We’re going to the seaside
On
Monday!
But
not on Bank Holiday Monday
We
always stay at home on bank holidays
We
are lucky
We
can go to the seaside whenever we like.
Unlike
the majority
Who
have to fight the traffic jams
And
vie for a spot on the beach
Queue
for fish and chips
Queue
for ice cream cornets
Pay
through the nose for parking the car
Coming
home
Needing
a holiday!
Jean Taylor
My first camera was a Brownie 127, given to me by my aunt at Christmas 1953. It was sort of elliptical in shape and made entirely of black plastic. It lacked all the common functions of more sophisticated makes, but for me, it certainly opened the door to fundamental photography.
The 127 had one shutter speed and one aperture setting. These as I remember were around f10/125 sec. On an average English summer day it produced very reasonable black and white photographs using film, and of course, long before its digital equivalent.
Once all eight shots were ‘in the bag’ it was off to the local chemist to get the film processed by development. If time was not pressing, the chemist would share his thoughts and comments on the results of my efforts, suggesting things like ‘framing’ and ‘panning’ of moving objects etc.
I have to admit that most of my photographic encounters were Railway based, but I still have some happy shots of my early family, secure in a small cardboard box up in the loft!
David Taylor
Forgiving: how often do we
actually use this word, in either its singular or plural sense?
Am I forgiven?
Are you forgiven?
Are they forgiven?
Can you tell when you have
been forgiven?
How do you demonstrate your
forgiveness?
Can true forgiveness be
imposed upon you?
Can you forgive by proxy?
Should you refuse to forgive
when put under pressure?
Is forgiving worth the risks
involved?
What do you understand by
‘God’s forgiveness’?
How do I accept ‘God’s
forgiveness’?
Is forgiving the real key to mental
health?
When was the last time that
you used the word?
How good are you at
FORGETTING the things that you have truly FORGIVEN?
I find it comforting to know
that God does exactly that!
David Taylor
In 1984 I discovered that it was possible to take a family trip by train from Loughborough to Skegness, at a very reasonable cost. This particular train was called ‘The Jolly Fisherman’ and was routed via Nottingham, Sleaford, Boston and then Skegness.
British Railways (as it was then) were making good use of their diesel locomotives, normally found working on regular coal trains around the Midlands. In the summertime, due to the schools’ and works’ holidays, coupled by a much reduced demand for coal, a secondary use for them had been found.
The train comprised of two Class 20 diesel electric locomotives, and an interesting assortment of about ten coaches. The train arrived on time at ‘Skeggy’ and the family enjoyed the normal ‘experience’ expected at this seaside town; slight cloud, blown sand, deckchairs, tea in a flask and damp towels!
As the day came to an end, we all made our way slowly back to the station. I remember standing on Skegness station, with my 12-year old son, listening to the chirping howl of the waiting locomotives.
We spoke to the driver, and I did my best to get my son a short loco cab ride back as far as Boston. Sadly, the driver declined my request saying “If it was left to me I would gladly take you both, but them upstairs have put the lid on that sort of thing.” We had to accept his verdict, and content ourselves by standing in the vestibule of the first coach, taking it in turns to stick our heads out of the train window.
It is not just the steam age
that has for ever passed; we have lost some of the joys that went with it. What
a great shame!
David Taylor
We went for an extended weekend to Sutton, the daughter and I, to a caravan rented to us by my brother and his wife for twenty quid and a bit of brotherly banter - but I get the banter anyhow, so that’s just the twenty quid, then.
The drive there was interminable - 2 hours 40 minutes the Sat Nav predicted, in lashing rain and Friday home-time traffic, the two lanes of the A46 reducing into one this side of Newark causing mayhem, as the son had warned me it would, and stopping the travel time from counting backwards as otherwise it should've.
“I need the loo,” the daughter said as we inched forward, and we broke our ‘not until at least half-way’ rule to pull into a service station so she could go. She returned with a packet of Murray mints – most likely a 'should buy something' purchase, I thought, though they were most helpful in smoothing the journey on, not least the stretch where the Sat Nav sent us off the main drag and through hamlets with strange names we'd never heard of.
Muddy water from fields alongside cascaded down the single lanes we travelled on, collecting into pools we must ford in the bottoms. A middle-aged man in a Stetson stood to the side of one such flood with his teenage son, and we wondered if there was a reason for this and whether we should stop. But he smiled and waved us through when we wound down the window to ask him, so we did.
Cautiously, we crawled on, fearful of the unknown terrain, of sharp bends ahead and the sudden need to pull to the cusp of ditch-side tarmac built to a cliff-edge by years of re-surfacing. Disgruntled locals crawled behind us, others sped at us head-on, these back lanes their diversion from miles of tourist-logged main roads.
A diversion that raised our anxiety levels but kick-started the unwinding of the travel time, putting us back on track - literally - and over the halfway mark. The rain stopped, and cresting the top of a hill we gasped to see the sun-flushed Lincolnshire Wolds below us.
“Not long now,” I said as we
turned at last onto an A road. “The way looks fair from here.”
“No worries, Mum,” the daughter smiled.
“It's gonna be great. Would you like another mint?”
AM
This will seem a strange and fearful place to you, no doubt, a jumble of shapes and colours at this stage which you won't have the knowl...
