Choir Outing

The choir outing from All Saints Church Loughborough was an annual event, and keenly anticipated by the members.

I remember a year in the mid nineteen fifties, when we all went to London by train.  Going by train was in itself a pleasure for us young boys, as most of us were keen train spotters.

We endured the insides of St Paul’s with its gold and glitter, and then into the long and very much more sober Westminster Abbey, followed by a packed lunch on a green space near to Tower Bridge.

A river trip was also included before the party returned to St Pancras at about 7.30 pm.

Not to miss out on a chance for a bit of extra train spotting at the neighboring Kings Cross station, four of us ran down the dividing foot tunnel, and up the steps into this hallowed East Coast Main Line station.  We were well rewarded by the sight of ‘60034 LORD FARRINGDON’ just arrived with an express from York. Wonderful!

Pushed for time, we ran back to St Pancras only to find our train within seconds of departure.  The train guard, with whistle at the ready and accompanied by our choir master, stood by the remaining open door. We were propelled firmly into the last coach.

A lecture on punctuality and the reasons for choir outings followed.

I still have the Ian Allan book in which I recorded my first A4 pacific locomotive, and yes I still sing!

David Taylor

If I got trapped in a zoo ...

I think I would be safe, all the animals are safe aren’t they?

Making friends with the animals would be sensible, especially the ones that could find food for me. I would have to keep away from the ones that might think I was food.

I would like to stay with the monkeys as they can do what we can do, and even the things we get told off for doing. If they thought I was important they would share their food with me and play with me that would be really great.

Spying on the animals would be a fun thing to do but I would have to hide until it gets dark. Most of them hunt at night, at least in their natural world they do, and I could help with that, but I must be careful, A few small animals would do the job, but too many and they would be missed.

I like the idea of talking to the animals in their own language and could have great fun copying the hyena-hunting call to the deer and roaring like a lion to the zebras, and anyone can do monkey calls.

Walking with the penguins would be such a laugh, but they might be sleeping. Perhaps polar bear noises would wake them up?

I think it might be a good idea to hold Mum’s hand and leave the zoo with her.

JT

A special delivery (or two)

I heard that being an only child was a bad thing and that soon I would need a brother or sister to keep me company.

Spotting immediately that my toys would be at risk, I argued that they would either get broken or - more likely - be appropriated by the new family member.  This did not go down well with Mum and Dad. 

For quite a long time I believed that my tricycle, Meccano and small train set were safe, as nothing new had come through the post, and life remained normal. Mum was Mum and small boys do not notice that she had put on quite a bit of weight.

Then came the day that Dad told me Mum was going into hospital for a few days and that he would be looking after my meals etc.  Mum came home a few days later with something small, pink, noisy, smelly and sometimes wet.

This invader I was told was my new sister Alison. Was I pleased? Not very, but my toys seemed to be quite safe for the time being.

Life settled down for a couple of years and I began to get acquainted with my new sister.  Then disaster struck. Mum went into hospital again and I knew what was coming, either another sister or a brother.

When Elaine arrived at home Mum said, ‘here is another little sister for you, what do you have to say?’  I remember saying, ‘oh no, not another!’  My grandmother, who lived with us, came to my rescue. She was to come to my rescue many times in the follow weeks and years!

Now in later life, I value both my sisters enormously, and they are a great comfort to myself and my wife during the Covid outbreak.  I have to thank God that He can see further than I can, or ever could.

David Taylor

A Song of Covid Year (in the style of Flanders & Swann)

January brings the tax returns,
I hate them so my poor brain burns.

February pancake day.
Nice gluten free pancakes? No way!

By March I’m fed up of the grey and wintry weather,
Praying for some sunshine to give us all a breather.

April’s days draw longer but still cold,
Spring on the horizon – to that hope we must hold.

May is greener and warmer and brighter,
Summer seems earlier than when I was a blighter.

June – nearly holidays – if I can, I’ll go away
before schools break up and kids are in the way.

July, my birthday month, a reminder that I’m getting on.
Socially-distanced coffee outdoors is all that can be done.

August – I miss the sea, will try to get there then
if the world gets back to normal and we can travel once again.

September, kids go back to school.
Will I have had my Covid jab by then so I can go back too?

October is my favourite month, the colours crisp and brown.
Collecting conkers and acorns that the autumn storms blow down.

November with its bonfire night once again comes round,
watching fireworks from Velux windows as they go off over town.

December’s dark and chilly days, but a bit of Christmas cheer
makes everything seem bearable, even in this Covid year.

Then January brings the tax return,
one blessing, it's much quicker with so little that’s been earned!

Alison Mott