Stories Volume 5
Introduction > Stories #121 to #140
Stories collected between 2020 and 2021 with photography by Mike Pinches.
The beauty of being in a company of older performers is the kaleidoscopic range of real-life experiences that they bring to the table. These experiences cover everything from the vivid and strange world of childhood, to the unexpected late awakenings of old age. Take our newest batch of anecdotes, for example. These new stories are delightfully diverse: from the earthly, sensual joy of baking bread, to the cosmic dreams of outer space; from an unnerving encounter with a poltergeist, to the risqué glories of adult pleasure products and burlesque. Running as a rich theme throughout, is the possibility of love, and the simple wonder of human connection. As one writer tells us, in her story of funeral rites and flirting, “Amidst death, life goes on”, and indeed it does, delightfully so.
Edited by Barney Bardsley
Liung Ip - My Life - #121
我1936年喺香港出世嘅。之後識左我老公，佢行英國船，成個月先返屋企十日八日。結婚之前佢有先講明。點解我選擇行船佬，佢人工高呀。當時香港D人太窮啦，佢大我十年都無所謂啦。佢好為家庭。結咗婚有咗小朋友，佢為咗唔想拋低我哋就決定放棄行船，喺Liverpool落腳做廚，整我同個仔過嚟英國。我就好happy呀，反正都無特別親人喺香港。但點知一申請申請咗好耐，其他人一頭半個月就得，我攪咗成三年。因為我無咗出世紙，當時走難，顧得條命重點顧到張紙？
I was born in Hong Kong in 1936. Then I met my husband, he was a sailor and only came home once every three months. He did tell me that before we got married. Why did I choose a sailor? He earned well! Everyone was so poor in Hong Kong back then; I didn’t mind that he was ten years my senior. He was a family man. After our son was born, he decided to give up life at sea for our sake. He settled down in Liverpool and brought us over. I was really happy, as I didn’t have family in Hong Kong. The application to get us over ended up taking much longer than we thought. While others took months, it took us three years. The reason was my birth certificate was lost when I fled the war as a child.
我66/67年嗰時嚟到英國，個仔都四歲。一嚟到對英國D人印象好好。喺希思路轉機嗰陣個機師好好人，又幫我拎野又幫我拖細路。我英文唔好，去到Liverpool無做野我就喺屋企睇細路。但過咗兩年開始好悶好寂莫。我老公見我咁就托朋友搵間空置鋪頭，佢做廚，我就可以幫手睇生意、睇細路，同喺樓上住。間鋪頭喺Leeds，於是我哋就搬過嚟開外賣店。間外賣店叫Harehills Chop Suey House，都幾出名㗎！一做就做咗三十年囉。到大約廿年前我同我老公講，捱咗三十年我無乜希望，只希望有屋住有架車山入就得。之後我哋就退休了。
It was 1966/67 when I came to the UK, and my son was four. I found British people very nice. When we transferred at Heathrow for Liverpool, the pilot was so kind and helped me with my luggage. He even held my son. I didn’t speak much English; I didn’t work when I arrived at Liverpool and stayed at home to look after the family. Two years went by, and I felt bored and lonely. My husband then decided to start his own business so I could help in the shop while looking after our son. He found an empty shop in Leeds, so that was how we ended up here. Our takeaway shop was called Harehills Chop Suey House, it was quite famous back then! We ran the business for thirty years. About twenty years ago I said to my husband, “I don’t wish for much after thirty years of hard work, I only wish for a roof over my head and a car to go places.” Then we retired.
上年3月23號我比賊佬入屋呀。嗰日朝早有人拍門，問我要唔要人整花園。我每年都叫人嚟整一次，咁我咪開門比佢入嚟去花園睇囉。佢睇完之後下晝五點真係返返嚟喎，佢同我喺後花園，拎住支筆同張紙寫低我話要點整。十五分鐘之後聽到有人喺屋入面嗌佢，話得啦走啦咁。得都奇怪點解突然多左個人，不過無為意以為係佢同事啦。佢話要走，我叫佢開個價佢話450啦，我叫佢平D佢就話300啦，之後就走左，我以為佢趕時間。我入到去見到地下做乜咁多鞋印嘅？個心即刻打左個突。上到房發現比人偷哂我D錢同首飾。錢都事少，最痛心係佢偷咗我阿媽比我做嫁裝嗰隻玉鈪。
Last March I was burgled in broad daylight. That day someone knocked on my door and asked if I need any gardening doing. I get someone to tidy up the garden every year, so I invited the man in to have a look. He had a quick look and said he would come back in the afternoon. About 5pm he was back, with a pen and paper in hand. We went to the garden to discuss details. Fifteen minutes later someone called him from inside the house and said, “it’s done let’s go”. I was surprised there was another person; how did he get in? But I thought maybe it was his colleague. I asked him for a quote and he said £450, I asked him to make it cheaper, and he said £300 before rushing off. I thought they were in a hurry. When I went back inside, I was astonished to find lots of dirty footprints in the house. My heart sank. I went into my room, they have taken all my cash and jewellery, including the jade bracelet my mother had left me for my dowry.
我老公過咗身成十年啦。佢唔係有咩病痛，佢老呀。唔記得野，好笠。我重叫人改裝咗間屋，等佢可以舒服D喺樓下。後來佢開始唔識講，又唔係好食到野，要請Carer來照顧佢，一日三次，每次嚟兩個人，我就廿四小時standby。咁樣維持咗一年。開頭牧師有嚟睇佢，但牧師走咗我見到佢眼光光，好似想喊咁。咁我就同牧師講叫佢唔好嚟啦，可能你觸動到佢心入面一D情緒。有一日我朝早起身，聽到佢氣促，擘大個口，好似抖唔到氣。我即刻打電話去醫院。佢瞓咗一晚醫院，第二日就去咗囉。
My husband has passed away for nearly 10 years ago now. It wasn’t anything in particular, I guess he died of old age. He started to become forgetful and slow. I got people to renovate downstairs so he could live comfortably without going up and down the stairs. Then he started to struggle to speak and eat. We had carers three times a day. Two people came each time. I was on standby twenty-four hours. It lasted for about a year. The pastor from our church came to visit in the beginning, but I saw my husband look upset after the pastor was gone, so I told the pastor not to come, I’d rather not get him emotional. One day when I got up in the morning, I heard my husband wheezing for air with his mouth wide open. I called an ambulance. He spent one night at the hospital, next day he was gone.
我到宜家都唔慣，一到夜晚我就怕靜怕黑。我有個朋友喺 Manchester住老人屋，我同個仔同新抱講話我都想去住，佢哋話唔好啦咁遠，我又行得走得，可以照顧自己。我一諗又覺得係喎，咁就無去。但唔搬又唔係，我都唔知點。
I am still not used to it, I’m afraid of the dark and the quietness. A friend of mine stayed in an old people’s home in Manchester, I wanted to go join my friend. But my son and daughter in law didn’t want me to move away to a different city. They said I am capable of looking after myself. They’ve got a point, so here I stayed. But should I stay or should I go? I really don’t know.
Bill McCarthy - Airport - #122
In 1985, I had the opportunity to tour as a drama student in a production of the musical Grease and Shakespeare’s Henry V, around colleges in Malmo, Sweden. I had never travelled abroad before, so this was a first. It did not cost anything to go, other than getting a passport and a stone coloured cagoule, which I thought was practical to travel in. There was a group of about 30 of us, all very excited. None of us had been to Sweden before, and there was much animated discussion. We would be staying in teachers’ homes. It was a cultural exchange of sorts, although the hosts could speak English and shared our western values.
When we arrived at Stockholm airport, I got off the plane and walked through a tunnel towards the area where passengers wait for their luggage. Once in the building, our group made our way down an escalator. I was behind them, just looking around, not really paying much attention to anything. I was just about to step off at the bottom, when suddenly two armed security staff came up to me, and asked me to go with them. The group ahead looked surprised, as if I was some kind of wanted criminal. They stood there grinning, the security men told them to carry on walking.
Initially I thought, is this some kind of prank? But I quickly realised these men were serious looking and had machine guns on them. I did not know how to respond. My first thought was, had I done something wrong on the plane? Had I been mistaken for someone else? Whatever it was, I was certainly not going to show any resistance but total compliance, this was not the time for bravado.
They escorted me to a room, where they started to ask questions. What was my business in Sweden? Where would I be staying? How long was I planning to remain? They asked for my passport, which I handed over. They looked at the photo – luckily it was a recent photo booth snap, that actually did resemble me. Someone brought in my suitcase and they asked me to open it. This all began to feel quite surreal. Whilst opening the case I stopped momentarily, praying that my stuff was still in there, and that this wasn’t me being fitted up with contraband: drugs, weapons or an exotic animal inside. I struggled with the zip, which made me feel more anxious. I wanted the proverbial hole to appear below and swallow me up, or to wake up on the plane and find this was a bad dream. What a way to introduce yourself to a new country I thought. Will this incident go against me in some way? Would I get a criminal record? What had I done wrong?
As I lifted the lid on my case I could see my clothes. One guard looked and ran his hand through my belongings. He seemed happy and so was I. There was a knock on the door, and a member of staff from the drama school appeared. Richard, I said, can you tell them what I am doing in Sweden. The security guards by now seemed less officious and were content to listen to Richard’s account. They said I was free to go.
Before leaving, I asked the guard why they had singled me out? He said because I looked Middle Eastern and they needed to check why I was here, because the risk of state terrorism was high. But by now I was not really listening. I just wanted to leave. I hadn’t done anything wrong, apart from appearing to be another nationality and wearing a stone coloured anorak. This was my first time in a foreign country – and quite a nervy experience. I have never been back to Sweden since. Nothing personal. But I do remember a lovely landscape, and that the tour was fun. The hosts and audience were really friendly.
Les Cook - Motorcycle Across Australia - #123
In 1972 my friend and I decided to drive her motorbike from Perth to Adelaide – only 2,695 kilometres – to see her boyfriend. The road across the Nullarbor Plain (the south Australian desert) was a dirt track. Before we reached Coolgardie, in western Australia, we hit a kangaroo. We managed to keep the bike upright and pulled over. The roo had been decapitated, and we had to pull bits of it out of the wheel spokes, before we could continue. Not very nice.
We decided that we would not drive at dawn or dusk, to avoid something like that happening again. Halfway across the Nullarbor we stopped. The road ahead and behind us was dead straight, from horizon to horizon. All around us the land was flat: no buildings, no people, no trees, no vehicles. We felt as if we were the only people in the world. It was an amazing sensation. We made it to Adelaide.
The next year we decided to go to the Gold Coast in Queensland for Easter. We contacted Honda to see if they would do us a deal on servicing and repairs to the bike. They told us that if we got our picture in the paper they would do it all for free. We rang up the West Australian and they came and took our photo. We were expecting it to be a small picture, hidden away in the paper, but when it came out it was a large photo on Page Three. So we were Page Three girls.
We set off, and the trip across the Nullarbor went as before. At Port Augusta we headed north east to the Gold Coast. At the petrol stop, there was a sign telling us that the next petrol station was closed. We decided to take a chance. When we got to the closed station we stopped, a car pulled up, and the driver had a can of petrol so he kindly filled our tank.
A bit further on, the chain on the bike broke. We stuck it together using a hair clip, and travelled slowly on to the next small town. It was evening, and the guy at the garage decided we were an emergency, so he called in his mate from a party, and said they would work through the night to fix it. He also offered us accommodation at his mother’s house. The next day it was all fixed and we continued to the Gold Coast. We had a great few days there, then headed south to Sydney to see my mum.
Later that year we thought we would go on another ride. The plan was to go across to Port Augusta, then north through Alice Springs to Darwin, and finally around the west coast back to Perth. We thought spring would be best, as there is heavy tropical rain in the north in summer. When we set off there was flooding in central Australia, and we hoped it would be OK by the time we got there.
Going across the Nullarbor was very different this time. It was more like a canal than a road! At first we were amazed to see big puddles on the track. As we progressed, the puddles got bigger and deeper. You couldn’t see where the potholes were, which meant riding through treacherous water. One time the bike stopped. We took out the spark plugs and held them up to the sun to dry, then rode on. Then we went through a very deep puddle with an unseen pothole in it. The water came right up over our legs, and the bike stopped dead. But we managed to hitch a lift on the back of a truck loaded with timber, and the two of us – plus bike – were taken safely into Adelaide.
Edwin Long - Life Coaching - #124
In October 2019 I was beginning a new life in Austin, Texas. Through the dating app known as Bumble I met Karen. We became friends, but not a relationship. Karen is a life coach, and I subscribed to a course of coaching with her. At the time I was looking to start up a business in order to gain the status to live in the USA. I had found an excellent business advisor called Monica, and she had discovered a very promising plumbing company that I was considering. On telling this to Karen my coach, she commented that financially this looked very worthwhile. but that my non verbal language lacked positivity.
I had doubts of my own, and had discussed it with Richard, my best friend in England. When I asked what business he would choose for me, he said that we should run a joint car dealership, trading classic cars between the USA and the UK. On telling Karen about this idea, she remarked that now she could see some excitement in my expression – but a sparkle in only one eye. She probed deeper and asked what would I like to wake up to every day, that I would feel passionate about?
Well, I said, followed by a thoughtful pause, it would have to be something sexy. Her immediate response was that my face now revealed some inner energy, and that we must explore this further. I didn’t have a plan – only some ideas that I might like to be an entertainer or performer of some sort. I like being expressive and colourful. I have a body that I am proud of. I have often been told that I should be a model. Karen offered to do further work on the topic and link me up with people in the world of entertainment.
At my next appointment with Monica, my business advisor, I told her that I had had a change of heart and to cancel the proceedings for the plumbing company. She was very understanding and promptly turned to the computer monitor. There she accessed a page with details of an opportunity to take up a franchise with Adam and Eve, the leading company in the USA for adult pleasure products. Now that sounded sexy! A couple of months later I had a signed franchise agreement in my hand, and the search for a suitable property began.
Further life coaching led to another exciting venture. Karen introduced me to the Austin Academy of Burlesque. Following six sessions of training, I and eighteen other neophytes did individual performances on stage at the Vortex Theatre in Austin. I received a standing ovation, with rapturous clapping and cheering! Wow! I think that this was the most sensational experience of my life. So thank you Karen.
Naseem Ashfaq - Moving On - #125
In 2018, I met members of the Performance Ensemble, when they came to talk to us at Feel Good Factor, where I had been a volunteer for some time. Feel Good Factor is a health and wellbeing centre based in Chapeltown, Leeds. As a result, I took part in a performance at the Queens Hotel called Bus Ride. It was the first time I had done anything like that. It was well out of my comfort zone. It was a massive, scary challenge. But I did manage it. In front of 193 people – I told a story about a bus trip to Whitby.
Since then I have moved on. The performance has given me the confidence to do more. Now I volunteer for Feel Good Factor, and make home visits. This is to encourage and motivate people who feel isolated and alone, just as I used to feel. I encourage them to come to social groups, to meet new friends. It makes me happy to see I am making a different and to see them smile, and I think it makes them happy to see me smile, too.
I have always been a very outgoing person, who loved socialising. I would go to social groups three times a week, and when I had my free days, I would visit family and friends.
Then came the Covid 19 lockdown, and things totally changed. I had to adapt to staying at home, and that wasn’t easy for me. I did struggle the first few weeks. I would just go to shops and focus on keeping social distance and avoiding people. It didn’t occur to me to make a conversation. I would just get served and go home.
As weeks passed, I started to notice that I was becoming depressed. So I had to think of something different which would help my wellbeing. It got me thinking, why not make a conversation when I went to the shops? So the next time I went, I did, and it did make a difference. So I kept it up. Also having long conversations at home with my son helped me.
Having more free time, I have been cooking more, especially healthy meals, and even cleaning and dusting helped to stop me getting bored. These days I phone family and friends, and ask how they are coping, which helps me too. As does having a routine: waking up at a similar time and going to bed at the same time every night. One thing I will remember, if we have another lockdown, is that I will use these methods to cope and to manage my life. Get a routine and make small changes: it really makes a difference. This is a good lesson to learn in life. There’s always light after a dark tunnel.
- #126
Man Chiu Leung - Hong Kong to Leeds - #127
我阿爺個係咕哩頭嚟嘅。嗰時D咕哩頭搵到錢就嫖、賭、飲、盪、吹。我阿爺就醒，唔會亂洗錢，識比D仔女供書教學。我阿爸33年皇仁書院畢業之後入殖民地政府做clerk。39年打仗就入左merchant navy行船，之後喺越南識左我阿媽。阿爸成日話你好彩呀，行船成日有炸彈但炸佢唔死，之後帶埋我呀媽返香港，你係抱住返嚟嘅，如果唔係你都唔知喺邊。
My grandfather was a coolie leader in China, coolies were labourers – and earned good money. When others blew their money on women, gambling and drugs, my grandfather saved up for his family. My father received a decent education in a good school. After graduating from high school in 1933, he joined the colonial government as a clerk. When the war broke out in 1939, he joined the merchant navy and met my mother in Vietnam. My father always said “how lucky I am”, for many bombs had fallen near him at sea, but he was never hit. He later managed to bring my mum to Hong Kong with me in her arms.
I lived on Temple Street when I was little. My grandad often took me with him for breakfast in a tea house in the morning in Kowloon City. After breakfast we would watch the airport being built there, then walk all the way home. That was three whole miles, and I was only three. People said Little Chiu is so gifted and strong.
我細個住廟街。耐不時同阿爺去九龍城飲茶，飲完茶之後睇佢地起機場。嗰時我3歲咋，睇完就一口氣同阿爺行返廟街，成3里路。D人個個都話「嘩釗仔神童呀，行到咁遠嘅？」
My grandad and uncles practised martial arts. They did Hung style. I learned Mantis Style when I was a teenager. Me and my friends got cameo stunt fighter parts in Kung Fu movies. I haven’t practised for a long time. Last Valentine’s Day I performed a sword fight routine and that was Mantis Style sword. My partner got a coin sword, and I used one with a retractable blade. It looked rather dramatic when I slashed her!
我阿爺同D世叔伯好打得㗎。佢哋打洪拳。我十幾歲嗰陣都有跟師父學螳螂拳。石堅D武打片，我有跟D師兄弟去做吓咖哩啡。不過好耐無練啦。上年情人節我喺seacroft表演武術咪螳螂劍囉！我個對手攞把金錢劍，我攞把大刀係有伸縮機關嘅。一劍插落去都幾有戲劇性㗎。
我都同阿爸一樣讀皇仁。FORM 5畢業之後就聽阿爸識去公記讀紡織。D FRIEND話我「死仔梁文釗有大學唔讀走去讀公記」。咁我又好聽阿爸話。我阿爸宜家過左身，但之前同佢傾電話，我個仔聽到就問我，你做咩淨係咁話yes yes yes咁嘅。我話係呀，對住阿爸唔會no no no。我個仔係BBC，唔識講中文。
I went to the same school as my father. After graduating from high school, I went to study textiles at Hong Kong Technical College. My friends were like, “dumb Chiu why don’t you go to university?” I just listened to my father. My father has passed away now. When he was alive I chatted to him on the phone and my son overheard our conversation. My son asked me, “Dad, why do you always say yes to grandad?” Well, I didn’t say “no” much in front of my father. My son is what they call a BBC, British Born Chinese. He doesn’t speak Chinese.
初初嚟到英國嗰陣，一填Form就容影引起誤會啦。D人問我First name係咩我就話係釗，但後來佢地發現我叫”文釗”就話我first name應該係”文”MAN，唔係釗。次後嗰廿年當我話我係Man，D人就話你梗係Man啦！當我話我1946年出世，D人又當我講笑。我個樣生得後生呀！
When I first came to the UK, whenever official forms needed to be filled, confusion happened. In Chinese, CHIU釗 is my first name. Whether I filled in the first name box or was being asked my first name, my answer was CHIU. After they noticed my full name was Man Chiu Leung, I was often corrected that my first name was Man, not Chiu. In the past 20 years whenever I said my name was Man, the response was “obviously you are a MAN”. Then when I said I was born in the year 1946. They looked at me and said, “are you kidding me?” due to my youthful appearance.
我有廣東話翻譯牌，88年Leeds同杭州結姊妹城，我嗰陣幫Leeds Council接待杭州外賓。不過我D普通話麻麻。我係第一個用廣東話教food hygiene嘅trainer。嗰時D華人十個有九個做廚，又唔係好識英文，但係無衛生牌又唔得，所以我教左好多人，好多華僑都識我。
I am a qualified Cantonese/English translator and interpreter. In 1988, Leeds and Hangzhou became twin cities and I was working for Leeds Council to welcome guests from Hangzhou, even though my Mandarin is not too fluent. I am the first ever trainer in food hygiene teaching in Cantonese. In the 80s nine out of ten Chinese immigrants were in the catering business and spoke little English. You could not open your doors without a hygiene certificate, so I’ve trained so many people. I got to know a lot of people too.
2011年4月1號，朝早有人打電話比我，話係channel 4 ，問我識唔識煮rhubarb。我話我識，我屋企花園咪有。原來rhubarb係喺中國傳入英國嘅。之後下晝四點有個女人同另外一個人抬住㗎大的機嚟到我屋企話要拍。我話唔好喺我屋企啦，下星期二去華人中心拍啦，我個個星期去煮飯比D華僑。到拍之前嗰日佢再打比我同我講點拍，重話唔好周圍講。原來嚟嗰個係JAMIE OLIVER。我嗰日用古法整煮咕嚕肉，煮煮吓佢一路喺度偷食。拍完佢請我去佢架流動酒吧飲酒玩domino。我玩domino輸比佢，我D朋友問我做咩輸比佢，我話佢請我飲酒咁我咪輸比佢囉。個節目叫JAMIE GREAT BRITAIN，我老婆話拍出嚟好似排過咁，其實我無排過㗎。
On 1 April 2011, someone from Channel 4 phoned me in the morning and asked me if I knew how to cook rhubarb. I said yes and in fact I had it in my garden. In the afternoon the woman and her colleague came to my house with an enormous camera. I said, “why don’t we film again next Tuesday when I will be cooking for the Leeds Chinese Community Centre members?” The day before, they phoned again to go through the logistics and asked me not to publicise it. It turned out it was Jamie Oliver who was coming the next day.
I cooked sweet and sour pork the traditional way and it smelled so nice. Jamie Oliver kept pinching the food as I cooked. After filming he invited me for a drink in his mobile bar and we played dominoes. I lost to him. My friend asked why I lost to him and I said, “he was buying me drinks so I let him win!” The programme was called Jamie’s Great Britain. My wife said it looked rehearsed, but we didn’t.
我媽媽08年喺溫哥華過身。我細佬80年代已經去咗嗰邊，我阿爸驚97喺香港後被清算，溫哥華又有得飲早茶，所以就同阿媽移咗民去溫哥華。10年我同細妹一齊去掃墓同探吓細佬，住同一間酒店。佢同我講，阿媽臨終前叫佢好好照顧阿哥，其實阿哥當年來香港時已經兩歲，唔係兩個月。2008年，我阿媽終於將呢個放喺心度好耐嘅野講咗比阿妹知，2010年，我先知道原來我係1944年出世，唔係1946年。做咗68年人，終於明白點解我3歲時可以飲完茶同阿爺一口氣行3里路，原來我已經5歲。
My mother passed away in Vancouver in 2008. My brother went to live there in the 80s. My father was worried about the handover of Hong Kong in 1997, so he decided to move to Vancouver too, with my mother. Also, Chinese tea houses in Vancouver open at 8 in the morning, whereas in Leeds they only opened at noon.
In 2010 my sister and I went there, to visit our mum’s grave and our brother. We stayed in the same hotel. My sister told me, that before mum passed away, she told my sister to take good care of me, because I was older than anyone thought. “He was two years old when I took him to Hong Kong in my arms, not two months”. That was the first time my mother had made this secret known to anyone. My sister kept that secret for another two years, before she told me that night. After 66 years, I finally understood why I could walk three miles from the airport back home when I was three years old. I was actually five years old
Barney Bardsley - Searching For Stillness - #128
Before I could walk – or even talk much – my mother would sit me on a blanket in the back garden, and put a little book in my hands. Progress and Poverty it was called. A Victorian treatise on social conditions and political economy by Henry George. I couldn’t read a word, of course, but that was beside the point. I loved the book itself: small enough to fit my hands – the gentle turning of the pages was an act of contemplation; the holding of the book, an entry into another world, far away from the noisy squabbling family I belonged to. When my mother came to gather me up, book, blanket and baby, some time later, I was always in the exact place she had left me, perfectly still, utterly content. Like the Buddha under the Bodhi tree. I have been searching for that stillness ever since.
When I was 29, I got very sick with glandular fever. Pale and weak, I started yoga, as a physical rehabilitation. Slowly my strength returned, and I began to take dance classes at Brixton Recreation Centre. Never one to take any exercise, I suddenly fell in love, hook, line and sinker, with contemporary dance. I left my work as a journalist and trained full-time at the Laban Centre in London. Everything speeded up. Even in my dreams I was moving – fast.
Into this maelstrom walked a tall, elegant Greek man called Andreas Demetriou, who was known then – and still is – as the T’ai Chi guru of South London. Like the child on the blanket, with that little book in her hands, I was drawn to this man and the movements that he made, without having a clue what they signified, or how to do them. Peaceful, calm, contemplative: T’ai Chi was everything that my dance training lacked. Gradually, the world slowed down, into an elegant twenty minute sequence. From the opening movement, The Rising Sun, to its inward-focussed conclusion, Carry Tiger, Return to the Mountain, I learned to rehearse my whole life in miniature. Each of the three parts represented, in allegorical movement, the three stages of life: Childhood, Adulthood, Old Age and Death. And when the sequence finished, the whole cycle began all over again. Finally I learned to control my body, in a flow of energy and power. T’ai Chi means peace and vitality. Stillness in movement. My troubled and chaotic young adult self had – in endless flow – come to rest.
Death came late to stalk me, after a childhood and adolescence where all the adults around me stayed healthy and robust. It was my own generation who learned about loss, on an epic scale. This was the eighties. And AIDs came knocking at our door. By the time I was 35, I had watched three young men die an agonising death. Fear stalked the corridors of our lives. Stigma followed our every footstep. Cure, or at least containment, was still a long way in the future. A whole generation of young gay men believed they would never grow old. And many of them never did.
When I met Tim, the man who would become my husband, I believed that he, at least, would never leave me. He was six foot five, physically strong, mentally stable. Yet, by the time he was 37, he had contracted a rare and incurable cancer. Our daughter was not yet two. Our life together had just begun. Ten years later, at 47, Tim was dead.
One day, when the cancer was already very advanced, and my mind was tearing itself into shreds at the thought of what was to come, I took a book from the shelf and began to read. It was The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, by buddhist monk Sogyal Rinpoche. The book had been there for years and I had never even opened it. Perhaps I had never felt the need, until this moment. The words inside were simple, calm and lucid. Life is transient. Everything passes. Learn to let go, to breathe in, to breathe out, and be still – and everything will be alright.
T’ai Chi, my faithful friend in movement, was still beside me. But I needed something else as well. I had to learn to stop moving: to train the mad and frightened monkey in my mind to settle down, and to make my peace with death. I began to meditate, haltingly, inexpertly, and without a companion or guide. And as the days and weeks and years went by, I continued to do so, as frequently as I could. I still do. The worst still happened. Tim died. Then my mother, my beloved aunt, and my father. Friends grew ill and left me. I had periods of ill health and sorrow myself. But somehow I managed just to sit down, here and now; to breathe; to be still. No book, no movement to hold me. Just the earth beneath, the sky above, and the space, passing around and between us all. Keeping us separate, holding us together. In perfect quiet.
Christopher Benstead - Out of Stock - #129
I am
Out of stock
I have
Just discovered
I am
Out of stock.
Chicken, beef, vegetable
Or otherwise.
I must remember
To put this
Onto
My shopping list.
Must remember
To stock up
With stock.
Or maybe
Just
Stock up
Generally.
Message on answerphone:
“Thank you for calling.
I am out
Stocking up.
I am
Currently
Unavailable.
Pat White - Which Road? - #130
Which Road?
I am hot and tired but happy, relaxed, enjoying the start of the holiday. I’m driving through France and about to negotiate a complicated junction where motorways cross and merge.
He is sitting beside me, maps open, navigating.
I notice the sign to Rouen, “Look, it’s next right”.
“Straight ahead”.
“I’m sure it said right for Rouen.”
“Straight ahead”, this time more assertive.
If we miss the road here we will be forced down the wrong motorway, miles out of our way. My role is to concede, placate, defer, but this time I go right, towards Rouen, even though it terrifies me.
An angry silence.
Neither of us comments but to me, it marks a turning point.
Roger Harington - The Plague - #131
Now it came to pass in those days that there was a plague in the land and many there were who did sicken thereof and die. And there did come a decree from the rulers of the land that everyone must go even to their own house and dwell in isolation there. Henceforward no-one should be seen in the street, except they be there to purchase necessary victuals or profit from some bodily exercise.
Now some were able to enjoy this time, for they no longer had to run the race of the rat to earn their daily bread. Moreover, on account of their wealth, they were able to provide for themselves a substantial supply of food and drink, and now were blessed with the peaceful leisure to enjoy the same. They did also profit from the great variety of entertainment available to them even in their own home.
Many such persons were assisting family, friends and neighbours wherever this was possible. Others, perchance, were content to allow their many comforts to cocoon them from their neighbours’ needs.
But many merchants who had goods to sell had no-one now to buy them. They therefore could only watch in despair as such wealth as they possessed did swiftly and thoroughly evaporate.
They also suffered greatly who were much stricken in years, for not only did they lack the strength to walk abroad to acquire what they needed, in many cases they were also without any neighbour to assist them, and so they did rapidly sicken from their lack of adequate nourishment.
Now there were many physicians who gave of their time and skill to assist all those afflicted by the plague. Even at great risk to their own health they did daily minister to the sick with ceaseless devotion. And the people with one voice did acclaim this heroic compassion. Also the number of those who volunteered to assist the needy did greatly cheer the heart.
But by lamentable contrast there were those who, when they did not receive from the apothecary the medicine they expected, did swear at those who sought to assist them there and said all manner of foul thing against them.
There were also those who, happening to find some vehicles being used to carry medicine to the sick, did wantonly destroy the wheels of these vehicles so they could not further be employed.
And there were even those who did deliberately cough over those stricken in years and cry out to them “Die, bitch.”
Now many were not surprised by what they saw, for they knew full well that man is a giddy thing and few there are who can claim to be constant in their practice of compassion. But in a time of plague it is more than ever required of us that compassion doth prevail. For if the plague does not abate, if the number of the impoverished increases, if many are thereby devoid of the means to buy their daily bread, if, in short, plague, poverty and famine are still our masters, and many are driven thereby to respond in violent affray, in such a testing time, what then? Will compassion run out like toilet paper?
Wai Yee Lee - Coming to Leeds - #132
我係76年嚟Leeds嘅。點解嚟Leeds？因為失戀囉！
I came to Leeds in 1976. Why? Because I broke up with my boyfriend!
我喺香港出世同長大，我家姐就去咗英國。嗰年佢有個朋友喺英國返香港準備結婚，佢就托個朋友嚟我嗰度攞D衫返去英國比佢。佢嚟咗攞完衫，點知後來佢去到紅棉道婚姻註冊處門口同佢個未婚妻嗌大交，結唔成婚。佢返咗英國之後，我家姐同我講，原來佢當日一見到我就好鐘意我，婚都唔結話要娶我過英國！當時1976年，我啱啱同喺加拿大嘅男朋友分手，英國都幾好吖，於是我就嚟咗英國了。
I was born and grew up in Hong Kong. My elder sister had come to the UK. One year, a friend of hers was coming back to Hong Kong to get married, so she asked him to drop by our house to collect some clothes and bring them back for her. After he had collected my sister’s clothes, he had a fight with his then fiancée at the registrar’s front door, and ended up... breaking up with her.
Later on, after he went back to the UK, my sister told me he had fallen love with me at first sight, and he wanted to marry me instead. That was 1976 – my boyfriend in Canada had broken up with me, and I thought the UK was alright, so here I am.
我一開始嚟Leeds，之後喺利物浦住咗兩年做車衫。個鬼頭老闆對我好好，我英文唔好，我重記得佢畫公仔比我睇話要加我人工哈！但係我唔鐘意利物浦又黑又污糟，於是我就返咗Leeds。之後做過中餐館洗碗，不過個大廚摸我Pat pat，我又走啦。後來返Burberry車衫，個老闆同其他manager又係對我好好，重升咗我做supervisor。不過其他部門D supervisor唔知點解唔鐘意我。有一日老闆問我Weiyi做咩唔嚟開會。原來係supervisor專登唔通知我。咁我又走囉。跟住我又去學校做清潔，做做吓又做咗supervisor哈！唔知點解呢，可能我有自己主意，又唔驚講出嚟，人哋話我係leader喎。
I first arrived in Leeds, then spent a couple of years in Liverpool working in a sewing factory. The boss was really nice to me. My English wasn’t good, I remember he drew pictures to tell me he was giving me a pay rise. But I didn’t like Liverpool, it was dark and dirty, so I left for Leeds. Then I worked in a Chinese restaurant washing dishes, but the chef touched my bum, so I left there too.
Then I worked in a sewing factory again, this time in Leeds for Burberry. The boss and managers were really nice to me, and I got promoted to be one of the supervisors. For some reason other supervisors didn’t like me. One day my boss asked me “Why weren’t you at the meeting?” It turned out other supervisors decided to hide the meeting from me. So I left. Later on I worked in a school as a janitor, and I was made supervisor again! I don’t know, maybe because I’m not afraid to speak my mind, people say I’m a leader.
88年我開外賣店。開頭無生意，我帶3個小朋友去派menu，派咗之後即刻好多生意。但最辛苦係對付D壞仔。有一次有壞仔喺後門掟石頭掟爛個窗，我call差佬，好耐都唔嚟，點知佢嚟到問我，你有無親眼見到佢喺地下執舊石嚟掟你隻窗？重話我呢區好posh佢都想搬嚟住喎。之後有一次，班壞仔成班人一齊大力拍我隻窗，我好嬲！你知唔知我點，我揸㗎車出去追佢哋9條街嚇佢哋！後來反而係佢哋call差佬。我之後賣咗間外賣店，又開一間又賣一間咁，做咗大約10年，宜家退休囉。我鐘意唱歌跳舞，宜家日日帶隻狗去散步。我好鐘意户外活動同行山，不過唔鐘意種花園。我屋企個花園D草係假㗎！
I opened a takeaway business in 1988. It was quiet at first, then I brought my three children with me to deliver the menu. Business picked up dramatically afterwards. But it was draining, because there were gangs of youths. Once a stone was thrown through the back window. I called the police and it took ages for them to come. When they came the officer asked me, if I have seen with my own eyes that he had picked up a stone from the floor and thrown it at my window. The officer also said I was lucky to be in a posh area, he would have like to move here himself.
Another time a whole gang of young people banged on my front window. I was so so mad and guess what, I drove my car and chased them down the street! They had to call the police then. Then I sold the takeaway business and started another one, sold it again and so on. After about ten years I managed to retire. I love singing and dancing, and I walk my dog twice every day. I love the outdoors especially hiking, but I don’t like gardening. It is astroturf in my garden!
我大女喺London，2女同細仔都喺Leeds。我生咗第一個女覺得好悶，當佢13個月大時就帶咗佢返香港比我阿媽湊，我自己返英國繼續做野。到佢3歲先接返返嚟。2女同細仔就一直喺英國長大。我2女18歲嗰陣返香港生活、結婚生仔。5年前佢為咗D仔女搬返返嚟Leeds。有一件傷心事未講比你知。我個仔細嗰時，有一晚收工返屋企，我仔問我你做咩唔去街，我話我要喺屋企陪你囉。佢講咗句說話令我到今時今日都重好傷心，佢話「我要你陪嗰陣你無陪我，宜家已經唔駛你陪啦」。宜家講我都重會眼濕濕，但至少佢會講我聽。我同我大女無計傾。佢話點解你淨係送我返香港比婆婆湊，唔送細佬妹返去？
My eldest daughter lives in London, second daughter and youngest son are both in Leeds. I was so bored after my first daughter was born, so I sent her back to Hong Kong when she was 13 months old for my mother to look after, and I came back to the UK to work. I brought her back to the UK when she was three.
My second daughter and youngest both grew up in the UK. My second daughter went to Hong Kong to live and later got married and had children. Five years ago she came back to Leeds for the sake of her children’s future.
There’s a sad memory I haven’t told you yet. When my son was little, one day after work I came home. My son asked me “Mum why aren’t you going out?” I said “I am staying in to keep you company” . He said “You weren’t there when I needed you, and now I no long need you to be here”. I still tear up now. At least he told me how he felt. My eldest and I no longer speak. She said “Why did you send me away, but not my sister and brother? “
我宜家自一個人住，得閒整野食送比朋友。我踢走咗我老公10年囉，佢住old people’s home，我哋重有來往嘅。佢好爛賭，又唔做野，結果我一早知佢係咁我唔嫁佢。開頭好辛苦，但至少仔女買屋我可以Contribute到，宜家嘅生活都enjoy，就係咁囉。
I live on my own now, cook for my friends occasionally. I kicked my husband out ten years ago. He is living in an old people’s home now. We still have contact. He’s a gambler and doesn’t work. I wouldn’t have married him if I had known. It was tough at first, but at least I was able to contribute when my children bought their homes, and I enjoy my life now. That’s about it!
Harry Venet - Meeting the Queen (Almost) - #133
Being presented to the queen is one of the greatest honours a loyal Briton, like me, can be awarded, and I almost made it once. It was July 2002, and Her Majesty was making a tour of the country in celebration of her Golden Jubilee. In Yorkshire she was entertained at Harewood House, the home of her first cousin, the then Earl, to lunch, followed by an open air concert featuring a number of local performers, including Richard Whiteley, Mel B, of the Spice Girls, the Leeds West Indian carnival and the Huddersfield Choral Society. The soprano, Lesley Garrett, sang ‘I Could Have Danced All Night’, from My Fair Lady, backed by a group of promenading Heydays members, of whom I was one.
Each performing group was asked to provide one member to be presented to Her Majesty, in the way of the Royal Command Performance, or whatever it’s called these days, and I was chosen. Alas, it was not to be. The crowd pressed so much that the queen beat a hasty retreat, and the presentations were abandoned. I had to make do with a conversation with Richard Whiteley, who amazingly remembered me as a Countdown contestant some twenty years earlier.
Margaret Bending - First Purchase - #134
Throughout the 1960s, as I followed every step of the race between the USA and USSR to land a man on the moon, I would often lie on my back in the garden at night and gaze at the night sky. Other than the moon, all I could see were a myriad of bright dots, which books from my beloved local library helped me identify. Names such as Betelgeuse, Arcturus and Andromeda fired my imagination, and I wondered at the countless planets that must be out there, in the infinity of space.
My first job, when I was in the sixth form, was helping out in the chemistry lab after school, cleaning test tubes and beakers and helping prepare for the next day’s classes. I saved the money I was paid until I had enough for my first independent purchase: a small refractor telescope with a tripod and a couple of lenses. I wouldn’t be able to find planets around other stars, but maybe it would be enough to see those in our solar system.
That night I felt like Galileo. I could see Jupiter as a definite disc, and more than that, I could just make out its four largest moons, Io, Europa, Ganymede and Callisto.
But even that didn’t prepare me for my first view of Saturn. The angle was just right and, although still very small, I could see the planet and its beautiful rings. It was a heart-stopping moment. I have a more powerful telescope now, but there is still no more breath-catching sight than the rings of Saturn.
Peter Bartram - I Didn't See This Coming - #135
For the past forty years, I have lived in an old Victorian mill town, a relic of the Industrial Revolution, some of it unchanged for 200 years. Only five minutes from my home stands Crank Mill, built in 1790, according to the plaque on the wall, and still in use as a furniture factory. The footpath leading down to it through the trees from the rows of the millworkers’ terraced houses on the hillside above is still cobbled. Walking down it today from my crack-of-dawn weekly trek to Morrisons (to beat the queue), I am mightily thankful, even in these bizarre days, that I am walking down it in 2020 and not 1820, on my way, at 6 a.m. on a freezing winter morning, along with my fellow workers, to my long shift in that woollen mill, in unspeakable conditions.
I have been thinking for a while now, just how fortunate many of my generation have been. Whatever some might think to the contrary, we have had it easy. Our parents experienced World War Two. Some didn’t survive it. And our grandparents experienced World War One. As if that weren’t enough, it was followed in 1918 by the so-called Spanish ‘flu pandemic, with a global death toll of around fifty million.
Of course, there have been conflicts in our lifetime, but most of them were on the other side of the world. Apart from that, the worst I can think of, on this sunny lockdown morning, is the three day week. Oh, there was Mrs Thatcher, but I had better not go there. And those other events, when we remember exactly where we were. In college, one evening in November 1963, a door curiously closing on its own, and a guy I had never seen before saying, “Have you heard..?”
So, whatever anyone else thinks, I think we’ve had a cushy time. And now, here a lot of us are, in our comfy homes, mortgages paid off, our company or public sector pensions in our on-line bank accounts every month, groceries delivered to the door, fancy cars, holidays abroad (but not this year). How lucky we have been.
And, perhaps like most, I thought things would never change. I thought my personal three-act comedy would sail along in its own sweet way, till the final curtain fell. I was wrong. I didn’t see this coming. But apparently there were plenty who did. So, in our post-postmodern age of scientific and technological sophistication, why was the world caught napping? Perhaps the world was so busy tweeting and taking selfies that it didn’t notice. The after-pandemic inquests will be long and difficult, and for some in power, extremely embarrassing. Will they make sure it doesn’t happen again? For the sake of our grandchildren and the future generations, let’s hope so.
Maureen Willis - Extra Special - #136
Looking for something to watch on TV, I noticed a new version of Van der Valk starring Marc Warren. That reminded me of the one and only time I’d been an extra. The BBC were filming Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell. It was being filmed at Wentworth House in the depths of winter. I had to get up at 5am to get there and invariably got lost. My sat nav was constantly re-calculating my route, and I got to hate the sound of her voice, often ending up on a deserted back lane in the middle of nowhere.
When I finally arrived, I had to park my car in the middle of a muddy, pitch- black field, put on my wellies and trudge to the house. I arrived cold, stressed and exhausted, but excited at the prospect of being involved in a BBC production.
I soon came down to earth. It was colder inside Wentworth house than outside. Costume and makeup was run by a woman who made Miss Trunchbull look like a saint. The costumes were weird and wonderful. My dance partner – who had two left feet – was dressed as Shakespeare, and
I found myself wondering if the real Shakespeare could dance. Young girls were laced into bodices within an inch of their life. Extras were dancing dangerously into anyone who dared to come between them and the camera: it was like a Strictly version of dodgem cars.
But back to Marc Warren, who was playing The Grey Haired Gentleman.
On my first day I broke the cardinal rule – extras don’t speak to lead actors.
I didn’t know this, nor at the time did I know who he was, I just saw a solitary figure pacing up and down looking worried, so went over and asked if he was alright. I was told afterwards I shouldn’t have done that, as he was one of the main actors going over his lines!
Next day we were in the ballroom – the coldest part of the house – in a flimsy regency dress. Absolutely freezing. And who should come up and ask me if I was alright but Marc Warren. I told him no, I’d never felt so cold in my life. He then sent his personal dresser to find me a wrap. The rest of the extras crowded round me wanting to know what he’d said. I told them he’d asked me out, but I declined as I had to be up early next morning.
I recorded all episodes, and spent hours trying to spot myself (vanity) in a crowded ballroom. I recognised myself in two scenes, once in the distance and once for a few seconds, when my knight in shining armour fell dying at my feet. Obviously the camera was on him but I recognised my dress and shoes…
Bernard Ramsden - Jacob Kramer - #137
Leeds School of Art was founded in 1846. It is now known as the Leeds Arts University but for the period 1968 to 1993 it was called Jacob Kramer College. Jacob Kramer was born in the Ukraine in 1892. His father was a painter who studied at the St Petersburg Fine Art Academy, and his mother was a singer who performed traditional Slavic and Hebrew folk songs. They fled to Leeds in 1900 to escape a Russian pogrom.
In 1907 Jacob gained a scholarship to the Leeds School of Art where he studied for six years. While he was studying at the art school he became a member of the Leeds Arts Club. It was considered to be a radical modernist organisation, and it introduced Jacob to the ideas of expressionist artists. He was himself later considered to be an English Expressionist.
He became an established artist, and went on to teach at the Leeds School of Art, where he had started as a student. In the 1920s and 1930s he became one of Britain’s greatest artists, renowned for his sharp, angular paintings. He developed his own style, inspired by and drawing on his Jewish roots.
In later life he became a portrait painter and his portraits of the rich and famous included Mahatma Gandhi, Frederick Delius, Sybil Thorndike and Anna Pavlova.
He died on the 4 February 1962, was unmarried and with no children. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery at Gildersome. It was in Leeds that he discovered the depths of his Jewish soul and conveyed that identity so distinctively on canvas. Leeds was where he chose to work and live, and Kramer noted that, “For myself, I find more stimulus in Leeds than in London and even in Paris”.
Anna Christie - Uncle Bill - #138
I never really knew my Uncle Bill.
I think I remember him coming to stay at our house in Bishops Stortford when I was very small but probably no more than two or three times.
I was told he joined the merchant navy as a young man, something which probably didn’t go down too well with his family who were very middle class. His great passion apparently was the theatre and when he came back from his travels, he joined a small theatre group in the Midlands. I think he also wrote for the local newspaper and had even written a book with the dramatic title, “Death on the Road”. That’s really all I knew about him. He seemed to me a rather remote, romantic figure but wasn’t really part of my childhood after we moved from Bishops Stortford.
I heard that Uncle Bill eventually decided to train as a primary school teacher. He would have been in his early forties then. He was about to start his first teaching job when it was discovered that he had leukaemia. At that time people rarely recovered from leukaemia and so Bill was never able to practise his newly-acquired profession. I remember my father being very distressed by his death.
I’ve found myself through my life sometimes wondering about Uncle Bill.
I was probably about fifteen or sixteen and was mending a bicycle puncture on the verandah. My father was watching football on the television just inside the verandah doors. I couldn’t get the tyre back on. “Oh, bugger!” I cursed. My father rushed outside and took hold of my arm. “Do you know what that word means?… It’s when a man puts his penis up another man’s backside.” I was profoundly shocked. Not so much at what my father was telling me, but at the violence behind his language and the emotion in his voice. Why had he felt it necessary to tell me in this brutal way? I didn’t recognise my gentle, peace-loving father in this outburst.
Talking to my older sister recently about Uncle Bill she revealed that there’d been a big family row involving Uncle Bill while we were living in Bishops Stortford. The house we lived in came with my father’s job as minister at the local church – a large detached house with seven bedrooms and an enormous garden. She told me that Bill needed to move from his lodgings and had asked if he could rent a room with us. We certainly had the space. But… my mother refused. Why?
Only now have I understood.
Bill was gay. Homosexuality was against the law up until the late fifties – a crime – and this would have been the late forties. I’m sure my father would have wanted to help out his younger brother but my mother was of that generation always very concerned about what the neighbours thought. What would the neighbours think if it were discovered that Bill was gay? What would people in the church think?
No wonder Bill’s death had distressed my father so…
Colin Trenholme - A Letter To Myself - #139
A letter to myself. July 6th 2023.
Good morning, Colin, It’s rather gloomy outside today but, hey, you’re not looking too bad for someone who’s just hit their 70th birthday. Brasserie Blanc is booked for lunch (thank goodness some of their restaurants have survived after everything that happened) and, hopefully, everybody that replied will still be attending – most people do when someone else is paying!
Can you remember all the people who came along to your 65th at the same venue? A few, of course, are not around anymore, but you did well to maintain contact with so many of them. That was always your style, though, wasn’t it, keeping in touch with old-and not so old- friends? A bit needy, perhaps? Maybe, but people generally seemed to appreciate the regular ‘witterings’ that you sent out, even if you were – and nothing new here – a bit O.T.T. with some of the comments and humorous asides. Still, as you always said, there’s no point in worrying about things like that – although you often did, of course.
You always said that you felt 2020 would be the beginning of the next phase of your life: you’d run your workshops in schools for twelve years; Sylvia, your partner, was due to retire from teaching and, of course, you felt that your beloved dog, Snoop, was, perhaps, nearing the end of his rescued life. People say that some inner sense tells you when the time is right to move on – and that was the case for you, wasn’t it?
The whole pandemic ‘thing’ seemed to put many aspects of your life into perspective; yes, you lost a fair amount of money because of the dreadful financial problems encountered across the country – and the whole world – but, sensibly, you realised that you didn’t need it all anyway. Like most clichés, the one about ‘as long as I’ve got my health’ proved to be true.
I’m not sure whether you should have done more to help other people, Colin. Okay, you ‘did your bit’ for neighbours and a couple of friends who were in need, but why didn’t you help the NHS? Were you lethargic? That’s not your style. Selfish? Not really. Scared? Perhaps. It wasn’t easy, was it?
Anyway, enjoy your lunch, Colin, and make sure that you keep in touch. But I know that you will.
Fond thoughts, Colin.
Richard Leech - Memories of the HOPS Hall - #140
The Performance Ensemble is working with HOPS, gathering stories from Hawksworth Wood from older men under lockdown with funding provided by Leeds City Council Public Health. Grants are being administered and supported by Leeds Older People’s Forum.
I guess I was about 6 or 7 years old, happily sliding freely up and down the hall floor, testing the dance floor powder that we had been spreading to make the floor nice and slippy for the evenings dancing, when suddenly the music started. I was then quickly caught by a fairly large lady who needed a partner for the St Bernard’s Waltz, the Military Two Step, a Progressive Barn dance or whatever dance they were starting with. There always seemed to be a shortage of men in the 50’s, so though I was only a kid I guess I was fair game. I was then firmly steered round the hall breathing some rather powerful perfume, having difficulty seeing where I was going as my face was clasped very closely to a rather large chest, with the fingers of my right trapped in some bony structure round the lady’s middle.
Dances were a regular Saturday night event interspersed with Whist Drives, Beetle Drives, Fur and Feather events, Tramps Suppers, where we dressed down and ate supper sitting on the floor. Ladies Weekends and Gents Weekends were something of a highlight involving a “Variety” show produced on the stage. The Cub and Scout groups also performed an annual Gang show, which in later years progressed to the Civic Theatre.
But Tuesday nights were my favourite night in the hall. From the age of 8 I joined the cubs, then from 11 years I was in the Scouts. The group was led by brother and sister Ron and Nellie Marshall and thinking back now they pretty much devoted most of their lives to the group, she running the cubs and him the scouts. We were Air Scouts (though we never got much higher than the stage in the church hall) so instead of the usual khaki uniform we had grey shirts and navy blue shorts with sky blue neckerchief. We also had the wonderful wide-brimmed hat, kept in shape with four of Mums strongest clothes pegs.
Though the hall was our regular meeting place we spent a lot of time outdoors, doing wide-games in Hawksworth Woods, tracking, practising our knots, etc. Weekends camping in Golden Acre, sleeping in dens in the woods, cooking on campfires, campfire songs and games, sneaking over the wall for a late-night swim in the Blue Lagoon at the Parkway Hotel. In the early 60’s we leased the old village school at Litton and converted into hostel type accommodation with bunks, kitchen and toilet, and spent many happy times there walking, swimming in the river, caving and potholing with torches and carbide lamps. Even our parents got to use it for Mum’s or Dad’s weekends.
Each summer there was a summer camp for a couple of weeks. Visits to Derbyshire, South Wales, Anglesey and a camp in Devon where, on a very hot day, we young lads were introduced by some helpful locals to a very refreshing apple drink called Scrumpy. We discovered the consequences of that over the next couple of days.
On alternate years the summer camp was spent abroad, visiting various combinations of places in Germany, Switzerland and Austria, always travelling by rail. I went on my first foreign trip was when I was 12 years old, after eventually convincing my Mum that I was old enough to look after myself for 15 nights abroad, and also by convincing my Dad that I would try and help to raise the £18/10 shillings that it would cost! I also needed a rucksack to carry the tent, poles, mess tin, billycan, sleeping bag and campsite clothes. We always wore uniform when we were offsite, and though we did do some basic clothes washing, we must have smelt pretty ripe when we got home. The trip was unforgettable, visiting the Black Forest and the Bernese Oberland, staying in four or five different locations, almost always on a lakeside. We had a superb programme of activities, mountain hiking, swimming, boating, cog railway up to the Jungfraujoch, ice caves in the Rhone glacier, Lake Brienz, camping in the castle in Heidelberg. What an amazing feat of organisation for the late 1950s/early 60s, for a group of 20 to 30 Scouts and leaders. He had also organised for us to have a hot evening meal somewhere near each campsite where possible to save time shopping and cooking.
Only a few years ago I was clearing out a wardrobe and came across my old Scout uniform. On checking the shorts I could feel a coin; guessing it must be an old pfennig or a franc or schilling I searched the pockets and the lining, but only after carefully unpicking the stitching of the turnups I found a silver St Christopher carefully sewn in! It must have travelled with me all over Europe.
I stayed in touch with St Marys and its church hall in various ways until the mid 80’s when I moved out of the area and lost contact somewhat. Just a few years ago some old friends invited my wife to come and join in some of the HOPS activities and then I joined her to see one of the excellent performances by the Leeds Playhouse group. I was really pleased to see the way the hall had been developed, and delighted to see the superb HOPS programme set up by Martin and Susan bringing so much enjoyment to so many people like myself enjoyed some 70 years ago.
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