'This is a very nosy boy!'

Chas and I were both at Garendon Secondary Modern School Loughborough in 1956.  We were not in the same class, but we were in the same year, and as such we did a lot of hanging around together.

Teachers in the school were normally given nick names, and one I came to regret was ‘Old Stones’.

Chas and I had been patrolling the streets of the town one evening when we chanced on the sight of ‘Old Stones’ through the window of The Gate Inn - a notable public house on Nottingham Road.

We gleefully speculated on the length of time it might take for ‘Old Stones’ to down a few pints and come staggering out.  What we failed to understand was that ‘Old Stones’ had looked out of the window and spotted a pair of inquisitive young boys!

At least two weeks later, while standing in line with the rest of my class, I noted that ‘Old Stones’ was to be in charge of our next lesson.  Suddenly spotting me, I was extracted from the line by my right ear and subjected to the comment, “Here is one of the boys that I have been looking for!”

While the remainder of the class stood wondering what it was that I might have done, ‘Old Stones’ delivered a swift clip to the back of my head.

"This is a very nosy boy,” (a pause for reflection). “What teachers do in their own time is none of your business!” (second clip delivered).

Chas never said anything about the event, or whether he was found and admonished.

Today I might expect to be called before the school head and advised that my behaviour was “not appropriate” (whatever that means exactly)

Have a pint on me ‘Old Stones!’

Old Faces

I like old faces.

Gazing at the tell-tale wrinkles, the seams and the puckers, the hollows and undulations, arranged on a palette of flesh and blush.

A fascinating countenance.

How did you get that line?
Was that time spent perplexed, or are you a ponderer?

Those crows’ feet?
Did you squint into the sun? Or is that merriment written in the creases?

Those ruddy cheeks?
Did the wind kiss your face often, or did you reach for a snifter of an evening?

Can I still detect a twinkle in those rheumy eyes? What joys have they seen? What beauty, what horrors?

The shaky lip? I hope that’s not sadness or pain. It would be too much to bear. Now I have explored your visage, I know you a little bit.

Catch my eye so I can share a smile with you. 

Amanda H

Queens Park, Loughborough

The Queens Park in Loughborough has been part of my life since a very early age.  It has endured a number of small changes over the years, but in essence it is still very much the same as it was in 1950.

As a child, my grandfather would take me into the park to see people playing on the bowling green. It is still there.

Close to this green was the duck pond, complete with duck house, and a small waterfall. It is still there.

The carillon, built between the two world wars as a memorial to the fallen, stands in pride of place in the centre of the park. Forty-six metres high and with forty-seven bells, it is still very much there.

The iron gates to the park located at the Bedford Square entrance have been painted a number of times, but are still there.

An aviary, although repositioned, can still be found close to a second pond, famous for its spread of pond lilies.

The band stand has over the years hosted many accomplished brass bands, and now awaits many more.

The ‘conker trees’ still provide the necessary fruit for what is an age-old game. Long may that continue!

The huge red brick building that was once the town’s swimming baths has been revamped as a museum covering local interests.

On a walk through the park on a sunny weekend afternoon, it is quite likely that you will see students from all over the world, taking a break from their studies and enjoying the peace of this beautiful place.

David Taylor

August Bank Holiday

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

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

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

Quick as a flash

David T chose the camera cube as his prompt in today’s zoom workshop, writing about the Kodak Box Brownie 127 he used in his youth.

‘Most of the black and white photos I took were …’ he looked up and grinned, ‘locomotives!’ And we all laughed, for not a week goes by without him writing something relating to steam trains. He nodded when I asked whether he still has the photos.

‘Of course!’

‘You should put them on Facebook,’ I said, and his wife groaned.

‘Don’t encourage him!’

‘No seriously, people love photos of old trains on Facebook. They’re like … like … porn!’

And quick as a flash, David P chipped in, ‘like porn, only more interesting.’

The Church Mice* writing group is a small group of friendly writers who meet virtually on a Thursday afternoon for chat, chuckles and the odd bit of writing (some bits odder than others! 😁)

Sessions cost £5 and start at 3 pm. We have room for a couple more writers, so message me if you might like to join us.

*So named because we originally met in local church rooms. Note there's no requirement to be either religious or mice to be in the group.

Alison Mott