Nostalgia

Ki Bo Bae

One way or another it has been a time of nostalgia.

Aida Roman

Mariana Avitia

For the past few days I've had a real blast from the past. In the dim and distant past I was a pretty competent (no better than that!) archer. In fact it was due to archery I met my husband, though I have to admit I can't remember the first time I met him, he was just around! So, thanks to the wonderful technology from the BBC, I have been watching the cream of the crop. Yesterday was the last few rounds in the women's competition. Expected to be a clean sweep for the Koreans, two brilliant Mexicans decided to spoil the party! The winner was Korean, Ki Bo Bae. She beat Aida Roman into silver medal position by virtue of a 'sudden death' closest to the middle single arrow. Mariana Avitia took the bronze.Well done to all of them. But especially for their sheer nerve at the crunch moments. I just hope the men can do half as well today. Congratulations too to whoever decided to use Lords as a venue. It seems to have been a huge success.

I actually went past Lords in a Green Line bus on Monday. For some peculiar reason it had been decided that a planned visit to the British Museum to see the Shakespeare Exhibition should take place on the first Monday of the Olympics. The result was an amazingly easy bus journey, and an almost deserted British Museum. As for the exhibition, highly recommended. Especially for the First Folio, and the Robin Island Shakespeare signed by Nelson Mandela. Do go and see it if at all possible.

Coming away from there we decided to visit the Bomber Command Memorial at Hyde Park. This was an eyeopener. The inscription is from Pericles, and is so apt for the men who are being remembered. My father was not Bomber Command but he was aircrew during the war. He flew as navigator and bomb aimer in a Mosquito with his friend and pilot, a Canadian called Ken. The plane itself was very fragile, and they made most of their flights by night. Much courage was needed. But they did have lucky charms! Mosquitos were twin engined, and each engine was called after the wives, Marjorie, my mother, and Millie, Ken's wife. It must have worked because both men came through the war without a single scratch. This one is in the Mosquito Museum, a place that is full of Foggy Dewhurst type enthusiasts.

Glad to see I appear to be getting better at the technicalities of this blogging lark! The pictures are the ones I wanted, and in the places I wanted them! Thats a decided improvement on the frustrations of earlier posts - though I have to admit to seeming to lose this at one point and almost have an apoplexy. Great joy all around when I found it.

Ducks!



This is what I have felt like for the past month, along with most of the rest of the country! What bright spark decided to call a drought in the year when we had the Queen's Jubilee AND the 2012 Olympics? That was just asking for trouble. A couple of days ago, when the North East really caught it, we thought we were badly done by here in leafy Warwickshire. On a visit to the local Waitrose we got trapped in the store when the heavens opened and the thunder and lightning crashed overhead. By the time we got out (all of 5 minutes!) the car park was 4 inches deep. The journey back home, though short, was pretty hairy. Thanks are due to all the hard work done on the drainage recently in Alcester. Serious flooding is now much less likely.

I am now in serious mourning after the departure from Wimbledon of my main man! For Rafa to lose at this point is a tragedy of Homeric proportions. Okay, so I exaggerate a little, but only a little! I love my tennis (to watch not to play I hasten to add). It's a fantastic game to shout and yell at. Much better than golf, which I do play. Thought the weather has played havoc with that in recent weeks. Every time I put my name down to play the heavens open - or so it seems. The problem with golf is the aftermath of a 'shower'. Unlike a tennis court a golf course tends to stay wet for some time. Result, a sea of mud to plough through - if the course is open. But to get back to Wimbledon. With Rafa out I have to find someone else to support. (No point in yelling to no good purpose!) The obvious one would be Murray, but I do find him very hard to warm to. The smug Swiss one is a complete no-no. So that really only leaves Novak. Unless we are in for a complete upset. That would be interesting. Perhaps Del Potro?What I do love is the way the commentators get so excited when one of the British players actually manages to win a match! The poor sods then don't have a chance. All eyes are on them, they get stuck on a televised court, and buckle under the weight of expectation.

I have decided that laughter really is the best medicine. We went to the Roses Theatre in Tewkesbury again last night, (it really is a cracking little theatre) to see Dr Phil. His humour is - robust I think is one word for it, rude is another - but he is funny. I haven't laughed till I cried for quite some time, and boy did it feel good. It helped just a little to make up for the depression that sets in at the sight of yet another wet and windy day. We even got a lesson in CPR at the end. Apparently the tune to use is the Archers theme tune!

I am feeling a little guilty at the moment though. It is the holidays from Latin until October, and I had told myself I must do at least an hour a day, for at least five days a week. This has not come to pass! It's at least five days since I last did any. I don't even have the excuse that I have been too busy. I'm retired for heavens sake. I can find time for anything if I really want to!  I have been trying to read a book about Roman Law. And I do mean trying. I get a real bee in my bonnet about writers who spoil a fascinating subject by trying to be too clever. They use great rolling periods and convoluted sentences. And don't even get me on the subject of using the most obscure word possible. So the book is currently on the shelf waiting for me to have another go at it. It will have to be soon because it has to go back to the library soon. I am just so glad I didn't actually buy it! I will finish it - really I will. If I can stay awake long enough. Communication is a vital part of academic literature. If you send your audience to sleep that is not communicating.

The Olympic Torch is due in our small town tomorrow. I will end on the subject I started with. Please can we give the rain a miss - just for a while?

Up girls and at 'em!

This is my old school motto! The school song is even more uplifting. The chorus goes:-

                                "Up girls, Truest fame lies in high endeavour,
                         Play the game! Keep the flame burning brightly ever!"

Hill House, Otterhampton

Hence the title - Up girls and at 'em! In an Olympic year this seems particularly apt. But the reason I have been thinking about my school days, back in the dim and distant past, is the biannual school reunion a few weeks ago. St Hilda's School for Girls was (it closed in the 1970's) in Otterhampton, Bridgwater in Somerset, and was run in exemplary fashion by the Misses Lilian and Mary Burridge.  It started in Westcliff-on Sea but evacuated to Somerset during the war, moving into Hill House, where it stayed until it closed. I arrived, aged about 8, in the early 1950's. This picture, taken recently, does not do it justice. In the days I was a pupil it was 'held up' by a magnificent covering of Virginia Creeper.  The building was, with the surrounding park, at the heart of the school. I can't remember a time when we stayed indoors when there was the slightest excuse to get outside into the fresh air.

The St Hilda's Fellowship have a 'big' reunion every two years, since being reformed due to the impact of Friend's Reunited! They are popular enough for old girls to come from as far afield as New Zealand and Canada. When we get together there is a lot of talk (the decibels have to be heard to be believed!) and a concerted effort to do something that 'we used to do'. One year it was a school sports day (my husband still cherishes his medal for the 'not so little visitors' race!). Another year the school nativity play in Bridgwater Arts Centre on the hottest day of the year. I still smile when I remember the conga to Country Gardens (the tune we came out of the last assembly of the term to) out onto the pavement in Bridgwater, to the amusement of the passers by. What on earth were these 'ladies of

Riding in style!

a certain age' up?

This time it was to be a picnic and a bus ride around the Quantocks seeing old haunts. What made it really special was the bus! It was pure art-deco, beautifully maintained, and painted bright yellow! The drive was absolutely splendid, causing quite a sir amongst the local population. We stopped for tea, for a walk on the beach at Kilve, and a stroll up on the Quantocks. All the time the chatter went on. My husband, Paul, and Jean's husband David, had wandered off for the afternoon, but got back before we did. The look on their faces when they saw the bus was a picture to behold!

What really struck me was the values we had been brought up on by the two Burridge sisters that were apparent in all my old school fellows. Education was fairly important, but who we were as people was much more so. I've already mentioned the 'outdoors' nature of our lives. What I haven't yet mentioned is the almost complete lack of Elf and Safety! We were expected to learn the difference between 'stupid' and 'testing oneself''. We were allowed to go down to the pool for a swim before breakfast if we so chose. But we were expected to let someone know we were doing so. We were allowed to climb the huge fir trees in the garden/park, but not alone. We were taken out in the school minibus in small groups on fine Saturday afternoons, dropped 3, 4 or 5 miles from school and expected to walk back. All these things would be expressly forbidden today. We had rabbits we were expected to look after properly. (Breeding was forbidden, but it was amazing  how often the rabbits 'got out'! How else were we to learn the facts of life?) For those, including me, who chose, there were horses in the stables. Some girls even brought their own. It was all about taking responsibility for your own life. And the 'girls' I met in Somerset recently had all done just that. Not bad Miss Burridge and Miss Mary.



Gill with the school bell!

I can't miss the opportunity to post just a couple of pictures of my old friends! This first one is Gill Duckham, who, I have to admit, is the one friend I would have absolutely no difficulty recognising after any number of years. Gill, you haven't changed a bit! She is ringing the old school bell, the method by which everyone knew where they had to be at any given time. Gill rescued it when the school closed, and brings it to every reunion.                                                                                            

Always smiling Linda

Denise on the right

Linda, who came over from Canada with her sister, was always at the centre of everything. And continues to be! Even the story about Denise and one of the nights we were allowed to take our mattresses up onto the roof to sleep! I won't repeat it here just to spare Denise's blushes. But what school now would let it's pupils sleep, unaccompanied, on the school roof! And have a midnight feast up there!

Paul and I stayed at a hotel in Holford, where we used to go on school picnics. The morning we left we made the time to walk up to Holford Glen so I could show Paul one of our old haunts. It just reminded me how lucky we all were. We had a proper childhood, full of love and care. Something a lot of today's children are missing. They grow up so early, and miss such a lot.

I must just mention the splendid Clive and the Latin lessons. The last one with Clive was last Wednesday, but I was very happy to discover they will continue in October, with a new teacher. I just hope he is half as good as Clive, who will be sadly missed. It took me a very long time to find a suitable Latin class - I am so glad I don't have to start looking again!

Heroes and Heroines

I have never been one of those people to have lots of heroes and heroines. Even as a teenager, when it was almost expected that one hero worshipped the latest musical fad, I was never much enamoured, even of the supposedly magnificent Beatles! I couldn't see the point of four mop topped Liverpudlian lads prancing around a stage! The only person who really got my feet tapping was, I am ashamed to admit, the swivel hipped Elvis Presley. Perhaps this has something to do with the fact that I was told at a very early age that I was tone deaf. (In much later years I was told by an OU music tutor that this amounted to child abuse!) I certainly have a few sporting heroes. When I started playing golf it was the beautiful Freddie Couples! Even now I mutter his name as I swing my club. His rhythm is wonderful to behold and really slows down my own swing. Of course my father was always a hero to me, he died far too early for him to be anything else. A regular in the RAF who came through the entire war without a scratch, and then died in a plane crash during the Berlin Airlift trying to save the very people he had been helping to bomb only a few years before. This is the famous Candy Bomber, the American pilot who used to drop little parachutes full of sweets to the children waiting below. But up until now I have had very few heroines. Perhaps my headmistress at school, the wonderful Miss Lillian Burridge, who seemed to have the ability to dictate the weather! I can't remember a single wet school sports day or fete day. There must surely have been some, but all I can remember is Burridge weather! This continues to this day at our biannual school reunions.

What has changed? The magnificent Professor Mary Beard. Firstly I admire her for her sheer erudition. Her knowledge of Classics seems to be boundless. Secondly I admire her ability, and her willingness, to pass on this knowledge - not as easy at it sounds as those who have had teachers who 'know it all' but are singularly inept at teaching it to anyone else. But what I really admire about her is her ability to be so happy in her own skin. She is able to just be herself, without any aids or artifice, and it's their loss to anyone who doesn't like her. This has been made truly apparent this week with all the hooha about her magnificent TV programme about the real Romans, and the totally uncalled for criticisms of the much to be pitied A.A.Gill. Pitied because he must have such low self esteem to write what he did. For anyone who doesn't know what this is about can I direct you to Mary's blog  A Don's Life. http://timesonline.typepad.com/dons_life/  where there has been much discussion. The television programme Meet the Romans is, as to be expected with such an engaging presenter, entertaining, informative, and full of wonderful asides about the real people of ancient Rome. Mary has the ability to inject humour into her work second to none. This is not just her TV work, but her lecturing and her books, which have that rare quality in academia of being actually readable! She is also, as I know, blessed with a wonderful memory for faces, and a complete disregard for 'status'. Thank you Mary. I know I am older than you, but when I grow up I hope to be just like you!

My favourite time of year

I just love April. My brother swears it's because my birthday is in April! He would say that.The only reason for having February as his favourite month is because that's his birthday month! But April is different. The days are getting longer, the sun is shining, the daffodils in my front garden are so cheerful! Everything looks so much more optimistic. It's so much easier with the dogs as well. I can leave the kitchen door open so they can go in and out to the garden when they choose. It's soooo irritating having to open it just as I am at the most complicated part of a recipe! But we have neighbours and they demand so loudly I can't make them wait!

And the golf is so much more enjoyable. Even if, like today, the luck is not running with me (we don't talk about the tee shot at the 6th heading well left which inexplicably ended up in the big right hand bunker - or the putts that teetered on the edge of the hole and refused to drop!) The sun on ones back, and the fact that the ball runs instead of sticking in the mud, makes it so much more than 'a good walk spoiled'! Today it was what is usually called 'millionaires golf', nobody in front of us holding us up, and nobody behind pushing us. Bliss! This is the 5th hole at my golf club Stratford Oaks. Over the winter the course owners have rather unkindly made the lake in front of the green much wider. The result today was one lost ball as it fell rather short of the other bank!

Talking of sunny weather, I went to a very sunny Oxford last week for the Oxford Literary Festival. I love LitFests, but for some reason this was my first visit to the Oxford one. Sam Moorhead and David Stuttard were talking about their new book The Romans Who Shaped Britain. It was a highly entertaining hour plus at Christ Church, with a hugely amusing set of PP illustrations. Especially a wonderful picture that looked as if Gordon Brown was stabbing Tony Blair in the back to illustrate the assassination of Carausius by his finance minister Allectus! The book itself, which of course I bought, mainly because I could get it signed, is extremely readable. And they are men after my own heart. To them history is made by unpredictable human beings making decisions based on their own self interest and their own characters. Julius Caesar and Claudius both invaded Britain for purely personal political reasons. They both needed a military victory to cement their reputations back in Rome and Britain just happened to be available.

Another new interest of mine lately is lady jazz singers. We went to see Claire Teal at the Rose Theatre in Tewkesbury and had a thoroughly enjoyable evening. As a result I discovered the redoubtable Anita O'Day. They both do a magnificent rendition of Tea for Two at enormous speed! She has a wonderful drummer who looks just like my golf pro! Very disconcerting.

Our Latin class is on an Easter break at the moment. I have to admit to not doing as much 'homework' as I really should, but it is coming on much better than I expected. I have nothing but praise for the distance learning of the Open University, for which I am eternally grateful, but not for languages. I need the face to face, regular input of a good teacher, and it is finally working. Eventually I will be able to put it to good use and read that old gossip Suetonius in the original Latin!

Foggy Dewhurst

Foggy Dewhurst

Paul and I have a name for those amazing total enthusiasts: Foggy Dewhurst. This is the wonderful character from Last of the Summer Wine, magnificently portrayed by the late, great, Brian Wilde. We just love the energy expended by these people on their particular pet projects. We remember one with great affection. A few years ago we went to Bagington Airport in Coventry with the British Berlin Airlift Association. Air Atlantique had an open day, showing off their wonderful collection of old planes. The group was divided into smaller groups and each given a guide.The one we had bore an amazing resemblance to the original Foggy Dewhurst, even down to the 'regimental' scarf, and he did not disappoint. We got back to base at least 30 minutes after everyone else, and we knew the colour of the underpants worn by the last pilot to fly the plane in anger - or at least it seemed like it! But we had a wonderful afternoon, thanks in part to him. Long may he continue to delight visitors with his enthusiasm.  One of the highlights of the tour was a Dakota. This was special because it was the plane my father flew in as a navigator during the Berlin Airlift. I had the delightful experience of a flight in one at an Air Show in Shropshire. The flight was enhanced by a crowd of 'Foggy Dewhursts' who had all flown the plane at one time or other in their military careers.The plane was a 'working'


Dakota

 one, so no steps up, just the original ladder. I was last on, and first off, so, as I stepped off,  I turned to watch the veterans following me. Each and every one of them was grinning from ear to ear. They had had a wonderful time. I was so glad to be part of it.

What brought this to mind was a remark made by a fellow student at my Latin class last night. She commented on the sheer enthusiasm of our teacher, the splendid Clive. His 'day job' is teaching first year undergraduates, and he gives up one evening a week t teach a very mixed group of, to put it politely, 'mature' students, most of whom have not the first idea about Latin. A few have dropped out since it started, but surprisingly few. It's free, so no incentive to continue on the grounds 'I've paid for it so must get my moneysworth.' I put this down, in no small measure, to the patience of Clive, and his aim to instill his enthusiasm for the ancient world and its language to all and sundry. He never makes anyone feel stupid, fields basic (and stupid!) questions with aplomb, and generally makes everyone feel they can be a Latin scholar, even me. I have had so many problems with languages in general over the years that I had long ago decided any language except English wasbeyond me. It says a great deal about Clive that I feel that, while I might not be the world's best, at least I can achieve my ambition of readinbg that old gossip Suetonius in his original Latin! I might even have got the name on this blog right if I had felt confident enough to scour the Latin before I jumped in with both feet - only to find its impossible to change!

Talking of Suetonious, I succumbed to the multiple reminders I had from Blackwell's about their offer on Loeb's! I am now the proud owner of both volumes for my sins. Then, to add insult to injury, Blackwell's informed me they were extending the dead,ine! Fatal. So now I also own a beautiful pair of Pliny's Letters! I am so pleased the deadline has nowpassed. Iwas looking seriously at a couple of Tacitus' offerings (or should that be Taciti?!) and there is always room for more Cicero, though he is a bit of a prosy old bore! (I know this is sacrilege, but he does waffle on!)


I do fancy this though. My Latin class, led by the splendid Clive, is based on Horace. I did once meet a specialist on Horace - his name escapes me at the moment. I told him I had a soft spot for Horace and rather liked him. He was mildly surprised because 'usually it's men who prefer him. Women usually prefer Ovid or Catullus.' I was faintly offended by this, finding it a touch patronising. One of these days I just might invest in this, without the benefit of discount! Perhaps a hint to one of my children in time for my birthday in April? If any of you are reading this, try Amazon - or even Blackwell's website:))

Winter drags on.

Piece Hall, Halifax.

This is the Piece Hall in Halifax, a unique architectural survival from the 18th century. Built as a cloth hall, it is a true Enlightenment building, incorporating as it does the neo-classical orders for it's columns, built as a huge statement by the cloth merchants of Yorkshire. Isn't it stunning. I caught a short piece about it on television recently and it has jumped to the top of my 'must see' buildings that are actually feasible! It gives me something to look forward to during the long cold winter evenings! And a reason to go up and see my brother (apart from the joy of seeing you Graham, just in case you read this!) who lives in that neck of the woods.

I just wish the winter would get on with it! After last year I had girded my loins for the snow again - but nothing happened! Then the forecasters kept saying it was on it's way - still nothing! Now it's coming at the weekend. (Don't hold your breath!) It's making me edgy and impatient. Example. I always thought I was a bit of a Luddite who wouldn't miss lots of the modern technology I use. Mmmm! Today the car is in for a service. The 'man from the garage' lives in Alcester, so he suggested picking it up on his way to work (7:30!) and dropping it on the way back (6'ish) No problem I thought. We just don't book anything for today - and we didn't. So what's the problem? The fact that I can't go out beyond walking distance even if I want to! I've realised how important an element of choice is.It's the same if I have a problem with my email. Nothing, but nothing, in my life is so important it can't wait another day. But - if my email is down I fuss, and mutter, and moan and groan until it's up and running again!

On a happier note the Latin is coming on - slowly! Yes I know, don't all shout at once, the name of the blog is incorrect! And I can't change it. Or at least I haven't found a way to do so. But the classes are enormous fun, partly due to the splendid Clive, who gets the pace right, and partly to my table mates, Dorothy and Jain. We support each other so well, and cover up each others shortcomings! I am finding the sort of class with lots of people, face to face, and regularly, much better than the isolation of distance learning. For a language anyway! I was really thrilled when we went to see Written on the Heart at the RST on Paul's birthday. There was a scene, part of which was in Latin. And I could understand some of it! Paul was terribly impressed!

Apropos the weather, it is having a decidedly bad effect on my housework! Gypsy, large, black, and very hairy, doesn't know what time of year it is due to the fluctuating weather and the central heating. As a result her coat is very thick, and falling out all over the carpet, where it sticks! The vacuum cleaner isn't strong enough for the magnetic effect! Happily she is going to the dog's beauty parlour next week to be shorn! I just hope she doesn't freeze as a consequence. Ozzy is short and white, and they don't seem to stick quite so much. However, they do show on a pair of black trousers!

We have had a few scares this month. Paul's mother has been in and out of hospital with pneumonia, a broken rib, and the result of various falls. At 91 she is not the most robust of people. However, happily she does seem to be responding to treatment now. It does, however, make one think of one's own future. Do what you can, while you can, seems to me to be a very good mantra.

So what is the overall feeling for January? Halfway between cuninculus laetus sum and cuninculus laetus non sum! (Thanks for that Anthony!)