Union in afternoon & evening -> Kev’s – got very out of it!
Kev in that instance will be Kev Davis, who was quite a character. Alcohol, cannabinoids and amphetamines might well have been involved, although by then I expect I demurred on partaking of the latter, having previously found the experience unpleasant.
More time with Liza and doing some work. Also another mention of shopping – this will have been food shopping only – I have never been through a “retail therapy” phase.
A most unusual diary entry on 19 December 1982:
…watched play on TV in evening…
Alan Gorman had kindly left his portable TV behind in the flat when he went home at the end of term, enabling me to watch some TV when occupying the flat for most of the Christmas break.
Some detective work with Mr Google reveals that the television version of Richard Harris’s wonderful play about cricket, Outside Edge, was first broadcast that night, 19 December 1982. Superb cast, as you’ll see if you click the preceding link. I do remember thoroughly enjoying that play, but I was too polite to name it in the diary!
Paul Eddington & Prunella Scales in Outside Edge – picture grabbed on a “fair use for identification purposes basis” from classictelly.com.
Monday 20 December 1982 …did some taping…
Yes, I can see in my cassette log that I got busy around that time. Hamzah had a “proper hi-fi” including a record player and cassette deck. He also had some records I fancied listening to some more, as did my lovely neighbour from the flat across the way, Veera Bachra and as did Kev Davis.
I’ll write some more over the seasonal break about those music tapes and also about the comedy tapes we (by which I mean primarily me, Liza and Alan) were listening to at that time.
But for now, let’s look at Graham Sedgley’s glorious Keele winter sunset picture once again.
As the end of my first P2 term loomed, I spent less time working (getting through my deadlines in decent time, it seems) and more time with Lisa and friends.
“Mike & Mandy” mentioned in the Friday 3 December entry were friends (and soon to be flatmates) of Lisa’s at North Staffs Poly. That evening in the Students’ Union might have been the first time I met them.
I have no recollection of the “not good at all” UGM on Monday 6 December. My guess is that Truda Smith and her reactionary forces were seeking to subvert our Keele Action Group purposes.
The fiends.
Mind you, the thought of any Constitutional Committee meeting followed by a UGM does not fill me with delight, in hindsight. I am reminded of the quote attributed to Oscar Wilde: “The trouble with socialism is that it takes up too many evenings”. Or, in my case, too many meetings.
In that very last week of term, it seems that Alan Gorman joined us for at least a couple of those sociable (kin contrast with the socialism) evenings. I remember Lisa and Alan getting on well; they shared a quirky sense of humour which possibly explains how both of them were able to tolerate me so much.
I recall some late evenings in the flat listening to some of my comedy sketch tapes and laughing like drains together. But I’m pretty sure that kicked off in the second term. I’ll write more about it then.
At the end of this first term, the event that sticks in my mind the most is the Wednesday 8 December entry which mentions the Thunderbirds night.
I think there must have been some sort of cinema release of a feature length Thunderbirds compilation or something around that time. I think they also repeated the original TV series (but that had been and continued happening periodically for decades).
Point is, there was certainly a bit of a cult following vibe amongst students for Thunderbirds at that time.
We (which means me, Lisa, Alan and I think Ashley Fletcher was with us that night -possibly others too) went to a screening somewhere on the campus. It might have been Film Soc. in the Chancellor’s Building, but I have a feeling that this screening was in the Union or possibly a Horwood Refectory job.
I recall a lot of “audience participation”, for example with students proffering unsolicited advice on romance in the direction of a hapless Tracy youth (I think Alan). Mind you, I think Keele students on the whole had got the hang of such things a bit better than the befuddled marionette.
It was all in good humour and (in our case certainly) a form of reverent mockery. We liked Thunderbirds. We also liked to laugh at Thunderbirds.
I haven’t changed all that much in this regard, forty years on. During lockdown, Janie and I watched a few old episodes through the Wayback Machine to cheer ourselves up. Still good.
If you just want a taster, this launch sequence is wonderful, although it has been much parodied since:
On Friday 10 December the term formally came to an end, although I stayed up at Keele for a further 10+ days, which I shall report about in the next enthralling episode of “Forty Years On”.
Keele Students’ Union With Thanks To Paul Browning For The Photo
My November 1982 diary continues mostly to document a set pattern of student life that term. I was going out with Liza O’Connor, whom, it seems, I would see two or three times each week. At that time she was still living with her family at The Sneyd Arms, so I quite often describe walking her home late at night; which presumably staved off the wrath of Geoff O’Connor – no student (or offspring) wanted his wrath.
In the end, it was me who proposed the motion – much to the chagrin of Union President Truda Smith, who afterwards gave me a metaphorical handbagging…or do I mean “metaphorical hairdryer treatment“…or do I mean a metaphorical “handbagging with hair-dryer within” treatment? Truda was not happy. Pete Roberts seconded the motion, which probably gave the motion the political gravitas we thought it needed, as he was the immediate past Education & Welfare sabbatical and he said that he thought the quality of our education and our welfare was at risk from the cuts.
The diary entry suggests that the result was a solid win on the vote:
Monday 15 November 1982: Busy day – writing speech etc. UGM went well – motion passed well etc. Paul & Mike came in after.
I’m not sure who Paul & Mike were in this context. Was it you, Paul Evans? I don’t remember you being into the politics much but perhaps the issue of the cuts floated your boat. For Mike, a bearded fellow in a duffel coat springs to mind but I don’t honestly remember for sure. Pete Roberts, Simon Jacobs or Jon Gorvett might help me out here. Or perhaps not.
J-Soc Friday Night Meal, Friday 26 November 1982
Whose blithering idea was it to attempt this at Keele – a University with a tiny, mostly secular Jewish community?
Actually I have a funny feeling it was sort-of my idea.
Following the success of the International Fair the previous summer and the “joint venture” I had fostered with Tony Wong of the Chinese Cultural Society, I was very cognisant of the fact that other cultural societies had centred their cultural offerings around food, whereas J-Soc had not really done so.
Further, we had some enthusiasts for doing a meal in the form of, if I remember correctly, Michelle Epstein (who was in her second year) plus a couple of newbies – Annalisa de Mercur (who became a good friend for many years, during and after Keele) plus Julie Reichman.
In short, I think it was my idea that we do food and “the girls” turned the idea into something with deeper cultural significance – a heimisch Jewish Friday Night meal.
…our event wouldn’t have looked or sounded anything like the vid below either:
My recollection is that the event “got big on us”, with a lot of work in the planning and the aftermath. The event dominates my diary from the Tuesday before until the day itself and even seemed to dominate until the Monday after.
I don’t even remember where we held the dinner, although something tells me that there was a facility in Horwood that we could and did use for events like this. Or, if not, possibly the Lindsay Hexagon.
I remember being delighted to leave much of the hands-on running of the event to “the girls” and feeling, by the end of it, that I was happy to leave J-Soc more generally in their very capable (and more enthusiastic than my) hands.
The attendees for the event included several people from the Chinese and Arab cultural societies, plus my own entourage (including Liza O’Connor & my new flatmate Alan Gorman, who came from Catholic backgrounds), which might have been fascinating and/or beguiling for them.
“Hastly” Day After The Big Event, Saturday 27 November 1982
Hastly [by which I think I meant “hassle-strewn”] day. Shopped in afternoon – Liza and Chantelle’s friend stayed for dinner. Went to union – got quite drunk…took L home quite late
The fact that I mention Chantelle’s friend in this context means, I’m pretty sure, that there must have been some sub-text. I don’t really remember, but I suspect that I was pretty “duncatering” by the Saturday and/but ended up preparing the Saturday dinner in question. “Got quite drunk” was probably a way to let off steam in the union after the catering stresses of the preceding few days.
The subtext is probably lost in the mists of time, but if I had a grump on in those days, people around me would have known about it. Actually I’m not sure the obviousness of my grump has changed much in the forty years since.
On the Monday I was “sorting out J-Soc stuff still” which probably irritated me, although I did find time in the afternoon to “visit Anju”.
But it is mostly work for the next few days, so I sense that I felt that I was behind where I wanted to be with my essays and the like. Either that or some sort of interpersonal grump that I was too polite to write down and which is now, mercifully, long-since forgotten.
I have one very clear memory from the first few days of November 1982, about which the diary is entirely silent, plus one discovery on that diary page which baffles me as I really cannot remember the occasion at all.
2 November 1982 – The Launch Of Channel 4
Television played a minuscule part in my life at Keele, until the arrival of Alan Gorman in Barnes L54 equipped with a snazzy “starting University present” from his parents – a portable black and white television set and a licence to use it.
My first recollection of watching that television with Alan was the launch of Channel 4, an event that had been talked about in the news media with great fanfare.
I know that said fanfare had reached my parents, as I remember my mother once telling me that she had been watching Countdown since the day it was the very first broadcast on that new channel. I can imagine my dad having meticulously tuned the family television set to a Channel 4 Test Card days or even weeks before the big day.
My diary is silent on this matter, but I remember one aspect of that event very well.
We, by which I mean Barnes L54, gathered to watch Five Go Mad In Dorset that evening. That Comic Strip film had been trailed at length as a centrepiece of Channel 4 launch day.
The arrival of Channel 4 actually presented a problem to the Students’ Union, which had an extension with several rooms, only three of which were designated television rooms. In a world with only three television stations, this worked rather well, but the addition of a fourth TV channel was the subject of much debate. Should The Quiet Room be converted into a fourth TV room (no). In which case, what method should be used to select which of the four channels would be viewed in which of the three TV rooms? I’m not sure how that was resolved, but I suspect that Five Go Mad In Dorset would have been watched in at least one of the TV rooms that night.
Here is a link to a YouTube of the film. Trigger warning: it is rich in parody of non-woke opinions such that it couldn’t possibly be made without major script revisions today…or a special “licence to offend” from the current Home Secretary, (November 2022) that would no doubt be granted.
It felt very different from the TV comedy I had watched with my parents and I suppose it felt like comedy for our generation…not least because we were laughing at the mores of our parents generation.
In particular I remember Alan and I laughing so much at this film that evening. One other thing I recall well was having to explain rather a lot of the jokes/cultural references to Hamzah, who was from Brunei. Once we explained a joke, Hamzah would laugh, but it was not the same laugh as his natural laugh at universal gags; gags that he understood straight away. His laugh at explained jokes was that slightly forced laughter that one tends to hear at performances of Shakespeare or Greek comedies.
We watched several of those Comic Strip films over the coming months on the days they were first broadcast in an “appointment to view” style, which I’m sure is just what Channel 4 was after with people like us.
I’m struggling to recall an evening repairing furniture. Frankly I’m struggling to recall the furniture to which I might possibly have been referring.
I have a feeling that Ahmed (who didn’t make it as far as ’82/’83 in the end) and I inherited some furniture from Jo and Margaret at the end of the previous academic year, when we resided with them (in my case briefly) in Barnes M65.
I vaguely remember a sort-of two seat sofa of non-descript look and vintage. Perhaps also a chair. I suspect that the furniture was not in the best of repair, so presumably we made a collective decision, as a flat, to repair it.
Now I have to be brutally honest here, especially in the absence of any memory of the evening in which I, according to my diary, “repaired furniture”. It is extremely unlikely that I made any positive, physical contribution towards the repairs.
At Alleyn’s School, handicraft was far and away my worst subject. Mr Evans, whom I recall trying (without success) to provide me with some patient, kindly tuition, gave up on me very early in my first year of secondary school. Actually I believe he gave up on all of us – I think he had some sort of a breakdown, no doubt triggered by his inability to transfer even a modicum of woodwork technique to one keen but relentlessly ten-thumbed new boy. That left me at the mercy of Mr Midgely, whose teaching method, especially when directed at less able boys, primarily involved ear-pulling and back-of-head -clipping.
No.
“Repaired furniture” can only possibly mean that the others – Alan in the main, I’d guess – repaired the furniture, while I directed operations and probably, helpfully, made the tea (aka dinner), something I was pretty good at doing. “Lashings of ginger beer” will not have been involved, but Alan and I might have downed some cans of cheap supermarket pale ale, which, in those days, could still be procured for as little as 26p a can if you were lucky. That I do remember.
