Renée Harris – Page 5 – Ian Louis Harris

Selected For Cricket First Eleven Aged 12 & Other Alleyn’s School Hard Ball Stories, Plus Mum’s Hip Op & More, May 1975

1975 was my sporting annus mirabilis – or perhaps I should say that Alleyn’s Trinity Term 1975 was my sporting tempus mirabilis – for several reasons. For example, I have previously (out of sequence) reported my fives quarter final success.

An Uneventful Day Playing Fives, 9 June 1975

My most mirabilis hard ball (cricket ball, I hasten to point out) moment was also in June 1975, but I’ll keep readers in suspenders for that one at this stage.

Still, almost as astonishing was my selection for the cricket first eleven, on 3 May 1975, while I was still only 12. It’s there in the diary:

What do you mean, you can’t make out what that page says?

Sunday, 27 April 1975 – classes good. Salt beef excellent. Kalooki from 15p down to 11p up. Nice day and all.

Monday 28 April 1975– fives good. TV The Likely Lads, The Waltons, The Goodies.

Tuesday 29 April 1975 – uneventful day. TV The Rockford files, Edward the Seventh.

Wednesday, 30 April 1975 – cricket 2AK won – Me 6–0 runs 1-9 bowling, one catch. [Family dentist Harry] Wachtel came. TV St Trinians, Survivors, Woodhouse Playhouse.

Thursday, 1 May 1975 – Mom’s birthday. Classes good. TV Are You Being Served?

Friday 2 May 1975 – went into Barnett’s [Cyril and Marion]. Went to Camden. TV The Main Chance.

Saturday, 3 May 1975 – scored for first 11. Us 150 for 7 declared them 130 for 6.

OK, so I didn’t PLAY for the first XI at the age of 12, I scored for them. Give me a break, readers, I was only 12. Still, this was I’m sure an unusual promotion for one so young. Colin Page looked after the first XI and must have spotted (or been tipped off to) one of my many superpowers while I was still very young.

I simply will not accept the argument that Colin Page must have been desperate in his search for a scorer for that match. Nor that his desperation might well have had something to do with the fact that the FA Cup Final was that day and a London derby to boot. That is an outrageous slur on my burgeoning talent, aged 12.

Colin Page utilised my enthusiasm for cricket a great deal over the years, as the diary will attest. Scoring, umpiring…pretty much anything other than taking to the field of play. Still, he repaid my enthusiasm in spades at the end of my Alleyn’s journey, by giving me a glowing reference for Keele University in 1980:

Getting In To & Starting At Keele University, 8 October 1980

But that bit of the past was way in the future in 1975. Let’s press on with the next week:

Sunday 4 May 1975 – classes good. Played in afternoon. Nice day. TV War Film.

Monday, 5 May 1975 – fives good. TV The Likely Lads, The Waltons, The Goodies.

Tuesday, 6 May 1975 – classes good. 18 out of 20 maths, 19 out of 20 Latin. TV Edward The Seventh.

Wednesday, 7 May 1975 – cricket was off. Finished Treasure Island. TV cartoon film, Survivors, Woodhouse Playhouse.

Thursday, 8 May 1975 – went to Grandma Jenny. Classes good. TV Love Thy Neighbour, Are You Being Served? Goodies Special.

Friday, 9 May 1975 – event swimming. Little men [goodness only knows what this means?]. TV The Best Of Dick Emery, The Good Life.

Saturday, 10 May 1975 – school in morning. Uneventful. Afternoon TV Eastern?, Sale of the Century, Mike Yarwood, Cannon.

Sunday, 11 May 1975 – dined at “Dragon” [Golden?] – v good. Flew planes. Stick stretch [was that a type of model plane?] excellent. TV Waterloo Road, Waltons film.

Monday 12 May 1975 – fives v good. Mom went into hospital. Dined at Peach Blossom. TV RWT [Rutland Weekend Television].

Tuesday, 13 May 1975 – went to classes. Had a nice dinner. TV Edward The Seventh.

Wednesday, 14 May 1975 – won cricket 54 to 38. Went to Barnett’s for dinner. Went to Camden Town. Beat Uncle Cyril at chess. TV Wodehouse Playhouse.

Thursday, 15 May 1975 – went to see mom. All right after operation. Dined at Peach Blossom. TV All in the Family (no good).

Friday, 16 May 1975 – had chicken etc. Went to see mum. Went to Grandma Anne’s. Don [Knipe] in bloody swear mood.

Saturday 17 May 1975 – went to school in morning. Andrew [Andy Levinson] for the rest of the day. Won snooker competition.

I owe an apology to readers who are wondering why I am again reporting my mother’s hip replacement surgery having previously reported it in/as February 1975:

A Private Lesson In Arthroplasty, Hockey, Supervising Entrance Exams, Viola Mooted, A Field Trip To Kew Gardens & Far Too Much TV: Alleyn’s School & Beyond In The First Half Of February 1975

I now realise/remember that mum’s surgery in February was a preparatory operation for her scheduled hip replacement, as she had, some years earlier, had a plate inserted in an ultimately unsuccessful attempt at using femoral osteotomy to provide a long-term solution to her hip problem.

The main, hip replacement surgery was in May 1975 and what a marathon that was compared with today. Mum was in hospital for more than two weeks having her Stanmore inserted…

…whereas my own experience of a total hip replacement, fifty years later (sixteen weeks ago as I write) was to spend only two days in hospital and then acquainting myself with Pinky, my brand-new hip, at home.

The upshot for me and dad in May 1975 was a chance to try out several different Chinese restaurants and multiple invitations from friends and neighbours. What a kindly community we had back then.

My visits to Cyril and Marion Barnett next door had started before the hip business. They were in the schmutter (clothing) business and had a storeroom/showroom thing in Chalk Farm/Camden. It became one of their/our habits for them to feed me, take me for a ride in the back of their van to Camden, where I would help them move clobber around or whatever, then they would buy me (and themselves) ice cream at Marine Ices and then home. I loved Marine Ices Marsala wine flavoured ice cream best and can never taste Marsala or see a bottle of the stuff without thinking of those days.

You can keep your madeleines – my Proust phenomenon comes from Marsala wine.

I also mention, on the Friday, “Don [Knipe] in bloody swear mood”. I have told the tale of Don Knipe (our doctor, Edwina Green’s husband) in a previous article, which, as it happens, also involved the idea of involuntary memory.

Strange Case Of Dr Green And Mr Knipe…And Beluga Caviar And Scotch Whisky And A Bust Of Hitler, c22 December 1981

Another bit of the past that was still way in the future in 1975. Let’s move swiftly on.

“Won snooker competition”, which I mention on the Saturday, was most likely a tournament comprising three or four of us: Andrew (Andy) Levinson for sure, me also for sure (as I won it, remember) and most likely Stuart Harris [no relation], with possibly other competitors such as Fiona Levinson and Gail Harris (Stuart’s sister). My annus/tempus mirabilis simply knew no bounds at that time.

Sunday, 18 May 1975 – classes morning. Afternoon saw mum. Evening Andrew.

Monday 19 May 19 75– Fives good. Beat Edwards 15-10 and Johnson 15-12. Saw mum.

Tuesday, 20 May 1975 – classes good. Had Langers again. TV Hughes[?] Rockford, Edward Seventh.

Wednesday 21 May 1975 – did all prep in chapel service. Cricket again got two catches. We won 52-46. Visited mum. OK.

Thursday, 22 May 1975 – field day very good. Scored 3 C[ricket matches?]. [Wayne] Manhood in best match. Grandma Jenny’s for tea. Classes Ok.

Friday, 23 May 1975 – went to Grandma Jenny for lunch and afternoon. Went to [dad’s] shop then visited mummy.

Saturday 24 May 1975 – Andy’s barmitzvah went well. Stayed with Benji’s [Stanley, Doreen, Jane & Lisa] for day. Saw mum in morning and evening.

Andy Levinson at my bar mitzvah some weeks later

Sunday 25 May 1975 – no classes. Dad at home of course.

Monday 26 May 1975 – dad home. Visited mummy. Mum’s walked. Went to see Earthquake (shake)

Tuesday 27th of May 1975 – went to Grandma Anne’s for lunch. Played with Andy. Classes good.

Wednesday, 28 May 1975 – we won cricket verses 2BM. I caught Andrew out. Saw mummy.

Thursday, 29 May 1975 – went to Grandma Jenny for tea. Classes good. TV Dad’s Army, Jacques Cousteau, All In The Family.

Friday, 30 May 1975 – went to visit mum. Getting better every minute – should be out soon. Went to Grandma Anne’s.

Saturday 31 May 1975 – scored for under 13s v Whitgift. Tied match. 83 all out each. Went to Richmond Rendezvous with Uncle Cyril [Barnett].

Earthquake – oh deary me. Those disaster movies were all the rage back then. Earthquake was in Sensurround, which made you feel as though you were experiencing the quakes in the cinema. Lovely.

I seem to recall that Grandma Anne was nevertheless able to sleep through the experience.

And talking of quakes, I wonder how my good friend Andy Levinson feels now about me reporting that he was caught out by me on the cricket pitch so soon after his bar mitzvah?

Ah, right!

Me Mugged, Mum Knifed…All In A 10 Day Stretch Around Alleyn’s School & Camberwell in Late February 1975

DeepAI Imagines The 01 Once Daily Streatham Hill To London Bridge

We had our own special train that took us from Streatham Hill directly to North Dulwich (and then on to London Bridge). A great service for us Alleyn’s kids from Streatham Hill, not needing to change. It was even named/numbered the 01, perhaps in honour of its once a day status.

Of course it was not just for us Alleyn’s kids; there were kids from other schools – Tulse Hill Comp. and William Penn to name but two – on that train too. No self-respecting adults rode on that train as far as I can remember.

In the early days, there were very few of us from Alleyn’s who got on at the start of that run – possibly just me and Andy Levinson. We loved the fact that we could see the train in the siding and that it pulled into the station, seemingly for us.

Latterly for sure Rupert Jefferies, Justin Sutton and I think one or two others from Alleyn’s joined the train at Streatham Hill, but those guys I think started after the “mugging” described below.

Friday 21 February 1975 – “mugged” on train. TV Sportstown, Rhoda, Porridge and MASH v good.

I remember a fair bit about the incident, although I don’t think I could identify the brace of assailants now. In those days, British Rail had 10×10 person compartment carriages on those suburban trains. Andy and I usually had a compartment to ourselves, but on this occasion we were joined by two larger lads. They seemed well big to us, but we were 12; they might have been 15 or 16.

Hey boys, they shouted, have you got any money…and we said…

…very little. We had very little money. We were schoolboys who had no need for money on a regular school day, so I suspect we had a couple of bob between us. (That’s 10p if younger readers are unfamiliar with the terminology).

We gave them what little we had and then, I remember this so clearly, the assailants sort-of boxed…pretty much just slapped, our ears, perhaps in frustration at the paucity of their haul and/or possibly because our suits betrayed the fact that we were from a posh school.

Ultra-violence it wasn’t, which is why my diary entry used the term “mugged” rather than, for example, MUGGED.

Saturday 22 February 19 75 – TV Doctor Who, Walt Disney. David Aarons – Monopoly, I won. [He] taught me gin rummy.

Two Saturdays in a row my parents must have gone out, two Saturdays in a row David Aarons (one of Lionel & Dina Aarons’s children) came around. Mum and dad must have been fitting in a few socials ahead of mum going in for her hip replacement.

At age 12-and-a-half, I clearly didn’t have it in me to use the term “babysitting” in my diary, but that is what this would have been. David could have only just turned 16 by then. Prior to David, it was quite often one of his big sisters, Ruth or Judith, who would babysit for me. They had probably outgrown that role by then – indeed one of them at least was probably already at University by then. I don’t think the fourth Aarons “kid”, Robert, ever babysat for me.

I remember those sessions with David well. My perception was that he treated me more like a grown up than his sisters. Possibly I WAS quite a bit more grown up with him, or at least a fair bit closer to his age and stage of life. I do remember him teaching me games, although I had quite forgotten that he set me on the road to Gin Rummy. I remember him using some choice phrases that I liked and emulated for a while. I especially liked:

Expletive deleted…

…when indicated a desire to swear but the restraint to avoid doing so. I still use that one occasionally. I was saddened to learn that he died of brain cancer tragically young.

Sunday 23 February 1975 – classes good. Chinese good. Came home after lunch. TV The Great War, Who Do You Do.

Monday 24 February 1975 – went to visit mum in hospital. TV Goodies, Call My Bluff.

Tuesday 25 February 1975 – went to visit mum again. Rather uneventful day. Saw muggers in next door café.

Dad couldn’t cook to save his life, so while mum was in hospital having a pre-operation (plate removal from a failed attempt to avoid hip replacement) ahead of her hip replacement surgery, we ate almost every night in restaurants and cafes – either in Streatham, Camberwell or somewhere inbetween.

I recall the fact that I spotted the previous week’s assailants in a cafe just a few days later and pointed the fact out to my dad. It was one of those moments when you realise that your dad is not the all-embracing protector that your childhood assumes him to be. I can’t remember exactly what dad said, but it would have been something along the lines of…

…put it out of your mind, son.

It’s possible that he didn’t believe that I had really spotted the right guys. After all, even the police had a lousy reputation for identifying and nailing the right young criminals in such circumstances.But I’m equally sure that dad would have, quite rightly, felt loathe to take on such a situation.

Wednesday 26 February 1975 – went into Uncle Cyril’s cos of operation, went to [Cyril’s] shop, masala yum yum, played chess and I won!

Uncle Cyril in this instance is our next door neighbour Cyril Barnett. This was probably the first time that Cyril and his wife Marion took me in the back of their van up to Chalk Farm to deliver stock to his shop and have a treat at Marine Ices as a reward for helping them.

What would “elf & safety” say about a 12 year old kid rattling around in the back of a van with a whole load of shutters on rails? We could probably have Cyril and Marion taken away in chains for that today, but back then we all rolled with such risks and I rather enjoyed the thrill of those van rides…

Cyril: proof positive that you can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs

…and I absolutely loved Marine Ices masala-flavoured ice cream. I fear the place has now gone, so you’ll just have to take my word for it.

Thursday, 27 February 1975 – visited mummy after shop. Dinner, “Adam’s Ribs”. TV The Roman Way, Dave Allen At Large.

”Dinner Adam’s Ribs” is a reference to a segment in MASH, where one of the characters was dreaming about his favourite Chinese spare ribs restaurant, which was named Adam’s Ribs. After visiting mum in Kings College Hospital, Dad and I found a Chinese restaurant in Camberwell where we both thought the spare ribs especially fine, so we declared that they were Adam’s Ribs.

Friday 28 February 1975 – Went to shop. Visited mummy. TV Porridge and MASH..

Saturday 1 March 1975 – Went to Andrew after school. Played snooker. Visited mummy again.

Mum was in hospital for 10 days or so, I think, preparing to having her Stanmore inserted in May.

It is strange sitting writing this article in the clinic, almost 50 years to the day that mum started the process of a hip replacement, having just yesterday had mine replaced. She got 40 years out of hers, I doubt if I’ll need or want 40 years out of mine!

Egg, Sports, Drama, TV & A Heap Of Truly Geeky 11-Year-Old Alleyn’s Boy Diary Stuff, Two Weeks – Late January To Early February 1974

A strange mixture of interesting, baffling and mundane diary entries in this chunk of my second term at Alleyn’s.

27 January To 2 February 1974

Sunday 27 January 1974 – Still no Mr Freed [Hebrew classes]. Grandma Anne’s. Made dad a blue moon egg.

Monday 28 January 1974 – Cricket with Banson v good batting and bowling.

Tuesday 29 January 1974 – Art good. Classes good.

Wednesday 30 January 1974 – Fives with Cookie – from 11-3 down to 16-14 up. He one [sic] other game.

Thursday 31 January 1974 – BAD DAY IN ALL

Friday 1 February 1974 – Maths test. Form drama, The Cave. PE basketball match.

Saturday 2 February 1974 – scool [sic] morning. Afternoon played filter paper.

“Blue moon egg” – my dad liked fluffy omelettes and I learnt how to make them when I was still quite small. They were (are) difficult to get absolutely right in terms of fluffiness – a bit like making a soufflé in a pan – but if I got it right, dad would announce that the egg was a blue moon egg.

I’ll talk about cricket in January at Alleyn’s separately in more detail elsewhere. At this seminal stage of our cricketing careers, I suspect that Barry Banson held back on head-cuffing as his modus operandus for “encouragement”.

In the matter of fives (Rugby fives), to be fair on Alan Cooke (aka “Cookie”), it is clear from other diary entries that I was usually the victim of his more able performances. During that early effort in January 1974, I must have found a little something extra to turn a match around thusly. Interesting that we were already playing to 15 rather than to 11. I’m pretty sure that our “proper” junior matches were played to 11.

When a bad day is all in block capitals, it must have been pretty bad. I might well have thought it needed no further exposition, as I would remember the details of its badness for the rest of my life. However, I can now report categorically that I have no idea what made that particular day bad. I can only say with some certainty that, at the time, that Thursday had not been a good one.

By Friday all was well again, with Drama Friday to enjoy and a basketball match in PE. I’m struggling to work out what “The Cave” might have been. I have already asked “Sir” (Ian Sandbrook) who is equally baffled.

There is a play called The Cave by Mervyn Peake which was written in the 1950s but not formally published until after 1974. It is possible that Alleyn’s had some “for school” copies of that piece, as some of the resources we used were not formally published books. Ian Sandbrook says:

The Mervyn Peake hypothesis has some merit as I think the English Dept did consider the Titus Groan trilogy as a candidate for the Mode 3 English Syllabus – although that is perhaps rather a fragile link.

If anyone out there remembers, then do chime in.

The late John Clarke (chemistry teacher) would no doubt have been proud of me playing with filter paper on Saturday after school. Just the sort of thing he would have wanted (perhaps even expected) boys from his chemistry class to do.

3 To 9 February 1974

This week has some even more obscure or difficult references in it. Some of it is handwriting related but some items are simply, to my mind now, truly weird things to write in one’s diary.

Sunday 3 February 1974 – Classes, Freed in March. Bechat Hamazon [grace after meals] v good.

Monday 4 February 1974 – cricket great bat good eye a hit bowl straight and good catch 4 v good, 1 good, 1 bad.

Tuesday 5 February 1974 – Art painting on wall. Classes good. Alf Garnet [sic] good.

Wednesday 6 February 1974 – Fives v Cookie. Man About The House v good.

Thursday 7 February 1974 – Very bad day. Horrible H’s in bad mood. I got the bad.

Friday 8 February 1974 – Monitor for entrance exam. Learnt some magils and /`read] a chapter second WW. Timeslip v good.

Saturday 9 February 1974 – scool [sic] in morning. Changed shoes Tuf /` + reinforcers 400] Dr Who v good.

“Freed in March must mean that I was told that I would transfer from Miss Aarons’s class to Mr Freed’s in March. Not that I was due to be released in March, nearly 18 months before my bar mitzvah. That wasn’t going to happen. Why I was so keen to mention the grace after meals I have no idea. I vaguely recall the Brixton Synagogue Hebrew Class including a sweet, calorific elevenses with Danish pastries, challah bread, jam and the like. This was partly to motivate attendance and partly to teach the meal graces in a happy context. I’ll write more on this topic in a specific piece or two and direct it towards the several friends from that era with whom I am still in touch, 50 years later. I think Andy Levinson was the only other Alleyn’s boy from our year who also attended those classes.

I’m not entirely sure what all of the Monday cricket entry means, but the England selectors might want a look at that young man, based on my description.

The Tuesday diary entry suggests that the art teacher, Mr Brew, liked one of my pieces. This wouldn’t be the last time that Mr Brew took to my crude drawings, despite my near hopelessness. My Dad, being a genuinely good artist with a steady hand and fine eye, tutored me a little at home, rendering me a bit less than useless and very keen.

Alf Garnett was the main character in Till Death Us Do Part – a comedy that wouldn’t pass muster in the modern era because, although it was ridiculing racist and misogynistic opinions, the Alf Garnett character spouted them with abandon. Here is the episode I watched that night with my parents:

Wednesday – the fact that I say “fives v Cookie” without mentioning the score tells you that Cookie must have won – probably won well.

Man About The House was a much gentler comedy than Till Death Us Do Part. Below is the episode we watched that night.

Interesting to read that 1st year pupils did monitoring for entrance exams. I have no idea what “learning magils” means. It might have been some homework for my bar mitzvah class. Also unsure what the second world war reading was about, as for sure we were studying ancient history that year. Perhaps just reading for general interest.

I had to Google “Timeslip”, but when I did so remembered that children’s programme. Unlike the above two shows, which first broadcast the above episodes on the day of the diary mentions, Timeslip was first broadcast three or so years’ earlier. Below is a short trailer which might trigger some of your memories:

I had to Google Tuf to realise that my note about changing shoes included a brand name. Back then, the brand was meant to be indestructible footwear for kids…

*Image borrowed from this site where you can buy…*

When the going gets Tuf, eh?

“Reinforcers 400” can only be a reference to buying a packet of 400 hole reinforcers. This might be the geekiest diary entry ever and surely confirms my membership of the Dull Men’s Club. We’re only a few weeks’ in to my diary and no doubt there are some well geeky entries to come.

Dr Who very good – who knew? The Doctor was Jon Pertwee at that time and Invasion of the Dinosaurs was the mini series at that time. Here is a short explaining how that season of Doctor Who worked:

Some of this TV stuff might be in colour for you (and for me now) but in 1974 the Harris household was still strictly black and white.

I’d forgotten all about hole reinforcers…I wonder whether I can find some in my draw and repair some damaged holes in my file pages?…

*Image borrowed from this Amazon trader – click here.*

Holiday In Bulgaria, Golden Sands, August 1972

A peachy holiday. Mum, me, Denise, Steve & Tony Lytton.

Oh boy did the memories come flooding back.

Just before the end of 2020, I tracked down Steve Lytton, with whom I hadn’t been in touch for many decades, on the back of a memory trigger about limbo dancing:

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

We had a very enjoyable e-chat. At one point, Steve said he couldn’t remember how we met, but I remembered it clearly. We met as a chance encounter between our two families in Golden Sands, Bulgaria, in August 1972.

Our parents got on well with each other. Steve and I got along well too, which I’m sure pleased all four parents, as Steve and I were both only children.

Not only did our families hang out together a lot during that holiday but (unusually for holiday friendships) that connection continued for a good few years when we got home, despite the Harris family living in Streatham and the Lytton family living in Hendon.

This was not one of our more photographic holidays, but still there were half-a-dozen pictures from this holiday in “Mum’s maroon album” and I managed to find an envelope with a few more pictures of varying quality/vintage, some black and white from “my camera” (I was only allowed simple stuff at that age; dad wanted me to prove my bona fides as a photographer before letting me use better equipment and materials) and some contact prints, I’m guessing from the Lytton collection. I’ve put them all (16 of them) in the following Flickr album – click here or below:

There is also just a couple of minutes-worth of cine film. The Lytton family feature as much or perhaps even more than my own family in the film. I think dad possibly shot more, but some of the film got sun-damaged – there’s some slight evidence of that damage in the surviving film.

You get 15 seconds of the previous year’s holiday (Port Leucate in Occitania, South-West France, since you asked) as well as the couple of minutes of Bulgaria. A fair bit of clowning around, but the highlight of this movie is unquestionably the beach football, in which mum takes a tumble and then Steve, rather than assisting the injured player, cynically takes possession, playing on. Shocking sportsmanship, caught on film for ever.

I had a few abiding memories from this holiday, despite this holiday being 18 months or so before I started keeping a diary. But the very best of the memories was triggered by Steve, when we e-swapped reminiscences.

Let’s start with my abiding memories and use Steve’s wonderful recollection as the grand finale.

Abiding Memory 1: A Standing Room Flight

My first memory is about getting to Golden Sands. We flew on the Balkan Bulgarian Airline:

In those days they were using Ilyushin Il-18 Soviet Russian planes that had shown a recent propensity to crash, apparently, although mercifully we were in blissful ignorance of that fact when we flew:

“It’s just an Ilyushin…”
RuthAS, CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

What I especially recall, though, was the “standing room only” short hop from Sophia to Varna in one of those. People were standing in the aisles of the plane holding on to grab-handles like passengers on a bus or tube.

Abiding Memory 2: Viennese Waltz Chicks

Bulgarian Viennese-Style Music Trio Dressed Like 1970s Grandma’s Curtains

Was it really the music of Johann Strauss II that touched my heart, or did I have a kiddy-crush on these lovely musicians? I’m well over the Strauss now, anyway, but here’s the piece that particularly sticks in my mind from that holiday:

That really is a superb barnet and tasche sported by the great Austrian waltz dude

Abiding Memory 3: The Olympic Flame

There was a great deal of excitement when word went around that the Olympic flame, doing a circuitous route from Athens to Munich via several Balkan/Eastern European countries, would be staying outside OUR hotel, The International in Golden Sands, for the night.

Detective work on my part tracks down this museum record – click here – which suggests, if I understand the dots on the map correctly, that we are talking about 12/13 August 1972.

We had rooms overlooking the front. I am pretty sure I joined my parents on their balcony to watch the excitement unfold.

A crowd within and without the hotel, pregnant with anticipation.

Then cries from within and without:

Es kommt…Sie kommen…Hier kommt es…

…that sort of thing. The vast majority of tourists in Golden Sands in those days were East Germans.

The torch bearer ran up some steps, ignited the “eternal flame cauldron” where the Olympic flame was to repose for the night, stepped back down to the sound of tumultuous cheering and applause…

…while the Olympic flame petered out in the cauldron.

There was a rapid inspection and rejigging of the cauldron, then the ceremony was repeated, this time successfully.

I was just shy of 10 and was already aware that Santa doesn’t exist. Now I learnt that the Olympic flame is not as eternal as the authorities would have us believe.

…especially not Bunter’s Holiday Cruise.

Bird’s Eye View Of A Nudist Beach

Thanks to Steve, I have recovered another wonderful memory of this holiday.

We all had rooms with excellent views overlooking the seafront. But Steve’s room, at one end of the hotel, had an especially splendid view. It overlooked a sectioned-off nudist beach.

Steve, very kindly, shared this world of wonders with me. We would sneak off to Steve’s room whenever the opportunity arose, to have an ogle and a giggle. Steve was around 11, I was coming up to 10 – I’m pretty sure neither of us had a clue what we were ogling at or where all those moving parts might go.

Fortunately for genteel readers, I have no images from that aspect of the holiday and am averse to Googling “1970s East German nudist sunbathers” for fear of the dreadful dark recesses of the internet that such a search might reach.

However, the image of dad, above (modestly attired in shorts, of course) gives a sense of the size and scale of the (mostly) East German gentlemen who frequented that beach. And I have managed to find a similarly modest but suitably scaled East German woman shot …

Renate Boy aka Renate Garisch – you couldn’t make these names up.
**Bundesarchiv, Bild 183-B0901-0014-003 / CC-BY-SA 3.0**

Anyway, I do now recall that my mum liked to dine out on this story for quite a while. Apparently both sets of parents wondered why Steve and I seemed so keen to sneak off to Steve’s room. I fear that it was me that blew our cover in this innocent yet guilty secret pursuit, by asking to borrow dad’s binoculars.

The parents worked us out, caught us out, made light of it and shared in the humorous side of this story. Dad taught me that quality rather than quantity is what matters when observing the human form, a lesson that has served me well in art and in life.

Tony, perhaps emulating the sights from the neighbouring nudist beach

Tutankhamun Exhibition, Spring or Summer 1972

Roland Unger, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

I remember being taken by my parents to the Tutankhamun exhibition at the British Museum in the spring or summer of 1972. It was the thing to do that year.

I remember the excitement of planning the trip. I remember the crowds outside the British Museum and having to queue for ages.

I remember being shepherded through the exhibition, in truth not seeing much as a tiny tot, but still being exhilarated by it all.

To compensate me for the long queues and not all that much to see once we’d been through the exhibition, my parents bought me a souvenir of the visit; a Tutankhamun Mask Mug, which still to this day forms part of my minuscule trophy cabinet, in itself part of a slightly larger drinks cabinet:

For several decades, that “Treasures of Tutankhamun” relic of mine has served as the collection dish for small coins that are better off in the charity coin jar than in my pocket. While it still serves that purpose, in theory, in practice (nearly 50 years later) I rarely use cash these days so the jar fills up mighty slowly.

Earlier in 1972 – The Curse of “Toot”

My favourite memory surrounding the huge public phenomenon that was the Tutankhamun exhibition was my Grandma Anne’s take on the topic, in early spring of 1972.

“Keep away from that park. It’s dangerous”.

Grandma Anne, bless her, was more than a little deaf by 1972. Also, despite having lived in England since just after the first world war, English was not even her second language, after Russian and Yiddish.

Driving away from Streatham one Sunday, I’ll guess just before the arrival, or early in the days of, the exhibition, Grandma Anne exclaimed, as we drove along Bedford Hill, that someone had cursed the common.

We asked her what she was on about. She’d heard it on the radio. She was emphatic. Grandma Anne didn’t know the details, but someone had put a curse on the place and if you went there, bad things were likely to happen to you. She was keen for me especially to keep away from the place.

Open-air exercise class, Tooting Bec Common - geograph.org.uk - 1316311 — Something wicked this way comes, in Tooting Bec Common’s cursed tombs

The curse of Tooting Common. It took us a while to twig her confusion and we three were in stitches about it. I’m not sure Gradma Anne ever got her head around why they named a park in South London after an Egyptian Pharaoh …or maybe a Pharaoh after a South London park.

Anyway…

Cursed Or Lucky? Autumn 2012

…roll the clock forward more than 40 years after the 1972 exhibition in London – Janie and I got something close to a private viewing in Cairo in 2012 when we inadvertently arrived in Egypt on the day some trouble kicked off, so we visited the Cairo Museum in the absence of 95% of the normal number of tourists:

A Short Visit To Egypt, Day Two, The Egyptian Museum & Stuff, 24 November 2012

There’s lucky, not cursed…hopefully.

A Family Holiday With The Schambill Family In Port Leucate, August 1971

We befriended the Schambill family while in Juan-les-Pins the previous year.

A Family Holiday In Juan-les-Pins, August 1970

In that baby-boom era, I suspect that Jean-Pierre & Marie-Therese (Monsieur et Madame) Schambill were as conscious as my parents that their son, Jean-Michel and I were relatively rare examples of only children. The fact that Jean-Michel and I had got along well and allowed the grown ups to enjoy their holiday time in relative peace was probably a fair chunk of the rationale behind the Port Leucate adventure in 1971.

The Schambills had a villa in Port Leucate, as did a friend of theirs, depicted above, who was also to holiday their with his son, Luke and (I think) his mother or mother-in-law.

I think Luke was a bit older than us, but not too much so and we all got along. I remember that Luke liked a cartoon character named Lucky Luke, so of course that was his nickname and of course we played cowboys with him in the Luke role, whatever that might have been.

In truth I don’t remember all that much about this holiday. The small stack of 20 photographs that I have uncovered, fifty years on, help a bit – Flickr album here or below:

There is also some cine – just a couple of minutes 13’15” to 15’20” in the following reel:

You get to see what the Port Leucate beach looks like and also the villa we stayed in is depicted briefly.

I remember the food. Several of the French adults had been raised and/or had lived for several years in North Africa, so meals in the villa had a distinctly French/Maghrebi style to it. I remember finding it very exotic and taking to it; whereas I think my mother found it a bit strange. Cous-cous? What’s that?

I know we corresponded with the Schambills for some time after that holiday – certainly Jean-Michel and I were sort-of pen pals for a while. I have a feeling that one or other or possibly both of Jean-Michel’s parents in time visited mum and dad in Streatham, but I don’t think I saw them again after that 1971 holiday.

I wonder what they…and in particular Jean-Michel, might be up to now?

A Family Holiday In Juan-les-Pins, August 1970

This holiday in Juan-les-Pins was my first taste of travel outside the UK and my first time on a plane. I was coming up to eight years old and remember little about it in truth.

One of my few abiding memories of the holiday is connected with the headline photograph – I do remember learning to swim under the tutelage of the swimming instructor depicted. The picture illustrates the physical element of his method, which was combined with the constant repetition of his sole word of English – “swim” – stated in a baritone French accent, part entreaty, part hypnotism I imagine.

Suffice it to say, the fellow’s method must have worked on me – I did eventually learn to swim. I think my neck might be a bit longer than it otherwise would have been too.

My other abiding memory was meeting & befriending the Schambill family. Jean-Michel was bit older than me, but well “within range” and our respective parents seemed pleased for us to become pals.

A rummage through old photographs has uncovered a few pictures from that holiday that I probably hadn’t seen since the time, including the picture below, with me and Monsieur Schambill on a pedalo, with Madame Schambill doing the hard work by the looks of it.

We got so friendly with the Schambill family that we ended up holidaying with them again the following year, in Port Leucate.

A Family Holiday With The Schambill Family In Port Leucate, August 1971

Meanwhile, in Juan-les-Pins, we stayed in the Hotel De France, as depicted in the picture below.

Looks quite posh. I don’t think it is there now – at least not under that name.

There is a decent stretch of 8mm cine from that holiday – the first 13’10” of the reel below. You can see “Monsieur Swim” at work. You can also see Bill Ruffler – of Ruffler & Walker fame, having a go at water-skiing. I do remember mum and dad going on about the coincidence of running into the Rufflers in Juan – Bill’s business premises were a few doors down from dad’s shop in Battersea.

The photos above and a few more are all in a Flickr album – click here or below:

Not many detailed memories from that age and stage, but my impressionistic recollection is that I had a wonderful time and found the whole “going abroad” thing quite thrilling.

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

That short holiday in Brighton was one of the least memorable of my childhood, but for the fact that we happened to be staying in the same hotel as the Yorkshire cricket team.

I’ll explain the context of the holiday after I relate this seminal moment in my lifelong love of cricket.

Dad and I were in the lobby of the hotel, probably waiting for mum, at the same time as the Yorkshire team were preparing to set off from the hotel to the Sussex CCC ground; I’m guessing this was the morning before the start of the three-day match.

Our coinciding will simply have been happenstance. Dad had no interest whatsoever in any sport, let alone cricket.

But Geoffrey Boycott was a big name in those days – one of very few cricketers who might find himself on the front pages of the paper or on the television news, not just the back pages. Dad knew who he was.

So, as we found ourselves in such close proximity to a big name, dad thought he would introduce me to Geoffrey, along the following lines.

This is Geoffrey Boycott, one of the most famous cricketers in England and indeed the whole world.

Being pretty well trained for a seven-year-old, I looked up at Geoffrey and said words to the effect of:

Very pleased to meet you, Mr Boycott.

Boycott2 — “What a polite young man”, said Mr Boycott, patting me on the head: Sigerson, CC BY-SA 3.0

Geoffrey responded well to these polite enquiries. I’m told that this is not always the Geoffrey way, so he must have been in a decent mood and I guess we came across as suitably deferential, fellow hotel guests.

What a polite young man.

Geoffrey patted me on the head. He might even have added

I do like polite young men.

He then explained the teams presence to me and my dad, half-introducing us to some of the other players. For reasons I cannot explain, Phil Sharpe, Geoff Cope and Chris Old’s names stuck in my head for ever. Perhaps it is to do with the minimal number of syllables to those names.

From that holiday onwards, for many years, I thought of Yorkshire as my team. After all, I knew them. I’d met them. They were my friends.

Here is a link to the scorecard from the match Yorkshire played while staying in that Grand Hotel with us. It did not go well for Geoffrey, who had to retire hurt on 3, just a few minutes into the match. Neither did the match go well for Yorkshire.

My family took that unusually short and proximate break, because I had my adenoids and tonsils removed a couple of weeks earlier, so mum and dad felt that a short break (sea air, ice cream, that sort of thing) not too far from home was the safest option and might aid my convalescence.

There is a short home movie from that holiday – not one of dad’s best:

A few transparencies too – below is a link to the highlights of that, which includes some pictures of me in school uniform when we got home and possibly my earliest efforts with the camera – a couple of pictures of dad:

Mum and dad clearly put a lot of effort into trying to keep me amused – frankly that holiday must have been deadly dull for them.

But I met the Yorkshire cricket team on that short Brighton break and my love of all things cricket was surely sparked there.

Family Holidays In Bournemouth, August 1967 & August 1968

Mum, Dad and I spent a couple of summer holidays at the same kosher hotel in Bournemouth , in 1967 and 1968. Probably a couple of weeks each time. Probably late August.

Were we at The Cumberland? Were we at The Normandie? Was it one of the other “Bournemouth Borscht Belt” hotels. None of us could remember – perhaps someone more knowledgeable can recognise the place from the pictures and help with a comment.

Update: Some “archaeology” on the family stereo (3D) photographs in March 2022 uncovered some lovely pictures from 1968, one of which clearly shows The Normandie Hotel. It seems I was quite a hit with the girls back then – go figure!:

The following slides are from the holiday in Bournemouth in 1967 (same hotel) and then some pictures that were taken subsequently on the same roll of film.

We took a ferry and visited Corfe Castle, amongst other things. This was before dad had that Zodiac sprayed in psychedelic colours, unfortunately, but I’ve used some music which sounds of the period anyway.

I have a little more recollection of the 1968 holiday. Perhaps in part because of the home movie from that holiday – see the silent YouTube embedded below:

Unfortunately, YouTube has blocked the soundtracked version of this film, so you’ll need to imagine hearing a soundtrack including:

Hey Jude, The Beatles;
Jumping Jack Flash, The Rolling Stones;
Baby Come Back, The Equals.

Those three tunes in particular were the soundtrack of that holiday to my memory. Especially the first of those three, which was being played incessantly on the hotel jukebox; not least by me if I could persuade daddy to part with another sixpence so I could hear Hey Jude again.

I had been recording the pop charts from the radio earlier that month, as evidenced by a reel-to-reel tape that survived the decades – written up on Ogblog – click here and below: