tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62734847323906263382024-03-05T10:33:21.758+00:00Memories of Northampton PastNorthampton Pasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05195512115799084545noreply@blogger.comBlogger38125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273484732390626338.post-17166526807829587852013-01-13T13:41:00.000+00:002013-01-13T13:41:02.375+00:00Where Is It? By Sheron Watson <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxLNa3rM0Z0LmdE5YJplJI0TYj58GZUEP6gQhyphenhyphenct3IT1WFUosmHgWaUiY-LIbiqatSHchkyvJFWqI5FgCUw-3-q1P21FYvrUUOhNMgWoSkx-n0FSHHMXnLoajHGGrEHdkmtgP5s-cK80XD/s1600/Near+to+St+Edmunds+Church,+Workhouse+on+the+right.+frank.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxLNa3rM0Z0LmdE5YJplJI0TYj58GZUEP6gQhyphenhyphenct3IT1WFUosmHgWaUiY-LIbiqatSHchkyvJFWqI5FgCUw-3-q1P21FYvrUUOhNMgWoSkx-n0FSHHMXnLoajHGGrEHdkmtgP5s-cK80XD/s400/Near+to+St+Edmunds+Church,+Workhouse+on+the+right.+frank.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Where is it ?</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> A photo was posted on Northampton Past.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> A picture of where I am frightened to ask.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Welly Road or Kettering the debate lingers on</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> The location of a place from a time bygone.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> There is mention of a chimney proving its place</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> But others they said it is mentioned in haste.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> The roof’s are all wrong came another’s reply</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> It’s Welly Road I swear the resounding outcry.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Racecourse said another the houses were there.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> They accommodated the police of that I swear.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> The bend in the road confirms it’s Kettering.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Cannot see why you’d all find it so baffling</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Look at the Tram it’s going to Kingsley</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Cannot understand why you find it a mystery.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Just look at the shadows, they’ll confirm where</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> I will take a new photo for you all to compare</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Tree’s by the Picturedrome, there isn’t the room</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> So it must be Welly Road, or so you’d assume</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> There were four house’s that stood on that spot</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> I will show you the map that confirms it you lot.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Can’t be Kettering their windows are curved</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Welly’s are straight you must have observed</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Look at the chimneys, they must have increased</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> On Welly they match and changes the least</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> From Mary to Frank and Ruth to Steve Kelly </span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> The site took a vote and decided it’s Welly</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> So to all Northampton Past including our Lawrie</span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> I am still not convinced, for that, I am sorry</span></div>
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Northampton Pasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05195512115799084545noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273484732390626338.post-61495406412633202362013-01-08T21:25:00.000+00:002013-01-08T21:25:20.104+00:00ONE DAY IN MAY By Mick Cox<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<![endif]--><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /><br /><br /><br />I don’t recall the type of weather we experienced on that particular day. <br /><br />I do however remember a feeling of nervous excitement which started when I lay in bed, just prior to getting up. <br /><br />For the previous five days we had been cruising on The Norfolk Broads, on holiday. Unbeknown to me the producers of a Radio Four programme had been trying to contact me. They apparently wanted to talk to me on a programme called (I believe) See Hear, a programme of news and features for listeners with sight problems. As the programme was being transmitted, we were travelling back to Northampton from Norwich. <br /><br />We arrived home around teatime so that I could make some phone calls. The Cobblers were at Wembley the following day. Radio Nene Valley, Northamptons’ hospital radio service, was to become the first hospital radio station to provide a dedicated hospital commentary from Wembley Stadium. Not only that but we were going to be the first service to provide a specialist commentary for supporters in the stadium suffering with sight impediment. This was the reason the Radio 4 producers were keen to speak to us. <br /><br />The landline for the hospital commentary was being sponsored by the Nationwide Building Society and was due to be connected by BT during the Friday afternoon. A couple of telephone calls soon told us that things were not quite running true. Somewhere along the road the order number for the job had “gone astray” and the land line had not been connected. Our contact at Nationwide, in Swindon, really went the extra mile and after he had been in touch with BT it was agreed that the connections would be completed on Saturday morning. <br /><br />Saturday eventually came and the morning was spent decorating our car. Claret and white streamers were tied to the door mirrors and the cars’ radio aerial. Flags that had been given away by The Chronicle and Echo were stuck to the rear window and laid over the rear parcel shelf while a poster picture of the Cobblers was affixed between the flags in the centre of the rear window. <br /><br />Jan had prepared some sandwiches for us to take for lunch. I keep saying “us” as our son Steve was my co-commentator. We were giving a lift to a friend and his son. We had decided to leave home around eleven o’clock to travel the sixty miles to the home of British football, the scene of over sixty F.A. Cup finals, the venue of Englands’ World Cup victory in 1966, the stadium that would bear witness to the Cobblers match against Swansea City in just a few short hours. <br /><br />It turned out to be about a quarter past eleven when we left our home. The atmosphere was building, not only in the car but outside as well. People waved, who they were, I’ve no idea and it wasn’t just us that they waved at, any car bedecked in Claret and White was waved at. Traffic seemed particularly light travelling in the opposite direction. As we travelled along Park Avenue, more cars came into view, flags and streamers fluttering from their windows, mirrors and aerials, just like ours. <br /><br />People in those vehicles waved to us, we acknowledged them. We waved to other cars, they acknowledged us. We were all making a pilgrimage to THAT place. <br /><br />Park Avenue South, through Abington Park, the number of people waving increased and then decreased as we travelled into Rushmere Road, heading toward the motorway. <br /><br />On through Brackmills and there it was, the first bridge and hanging from that bridge an enormous Union Flag with NTFC across the centre of the flag. The car went quiet. That was what you see when the big clubs are around, not us, not The Cobblers. We continued our journey and when we approached the bridge at Wootton there was another banner hanging from the parapet. Virtually all the cars heading South were now sporting “those” colours. <br /><br />We joined the motorway M1. Cars passed us, many with claret and white scarves flying from the windows. In many of those cars that passed us and were not showing any colours, the occupants looked at us with a bemused look on their faces. We simply smiled back at them and continued on our way. Bridge after bridge that we passed under bore greetings and good wishes for the the club. If I remember correctly it was at Luton the flags stopped appearing on every bridge only to reappear as we approached Hemel Hempstead. <br /><br />The rest of the journey into that footballing citadel was pretty uneventful other than being absolutely astounded at the number of vehicles bearing Cobblers fans. <br /><br />On arrival at Wembley we followed our directions to the car park. <br /><br />There were hundreds of fans there, not only Cobblers supporters but those too from Wales. <br /><br />This was Wembley, the fans had been singing, talking and dreaming about Wem-ber-ley ever since the play offs’ had begun to loom on the horizon. <br /><br />A short walk and there they were. It was a sight I shall never forget, indeed, shall never see again. <br /><br />The twin towers of Wembley stadium. I had seen them before, having been to Wembley on business but never like this. I must admit to feeling awestruck. The Cobblers were here. MY club from MY town. After 100 years existence, Northampton Town were finally here at Wembley. My team would tread the hallowed turf.<br /> Steve and I parted from our friends and walked to the media entrance. <br /><br />We showed our tickets and were allowed entrance to the bowels of the stadium. We walked a short way into the media reception area where we were given our souvenir programme and offered a welcoming drink along with a buffet luncheon.</span><br />
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</span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We accepted the drink but decided to go to our allotted seats so that we could check that everything was ready to go. We found our seats in the press box. Every seat had its’ own television monitor. We set our equipment up and endeavoured to dial the number to connect us with the studio here in town. There was no dial tone. We double checked our set up procedure. We had done everything correctly. Our hearts and our spirits sank. <br /> I went back to the reception area and enquired as to whether there was a media manager on duty. Asked the reason for my query I explained the predicament to be told that a guy behind me was the BT engineer. I spoke to him. He laughed, carried on eating and told me not to worry, that someone would be along to sort things out. <br /><br />Half hour later and things were still the same. I found the BT man and this time his face changed. He would have to ring his office. This he did. It transpired that the Job number had only been raised about thirty minutes ago but as he had the relevant number he could connect the line for us. This took him all of about thirty seconds. He stood with us while the studio connection was made. The studio people were relieved to hear from us but, it must be said, not as relieved as we were to speak to them. <br /><br />All set up and ready to go we decided to enjoy the hospitality of the stadium and enjoyed the buffet. <br /><br />While we were relaxing, albeit nervously, two gentlemen with Welsh accents, made themselves known to us. They were from the Swansea Hospital Radio Service but they were there as reporters, not commentators. They would be filing reports through the afternoon while we would be providing a full commentary. In the preamble before the match we had a chat with them so our listeners in hospital, here in town, would get a Swansea view of the game in prospect. <br /><br />We chatted with Mike Sewel and Tim Oglthorpe from BBC Radio Northampton, with Andy Roberts from Chronicle and Echo, there was a a tangible feeling of nervousness about the place. <br /><br />The master of ceremonies conducted a singing competition between the two groups of supporters.<br /> From our position in the press box, it was difficult for us to ascertain the loudest group. We were told that the Cobblers supporters had easily won that completion. <br /><br />As the teams entered the arena the roar was deafening. <br /><br />The game started, there were few opportunities for either side and I must confess to feeling the slightest bit let down. Half time came, we all went into the reception rooms for refreshments. Sheets of paper were being issued to members of the media. They contained the first half match statistics. <br /><br />We returned to our places, all acutely aware that it could be a single goal that decided the result. <br /><br />The game wore on, nerves jangled, 89 minutes, 90 minutes. There were to be 4 minutes extra time. 91 minutes, 92 minutes, the Cobblers win a free kick just outside the Swans penalty area. John Frain takes it. The referee has spotted an infringement by Carl Heggs. The free kick must be retaken. Swansea players protest, the referee is adamant, it must be retaken. Once again John Frain places the ball. IT’s now 93 minutes. Frain takes the kick. Roger Freestone in the Swans goal stretches for it but he can’t reach it. The crowd are stunned. Freestone lands on the ground a fraction of a second after the ball has hit the netting inside his goal. Unbelievable. The Cobblers had taken the lead. Realisation rapidly spread thought the Cobblers end of the stadium. The Referee blows his whistle once, twice, three times. It’s over. IT’s over. It’s over. They’ve done it. The Cobblers have won and not only have they won, they’ve won AT WEMBLEY. Cobblers Manager Ian Atkins was on his feet. Cobblers Chairman, Barry Stonhill was on his feet. The directors were on their feet. The Directors wives and sweethearts were on their feet. I was on my feet, so too was Steve. <br /><br />I looked to my right, and saw the two guys from Swansea Hospital Radio still seated, a look of disbelief on their faces. The Cobblers had beaten Swansea and now we had to wait. Eventually it happened. I freely admit that tears were streaming down my face as I described Ray Warburton, the Cobblers skipper climbing those famous steps towards me. After 39 steps he turned to his left and approached the Royal Box where he was presented with the victors trophy. Then he turned and in the time honoured tradition of winning captains, he turned toward the pitch and held the trophy aloft. <br /><br />We wrapped up our commentary and just couldn’t comprehend that The Cobblers, THE COBBLERS had come to Wembley and won. Mike Sewel called to me asked me to go to him where he interviewed me for Radio Northampton. We eventually decided that we should start packing away our equipment. We did so with a feeling of sorrow in our hearts. We didn’t want to leave the site of arguably the greatest victory in the one hundred years existence of the club. As we turned our backs on the pitch and made our way back into the reception area, one of the young ladies who had been on duty in that area called us over and handed Steve and I a commemorative pen and pencil set. <br /><br />I still have in my possession my ticket, programme, both first and second half match statistics sheets and of course the official programme. I also still have that pen and pencil presentation set.</span><br />
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</span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Little did we know that twelve months on from then we would be back but that time would not see such a glorious ending for us.</span></div>
Northampton Pasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05195512115799084545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273484732390626338.post-83386954351969163212012-11-29T22:21:00.000+00:002012-11-29T22:21:32.244+00:00Prostate Problems by Ann Amos <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /><br />Prostate Problems <br /><br /> By Ann Amos <br /><br /> I decided to write this in an attempt to help any of you guys with prostate issues as it is a big problem for some men as they get older and sadly there is no screening for prostate cancer. I am no expert but I am basing this on what I have learned and through my husband’s personal experience of prostate cancer. <br /><br />This paragraph is NOT about cancer but as a man gets older, his prostate usually becomes larger (Benign prostatic hyperplasia) and most of this enlargement takes place after the age of 50 sometimes causing urinary problems (poor stream, dribbling of urine and incomplete emptying etc). This is because the prostate surrounds the tube from the bladder (urethra) and as the prostate enlarges, it causes restriction. There is a very successful and common operation to correct this called a TURP (transurethral resection of the prostate) or sometimes drugs may be used if the condition isn’t too bad. <br /><br />If a man goes to the GP with urinary related problems a PSA blood test will normally be done. This determines the amount of Prostate Specific Antigen in the blood and, if the reading is extremely high, it normally indicates that cancer is present (but not always). A digital examination and a biopsy usually confirm whether cancer is present or not and, if it is, effective treatment can begin (the actual removal of the prostate is only usually done in younger patients). <br /><br />Radiotherapy and hormone treatment is usually very successful in treating prostate cancer. The radiotherapy shrinks the tumour and the hormone treatment (usually 3 monthly tiny implants of Zoladex in the abdomen) greatly reduces the testosterone which is what causes the cancer to grow. 6 monthly PSA blood tests indicate how things are progressing. <br /><br />This is just a brief outline of what it’s all about so I would urge any of you blokes with worries to see the GP as soon as possible because the help is there for you if needed. Also, if anyone wishes to discuss any problems with me then by all means send me a personal message. As said before, I am no expert but I might be able to answer questions or point you in the right direction.</span></div>
Northampton Pasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05195512115799084545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273484732390626338.post-6112498485279479132012-11-26T22:33:00.000+00:002012-11-26T22:33:48.078+00:00CHRISTMAS THROUGH THE EYES OF A SMALL CHILD IN 1948 By Ann Amos<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">My first recollection of Christmas was as a three year old and I was living in the Police House at Roade with my mother, father, older brother and paternal granddad. I suppose to say that Christmas for me was magical is an understatement and, hopefully, something that we can all identify with.</span><br />
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<br /> <br />Although we are talking 64 years ago, I can remember the living room in perfect detail including the corner in which stood the magnificent Christmas Tree! Now, my father being in the Police was not without his contacts so he was able to access the tree (complete with roots) from Salcey Forest, which was placed in a large soil filled barrel and covered in red crepe paper. Next, came my favourite thing – the beloved lights which my mother had proudly managed to buy from a shop in Towcester (things were still in short supply after the war). They weren’t just bulbs, they had little shades on them in different colours and each one depicted Disney characters which I would spend hours looking at with total awe.</span><br />
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I have to say, at this point, that those lights were brought out year after year (as were all the decorations) until I was 20 and left home. I didn’t want anything new! – I just wanted everything that was reminiscent of Christmases past....... The glass baubles of all colours and sizes, which reflected the light beautifully, were kept in a well worn greyish cardboard box with little compartments and had the words ‘Christmas Decorations’ scrawled across the lid in pencil.</span><br />
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The baubles were fragile but I can’t remember any being broken...... There was silver tinsel which was a bit thread bare but it didn’t seem to matter and the Lametta frequently fell off but that didn’t matter either. The best part was the switching on of the lights when it was all done and, because the tree lights consisted of quite large pear shaped bulbs, the whole room would light up – It was truly wonderful and I have a vivid memory of looking right up at the tree which seems to go on for ever (but I guess that’s because I was tiny). We had paper garlands across the ceiling, paper bells and on the mantle piece there was a cardboard Santa Claus. The setting was complete when my mother, who was an accomplished pianist with a good voice, played carols and Christmas songs, my favourite being ‘I’m dreaming of a White Christmas’ which had been recorded and released in 1942.</span><br />
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Christmas was not without it’s worries when I was small....... Although I would stand on tip toe and look out of my bedroom window on Christmas Eve, hoping to catch a glimpse of Santa and his sleigh in the sky, I was not at all keen on the idea of him coming down the chimney and into my room which had it’s own fireplace. I can remember feeling frightened and sliding further and further down the bed in an attempt to hide.</span><br />
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Even worse, when I awoke in the morning, before it was properly light, I was scared half to death by a strange shape in the room which was actually a blackboard and easel!</span><br />
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I didn’t have a stocking – I just had a few simple gifts in a pillow case but it wasn’t the Christmas presents that were important, it was the whole atmosphere of Christmas and why it was being celebrated which I understood (in simple terms) even as a small child. <br /> <br />I loved all the festive food items, such as they were, but we didn’t have a turkey in those days – It was always a chicken which was a treat and not something one would eat on a regular basis. Our chicken came ‘complete’ and my mother would have to draw it and pluck it over an old tin bath, with some of the down flying around the room and getting up her nose making her sneeze. Mum also made her own stuffing with home grown herbs which tasted wonderful and her recipe was unique to her. She also made her own Christmas Cake and her own marzipan which was at least half an inch thick under crudely applied royal icing liberally sprinkled with silver dragees. To finish off, a fancy paper band was pinned around the cake. To this day, I love rich fruit cake and I adore marzipan! <br /> <br />Of course, Christmas eventually came to an end and I was very sad. The decorations and lights were put away carefully in their boxes until the following year and the tree unceremoniously dragged out into the garden followed by a trail of dropped pine needles. Oh woe! However, twelve months later the whole process began again and I was very happy. <br /> <br />Does one ever recapture those magical feelings experienced as a very small child? I don’t think so......</span></div>
Northampton Pasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05195512115799084545noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273484732390626338.post-70731131812557651122012-11-15T17:22:00.000+00:002012-11-15T17:22:57.157+00:00IN MEMORY OF NORMAN AMOS 1933-2011......<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /><br />...HIS ACCOUNT OF WW2 IN NORTHAMPTON AS A YOUNG BOY.<br /><br />My name is Norman Amos, I was born in 1933 and these are some of my recollections as a boy on the wartime years in Northampton. </span> <span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /><br />My first memory is actually as they used to say – the day that war broke out. It was a Sunday morning & I was at home, my father (who was a Boys Brigade Officer) was on Boys Brigade duties and I was at home with my mother, and I can remember that the radio was on and the famous announcement that I can remember quite clearly was made that we were at war. My mother had gone through one before in the First World War- all I can remember her saying was “Oh my god, and then life carried on as normal. <br /><br />The memories that I give you are a little jumbled, so I hope that you forgive me. <br /><br />One of the early memories was when the Luftwaffe decided to drop a stick of bombs on the cemetery on Billing Road.</span><br />
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I was living in Adams Avenue which was not far away; the explosion caused my mother, father and sister to wake up but not me. Mother and father took my sister down to the cellar where they stayed there until the noise abated, and I was left in bed the; reason being that I wasn’t awake and my father (who was a First World War veteran) believed that if your name’s on it then there was nothing you could do, and if your name was not on it you were OK. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /><br />As regards school it all went on as usual the difference being that there were air raid shelters built on the school playground. I was at Stimpson Avenue School at the time, and it was strictly prohibited to go in the shelters unless it was an alert or on an air raid exercise. Unfortunately being a boy like other boys we decided to go down there and we were caught. Which meant visiting the Headmaster, Mr Smith, who proceeded to give us six of the best on the palm of our hands, but such was life.</span><br />
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Once a week at Stimpson Avenue School they had what was called the ‘Penny Pictures’, where children could go along and for the price of one penny there was films, Charlie Chaplin ones, Laurel & Hardy, which I presume lasted an hour and a half before we made our way home. Another thing that the schools were involved with was salvage, particularly paper salvage. A scheme was set up, and depending on how much you collected you achieved a rank. If you only collected a little bit you were made a sergeant, and it gradually went up, and some of us collected round the streets with our trolleys, knocking on doors, getting books.</span><br />
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Some of us achieved a high rank of Field Marshal, and we had a little paper badge that we put on our coat, we were very proud of this. However carrying heavy volumes, even though we had trolleys was quite hard work, but that was what boys did so we did it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I think that it was just after Dunkirk that it appeared to us children as hundreds (whether it was or not I don’t know) of French or Belgian soldiers. They came to Northampton and were allocated to St Michael’s Church hall, and they used to lay about the grounds of the church.</span><br />
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Of course this was marvellous for us boys, we used to go over to them. We couldn’t speak their language, they couldn’t speak ours but we used to collect money from them (small silver coins with a hole in the middle) and take them to a little shop in Whitworth Road which was just round the corner (owned by a Mr Wilford). Now Mr Wilford used to take these coins from us, which were possibly worthless and give us packets of 5 Woodbines. These we took back to the troops who were laying on the grass outside St Michaels Church and hand them around, and then we would go back for some more.</span><br />
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Looking back Mr Wilford has been a real wartime hero, it must have cost him quite a bit of money because he would not get anything back because the coins we gave him were worthless, but we never went to that shop without getting some cigarettes – usually Woodbines in a packet of five that were handed out to the troops. <br /><br />When word got round that oranges were available on Northampton Market, a plan then swung into operation whereby my mother, myself and my sister would immediately go to the market where we would take up a position in the queue but leaving plenty of space between us. This meant that all three of us could probably get two oranges and then we would meet up again afterwards and come home with half a dozen oranges and think ourselves very clever for doing it.</span><br />
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At the beginning of the war a long trail of children appeared at the top of Adams Avenue and my mother had to go along, and she came back with two East Ender children named George (who was my age), and Rosie (who was a bit younger) they stayed with us for a few months and to their amazement found out, or thought, that we had a coal mine under the house, which was the cellar where all the coal was stored. Also the first Christmas, a favourite expression of my family was ‘mince pies & castad’ they didn’t know anything about Christmas pudding, as far as they were concerned a special treat at Christmas was mince pies & custard. They were quite disappointed when my mother did not serve up mince pies & custard. They did not last long with us as they went back pretty quickly. Later on we had two other evacuees, two girls from Kilburn and Bronsbury High School, I remember their uniform was red and white bands around their panama hats; they stayed with us some time, before they went back. Unfortunately none of the four have ever contacted my family again, the only contact we had was some years after the war when the police knocked on our door and asked us if one of the girls (Sheila) had been in touch with us as they were looking for her – we don’t know why. <br /><br />In addition to evacuees my parents also took in a couple of Canadian soldiers. A convoy of Canadians were parked in Bostock & Stimpson avenues, supposedly to sleep in their lorries, but many of the people like my parents invited them in, so we had two of them. They left us badges etc but unfortunately although they promised to keep in touch we never heard another word. We presume that they were both killed on that big Canadian massacre on the coast. <br /><br />Boys used to be taken with their fathers to Northampton Racecourse late at night where if you looked up in the sky you could see the shadows of the enemy bombers coming over. From the Racecourse you could also see Coventry burning, you could actually see the flames, not just a glow, but the actual flicker of the flames. We did not realise quite what it was. <br /><br />Most boys during the war collected badges and buttons etc, which they fastened to the various types of belts which they wore. I was the envy of a lot of the boys because I had this huge Royal Marine badge attached to my belt, how I got this badge I do not know – probably swapped some shrapnel for it . It was great to get hold of shrapnel because, unlike London, it wasn’t very plentiful in Northampton. <br /><br />During the war youth organisations were not allowed to go to the seaside camps, so the Boys Brigade Company that my father was an officer in used to go to a little village near Stowe called Lillington Dallow and spend a week under canvas in a huge park that belonged to Robarts who I believe was the Chairman of the National Westminster Bank. One of the perks of going there was that we were invited to spend a day with the RAF at Silverstone where the airmen would look after us and we would have a meal in their NAFFI and have quite a good time. We also found a lot of Perspex from crashed aircraft which we brought home and carved in to various items. <br /><br />In 1945 I was riding home from school with a great friend of mine called John Parsonson (of the furniture shop in Northampton) when we suddenly realised that there were buntings and flags being put out, and we suddenly found out it was VE Day. Of course we didn’t go back to school in the afternoon and we just joined in the celebrations in the streets.</span><br />
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Northampton Pasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05195512115799084545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273484732390626338.post-17225776294013028412012-11-11T13:26:00.000+00:002012-11-11T20:23:20.086+00:00Remembrance<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: medium;">This photo of my great grandmother used to be in a frame by my grandma's bedside when I was a little girl. Sometimes I used to curl up on her bed and and look at the photo and grandma would tell me that about her mother and about her brother Jack who stood behind his mother in the photo wearing his soldier's uniform. I though that my great grandmother looked very old and cross in the photo, but I knew that my grandma loved her very much. Now as an adult I look at that photo with more understanding, my great grandmother wasn't old, she was barely 60, but life had been a struggle for her. She wasn't cross either, she was afraid of what the future may hold, afraid that her sons would be taken from her. Today, I will remember, I will think of my great grandmother Elizabeth who lost three precious sons in the First World War, two of them died within a week of each other. I will remember Will, the only son who survived the war, his physical wounds healed in time but the war had robbed him of his strength and his love of life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: medium;">Jack Buswell, Elizabeth's youngest child was just 21 when he was killed in action on 8th October 1917. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: medium;">Newspaper report 3.11.1917</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: medium;">"A snipers bullet caused the death on October 8th of Sergt. Jack C Buswell of the Beds. Regiment. Youngest son of Mrs and the late Mr J Buswell of 24 Campbell Street and fiancé of Miss Ivy Bellchambers of 30 Balmoral Road. Twenty-one years of age the deceased joined up in January last year and went to the front in December. He was a member of St Sepulchre's F.C. and a member of St Sepulchre's Young Men's Bible Class, the eighth member of which he is to be killed. Three brothers are serving in France"<i> </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: medium;">Edward Tom Buswell was killed in action at Poelcappelle, Belgium on 10th October 1917</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 16px;">. He left a wife Ada and three young children, Billy was 10, Elsie was 8 and baby Jack was just a week old. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: medium;">Newspaper report 10.1917</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: medium;">"A well known figure in Trade Union circles, Pte. Tom Buswell whose home is at 29 Compton Street, is reported killed in action on October 12th. Deceased who was 34 years of age leaves a widow and three young children, with whom much sympathy will be felt. He was the fourth son of Mrs and the late John Buswell of 24 Campbell Street, and joined up last February going to France in June. He had worked for many years for Mr A.E. Marlow of the Oceanio Works. His youngest brother Sergt. Jack Buswell was killed only four days previously, and two other brothers are serving."<i> </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: medium;">Frank Buswell was age 24 when he died in action in France on 18th August 1918. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: medium;">"Great sympathy will be extended to Mrs Buswell of 24 Campbell Street Northampton in the sad loss she has sustained by the death of a third soldier son, Driver Frank Buswell of the R.F.A. who died in hospital in France from pneumonia which was supervened on mustard gas poisoning. He was gassed on August 8th and died a week later, his mother, who was sent for, reaching him two days before he passed away. He had seen sixteen months service, fourteen of which had been spent in France. A fourth son is in hospital at Plymouth. Driver Buswell was 24 years of age and fiancé of Miss Hester Slater of 44 Great Russell Street, he previously worked for Messrs W. Barratt and Co."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: medium;">My Grandmother like the rest of her family was devastated by the loss of her brothers and she still spoke of them often when I was a little girl and she was in her 80's. I cannot imagine how she felt when the Second World War came and her only son (my father) was first in the Home Guard and then as soon as he was old enough he joined the army. Her son survived, but one of his cousins was killed and another was badly injured. This photo shows my dad Frank and his cousin Jack (both named after uncles killed in WW1). They both survived WW2 but Jack was badly injured. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: medium;">Sadly almost every family has a similar story to tell, real people, real lives and an enduring sadness that touches successive generations. Yes, of course we must remember, and we must learn, but we shouldn't just remember with flag waving or with pomp and circumstance. All the poppies in the world cannot take away the pain and the sorrow. It is up to us to make the present a fitting tribute to those who sacrificed their future. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: medium;">There are times when war is unavoidable and there are occasions when it could perhaps have been avoided, but our leaders take us to war anyway. War is never glorious and those involved may or may not be heroes, but to a greater or lesser extent they are all scarred forever by their experience. Some time ago my work brought me into contact with a lovely man who had been a medic in the Falklands War. His life had been devastated by post traumatic stress disorder ever since, but he got precious little care or support from the army or from the various charities who support service personnel and their families. It is a sad </span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: medium;">indictment that so many years after the 'war to end all wars' we have still not achieved peace. As far as I am concerned the most fitting tribute to those who have died would be treat those who survive with greater dignity and care - whatever it costs.</span></div>
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Northampton Pasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05195512115799084545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273484732390626338.post-48422107328855002642012-11-10T23:05:00.000+00:002012-11-10T23:20:45.909+00:00'Letters are among the most significant memorial a person can leave behind them.'<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My dad died over thirty years ago, I was only 6 when he became ill so there were many things that I wish I had been able to ask him but didn't have time to. I knew that he had been in the army during the latter years of the war, I even had a few pictures from that time but I wished I knew more about what he did and where he went. It was just one of the many things that I thought I would never know. Then completely out of the blue I was contacted by someone who told me that during the war the Post Office in Northampton produced a monthly newsletter called Northampton News sharing letters home from post office workers in the forces or doing war work. My dad had been a Post Office messenger before going into the army and his letters home were among those published in Northampton News.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The newsletters have been made available as scans, it is hard to read some of them, but I have picked through them and found the ones showing letters from dad, they start in 1943 when he was 17 and go on to 1945. It is a little glimpse of his army service in his own words so it tells us much more than his service record would show. My dad told me very little about his time in the army but I remember him telling me that he was in the Home Guard before he joined the army. He said that he was like Frank Pike in Dad's Army, but I don't think I really understood what he meant until I read his letters. When he wrote the first few letters he was still a boy, he wrote about food and what he has seen at the cinema, but as time went on it was clear from the letters that he had grown up and he was painfully aware of the grim reality of war.</span><br />
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<i style="color: #073763; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"On receiving the 'News' yesterday with the first mail I have had for a few days, it woke me to the fact that beside not getting any mail I hadn't had much chance of writing. We have bags of work now with our lads advancing so fast and have very little time to ourselves. I am now in Germany although I am glad to say that much of my work takes me into Holland. It seems to me that there won't be much left of Germany to occupy after the bashing it's had. I thought Caen (Normandy) was bad but it is nothing compared with some German towns. In some towns there is not one civilian left and not a house standing. Not just one or two places like this, but town after town. </i><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #073763;">Yesterday I got into camp at 4 o'clock after a week on the road and took my truck into 'shops'. I collected it at 10.30pm. Then first thing this morning I was off again and this letter is being written in one of my few breaks on the road. That's keeping the wagon rolling isn't it?"</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #073763;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; line-height: 17px;"> (early 1945)</span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #073763;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span></i></span>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The editors of Northampton news must have made a very big difference to to all those people so far from home, but they could not possibly have known what a difference their hard work has made to me so many years later. They have given my dad a voice over thirty years after his death and they have made it possible for him to tell me about himself in his own words. I wish I could thank them, but of course it is far to late for that. I would like to thank David who realised the value of the old copies of Northampton News and not only took the time to scan them, but also made an effort to share them with relatives of the letter writers. It has helped me to understand my dad a little better and I think I have a better understanding of how worried my grandma must have felt. When he joined the army at 17 my dad was the age that my son is now, that is scarily young, she must have been so frightened for him especially after the horrors of the First World War when three of her brothers were killed in action</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/uptodat/NorthamptonNewsNorthamptonPostOfficeNewslettersOfWW2https://picasaweb.google.com/uptodat/NorthamptonNewsNorthamptonPostOfficeNewslettersOfWW2">Northampton Post Office WW2 Newsletters By Dave Thacker</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">'Letters are among the most significant memorial a person can leave behind them.' - <span style="font-size: x-small;">Johann Wolfgang von Goethe</span></span></div>
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Northampton Pasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05195512115799084545noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273484732390626338.post-32335329706708985532012-11-07T18:02:00.000+00:002012-11-08T04:28:32.369+00:00Autumn Months by Mary Grant <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /><br />I have always loved the autumn months. Seeing the leaves on the trees change into the most beautiful colours is still a joy for me. <br /><br />As a child I loved going to the parks, whether it be the big Rec, Thornton's or Abington, once the leaves had fallen and searching for the perfect shaped leaf to take back home with me. I also used to look out for the pinecones as well. Salcey Forest was a great place to go collecting too.<br /><br /><br />I was always encouraged to make things from what I had collected on our walks. Invariably the pinecones would become Christmas decorations, once I had covered them in glitter, of course. Making Christmas cards was always a favourite past time of mine too in the dark evenings when I wasn't allowed to play outside. I would use anything I could lay my hands on...different coloured bits of paper, the leaves I had collected etc. I remember finding some sheeps wool one time and using that. <br /><br />There would always be a lovely smell wafting in from the kitchen, while I was making my "masterpieces". Beef stew was always a favourite of mine in the colder, dark months. Mum would also do a lovely dish that consisted of pork chops, potatoes, peas and carrots in gravy, with a suet crust around the edge of the tin. Soaked peas with lashings of vinegar and a sprinkle of salt was also a favourite in our house. </span> </div>
Northampton Pasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05195512115799084545noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273484732390626338.post-89891152671082048722012-10-24T16:29:00.001+01:002012-10-24T16:29:59.712+01:00The Guildhall Northampton by Darren MacKenzie<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Guildhall from a low angle </td></tr>
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<![endif]--><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /><br />The Guildhall was completed in 1864 and opened on the 17th of May of the same year. <br /><br />It was designed and built by Edward Godwin of Bristol and has stone carvings around its facade that depict the history and life of Northampton's inhabitants, including the cobblers trade. Fourteen statues stand high above the street under their canopies, one between each first floor window. Many are of Monarchs and famous people who have had close ties with the town. Also represented are the patron saints of England, Scotland and Ireland, and the patron saint of corporations, St Michael, who can also be seen standing on the peak of the gable above the town's coat of arms. The clock tower stands 110ft high, it's sloping roof is finished with a crest of lead. <br /><br /> Princess Diana, was made an honorary Freeman of the Borough in this building in 1989.<br /> A new extension was added to the building in 1992, which is very sympathetic to Godwins work, and a plaque to commemorate Princess Diana has been added to the extension by her brother, Charles Spencer. </span><br />
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Northampton Pasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05195512115799084545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273484732390626338.post-48732693299911236362012-10-16T01:26:00.001+01:002012-10-16T01:26:24.755+01:00Northampton Battlefield By Darren MacKenzie <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1-0QG39sZX3sIVBGVNRHCmLcVswHNkCeoxSN6DBmr6UgmP6LhJ8tNHLKUC0Xn2DOAoNvyjuhloX4_vtJ_OPlQ83C3fjl8Gbq5nQh7PtfVu3HwyfakbvRQTixWMfPo65h0sznxOkZJbaFV/s1600/Northampton+Battlefield+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1-0QG39sZX3sIVBGVNRHCmLcVswHNkCeoxSN6DBmr6UgmP6LhJ8tNHLKUC0Xn2DOAoNvyjuhloX4_vtJ_OPlQ83C3fjl8Gbq5nQh7PtfVu3HwyfakbvRQTixWMfPo65h0sznxOkZJbaFV/s400/Northampton+Battlefield+copy.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">This photo was taken from delapre abbey.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
It's of the golf course, but it's not just a golf course, under the new turf lays a historical important landmark, the Battle of Northampton took place across this land, some features still remain such as hills. The main reason behind this picture is the area beside the golf course on eagle drive is under council control, and there are plans to create youth football and rugby pitches, this has angered many locals, and some support it, a little bit of a political debate, just little back ground as to why i took it.</span> </div>
Northampton Pasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05195512115799084545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273484732390626338.post-83539559844950282652012-10-15T21:49:00.000+01:002012-10-15T21:50:02.987+01:00Lantern House BADBY By Darren MacKenzie<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /><br />This is a Grade 2 listed building, (Formerly listed as Lodge to Fawsley Park), dating from the late 1700s/early 1800s. It is a two storey, octagonal building with coursed squared ironstone, plain roof tiles.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_nU54E9vacq0SHGy0oh-rxD6O0kHOT7kyltjWrHY3kJf_3EIO0VR1bNbmzxCKFp1zmhyphenhyphenSE-fE08PU9X3AgnSlgn71tZxduPv5IUzwB4F2FZhac-6LT4oBmPm3QwPhWMsgCDSfggtQRnBG/s1600/Gate+House+Badby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_nU54E9vacq0SHGy0oh-rxD6O0kHOT7kyltjWrHY3kJf_3EIO0VR1bNbmzxCKFp1zmhyphenhyphenSE-fE08PU9X3AgnSlgn71tZxduPv5IUzwB4F2FZhac-6LT4oBmPm3QwPhWMsgCDSfggtQRnBG/s200/Gate+House+Badby.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
There is a plank door in a chamfered stone arch with 4-centred head within stone porch which has similar doorway with hood mould, with a stone coat of arms above. The stonework of the porch was largely renewed in 1981.<br /> It has one-light windows throughout with diamond pattern leading in double-chamfered stone surrounds, except for ground floor window to right side facing road of 2 lights with chamfered mullions. Above the porch and in corresponding positions to rear and right sides, windows have hood moulds.<br /> Single-storey gabled wing to the rear balancing porch (stonework largely renewed in 1981) and 20th century single-storey extension to left side. Chamfered plinth, offset buttresses to angles facing road, moulded stone eaves, and 20th century lead flue replacing central stone stack at apex of pyramidal roof.</span></div>
Northampton Pasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05195512115799084545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273484732390626338.post-42828008695816729822012-10-07T00:20:00.000+01:002012-10-07T01:23:48.896+01:00My Life Story by Colin Lloyd - Part 6<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: right;">MFI Gatehouse security</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">By March, Margaret had been made redundant from Plessey and was working at a chocolate packing factory in Brackmills. I had been told I was being made redundant from MFI, as they had to lose one security guard and as I was only gatehouse security I would be the one to go. They offered me a job working in the canteen. I gave it a try but it affected my back, so after three weeks I told them I would take the redundancy. Whilst looking for another security job I worked for Kelly’s Agency at GE Lighting, packing light bulbs. This wasn't too bad because if you did overtime you got a free breakfast and that was full English.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">GE Lighting</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lady's Lane</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In June 1990, I applied and got a job with security at Barclaycard on Marefair. It was very interesting working on reception and I did the odd patrol at night. We did hourly patrols. We also covered the Barclaycard buildings over the bus station and the Crown Court in Lady’s Lane. I occasionally went to Golden Wonder at Corby. Whilst there we would be given vouchers for boxes of crisps etc. And sometimes I would come home with a full boot. Margaret was also bringing home bags of chocolates for 50p each so nephews never went short of crisps or sweets. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Margaret and I continued going to Newquay for our holidays and we made friends with a disabled couple. I tried to teach Margaret how to play snooker, but the only thing she managed to pot was the white. We went to Land’s End in 1993 and went down into the cavern but I became claustrophobic and had to come out. (Photos 7,8 & 9) </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Margaret had a younger brother, Michael, who was born in 1940. When he was 4 years old he ran out of the house and because the sun temporarily blinded him, he smashed into the air raid shelter in the street. This caused him to suffer brain damage. Contact was lost with him until his brother Fred received a call from the General Hospital in 1990. Michael was in Linwood Nursing Home in East Park Parade. Whilst he was in hospital I went to visit him and often took him to see his mother. He died before his mother and was buried in Kingsthorpe Cemetery. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We also took Uncle Bill and his wife to Bognor Regis to see Aunt Gladys, his sister. Margaret and I went into town so they could spend some time together. Margaret bought a watch for £4.99 and it was accurate right up to the time she passed away in 2009.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I received a phone call from the security manager at Barclaycard offering me a position as security at the stationary store in Quorn Way, just off St. Andrews Road. The stationary was going to be outsourced to a private company and they wanted someone to keep an eye on things. This meant that I worked as a picker and packer until they closed at 4pm and then going over to Barclaycard in Marefair until 7pm. I accepted this and it turned out to be very interesting as I learnt to operate a cherry picker. This was a ramp that would lift me up to the top of the warehouse shelving. The manageress of the stationary was Mrs Sue Heydon and all the staff there made me feel very welcome, plus the foreman at Quorn Way was John McDonald, who I had worked with while I was on the buses.</span><span style="text-align: center;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We would also go and see Jenny’s in-laws at Mablethorpe. Tina, the dog, was put in the dog run, but within 10 minutes, would be scratching at the door. We also kept having the family down for Christmas parties. Margaret’s niece had become engaged and she asked if she could bring her fiancé down to meet us. Because his name was Heath, Derek, Margaret’s brother, was convinced he was coloured. When they arrived I let them in. When Kerry got Margaret on her own she asked her what she thought of Heath. Margaret said, “I’ve only one thing to say”, Kerry’s face dropped, Margaret continued, “I wish I had met him first”. He was a lovely chap. They met when Kerry was working at Billing Mill behind the bar and he was a bouncer. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was made redundant at Barclaycard in Nov 1993 and was taken on by a company known as Ambassador Security. My job was as a security officer at a pc distribution centre in Sketty Close, which is situated on Brackmills Industrial Estate. This was boring because all I had to do was sit and watch the warehouse door for deliveries. Ambassador also had mobile security drivers who checked out the premises. I learnt later they carried keys and one of them started pilfering. And Ambassador lost the contract and I was made redundant on 30th April 1994. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We continued to go to Mablethorpe to see Jennifer’s in-laws. We also took Phyllis and the dog. One day I took Tina down on the beach, next thing I knew she was running up to the top, near Margaret. She had found a patch of grass, had a wee and then came back down to me on the beach. On the way to Mablethorpe we always stopped at the same pub for something to eat and they always put a bowl of water out for Tina.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At Barclaycard we always took part in Comic Relief and other charity fund raising events. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">By December Rentokil, my employers, had lost the security contract. I immediately signed on with Staffline Agency and continued working as a picker/packer at the stationary store. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The following year Ofrex Office Supplies took over the stationery for Barclaycard and employed us full time but it still meant working 12 hour shifts. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They also provided a car, as I had to ferry the manager about. I also had to go to different suppliers to pick up some stock if we were short. I had to go to Croyden once just to pick up one small parcel. I left at lunch time but due to roadworks on the M25, I didn't get back until half past seven that evening. Another journey I used to make was to Ofrex Head Office in Droitwich, in Worcestershire.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Meanwhile, my eldest daughter, Jane was living with her future husband, Stewart. He was a gamekeeper and worked for a Mr Phillips They lived in a farmhouse that had been converted into three houses. He had 5 dogs, 4 were working dogs as they had a lot of pheasant shoots. One time, he let me have a go on his quad bike and I nearly rolled it over. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Stewart had a son, Jamie and he came to stay with us in 1994. He arrived in time to see the balloon festival. He also came to Bognor Regis with us.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At the side of Stewart’s house was an old Victorian walled garden where Mr Phillips had an enormous collection of Iris's. Every time he went away, he brought back another species to add to the 200 plus that he already had. <br /> At the back wall, were old greenhouses with vines that were over 100 years old and which still produced grapes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In October Jane and Stewart decided to get married and Janine, her daughter, was to be her Matron of Honour. Jamie and I were witnesses. We took our neighbour Phyllis with us but the weather was terrible, wet and very windy, but nevertheless it all went off without a hitch.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We were still going out at Christmas for dinner and we decide to go to the Globe at Weedon. The main meal was acceptable but we had chestnut soup, which I did not enjoy one little bit, so that put the dampers on the whole meal and we never went back.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /> On Mr Phillips land, a mobile phone company wanted to erect a mast in the woodland. He insisted that it was camouflaged and if you did not know it was a mast it looked exactly like one of the trees. Pity they can’t all be like that. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We went to Newquay again in 1996 and it was so hot that all the grass had turned brown. We went to the seal sanctuary at Gweek. When Margaret got out of the car she said it was as if the bushes were going round in circles. The following morning at breakfast she had to leave the dining room because it was as if the chandeliers were coming down. The hotel arranged for us to see the doctor, who said it was the weather, but when we got home she kept feeling dizzy and our doctor diagnosed Meniere’s Disease.This is an illness that affects the balance in the inner ear and put her on tablets that did help. That was the last time we ever went on holiday as it had frightened her. When Margaret went to see the doctor he called her “Duchess of Duke Street”. He is a very good and caring doctor. If I ever experience any problems, I just have to give him a call. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /> </span><br />
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It was in 1995 or 1996, that Kerry and Heath got married, the exact year, I'm uncertain of.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /><br /> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In February 1997 Margaret’s brother suffered a severe stroke that left him paralysed down the left side of his body, affecting his speech and movements. He was a patient in Northampton General Hospital and we used to visit him while he was in there. As it got warmer, we used to wheel him downstairs to the main entrance for a change of scenery. After about eight weeks he was transferred to a rehabilitation centre at Rivermead on the outskirts of Oxford. We often went over to see him at weekends and I used to take him down the pub for a drink. (Photos 32 & 33)<br /><br /> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Derek and his wife lived in a first floor flat in Cartwright Road and because of his disability they decided to sell the flat and bought a bungalow in North Western Avenue. Derek was allowed home at weekends and as the bungalow was being converted Margaret and I decided he could stay with us as we were in a downstairs flat, which has been designed for disabled people. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In 1998 </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Derek, his wife, Margaret and I decided to go to Newquay, where we stayed at the Kilbernie Hotel. The staff there were very good to us, putting ramps down so he could get in and out in his wheelchair. We took him out regularly and one day went down to the harbour. The only snag was pushing him back up the hill to town. By the time I got to the top I was absolutely knackered (pardon my French). We often took him and his wife out with us on Saturday evenings, along with Phyllis. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I had finished at Barclaycard and was working at the job centre in Sheep Street. (Photo 35) My previous wife’s nephews worked there, Mark Holmes and his brother Simon. Mark lived in St James and his home was one of those affected when the 1998 flooding occurred. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /><br /> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In 1999 the four of us went to Babbacombe, to a hotel that catered for disabled people. It wasn’t too bad but I wasn’t impressed by the meals or the level of service. One evening Margaret came down to the bar and asked me to go upstairs. When I got there she had been ironing and stood the iron up on the carpet. Apparently a bus went past and the iron fell flat on the carpet and had burnt it. I called one of the staff and explained and she said don’t worry about it as the carpet peeled off the iron. It fitted back into the bare patch. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Margaret and I went to see the miniature village. It was marvellous with all working models and I used a complete film taking photographs.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Margaret, Phyllis and I had found a lovely pub in Yardley Hastings, The Red Lion. The second time we went there, when we left the landlord came out after us and told me I had forgotten to pay. Phyllis said to him, “I thought it was a freehouse”. That broke the ice and we had a good laugh. Also we came through Brayfield and there was a gentleman waiting for the bus to go to the pub, so we stopped to pick him up. It turned out he was the actor Bryan Pringle, who had appeared in the film The Early Bird with Norman Wisdom and had also appeared in several episodes of Some Mothers Do ‘Ave them. He was a gentleman and always when he got out of the car he opened the door for Phyllis and Margaret.</span><span class="separator" div="div" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Margaret and I went for Sunday lunch and as I didn’t like carrots I had a double helping of cabbage with extra gravy. It was beautiful. The couple who ran it eventually sold it and it went downhill so we decided to try the Red Lion at Denton. This was quite entertaining as they used to run race nights. We also used to go to the Stretton Arms at Turweston where the barmaid who took the photos of our wedding had taken over the tenancy of the pub. They used to hold a duck race every year in the stream at the bottom of the garden. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I eventually left the job centre and went to work at Francis House, for Group 4 security. Here, they dealt with Income Support and pensions. Before going there I had to go for a week’s training at the company Head Office in Wapping, by the River Thames. While I was there, I watched the filming of one of the James Bond films which included a river chase. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I passed the exam and returned to Northampton to start work at Francis House, where here were 2 of us on duty. There were several nasty experiences here, one involved a girl who couldn’t get an emergency loan and in temper, she kicked the door in. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /> This was in 1999 and I stayed there until I retired in 2001. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One day someone came in and told us a pheasant had landed in the bushes outside. We went out and managed to catch it. I put it in a large cardboard box and when we finished our duty roster, I took it to Rhodes Veterinary Surgery, on Queens Park Parade. They rang me the following day and said it was fine. One of the veterinary assistants lived in Chapel Brampton so she took it home with her and released it into the field nearby.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At the start of 2001 I was still working for the DSS at
Francis House as security officer. Margaret was concerned at the amount of
violent activity at the DSS. Quite often had to call the police to resolve some
of the problems we were experiencing. One time we searched the waiting room and
found two knives. On 1st March I reached the age of 65 and decided to retire. The day I left I was presented with many gifts from the DSS staff. I, though, was glad to get out.<br />
<br />
After about four weeks I became bored so I went along to the job centre to look for a part time job. One that caught my eye, was working in a post room.
I went to the agency and found that it was the post room at the DSS! I
explained that I had worked there as security and asked the agency to make sure
there was no objections to my working there, which they did. I got the job. It involved opening the post and sorting it into baskets for the relevant
departments. The hours were 7am – 10am but we were usually finished by 9.30am.
The post was delivered by TNT and there were several times when the post was
late, so we used to stay until it was finished.<br />
<br />
My duties meant that I also covered for the messenger, which meant delivering
and collecting mail to and from both the Town Hall and Belmont House in
Cliftonville. I used to use my car, for which I received a petrol allowance. In
all there were seven of us working in the post room. Eventually a private
company took over as part of the outsourcing policy and they took us on as
regular staff. This meant we received holiday pay, which, when you consider I
was drawing a pension and receiving pay for working, meant that everything in
the garden was rosy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In 2002 Margaret was on medication and I used to go to the Co-op to collect it. In
August I went there and found that there was a note on the door advertising for
a part time driver. I enquired after it and learnt that they wanted to start a
delivery and collection service, i.e. collecting prescriptions and delivering
to customers. It was for one hour a day, starting at 2pm. They were moving into
the doctor’s surgery in Adelaide Street. I applied for and got the job. I
commenced on 2nd October 2002. Melanie Ashton was the manager. the service started off slowly but after two
months it went from one hour to two and by 6 months we were up to three hours a
day. Being employed by the Co-op, I automatically became a member, receiving
all the benefits.<b> </b><br />
<br />
I found that working at both the DSS post and the Co-op was getting to be too
much for me so I decided to resign from the post room and concentrate on the
delivery service with the Co-op. I was, by now, delivering out of town,
Pitsford, Collingtree, Duston, Moulton and Haringstone. Apart from that, we had
contracts with Simon de Senlis and Grange Nursing Homes. Margaret used to come
out with me for the ride and as I delivered each prescription she ticked them
off the list.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One Friday I had several deliveries to make and as I pulled up at Queensview
Surgery to collect prescriptions it started to snow. When I came out of the
surgery everything was white, I could hardly see my car. I had a full load on
for The Grange and I knew they were urgent so I rang the chemist and said I
would go up the Grange and depending on the weather, I may have to leave the rest. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I got to the Grange at about quarter past three. We left at three thirty and
decided to return to the chemist. It took more than an hour and half to get
from Kingsthorpe to the bottom of Kingsthorpe Hollow. I turned into St Andrews
Road and from there it took me nearly half an hour to get to the chemist. It
was 5.30pm when we left there and it took me three quarters of an hour to get
home. That journey would normally have taken ten minutes. Luckily it was the
weekend and by Monday the roads were fairly clear.</span></div>
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Margaret had been to the doctors with a blood clot and he had told her to stop
smoking. She had had two cigarettes before seeing the doctor and after she
came, out she never touched another one. Delivery work had become very busy and I was working nearly full time but I was
enjoying every minute and made many friends with the patients. We lost the
contract for The Grange but we had started delivering to St Crispin Retirement
Village in Duston. I was given a special keypass to access all areas and finished
up with about twelve deliveries for there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was being paid 40p a mile fuel allowance and was
averaging about 200 miles a week. Once a month I also had to go to Bugbrooke
Surgery,to pick up a prescription for a lady at St Crispin’s Village, so that to
my added mileage. <br />
By 2009 the company had decided to stop using our own cars and use a van. Owing
to the insurance restrictions, this meant that I could no longer take Margaret
with me so I decided to accept a redundancy offer they made. It was disappointing
but I did not like to leave Margaret on her own. So we used to go out for
afternoon rides into the countryside. Margaret used to love going to Gayton,
where she had spent her childhood.On one occasion,I received a phone call from the chemist, asking me to help
them out as the driver, Tony, was on holiday. This I did two weeks and was paid
£25 a day. <br />
<br />
On 22nd September, when Margaret woke up and said she had problems breathing, I
phoned for an ambulance. A paramedic came to her and put her on oxygen before
admitting her into hospital. I stayed with her and notified the family. When I
went to see her on the 23rd, she seemed fine and the family also visited her. I
left at seven in the evening. On Thursday 24th I received a telephone call at
5.15am from the hospital telling me to get down there as she had taken a turn
for the worse. When I arrived they would not let me see her and a doctor took
me into the office. They had had to resuscitate her eight times. I contacted
Margaret’s sister and she came down straight away. The doctor said they dare
not do any more resuscitation because of the damage to her heart. We stayed
with her until seven in the evening. The neighbours were brilliant, feeding the
cats for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On 25th I rang the hospital at 8am and was told she had a
comfortable night, so I said I would go in to see her when I had done the
shopping. At 10.15am, when I got home, I had a phone call from the hospital to
tell me she had died. The first thing I did was to ring Margaret’s sister, Dolly and she told me to
go straight up to her house. How I managed to drive up there I don’t know, I
was in a daze.<br />
<br />
When I arrived all of Doll’s family were there and they took me down to the
hospital to see her. I had already rang my neighbours and they took care of the
cats, making sure they were fed. Doll agreed to come with me on Tuesday to sort
everything out, including registering the death, dealing with the banks and
arranging for the funeral directors. I rang my daughter Jane to tell her. She
was very upset but because of her illness she was unable to get back to town. The funeral took place on 7th October at The Counties Crematorium and her ashes
were buried with her mother at Kingsthorpe Cemetery. Her name was added to her
mother’s tombstone. Christmas seemed very quiet but my neighbour, Cis, cooked
my Christmas dinner for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After Christmas I decided to contact my youngest daughter Jennifer. Margaret
hadn't been able to get on with her so I hadn’t been in contact for 19 years. <b> </b>My eldest daughter gave me her telephone number. I rang her and we
decided to meet, so I drove over to Newton where she was living. She hadn’t
changed one bit. She took me over to Haverhill to see my grandson, his wife and
my great grandson Dylan, who was two. I had never seen him. We went into town
for a meal and she said she would come over for a weekend and bring Dylan. I
managed to obtain a single bed and they came over. We were planning to go to
Harlestone Firs so Jenny put Dylan in the car. She shut the door and then
realised she had left the keys on the front seat, the car locked automatically
after one minute. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
We had to call the fire brigade and they had to break the quarter light to get
the keys. Dylan was a little frightened but the firemen let him sit in the fire
engine so that pleased him. On Sunday we took him into town and went to see the
lions in the town centre and then down to Becket's Park. Also that year my
grandson Darren, his partner Ursula and great granddaughters called in on their
way back home to Llandudno. As I hadn’t seen them for over 20 years, that was
brilliant.<br />
<br />
My brother-in-law’s grandson was getting married and I received an invitation
to the wedding. As I didn’t want to go on my own Jennifer offered to come with
me. I cleared it with the bride’s mother and I rang Doll. She wasn’t very happy
about it as she thought Jennifer didn’t get on with Margaret. When I tried to
explain, she said she didn’t want to know. In the end, I said, “Sod your
family”, and I haven’t heard from any of them since. Jennifer also came to my neighbour Phyllis’s 90th birthday party, which was
held at the Romany pub. It was packed as all the family came from all parts of
the country.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On the anniversary of Margaret’s death Jennifer took me on
a three day break to Lymington, in Hampshire. We stayed at a farmhouse
belonging to a person who supplies mushrooms to royalty and the houses of
parliament. Whilst there we went on the ferry to the Isle of Wight, visiting
Alum Bay and The Needles. We also went to the glass blowing factory and then on
the steam railway. <br />
<br />
On the 23rd October Margaret’s brother Derek passed away. I didn’t go to the
funeral as I did not want to see the family but his wife and I have kept in
contact with each other. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On Christmas Day Jennifer came to collect me and we went to her friend Sallys'
home where we stayed overnight and came back home on Boxing Day. <br />
<br />
I had started to having trouble with my hands swelling, early in 2011 I was
finally diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis and went to the clinic at the
hospital. The consultant was brilliant and I was given a steroid injection and
put on tablets. Within 3 weeks all my swelling had gone down, the one snag is,
I have to have monthly blood tests. Jennifer came over in July and decorated my living room for me. I had applied
to have a wet room installed and was told it would be about a year. <br />
<br />
In November I decided to buy a laptop and go on the internet. I saw one
advertised and decided to buy it. Lee Murray was the person I bought it from
and he came down to set it up for me. I have never looked back. He introduced
me to Northampton Past and it was only by chatting to Mary Grant and saying I
would like to write my life story with the help of Frank, I started, and now
I’m on my final part. I have made contact with all my family now.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On my birthday in 2012 my granddaughter Angie came down with her partner Dean and my
three great grandchildren. They came for three days, staying at the Travel
Lodge. I met them at junction 16 and brought them into town. We had a
marvellous three days. Jennifer came over on the Friday, so that put the icing
on the cake. We all went to The Spencer Arms at Chapel Brampton. <br />
<br />
My next door neighbour Phyllis passed away aged 91. I will really miss her. <br /><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On 5th June Angie came down again for a couple of days with Paddy and Oscar. <br /><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">By July I had decided to stop driving when my car tax ran out, as it was
becoming too dear to run the car. With the help of Lee, we sold it on EBay. I
don’t really miss it, but I have kept my driving license. The only problem I
have is walking, as I need a stick but last week Jennifer came over and took me
to Argos and bought me a four wheeled shopping trolley. It has certainly made a
difference with walking. My step son comes up weekends, picks up my shopping
list and brings it in on Monday. He has been a great help. Before I got my wet
room he would come up every Friday to help me in and out of the bath.<br />
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Well I think that brings me up to date. I hope you have enjoyed reading it. And
to all my friends on Northampton Past...God bless you all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Update – Great Grandson born 17<sup>th</sup> September
2012, weighing 7lb 9oz. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Northampton Pasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05195512115799084545noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273484732390626338.post-71443598435758636212012-09-27T00:08:00.000+01:002012-09-27T00:08:01.243+01:00My Life Story by Elaine Dente (nee Horne) <span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Hi everyone, my name is Elaine Dente (nee Horne). I was brought up in Kings Heath, went to Kings Heath infant & junior schools. My early memories of my infant school was walking in the gate and all the mums were talking about a fantastic new rock & roll singer called Cliff Richards who had just made a song called Living Doll. I was so excited when my mum took me to see him in the film Summer Holiday. I really enjoyed my three years at the infants school, we mostly did painting and drawing and remember there was a big shell filled with sand in all the classrooms that we spent hours playing in.<br /><br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I also remember that on Sundays the Salvation Army would go round Kings Heath estate playing their band and singing to collect money for charity, I was only 5 at the time. They would stop on the green opposite my house and when they stopped playing they would ask if anyone would like to sing for them. Well my mum had taught me “Jesus wants me for a sunbeam” so I volunteered to sing this in front of a big crowd of onlookers, I sang it all the way through and everyone applauded me and the lady in the S.A. asked me to collect the money, so I went to everyone and they gave me a little basket to put it all in, when I finished I said thank you very much to everyone and started to walk home with it, I thought they had given it to me NOT charity, a lady came running after me, she took it back but gave me sixpence to get some peps.<br /><br /> </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kings Heath Junior School about 1963
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Later I then joined Kings Heath Junior school and also liked being there apart from when I was talking too much and Miss Ward hit me on the back of the knee with a ruler, she used to get quite a kick out of doing that to the children, needless to say she wasn’t very popular in the school but went on to teach there for many years.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Through my Junior School years my best friend was Denise Thompson (Beckwith now) who is also a NP member and she was the one who suggested me to the group, (I will be fore-ever grateful to you Denise. Denise and I played every evening after school at different games, rounders, hide & seek, throwing tennis balls against the wall, jacks, hop-scotch, and we played outside until our mums called us for our tea.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kings Heath (I'm on the bike)</td></tr>
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We used to go up the firs and pick mushrooms and blackberries with Denise’s dad, and our treat on a Saturday afternoon would be when they invited me to their house to eat a big bowl of winkles, they were fantastic.<br /><br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">As I got a little older I joined Kings Heath Youth Club on the park and always remember the number one hit was Tom Jones, It’s not unusual. We had great times there. <br /><br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We then went to different Senior Schools, Denise went to St. Georges and I went to Spencer, my idol at the time was Twiggy and every spare minute I got I would draw her or cut her out of magazines, my favourite groups were of course The Beatles and couldn’t wait for my birthday and Christmas to get their album. I was always getting sent out of the class at Spencer especially in the maths lesson as I hated maths and would talk and joke all the way through it, and every time I was standing outside the class who would come walking along but Miss Nash the Headmistress. The biggest shock of all that happened to me at Spencer was when I was about 13 and I was on the bus going back to Kings Heath from school, and a friend of mine didn’t have any money to get home so as there were no mobiles then to call her mum I said I would let her have my school bus pass after I had shown it. Well I was just handing it to her when the conductor saw me and took my details down and reported me to the school. The next day my mother got a phone call from Miss Nash asking her to come to the school, I was there in her office when mum arrived and Miss Nash said that as I was disrupting the class by talking and joking and the incident on the bus, she was going to expel me. My mother gave me a glare and turned to Miss Nash and said you won’t have to expel her because when I have finished with her she will be the best behaved girl in the school, well you can imagine what I was expecting, my mum had never hit me before but I was expecting something and it wasn’t going to be a pat on the back. We left the school and my mum literally chased me from the school in Dallington to Kings Heath with her foot up my backside literally pushing me along to Kings Heath, up the stairs and into bed. Yes she was right my mum, I was one of the best students in the school after that, it certainly taught me a lesson. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /> We would always go “up town” on Saturdays and go for a drink at the Desert Inn and then walk round town, up and down Abington Street, sometimes if we had saved our pocket money we would treat ourselves and go to Adnitts for a Knickerbocker Glory or College Street Fish & Chip Shop.<br /><br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I used to love shopping on the market and it was always completely full on Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays, you could get everything there. Whenever I had some spare pennies I would buy a Gallones, chocolate nougat wafer was my favourite, I still go there and have a Gallones when visiting the town.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /> When I was 15 I decided that I didn’t want to stay on at school to do my GCE’s but preferred to go out and earn a living. At the time for the girls who were going to leave, an employment officer would go round the schools to ask what jobs we were interested in, when he got to me I said I wanted to become an actress, he gave a snigger and asked me if my mother would allow me to go to London on my own at 15 to attend drama classes (there were none in N’pton.) I thought about it for a few seconds and said I didn’t think so, he then told me to think of another career. I was so very very disappointed.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My maxi dress age 17</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Has luck had it my cousin knew the Personnel Manager at Express Lifts and they needed an office junior so I applied for the job and got it, I started off do filing etc. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">and then the company sent me twice a week to the Northampton. Technical College in St. Georges Avenue to do a secretarial course. I passed my exams in typing, then shorthand and I worked my way up to Secretary in the Personnel Department. I remember when I was about 17, hot pants were the new fashion and me and my friends started to wear them for work. One day I had to take some documents into the Drawing Room where there were about 200 drafts-men working, when I walked in the whole place just stopped working and were whistling, I remember I literally went the colour of a tomato and put the papers I had in my hand in front of my face and I walked into a desk!! I have never been so embarrassed in all my life. If it happened now it wouldn't be an embarrassment it would be a bloody miracle!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">taken at Express Lifts</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">After 5 years I left Express and went to work for Avon Cosmetics as Secretary in the Personnel Department. While working there the Managing Director of the World Headquarters in New York visited and I met him and told him I would be visiting my relatives in New York in 3 weeks from then so he arranged for me to be met and shown around their brand new building in Manhattan, it was a lovely experience and Avon Northampton put a photograph of me on their newspaper saying I was the first employee from the U.K. to visit their new H.Q. in New York, which was a great honour at 19 years old.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lings Forum 1977.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I then saw a very good job come up for a personal Secretary to the Transport Manager of the Northampton Transport down St. James and I worked there a year before applying for another job on the council as “Girl Friday” for the Leisure & Recreation Department, this was such a fantastic job as I got to work in the Tourist Information Office, Teaching babies to swim in the mother & tots group at the Mounts Swimming Baths, Hostessing at any concerts in the town looking after the celebrities and V.I.P.’s and Hostessing at the Northampton Town Show in Abington Park. I really loved my job. Then the Lings Forum was being built and I felt I would like a change so I applied for the Secretary’s job and was accepted, this was another great job organising sporting events, wedding shows, health & beauty evenings, professional wrestling nights and music concerts, after 5 years I wanted a change so applied to Diversey in Weston Favell as Executive Secretary and got the job.<br /><br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The first time I went to a disco was at the Gaye Way at the top of Abington Street, then I started to go to all the different discos in the town: The Salon, the 66 club in Giles Street, the Drill Hall, Two Much Club, Fantasia, Cock Hotel, Blisworth, Nags Head, Sywell, Billing Acquadrome, Shades, The Plough Hotel, The Angel, The Grand, Cinderellas, Circles, The Windmill (where I met my husband), my favourite pub was The Abington Park Hotel. I really loved the 70’s in Northampton, they were the best years of my life.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When I met Pope John Paul 1981.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">During my last year at Lings Forum I met my boyfriend who is now my husband and after a year of “courting” he decided he wanted to return to live in Italy (he was born there but emigrated when he was 8 to the U.K.) so we split up and I decided to also leave the town and get a job as a Nanny in Rome. I rang him to say I was also going to live in Rome, so we decided to go back together. I worked for Roman Aristocrats and they had a n enormous house in the centre of Rome. It was a dream job and we went to their villa on an island between Sicily and Africa for the summer and to their wonderful chalet in the dolomites in the Winter. Every weekend we would go to their 200 room castle in Rocca Sinibalda near Rieti just an hour away from Rome, which was like living in a dream. I had a really wonderful time living with this family and I also got to meet Pope John Paul while working for them as they had a private invitation to a church he was visiting and I met him, he spoke to me in English and blessed me which was very emotional for me.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">rocca sinibalda</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">After 18 months with the family I returned to Northampton to organise my wedding (as my boyfriend popped the question at the Trevi Fountain and gave me an engagement ring (very romantic), We got married at the Cathedral in the Barrack Road and then had our first night’s honeymoon at the Saxon Inn. We then drove the next day to the Cotswolds for a few days and then said goodbye to our families and drove to Rome and we have been here ever since. We celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary on 5th June this year (married in 1982). And to celebrate in style we are going on a 20 day cruise to Asia on 5th October this year.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">jubilee day</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I have settled down well on the coast of Rome between Ostia and Anzio and made a lot of friends both English and Italian. 21 years ago I founded an ex-pats club of ladies from the U.K. America, South Africa, Australia etc. and there are nearly 50 of us. I organise “girls nights out” every two months and we go for a meal, (it’s usually at the local Chinese as we eat Italian and English at home). I am a housewife in the mornings and I teach English to students in the afternoons, it’s surprising how many Italian children are walking around with a Northamptonian accent, me duck!.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">My husband Jim is a Carabiniere (Policeman) and I have two wonderful children, Riccardo who is 29 and Cristina who is 26 and a lovely 15 year old Cavalier Kings Charles Spaniel Nicki who we brought over from the U.K. My hobbies are chatting to friends on Northampton Past page, reading, taking photos, cooking, making cupcakes and venturing out with my husband and friends on Saturday nights for a meal and Sundays on their scooters travelling around the region of Rome (Lazio) We also love cruises and will be celebrating our 30th wedding with a cruise to Asia on 5th October, although our anniversary date is on 5th June.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /> I must say I have had a wonderful life, and it is made it even more pleasurable to be able to chat to so many Northamptonians on the NP page and feel right at home again and I don’t feel I’ve been away. Thanks to Frank Baverstock for starting up the page and to all him and his Admin. Team for all their hard work.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /> Elaine Dente (nee Horne)</span><br />
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</span>Northampton Pasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05195512115799084545noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273484732390626338.post-49768861628622363882012-09-26T19:31:00.000+01:002012-09-27T21:28:11.641+01:00My Diary 22nd September by Valerie Kalves<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">7.30 a.m. Awakened by mobile phone alarm as usual (otherwise I’d sleep much longer) and put on the kettle for our morning pot of tea with the precious York tea brought back from UK. We both take our mugs of tea (with later refills) to our laptops and spend an hour or so catching up, at least trying to! A very rainy, grey morning. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />8.30ish. Time to prepare our regular breakfast; banana, apple, Brazil nut and blueberry salad with yoghurt and Accai powder sprinkled over it. First coffee of the day. A few Scrabble moves on the computer before getting ready to go into Tampere, 30 kilometres away. <br /><br />10.00 a.m. Leave for town taking lunch (homemade Finnish cabbage and mincemeat casserole) with us. We haven’t actually ‘lived’ in the house in town since April so the fridge is rather bare. Many Finns migrate to the countryside whenever weather/work permits in the spring and often move back for when schools start. But hooray! we’re RETIRED teachers so can please ourselves when we return to ‘civilisation’. <br /><br />Arriving in Tampere, Yrjö does some important shopping while I water all the house-plants, collect the post that has accumulated over 4 days and lay out our dark clothes ready for the funeral of a friend of ours. <br /><br />Once again, I’ve been sent a packet containing cod-liver oil capsules despite having phoned and cancelled my membership. These sellers are like leeches! Re-addressed package to be returned. <br /><br />Midday and the sun starts shining. Lunch, change and leave for the church. On the way, we realize that we’re a little too early and while away the time watching a dog show taking place in a car-park by the ice-stadium. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />Our friend was brought up bi-lingually, so the funeral service was in Finnish and Swedish. The hymns were sung in Finnish. One of Markus’s daughters is married to an Englishman and lives in Essex and had come over for the few days. It was nice to meet her family and speak to the children in English at the reception, which was a very unusual one compared to normal Finnish funerals where there is often a very formal atmosphere. This was a very Markus-like reception for an unusual man; an artist, composer, musician, actor, chemist and friend to all. He was also the chairman of the art society. 3 different groups of musicians performed while we were having a buffet meal. The first soloist accompanied himself on the piano singing jazzed up songs. The first group (piano, guitar, bass and violin) in which Markus had normally been on the piano, played some of his compositions. The first piece was so moving. Markus had once mentioned to his friends that this was one that they could play at his funeral, not realizing it would be so soon. It was so beautiful and poignant. <br /><br />Other groups played Markus’s favorite music and then one blind lady stood up and told us how she’d met Markus; in the café of the indoor food market. He’d befriended her and they’d often have a coffee together when he tapped her shoulder and said hello. She made us laugh describing Markus’s spontaneous personality – one day he’d asked her to accompany him as he was off to buy a second-hand piano. She agreed and had fun. When she started to play her guitar and beautifully sing, a tribute to her late friend, we realized just how talented she was. <br /><br />Many folks stood and spoke warmly of Markus. One person read out a long poem of Markus’s life that she’d written specially. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We drove back to the country via our townhouse feeling happy that Markus had had such a good send-off. He would have loved the music and seeing his friends enjoying it. <br /><br />Back home and feeling invigorated, I did a load of washing and hung it out in the evening sun. So seldom the sun shines nowadays so had to make the most of it. <br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">After a few hours of reading the newspaper we’d collected from the postbox that morning and enjoying a drink or two, I wrapped up a birthday present for grandson, Konsta. We were going to his eighth-birthday party the following day. Life goes on. <br /><br />TV news and then bed <br /><br />A different sort of Saturday!</span> Northampton Pasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05195512115799084545noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273484732390626338.post-51129634621666942512012-09-24T09:56:00.000+01:002012-09-27T14:22:11.710+01:00My Diary Saturday 22nd September 2012 by Kate Wills. Of cats, stars, and slugs...<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Looked to the skies on my way to and from feeding the cats near the homeless shelter, which I often do on these excursions, as news reports mention people across the nation having spotted a meteor shower. The skies are crystal clear with an unusually generous sprinkling of stars. Some I recognise, such as Orion and his belt. Returned and doled out another helping for our own Desmond and Jeremy and went to bed, where night-time reading is Bill Bryson's </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Notes from a Big Country</i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, to the accompaniment of a variety of respiratory noises from Martin.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Saturday resumes at about 9:30 for me, with Martin getting ready to pay a social call on a friend who is not well. He asks me to do something while he is out. "Have you got that?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Yeeess" I mumble in a semi-vegetative state, and drift off again to Brahms German Requiem on Building a Library on Radio 3. I haven't slept well again this week, so happy to be snoozing. Emerge into consciousness to discussion of Debussy's wonderful Preludes. Don green trousers, and red and white striped T-shirt. Good late summer weather shines through the windows.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Breakfast is a mug of coffee, slice of wholemeal bread and dark marmalade and two ageing bananas, consumed to Debussy and Beethoven on Radio 3. Tiddle around doing a few oddments, then do something similar upstairs in the bathroom. While seated, recall Martin asked me to do something while he's out. What the hell was it? Come to think of it there's a card by the front door...A sudden burst of inspiration!! Funny, this often accompanies a trip to the loo.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What's the time? 12:19 Ah, thank goodness. Finish what you're doing Kate, and hotfoot to the Post Office.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Slippers off, trainers on and a few minutes later I return home with a bubble-wrap envelope whose lumpiness indicates another element for the Northampton tram model that Martin is building.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Satisfied to have escaped a lecture from my nearest and dearest, I put the kettle on when he arrives home half an hour later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Thanks for getting the post. Who won Brahms German Requiem this morning?" I say I was too tired to notice. I make tea in a glass pot with loose leaf Assam, and consume it while engaging with the wider world via pc, and listening to Radio 4 news, <i>Any Questions</i> and <i>Any Answers</i>, which elicits much huffing over the airwaves on the pros and cons of capital punishment. One caller makes the not unreasonable point that it is hypocritical of successive governments to quash calls for a national debate on the reintroduction of capital punishment when they are quite happy to send our soldiers off to war knowing that many innocent lives will be lost in the resulting mayhem.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Biscuits going down at an alarming rate. The Malted Milk bought yesterday are two thirds gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Not much amongst the e-mails (despite there being around 18 new arrivals). Log on to the Great War Forum, clear the new registrations validation queue and post this in the social section called ‘Skindles’:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Reading Bill Bryson's <i>Notes from a Big Country</i> (published in the USA as <i>I'm a Stranger Here Myself</i>) he recounts how he insisted on buying a house with a screened porch, where he whiled away the summer evenings. However, he failed to notice a gap in the mesh until the cat joined him on the porch one night - then he noticed a skunk had joined them too. He related how neighbours (neighbors) were obliged to burn all the soft furnishings in their house in an attempt to eradicate the smell when their visiting skunk took fright.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I visited New England many moons ago I expressed a wish to see native animals such as beavers, raccoons and the like, and one night my hostess took me off on a walk in search of skunks, which she said was quite a perverse thing to do really. We didn't encounter one (or beavers, raccoons, moose etc during my stay), but Bryson's tale made me Google skunks, which led (to my surprise) to this<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">http://www.petskunks.co.uk/Home.html<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Where I learn:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Domesticated skunks can legally be kept as pets in the UK. However, the Animal Welfare Act 2006[13] has made it illegal to remove their scent glands (it is considered to be a cosmetic operation), thus making them impractical as pets. Many owners abandon skunks in the wild when they discover that vets will no longer perform the operation to remove their scent glands. Without its scent glands, a skunk will have difficulty defending itself from predators"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now, I have to say I have no intention of joining the ranks of pet skunk keepers (the reaction of my cats and husband (note order) being prime considerations); however, I do envisage some benefits of becoming a social outcast in my own home, imaging no more bills as the postman won't come near; no more representatives of wandering religious groups, guaranteed seats on buses and trains etc etc</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Your thoughts and experiences please.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Also log on to Northampton Past, my only reason for frequent visits to Facebook, where my recent post has attracted nine 'likes' from kindred spirits:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“It took a lot of cajoling from different people to get me on Facebook. Initially it was disappointing. Do I really need to know that Jim has just opened a bottle of ketchup, or that Jane has just emerged from Primark with a pair of tights? Yes there are good things about Facebook, like keeping in touch; best of all is Northampton Past - a shining beacon on a lapping sea.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Martin departs again to watch Saints v Worcester. I decide this is too good a day to waste indoors, so at 3pm depart for a stroll across The Racecourse to have a rummage in the Kettering Road charity shops. It is my theory that at any one time, one particular title will be found on the bookshelves of every charity shop in town. It used to be Hilary Mantel's</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Fludd</i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">(which I have never read). Now it seems to be Lynn</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span>Truss's<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Eats, Shoots and Leaves</i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, which catches my eye in the Shelter shop. This should mean that lots of people are reading it to the betterment of written English. Actually the proliferation of copies and continuing abysmal standards of written and spoken English seems to indicate that it was either bought by people who cherish our language and agree; or by people who haven't a clue what the fuss is about. Also on the shelves is another once in vogue bestseller</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Captain Corelli's Mandolin</i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There's a nice pair of new shoes my size on the footwear shelf, but not nice enough, and my finances emerged unscathed, which is often the way in the Shelter shop. I seldom find anything in there, and sustained research shows that some shops seldom yield finds, whereas others nearly always house something that says 'c'mon, buy me - it's for charity' and out comes my purse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Next stop, the yellow-fronted charity shop just below the Music School on the corner of Clare Street. There, on the 50 pence rail, I find a new pair of Next trousers, a shirt in shepherd's delight dusky rose, a pair of navy shorts and a purse. I ask to try these on (except the purse) and go to their combined loo and changing room. Great! A Cinderella moment. Everything fits; but due to the main purpose of the room have a Pavlov's Dogs moment too. The sight of a loo triggers a need to use one. Something to do with my age, or bladder. Probably both.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">£2 splurge complete, I cross the road to the Samaritans shop, where a customer in the changing room needs a tie for a school-themed party. I help the assistant by finding two items on the tie-rack that fit the bill, one of which, a short maroon with gold stripes affair, could well be a school tie anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Look at the CDs, nothing doing; and the books. Decide against spending 50p on a little-used copy of how to get your head around MS Vista. The original owner seems to have parted with £18, and here it languishes for 50p. Time and computer programs move on. Do however find another purse, and a more serviceable one that purchased 10 minutes ago, for 75p. Also deplete their stocks of photograph albums for my postcard collection. Total bill £2.80.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Return home well laden, noting skip at the corner of Hood Street containing a carton which seems to indicate installation of a new toilet. Honestly, what is wrong with people nowadays! Throwing rubbish into skips!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Racecourse was busy, with plenty of kids in the playground, on the swings and playing basketball. A family seems absorbed looking at something on the path. It turns out to be a baby hedgehog, and they tell me there is another one nearby.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Well, if they are out during the day at any age something is very wrong", I say, and we agreed they may come from a disturbed nest. The father nips off and returns with the other hoglet. Looking at the comings and goings along the prom, and the kids nearby, I decide to take them home, and place them inside my bag with another cotton bag on top. A Bush-make TV stands in next door's front garden, with a note that it is free to take away. Better to say it's £10, I thought. It would disappear quickly then.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Arriving home, head straight for the garden and dole out some well-mashed meat catfood, and place hoglets either side. They both lose little time tucking-in, then decide to inspect their new location. Desmond (our white cat) appears and shows much interest. The hoglets gain confidence by the minute and scuttle about with the speed and velocity of radio-controlled cars. Desmond is aghast, indeed affronted. Shouldn't two rodent-like creatures dart way in fear? And he jumps away from an oncoming hoglet. The robin shows close interest too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Martin arrives, pleased with a Saints 37:31 win though disappointed it wasn't the demolition it promised to be. He's advised to tread carefully and we take some pictures. We leave hoglets out awhile to continue with the grub, and to arrange a box. We devour some pre-cooked sausages and slice of Bakewell tart, and a cup of coffee. I notice the bag of dates I bought yesterday is well down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">8.41 and it's high time I went out to see Josie and Sandy and the others again. Gather my cat-feeding bag and go. Also gone is the TV from next-door's garden.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Josie is awaiting my arrival, and wraps herself around my legs and the bag. I tell her that tomorrow's weather will not be as agreeable. I often talk to the cats of such things, of the passing seasons and life in general. If I had to be a stray or feral cat, then Josie's situation is about as good as it gets. Bid goodnight and head across the Racecourse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I've always been against building on the Racecourse, but I can see how the Dragon Mounds might fire a child's imagination. Its silhouette stands humpy and monster-like in the darkness. Pop music resounds from the Bat & Wickets. Two men, probably foreign, are smoking outside newsagents; meanwhile business seems slow at the takeaways opposite. Daresay it will be a different once the pubs close. Further on I witness a private jive by two youngsters through an uncurtained window at the corner Oakley Street, to some appalling rap-cum-reggae noise. Cannot abide rap. Glad I don't live nearby.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Tonight's sky is quite unlike the one that overhung my entry to the day. This is laden with cloud, the moon diffused as if seen through a bathroom window. Mrs Feisy the black cat emerges from her hedge and I give her a handful of biscuits to enjoy while I wash her dish. Mrs Feisy's cavortings are the chief reason for Maureen Cook's Save the Strays daily activities here. Her identical triplets appear, and three others too. Having washed Mrs Feisy's dish, espy a slug underneath and seek a stick to dislodge it. I'm always stamping on slugs and snails around here. Everybody tucks in, and I bid goodnight. Tell Mrs Feisty to expect rain tomorrow. She probably knows anyway, and enjoys supper from her clean dish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Martin occupies the pc driving seat, delaying further work on this diary, while I watch TV news and listen to Poetry Please on Radio 4.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Midnight news (and other news bulletins throughout the day) carry report of last night's sky, and the unusual lights that prompted phone calls to the police and fire brigades across the nation. It seems there was no meteor shower, but a mundane pile of space-junk burning-up as it entered the atmosphere.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At 00:39 Mick Cox posts on Northampton Past, encouraging participation in the Diary project with the pithy message "Why not join in?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If I'm typical, because they are still all busily tapping away. Log off, and so to bed, and Martin, and another session with Bill Bryson.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">How did people like Virginia Woolf manage to churn out novels and literary criticism and write copious daily diary entries? Perhaps because she didn't feed strays, rescue </span>hoglets<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, visit charity shops, </span>Google<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> facts, join </span>online<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> social networks, run errands, chomp dates, visit skips, impart weather reports to felines....</span></div>
Northampton Pasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05195512115799084545noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273484732390626338.post-21952122649755279142012-09-23T19:28:00.000+01:002012-09-23T22:26:20.568+01:00My Diary Saturday 22nd September 2012 by Fran Reeves<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">I woke up twice during the night the first time by my
teenagers coming upstairs to bed and leaving the landing light on – I don’t
know if that is just a parent thing or a condition inherited from my own
parents creating a strong desire to waste not want not, or it may be because I
don’t want the direct debit for the electricity to be increased this year. The
second time was because I have a dreadful cold and I woke up coughing (sympathy
please) I took a couple of Lemsip Max- the new ones that are really horrible to
swallow with a sore throat and then snuggled back under the duvet. I remember
when I was young Dad always swore by whisky and hot lemon for a cold, as we got
older he would make it for us I hated it and to this day I still can’t abide
the smell let alone the taste of whisky sorry Dad x. When I eventually surfaced
from my bedroom the sun was shining and Jack dog was ready and waiting for his
morning walk, today I made him wait a little longer and had Sugar puffs and a
cup of tea before venturing out, he wasn’t very impressed with the change in
routine but cheered up when we eventually headed up the road to the woods. I
love our walk it can be so peaceful with just the birds singing and squirrels
in the trees warning each other that we are about, Jack has a “thing” for
squirrels but they always manage to evade him.</span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When we got home both the boys were downstairs and had
made themselves omelettes and left a trail of devastation through the kitchen
and a smell of burning oil pervaded the house, fortunately they had opened the
windows. They both disappeared quickly when I voiced my opinion of the mess
they had made. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I only ventured out once more and that was to Morrisons
to get the weekly shop, it’s a 6 mile drive, there is one locally but it
doesn’t have the same choices or a petrol station so it’s worth the drive,
today the roads were clear and the sun was shining so it was a pleasant
journey, although I don’t consider food shopping to be a pleasantry in any
shape or form. It’s only September and they are already pushing Christmas. Mum
used to shop in the local co-op on Newnham Road and we used to carry the
shopping back in two large bags, they were heavy! She used to treat us all to a
bar of chocolate every week, when she began her nursing training I was 13 and
it became my job to do the shopping when she was working, the first week she
wrote a list but after that I was left to my own devices. I admitted to her
years later that I always brought an extra bar of chocolate for myself and her
reply was that she knew – how did she know I never gave her the receipt,
obviously a mum thing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My eldest son was out when I got home and my youngest
went off to spend the night with his dad, so after putting the shopping away I
settled down to revise for an exam I have next month. I am studying for a
degree with the Open University simply because I can, I should have done it
when I was younger but school was boring and I couldn’t wait to leave, if I had
done it in the 70’s I am sure I would have found it easier. The revising didn’t
go well it conflicted with Grand Designs on catch up TV. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When the eldest son came home we settled down to watch
Dr Who together. This was always a family moment in the 60’s and I used to sit
on the floor next to my mum’s chair (we didn’t have a settee then just a chair
each) so that I would be well placed to hold her leg if I got scared – which
did happen on occasions!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The rest of the evening was spent doing very little
other than watching TV and catching up with emails and Facebook and I went to
bed early with the intention of revising – that didn’t happen either the
Readers Digest monthly magazine was far more interesting.</span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Northampton Pasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05195512115799084545noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273484732390626338.post-89684114208686266852012-09-23T19:16:00.001+01:002012-09-23T22:27:25.228+01:00My Diary Saturday 22nd September 2012 - Anonymous<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7T-IKDo_17xY4NQh3AaEsiLOxK2hfuFsebcPlhgs1zrRfw3irDgYpKyxnrSNsTho_DPegS_Ze5aieZLGp9wCFANMRqJ6Xt4DCeMH6FV5eeaV2UJwh1hGcp02t-pcUWX4DMgZrGf26Xn6U/s1600/BillingAquadrome.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7T-IKDo_17xY4NQh3AaEsiLOxK2hfuFsebcPlhgs1zrRfw3irDgYpKyxnrSNsTho_DPegS_Ze5aieZLGp9wCFANMRqJ6Xt4DCeMH6FV5eeaV2UJwh1hGcp02t-pcUWX4DMgZrGf26Xn6U/s200/BillingAquadrome.jpg" /></span></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The sun was shining when we awoke, so decided to go to the first Antique and Collectors Fair held at Billing Aquadrome. We went to the garden centre on the way and bought some cyclamen for the back garden and onion sets, white and red, for the allotment. The fair opened to the public at 10.30 am at a cost of £4 per person. There were many outside stalls with people trading from vans, cars, caravans etc. Lots of lovely bits and bobs on sale but nothing I wanted, to add to my collections. R was luckier than me and managed to find something for his collection. <br /><br />After chatting with many of the stallholders, who we know from different fairs we go to, we ventured inside and were treated to a vast array of stalls. Still nothing caught my eye - not for the want of trying though. After wandering round for about 3 hours and chatting to friends we hadn't seen for a long time, we decided to make our way home. <br /><br />On impulse, we bought fish and chips from outside the Aquadrome and sat on The Causeway to eat them overlooking the river, very naughty but very nice. Arrived home with plenty of daylight hours left for the man of the house to set the cyclamen and clean the fascia on the outside of the house. I made some cards and watched a bit of TV. After tea we spent a lovely evening with friends. A bright, sunny but chilly, start to the weekend.<br /><br />By a woman born in Northampton 1950s</span>Northampton Pasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05195512115799084545noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273484732390626338.post-49476672309779477742012-09-23T19:07:00.000+01:002012-09-23T20:47:21.493+01:00My Diary Saturday 22nd September 2012 by Karyn Chilton<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">4.10. Give up on trying to sleep.
Might as well get the kettle on and start the day.</span><br />
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<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Two cups of coffee whilst scanning my emails and catching up with facebook
the normal start to any day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">5.15. Washing machine loaded. Quick shower then on to the house work.
Really must try and remember not to put the washer on before i shower, the cold
water can be a shock to the system when your not expecting it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">5.45. mowtown album on cd player and i set about the ironing. Not my
favorite job but with my steam generator iron its done in double quick time,
helped along with good music. Considering i live on my own the amount of
ironing is crazy. Mental note to myself...learn my sons to iron...Perhaps then
my dinning room would not be like a chinese laundry.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">6.30. Grabbing another coffee. Really must try to cut the caffine down.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">7.00. House work starts in earnest. Thank heavens for my Dyson, makes light
work of hoovering through the house.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">9.00. Welly's on now for a stroll around Delapre Abbey with my dog Izzy. Really
cold morning but a bit of speed walking soon sorts that out for me. Izzy now
resembles a drowned rat, she's a small dog and the grass is soaking.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">10.00. The dog has been dried and she scurries of to her bed. All-right for
some, wish i could sleep at the drop of a hat.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1.00. Spoke to my mum to check she's okay. Mums 87 now and very frail,
saturday's i dont visit as on sunday's i spend most of the day cleaning her
place. My eldest son rang thats another hour gone. Really dont know what we
find to talk about.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">3.00. Managed to watch qualifiers for grand prix, i'd recorded it so i can
watch it when i have time and can speed through the bits between.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">4.00. Quick visit to Asda's, top up shop, its very busy but i use the self
check-outs. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">5.00. Youngest son arrive's followed by my brother-in-law. Three rounds of
coffee's later and my sons gone. More
coffee and a good chat and my brother-in-law leave’s.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">7.00. Tidied up again. Can’t be bothered to cook so make do with a sandwich
and yet another coffee.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">9.00. Put the washer on yet again and settle down to watch n.c.i. all
recorded earlier. Computer on at the same time... love multi-tasking.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">12.00. Time for bed, wonder if I'll manage to sleep for long tonight, </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Northampton Pasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05195512115799084545noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273484732390626338.post-79651348601345359282012-09-23T17:54:00.000+01:002012-09-23T18:01:22.676+01:00My Diary Saturday 22nd September 2012 by Kate Osborne.<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I always knew that today was going to be a very busy day for me and that is exactly what it turned out to be. Maybe I should have gone to bed a little earlier on Friday night as it was a struggle to get up but finally managed it around 7.40am.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />After a swift cup of coffee and a banana for breakfast I was off at 8.30 to catch the bus into town for work at the Co-operative Bank in Abington Street. We are only open until 1pm on a Saturday and we were so busy it flew by. After making sure the place was tidy ready for the return of our Manager on Monday after his two week holiday we left the building at 1.30pm.<br /><br />I spent an hour mooching around town trying to find a pair of smart black trousers for work with pockets suitable for keys etc but failed yet again! I really don’t like shopping at all. Town was quite vibrant though in the afternoon sun and I quite enjoyed having a wander round. There was a gospel choir singing by the boot and shoe statue everyone seemed in good spirits. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I walked home up the WellingboroughRoad calling into Barry Road Co-op to get Hubby some dinner as I was off out for the evening. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQzKoApRE1vHF3A1SavNFYJG1wSQI4VWV7BlFzEiGuQbkt-1mID__Pzw6ewEjkVgSAB_zpKhRySKYrR_96EkOcoW7lyn9Ar8AGsFFMIPvwLbCeQppX-JgfWVsaqzKlcTZ17tr7KriJT510/s1600/phonepics080412+188.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQzKoApRE1vHF3A1SavNFYJG1wSQI4VWV7BlFzEiGuQbkt-1mID__Pzw6ewEjkVgSAB_zpKhRySKYrR_96EkOcoW7lyn9Ar8AGsFFMIPvwLbCeQppX-JgfWVsaqzKlcTZ17tr7KriJT510/s200/phonepics080412+188.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Macie</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Back home by 3pm to listen to the football on the radio, catch up on facebook and get a few chores done in the kitchen. As registration secretary for the Mid-Shires Girls Football League I had a visitor at 4pm to transfer one player and register another which was done over a cup of coffee and a chat. My next job of the day was the most pleasurable of all, taking my lovely chocolate Labrador Macie for an hours walk in the early evening sunshine. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We went to Billing Road Cemetery which is very near to my house and such a welcoming place for dogs and their owners. Back home again by 5.30pm for a nice relaxing shower and to get ready for my evening out. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />And what an evening it was! A lovely get together for eight of us Ladies who had met through the Facebook group Northampton Past. We chatted, drank wine, ate a Chinese takeaway and later sang together using the playstation game singstar. It is fair to say the evening had a real buzz to it. I arrived back home just after midnight tired but contented after a busy but satisfying day.</span> <br />
<br />Northampton Pasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05195512115799084545noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273484732390626338.post-27366405442711041022012-09-23T12:31:00.000+01:002012-09-23T17:44:55.707+01:00My Diary Saturday 22nd September 2012 by Christine Jones<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I really must be mad! The insistent bleeping of the alarm clock woke me at 4.30am, I stretched out to turn it off and then remembered that I had moved it out of reach the night before to make absolutely sure that I woke up. I sat up and reached down to silence the alarm clock, my husband was still sleeping soundly so I gave him a prod and told him that it was 4.30am and if he wanted to catch his train he needed to get moving right now, then I dashed off to beat him to the bathroom. When I got back to the bedroom he plodded off to get ready while I sneaked back under the covers for ten minutes, after all 'normal people' would still be fast asleep. The next thing I knew it was almost 5am and he was back in the bedroom showered and almost ready to go. It is surprising how fast you can get ready when you really have to. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I got downstairs he was just packing his lunch into his rucksack, but by the time he got outside I had already started the car and we were all ready to go. The car knows the way to the railway station, we do that journey so often. On weekdays we are up at 5am so that he can catch his train to Birmingham just after 6am, so I look forward to a more leisurely start to the day on Saturdays and Sundays. Unfortunately the lure of the railway gets the better of him and he just can't keep away. Today he is going to the Deltic Gathering at the East Lancashire Railway, he is absolutely passionate about Deltics, especially his favourite Royal Scots Grey. I would have gone with him because I like Deltics too, but I have a terrible cough at the moment, it is exhausting and I haven't been sleeping very well, so I just don't have the stamina to cope with a long day on the railways at the moment.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He waved as he slammed the car door and walked towards the station. I felt a sense of relief, I had fulfilled my promise and got him there on time, now the rest of the day was my own and if I wanted to I could go back to bed. I clicked the radio on, Radio 4 is the soundtrack to my life, I always have the radio on at home or in the car. I only half listened to the discussion about TB in cattle and the pros and cons of culling badgers to limit the spread of bovine TB, as I drove along St Andrews Road and up Grafton Street towards the traffic lights. I was thinking that my ancestors were closely linked with this part of the town. My great grandfather was orphaned when very young, he grew up in the work house, but when he was sent to be an apprentice to a cordwainer in Leicester Street, he found a trade and a family and he spent the rest of his life in Leicester Street. His daughter my great grandmother grew up in in Leicester Street, had her first home as a married woman in Nelson Street and brought her large family up in Monks Pond Street and then Campbell Street. The area as they knew it is now long gone, but there is still one landmark that they would recognise, the spire of Seps Church still points heavenward and the clock still measures the relentless march of time in hours and minutes. The church which for centuries has witnessed the joys and sorrows of the people, stands strong and defiant amid the 'here today gone tomorrow' buildings of our modern town, reminding us of lasting values that are too easily forgotten amid the demands of modern life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I got home I put the kettle on for a much needed cup of tea and while I waited for it to boil I sorted the laundry into piles and put on the first load of the day. I was too awake to go back to bed and sleep, but I felt bruised and exhausted from all the coughing so I took my cup of tea and my laptop up to bed. I may not sleep but at least I could sit quietly with the radio and my laptop to occupy me. I enjoyed a couple of hours catching up with email and facebook and I began to write my diary entry for today. I must have fallen asleep at some point because it was mid morning when I woke up. I enjoyed a long relaxing bath while listening to Radio 4, a shower is fine most of the time, but there is something special about a nice hot bath. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It is unusual to be at home on my own, but today was very quiet, my son stayed at his friend's house last night, my older daughter had gone to Milton Keynes with her boyfriend and my younger daughter was shut in her room writing up notes in preparation for her post graduate course at Leicester University which begins on Monday. I like my own company and I never struggle to fill my time. There was a whole list of jobs demanding my attention today, but I only did the laundry and the routine tasks, I decided that the peace and quiet was too precious to waste, the other jobs can wait until I feel better, this cough is so exhausting.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The only problem with doing nothing is that you have too much time to think and this was one of those days that provided a lot to think about. Nine years ago today I sat with my first husband in the Three Shires Hospital as the last hours of his life slipped away; then I went home and told my children that their dad was dead. Life goes on but those memories don't fade, it is not something that you forget despite the passage of time, the details of that day are imprinted on my mind. I found myself wondering how he would feel about the way our lives have changed. I hope that I have done a good enough job as a parent, it hasn't always been easy. He didn't want me to be on my own if the worst should happen but it must be hard at times for my (second) husband, living with a ghost. Perhaps it helps that they are very different. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My son came home and my daughter emerged from her room, she had finished her work and was ready to fulfil her promise to paint my nails with crackle nail varnish, silver base with black crackle on top. It looked very nice. I hardly ever wear nail varnish, but it is nice to spoil myself once in a while and it is lovely to share moments like this with my daughter.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnhg9E8b-46nWdp7VHb0XdWNRpop2uYkzBEr_7qr3-2oaseS-WJOJ3UkVcyWvGlSqhgbwI8oEwqlnzM0Br72NWQRRYY1ewKBCDx9FkYN_r4L1RFvDaTg_kFnqCiqFyva2bva9V65aixdzM/s1600/The+Goose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnhg9E8b-46nWdp7VHb0XdWNRpop2uYkzBEr_7qr3-2oaseS-WJOJ3UkVcyWvGlSqhgbwI8oEwqlnzM0Br72NWQRRYY1ewKBCDx9FkYN_r4L1RFvDaTg_kFnqCiqFyva2bva9V65aixdzM/s320/The+Goose.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Time went on, we ate early because my daughter was going out later. I left my son to feed the cats while drove to the station to pick my husband up and on the way back we popped into Morrisons for a printer cartridge and one or two essentials. I was glad to get home, but I had to go straight out again because my daughter wanted a lift into town. She looked amazing. We picked her friend up on the way and I dropped them both off at The Goose in St Giles Street. By the time I got home again my husband had a cup of tea waiting for me and I chatted to him about his day for a little while, he'd had a lovely time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Later on my husband wanted to watch a film, it wasn't really my sort of thing so I decided to head up to bed with my laptop to listen to Radio 4 Extra and catch up with my friends on facebook. The cough was impossible, I couldn't stop coughing and I couldn't get my breath, it was a very frightening feeling, I was exhausted but I knew that I had another sleepless night ahead of me. Thank goodness for the internet and friends who stay up late and are happy to chat at 2am. How different from my childhood when my mum considered it very bad manners to make a telephone call after 9pm. </span>Northampton Pasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05195512115799084545noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273484732390626338.post-58587887707383463472012-09-23T00:21:00.000+01:002012-09-23T12:41:41.777+01:00My Diary 22nd September 2012 By Frank Baverstock<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Pretty much a run of the mill day for me and no surprise with having to get sleep in between working 12 hour shifts nearly stretching to 13 with travel. Oh well, such is life!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">5.40am arrived home from my night shift and quickly caught up with the Sky news whilst having a drink. I know I will regret that, needing the loo will all most certainly break my sleep!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">6.00am Jumped in to bed to Angie stirring but she quickly drifted in to a deep sleep. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I lay there forever trying to sleep envying Angie and all the others who only have to close their eyes to do so.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">6.50am still not going off yet so I decided to watch an episode of Ice Road truckers to see how Alex the very large, lovable God fearing trucker gets on with his big headed rival, “The Bear”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">7.40am was possibly the time I managed to drift off. Phew!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">11.50am something stirred me but I don’t know what! I thought to myself,”oh no, I hope I can sleep again” </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I was a child of 11 or 12 my parents would awake to find me fast asleep down stairs with all the housework done. I have had a lifelong problem with sleeping especially at night and so much so, at times it has caused me illness and stress. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I often imagine that people like myself are viewed in a way that because I work nights, I must be the type to not want to get up in the morning! Funny enough, when I don’t work I am an early riser because I love the morning, especially the dawn. I rise early even if I have had little sleep. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One thing for sure, whatever woke me up did not come from inside the house as Angie & Stacey are very considerate to my problem.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">12.00pm was a little worried because of being wide awake at this point but fortunately managed to drop off again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1.30pm Woke up again but this time for a good reason. As predicted, the drink did its worst! It’s time for the loo!! I was curious at the same time if I was alone in the house. Sure enough, I was so back to bed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1.50pm I lay there for a while knowing full well I would not get any more sleep so decided to get up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2.00pm Decided against a shave which is rare for me but hey ho, it’s weekend. Showered and dressed I went down stairs. I made a coffee and turned the TV on for the sky News Whooooopeee I have a result........... I forgot I had recorded the F1 Qualifying and I have lots of time to catch up on it. Well done Hamilton lol and roll on Sunday’s race.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2.45pm Angie came home from shopping and talked over the racing! Hey Ho bless her. Just a thought though, she would kill me when reading this when I admit to not having a clue what she said! Oh dear!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">4.00pm had to pop to my neighbour’s house to give them a DVD with some special footage on it, a video scan of their tiny child inside her. Whoops! I was not the cameraman; I was just converting it to a new format so she could share it with her family lol.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">4.15pm I was still sleepy and for the life of me I can’t remember what Angie was watching on the TV whilst holding my hand! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">4.45 polished my shoes, put on my tie and said our good byes Time for work.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Oh well, I work a lot of hours and as you can see it is pretty mundane but I can smile about it now. I have Sunday night off lol</span>. Northampton Pasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05195512115799084545noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273484732390626338.post-86764751888323006472012-09-22T19:40:00.000+01:002012-09-24T12:07:36.902+01:00My Diary for 22nd September 2012 by Ann Amos<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">As my first little blog, I wish I could say that I was doing something exciting but, sadly, that is not the case! Instead, I am waiting for the British Gas engineer to take a look at my boiler as it gave up the ghost yesterday afternoon. It was only serviced a month ago so the situation is a little tiresome, to say the least. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />Being without heating makes me wonder how on earth we coped years ago as children when the only heating in the house was a coal fire in the front room and a Raeburn in the dining room. Goodness, so much rubbish was disposed of on the fires and my father even had his own set of brushes to sweep the chimney - a very messy laborious job with smuts of soot everywhere which annoyed my mother but it was good fun for me to stand in the garden waiting for the brush to appear from the top of the chimney and then shout to Dad that I could see it! Yipeeeee! There was no heating in the kitchen, bathroom or bedrooms and the only conclusion I can reach is the fact that we dressed for the cold! Picture the scene. First there was the vest, followed by the liberty bodice with rubber buttons that eventually perished, got sticky and then squashed when forced through the mangle! On top of the liberty bodice was the underskirt (full length) and then a dress and cardigan (or skirt and jumper). Long socks completed the outfit with elastic garters around the top which held them up (hopefully without cutting off the blood supply to the lower limbs). Off course, a good winter coat was essential for outdoors and my favourite footwear were sheepskin boots – dark brown with a zip up the front. Oh they were so lovely and warm in the winter!..... I also had mittens which were attached to each other on a long length of tape which ran up one sleeve, across the back, and down the other, simple but genius really – no fear of losing them. Needless to say, a hat was also essential, as was a scarf. So there we have it, a typical 1950s child dressed for winter. </span> <span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /><br />Writing about all these layers of clothes has done nothing to make me feel any warmer so, hurry up Mr Boiler Engineer or I may have to resort to 1950s tactics. Anybody know where I can buy a liberty bodice with rubber buttons?.........</span> Northampton Pasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05195512115799084545noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273484732390626338.post-71757925018614015422012-07-22T14:40:00.002+01:002012-08-15T01:18:58.904+01:00A 1960s Childhood in Northampton – Part 5 School Days (Senior School)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmoNtBLq3IbD6gxesfDLnIIllXhvRLQ72nzdPUjh37Q5bUupLK6_P4hM9M6dEsPB1FV5Z-qGmn1venIlVdDBT-CJaxPhOJfV231TRlPtxOjjVxnIY307ksON8xdD-7uL7CcK8s6VS4nlwH/s1600/Door+%236.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmoNtBLq3IbD6gxesfDLnIIllXhvRLQ72nzdPUjh37Q5bUupLK6_P4hM9M6dEsPB1FV5Z-qGmn1venIlVdDBT-CJaxPhOJfV231TRlPtxOjjVxnIY307ksON8xdD-7uL7CcK8s6VS4nlwH/s320/Door+%236.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Front Door 44 Derngate</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Main school finally released us from the dreaded hats! It
was a big change for us and the school buildings felt very big and confusing.
Through the lower part of the school there were two forms per year group with
about twenty five pupils in each form, but when we got to main school there
were three forms per year group with about thirty pupils in each form. Our
numbers were swelled by pupils from county schools who had passed their eleven
plus exam and gained a place at the school under the government direct grant
scheme. Much to my relief I was not able to sit the eleven plus because I lived
in the borough, I don’t know if the borough had already abandoned the eleven
plus or if those who passed were sent to a different school, but only county
pupils came to our school.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Platform shoes were in fashion at that time and I’d had my
first pair of shoes with a (very small) platform the previous year when I was a
Towerfield pupil. I had a new pair of shoes for the start of the new term in
main school, they had a slightly higher platform and I was very pleased with
them but I was less pleased with the rest of my uniform. My mum had made sure
that I had everything I needed for school; during the holidays we’d made our
usual trip to Sanderson’s and I had endured the usual ordeal of trying on
countless garments to ensure that I had sufficient room for growth. I had two new skirts, white blouses, two
jumpers, a new blazer and a new winter coat as well as an aertex shirt, wrap
over skirt and a track suit for PE, all with neatly sewn name tags. At the time
I had no idea how expensive the uniform must have been or how much time it must
have taken my mum to sew all those name tags into my clothes, I must have
seemed so ungrateful. When the term
started one of the new girls called Sally had a lovely fashionable skirt with a
hemline a couple of inches below the knee.
I longed to have a skirt like hers, but I knew that it would be ages
before I grew out of my new skirts. I had to wait a whole year before I was
allowed to buy a more fashionable skirt for school. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dunlop Blue Flash</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHkx-9WOz5LYgb-w__X6OjKvXDVwdNd7IJ8SzUSTC7oMlMvX5ob_ynCAMkvoLCJjEx20U_uW4lC-SQl_5e7atj74H2c3sqR5qQiQsWlFMOfeyYcLggG0ZTAFEC2CN_o-cRjQSCgH-wTxt7/s1600/Slide+rule.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHkx-9WOz5LYgb-w__X6OjKvXDVwdNd7IJ8SzUSTC7oMlMvX5ob_ynCAMkvoLCJjEx20U_uW4lC-SQl_5e7atj74H2c3sqR5qQiQsWlFMOfeyYcLggG0ZTAFEC2CN_o-cRjQSCgH-wTxt7/s200/Slide+rule.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Slide Rule</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As well as the new items of uniform, my kit list included a
hockey stick, hockey boots and a tennis racket (with cover and press), so after
our trip to Sanderson’s we went to Collins Sports shop in Gold Street to buy
the sports equipment. I wonder if my mum knew what a waste of money they would
prove to be, I was absolutely useless at tennis and I detested hockey. There
was one other item of essential equipment that we had to buy, a slide rule for
maths lessons. It was very well made and it came in a rigid plastic case. I
liked maths a lot better than sport and I became quite fond of my slide rule.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXVhopmy-JJhmQ-RzTK53u9aGCD4GQm9EUxz4LthFVO8M-xPEuBQTSn9CKATh0U2aAT42MAoFkmvAVSrTqBL5iMbF-0bvsN4zxwDvYCBabwGel_rAarnk_pqM2nTe2_1JFl6oNXCajFKY4/s1600/Door+%235.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXVhopmy-JJhmQ-RzTK53u9aGCD4GQm9EUxz4LthFVO8M-xPEuBQTSn9CKATh0U2aAT42MAoFkmvAVSrTqBL5iMbF-0bvsN4zxwDvYCBabwGel_rAarnk_pqM2nTe2_1JFl6oNXCajFKY4/s320/Door+%235.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The School Gates</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Each morning we would enter the school through the big blue
double gates on Derngate and walk down the ramp into the cloakrooms which
seemed to be under the school. Mr Powell who taught Biology was my Upper Third
teacher; our classroom was the Biology Lab at the top of the science block
which was a modern building on the Albion Place side of the school grounds. At
the back of the room there were glass fronted cabinets with assorted specimens
preserved in jars. We got plenty of exercise going up and down stairs and
walking to and from the various school buildings for our lessons, but it wasn’t
a hardship we just got on with it. We had so much to learn, there were stairs
for going up and not down and vice versa, there were doors which we were not
allowed to use and there was a lawn which we were forbidden to walk on, but we
soon got used to the school routines. Like most pupils I was afraid of Miss
Lightburn our headmistress, and in awe of her deputy Miss Harrison, but I can
honestly say that I only remember one teacher being unkind and unfair, and she
didn’t last very long.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRbnAelZMJh0XSUNJDBr9ELG02I4k4Rp14ZvqO35iueKL95YP9bWRYVecmVaW30pwvTSpfH18rTmuqJOLe2kSIEIuM_k63xB6NT0Rvw_Aal9DDquJ3UB96ihhjP8-odPQKnpbvRzp5ju-C/s1600/The+school+hall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRbnAelZMJh0XSUNJDBr9ELG02I4k4Rp14ZvqO35iueKL95YP9bWRYVecmVaW30pwvTSpfH18rTmuqJOLe2kSIEIuM_k63xB6NT0Rvw_Aal9DDquJ3UB96ihhjP8-odPQKnpbvRzp5ju-C/s320/The+school+hall.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The School Hall</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We had prayers every morning in the assembly hall; it was a
very formal event. When we had all filed into the hall Miss Lightburn entered
through the glass doors at the back of the hall and walked briskly to the stage
with the head girl trotting along behind her. We usually began with a hymn, my
favourites were ‘Oh Jesus I have promised’ and ‘When a knight won his spurs in
the stories of old’. Then there would be a Bible reading a few words from Miss
Lightburn and a prayer. At that point the glass doors at the back would be
opened and the late comers would file in (trying not to notice Miss Lightburn’s
disapproving stare) before the notices were read. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the Lower Fourth we discovered the pleasures of Latin
with Mr McNicholas, he was as tall as Mr Powell was short, and he was
exceptionally clever, I liked him but I wasn’t so sure about Latin. The stories
about Caecilius and his family in our Latin text books didn’t really interest
me, they seemed to be mostly about slave girls, werewolves and a dog called
Cerberus. The Lower Forth also brought us the joys of Domestic Science lessons,
definitely not my favourite part of the week. The Domestic Science Room was
below the Art Room in the Cripps Block - a modern uninspiring building in the
lower part of the school grounds near Victoria Promenade. It was torture to me
to be so close to the Art Room as I would much rather have been in an art
lesson. Domestic Science was unbelievably boring and when we were allowed to
cook we were forced to make things that we would never eat and never cook
again. One of the first things we cooked was Eggs Mornay, my family were used
to good plain food, not ‘messes up stuff’ as my grandmother would have called
it. I also recall making lemon curd; I have never made it again since then.
Thankfully we made choices about our O Level subjects at the end of the Lower
Forth and I dropped my least favourite subjects, Chemistry and Domestic
Science. Oddly I quite liked Physics and Biology but I hated Chemistry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu34QzPv3Dgs-R22CZiQ_8EMxmTJdsisucjDjh3PWvQm1X__vuleLzhoLtaw_OzYLsV7mT5aoyP3tCnwNGnrTTjT3oN3jgpeEASgypzkHwA7Q19h5RwnpkJb0hiQv7t0RQ_nWr2LcqGZdJ/s1600/44+Derngate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu34QzPv3Dgs-R22CZiQ_8EMxmTJdsisucjDjh3PWvQm1X__vuleLzhoLtaw_OzYLsV7mT5aoyP3tCnwNGnrTTjT3oN3jgpeEASgypzkHwA7Q19h5RwnpkJb0hiQv7t0RQ_nWr2LcqGZdJ/s320/44+Derngate.jpg" width="282" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The back of 44 Derngate</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My Upper Fourth
classroom was the Geography room, a bright airy room in the main school building
with French doors leading out to the garden. I remember that one day I
accidentally stapled my thumb during a Geography lesson, but I was so afraid of
Mrs Durham our Geography teacher that I chose to suffer in silence with the
staple stuck in my thumb rather than admit that I had been fiddling with my
stapler. I later found that Mrs Durham had a very kind heart. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was during our
Upper Forth year that some of the girls began to have boyfriends and to go to
discos. Looking back I think some of the girls who had come from mixed primary
schools were a lot more comfortable with boys than those of us who had attended
a single sex school since we were four years old. I had no time for boys, when
I wasn’t at school I spent most of my time riding and taking care of my horse.
I couldn’t see why some of my friends found scruffy lads in smelly Afghan coats
attractive - I had a keen sense of smell and those coats stank, especially if
it had been raining <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Lower Fifth year was wonderful, we had the cellar
classroom, I loved that room, it was tucked away beyond our cloakrooms at the
end of a gloomy corridor, it felt almost dungeon like in the corridor, but the
classroom felt special, it was our room tucked away from the hustle and bustle
of the school and no one came to bother us. Mrs Haynes was our class teacher,
she taught one of the less able French groups and I made quite sure that I got
into her group and stayed there, she was a fantastic teacher. Mrs Vestergaard who
was head of French, taught me for the first two years in main school. She was a
very elegant woman and I don’t recall her ever shouting at us or telling us off
sternly, but for some reason I found her terrifying, I didn’t enjoy being in
her French group and I was much happier when I was moved into the other group. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqC04PHiFO3XXS-v8D8Waej0vPEhT4zIEHClVibOynPrzjBhjnIrl0dNpQesBEYd5A7VZE2v2E94avfkNd2eT8sIEUeQxo3Uwmc8A81a82NharGxWJKxnZQ4i0I_qg5VGcBBZM2P647Ec3/s1600/Girls%2301.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqC04PHiFO3XXS-v8D8Waej0vPEhT4zIEHClVibOynPrzjBhjnIrl0dNpQesBEYd5A7VZE2v2E94avfkNd2eT8sIEUeQxo3Uwmc8A81a82NharGxWJKxnZQ4i0I_qg5VGcBBZM2P647Ec3/s320/Girls%2301.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fiona, me, Fiona and Caroline</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The uniform changed slightly at the start of the Lower Fifth
year, we kept our navy skirts but our ties and white shirts gave way to open
neck blue blouses worn with blue jumpers. We also had very nice winter coats. I
was pleased by the change, but the blouse (which had to be bought from
Sandersons) proved very challenging to wear. The blouse had a stiff collar
which was not intended to be worn open without a tie and my short neck made
matters worse, it was a constant battle to prevent the collar from touching my
ears!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was sad to leave Mrs Haynes and our cellar classroom, but
the Upper Fifth year, spent in one of the mobile classrooms with Miss Williams
was a good experience. The mobile classrooms were fairly new and very pleasant,
tucked away in the beautiful school grounds. I had known Miss Williams since
kindergarten, but I only found out she was human when she was my form teacher -
she was superb. She was a PE teacher with a boundless enthusiasm for sport
(which didn’t endear her to me) but she was also a very good geography teacher,
I enjoyed her lessons and I can still remember many of the mnemonics that she
taught us to help us to remember important information.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I did not enjoy gym and dance lessons because even in the
senior part of the school we had to wear horrible aertex blouses and navy blue
knickers, which made me feel very exposed. For hockey, netball, tennis and
other outdoor games we wore short wrap over skirts. Our playing fields were at
the bottom of Church Way so we were taken there by coach, for hockey in the
winter months and athletics in the summer. It is hard to choose which I liked
least! The worst part of all was that we had to change on the coach in order to
save time, I am sure such things would not be allowed these days. Every item of
clothing and PE kit had to be named with an embroidered name tape sewn on
neatly – a very time consuming job. I don’t remember this being checked at
Spring Hill but further up the school, we had regular inspections to ensure
that all our clothing was labelled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It is hard to say that I had a favourite teacher, because
there were a number of interesting and inspirational people at the school. I
still remember many of my teachers with affection and gratitude. The
unforgettable Mr Fiddes taught art, he was a very good teacher, I loved his
lessons and I realise now that as well as sharing very sound advice, he taught
us to think for ourselves and to have the confidence to express our
opinions. Miss Elliott-Binns who taught
Divinity (and so much more!) was an amazing lady, she never shied away from
difficult questions and her answers showed surprising insight and understanding.
I remember Father Fred Baker; he was the school chaplain and Rector of St
Edmunds church. He used to take us for very occasional lessons, I am not sure
what for, but I remember he told good jokes and could stand on his head. I
remember Miss Smith who taught English (and despaired of my spelling) because
she introduced us to poets and authors that I still enjoy reading, John
Betjeman, Ted Hughes, James Kirkup, Charles Causley, Saki, E M Forster, Katherine
Mansfield, D.H. Lawrence and many others.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have so many memories of school life. On Ascension Day we
all walked to All Saints Church for a special service which always included the
hymn 'Praise to the Lord the Almighty the King of Creation'. Every year I
seemed to end up sitting behind a pillar! We had the Gift Service before
Christmas when we all brought toys. For reasons that were never clear to me we
always sang 'O Come all Ye Faithful' in Latin. When the weather was too bad for
us to go outside for games we sometimes played French cricket in the hall and at
the end of term games lessons were abandoned in favour of 'shipwreck’ in the
gym. Another end of term ritual was cleaning our desks, we had to bring in our
own polish and a duster. Perhaps my best memories are of ordinary days, sitting
in the area outside the gym enjoying a hot chocolate from the drinks machine on
a cold day and sitting in a shady spot in the garden on a hot summer day. In my
Upper Fifth Year taking my turn to run the Spine and Jacket book shop at
lunchtimes (under the watchful eye of Mrs Tresias). Most of all I remember the
people, inspirational teachers, the gardener who kept the grounds looking
beautiful, and my friends. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc3FaU0b_qAek-OinIp7EVmCNkB8YQ9Sgl7YfY_705vQJ748TcZji_LpuEpBcbqsgKh4OUVIw09CbPtteZiOHEsXMGQCbHY66sstpRF2VI-zgE_xtB4oV_79QgzvUMACX38QxScr546gP-/s1600/school+grounds+1920s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc3FaU0b_qAek-OinIp7EVmCNkB8YQ9Sgl7YfY_705vQJ748TcZji_LpuEpBcbqsgKh4OUVIw09CbPtteZiOHEsXMGQCbHY66sstpRF2VI-zgE_xtB4oV_79QgzvUMACX38QxScr546gP-/s320/school+grounds+1920s.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The school grounds c1920s were little changed in 1970s</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Derngate was a happy, friendly place, Mr Fiddes once
described it as an ivory tower and of course he was right, but I am grateful
for those years. For me school was a safe, protected and predictable environment
at a time when my home life was dominated by worry and uncertainty. A lot was
expected of us but I think that was a good thing for me, I probably needed to
be pushed in order to do my best, but school wasn’t just about results. I did
better than anyone expected in my exams but more importantly I left school with
a wealth of poetry in my head, passion for history, a love of art, a desire to
read and a need to write, and all those things have remained with me ever
since.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Northampton Pasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05195512115799084545noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273484732390626338.post-87481847364632850842012-07-22T00:25:00.001+01:002012-07-23T02:48:09.473+01:00My Town ~ the Dream Town?<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
By Nicky Sarti</div>
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</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijhgffuOR9BXTasPztz_06VmftkjD0ovN7x0xKCoIcX4BT1xU_cU22gijBJbLab_bUCmQ6oX9oRq_k7M-WTFFhlYfSC55JWLaxUrUvGIbKJUGwhPqOPCqjb5-RtMcGlRjhBQlQiCg6suV2/s1600/307202_2393686164455_95580222_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijhgffuOR9BXTasPztz_06VmftkjD0ovN7x0xKCoIcX4BT1xU_cU22gijBJbLab_bUCmQ6oX9oRq_k7M-WTFFhlYfSC55JWLaxUrUvGIbKJUGwhPqOPCqjb5-RtMcGlRjhBQlQiCg6suV2/s200/307202_2393686164455_95580222_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Royal Theater</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: left;">I was all geared up to write a couple of blogs about my town and its Councillors after seeing th</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: left;">e latest play at the Royal called “Town,” I was ready to moan and ask what in the blue hell is happening to my town… I still might, but right now I want to lay some praise on someone. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: left;">The first time I went on duty to this “Town” play was Thursday 26th June, which coincided with the date our “pride of lions” were unveiled around town. I knew they were coming, but much like the recent performances by England’s overpaid prima~donnas; I was not prepared for them! </span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-photos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/399465_10151060336359161_1529733827_a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img (or="" about="" always="" and="" as="" been="" better!)="" border="0" but="" castle="" choose)="" course="" dickie’s="" end="" guarding="" height="118" home…="" i="" it’s="" james="" jimmy’s="" john="" kindly="" less="" lions="" mind="" mk="" never="" noticed="" of="" over="" peter’s="" roundabout="" said="" says!="" sign="" src="https://fbcdn-photos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/399465_10151060336359161_1529733827_a.jpg" st.="" station,="" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;" that="" the="" three="" watching,="" what="" width="200" with="" you="" ~="" “city”="" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Castle Station</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Heading up past Castle Station (notice I won’t use “Northampton Station”
~ it’s always been Castle Station, never mind what the sign says! As
with Jimmy’s End ~ St. James and of course MK “City” ~ but the less said
about that the better!) and over St. Peter’s roundabout I noticed three
lions kindly guarding (or watching, you choose) over John Dickie’s
home…</span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Having said that I was not prepared to see lions (real or otherwise) in Northampton was not an understatement, after the initial swear word and “there’s three lions!” I could not stop smiling to myself; fancy that ~ I was actually smiling for once!</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: right;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fCg_EJb66cwls-m6S8cuhL_VgFjkBCqJwOnOrDaSUoijW1ngyCIkaSKOJ6uGuD0cKL52g3vPBlMuqkOJ_fBYiU948qXypuuj-fu-oG-YHg0kuj8ErS3n5qQrdfc5EBHOvLWny8VsSKj9/s1600/Lion+king.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fCg_EJb66cwls-m6S8cuhL_VgFjkBCqJwOnOrDaSUoijW1ngyCIkaSKOJ6uGuD0cKL52g3vPBlMuqkOJ_fBYiU948qXypuuj-fu-oG-YHg0kuj8ErS3n5qQrdfc5EBHOvLWny8VsSKj9/s1600/Lion+king.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guildhall</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Wandering around town now seems more fun, I actually find myself looking up more. Even nights out seem much more fun, and yes I have the pictures to prove that ~ and no, I did not break the one outside the Guildhall… and I was gentle getting on that one in the picture!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Conversations with friends are filled with “have you seen the lions?” and “where’s that one?” People seem to be stuck with something between curiosity and amazement that something good could come from this town, which is a worry! Having seen and heard all the views (including my own!) over what is wrong with this town, it seems to shock people that something good can happen. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">People know my views on the things our Lib Dem (is it now a coalition too?) run NBC have and have not done, the site at Edmunds Hospital, Princess Marina and Market Square say it all. But; and here is the thing, they are all done with the view that “hopefully” people will want to come to the town and maybe invest/stay.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZzsEEkWh_XGnal_cZyQ2-vGQsNr2x62yXNtHohxKxAxYr4-jNWeCWda8zh9QqvsJw9QLNmK8fHXNzTYC0gbiOotwkQCWxg81MOmYYZx7SfJkmWKXe450s682-4s5mW8LrsbwGKuk0wzP3/s1600/24032011016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZzsEEkWh_XGnal_cZyQ2-vGQsNr2x62yXNtHohxKxAxYr4-jNWeCWda8zh9QqvsJw9QLNmK8fHXNzTYC0gbiOotwkQCWxg81MOmYYZx7SfJkmWKXe450s682-4s5mW8LrsbwGKuk0wzP3/s320/24032011016.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Market Square<br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I know that many people will say “but that is not enough!” and to be fair I do slightly agree. However, look at the lions for an example. People do like them, they look cool and get people talking… is that not the point? People love to see the Elephants in London, we spot them (or try) every time we go down to City; the lions seem to be having the same effect here.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Which is a very good thing in my view, and should surely be encouraged? How about this for an idea: more arty type stuff, more plays from local people about local things? Let us get a little crazy here, how about this too: get more things going like those wonderful Heritage Weeks? This town has so much going for it, to let that die would surely be a crime?</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitO1TURWHOqF677idtJf3BpD5Wj7XZPHFlVp_O1FIHQMNft2LsvoPejLKPw8_y5Pwr7D79ZErTAZYZi_byyAEC7-jNGwHJX2seP3NvvnObHcvtijc6Dy0EeSMTDce8KrnCk48sfRlCRZZD/s1600/Statue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitO1TURWHOqF677idtJf3BpD5Wj7XZPHFlVp_O1FIHQMNft2LsvoPejLKPw8_y5Pwr7D79ZErTAZYZi_byyAEC7-jNGwHJX2seP3NvvnObHcvtijc6Dy0EeSMTDce8KrnCk48sfRlCRZZD/s320/Statue.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taken on Heritage Weekend</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">There are people willing to show those of us willing to learn around, I know this from first hand experience. Case and point, most people reading this blog will know Councillor Trini Crake; some will know her husband John is something of a town historian. All reading this blog will know that I am a member of my local St. John division too, and have been for a while. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Digressing for a moment, our meeting nights at St. John often consist of training, training and more training! Occasionally we have a few guest speaker nights thrown in among the training and the courses we have to do, and a few nights a year we have social evenings. Rarely do we leave the safe confines of our building, if we do it is either to attend our HQ for more training or exams; but it has not always been like this! </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhokUK-UwTNhEtSycaSK4Sx303wrPu5HJFwqs5DJ4JWwMDMV33wyT4ZVH_Vf4w3XzLTecpq9tN_LOfyp_gFVIo2LNkiqWgGHfvfnBLcVDizKXle-WHICgTEgFkhydF64LSh1llZ4cTHq9EK/s1600/19838208_l.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhokUK-UwTNhEtSycaSK4Sx303wrPu5HJFwqs5DJ4JWwMDMV33wyT4ZVH_Vf4w3XzLTecpq9tN_LOfyp_gFVIo2LNkiqWgGHfvfnBLcVDizKXle-WHICgTEgFkhydF64LSh1llZ4cTHq9EK/s1600/19838208_l.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St Johns, St James</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We have gone out to the pub! (Yes I know, admittedly we had to walk there; but it was fun!) If I am right in thinking, we have gone out to the hospital for a sort of “outside” guest speaker. The point I am trying to make is, visiting places is good fun, and it gets us out and about… which as many people will tell you, is a good thing! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Anyways, back to the plot… after bumping into John Crake going past the Guildhall, we stopped to have a little chat; during which he told me about the mark on a block outside the Guildhall which meant Northampton was so many feet (sorry I can’t remember how many now) above sea level. I never had a clue the mark was there let alone what it meant, which made me think; “what else don’t I know about my town?”</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guildhall</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Having been around the Guildhall once (and totally enjoying it) I thought I would ask if John would show my division around too, after all many of them aren’t from Northampton (and even those that were) so they might not know about its history… of course John kindly agreed, but when I rose the subject at the meeting that night; to say it was met with the “damp squid” effect would be an understatement.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">(See, there’s my rant. A slight tangent, but the usual rant I am sure you would all miss if I left it out…) </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKum4vRfOjGWdiDHUY3_00TsHnGzPcsoZrBsAW4JLnhMhNAIxQqj6kwgaP73-6P6Y98VcVMMMOSJ8X1K8pzHRZmAI86jcQarWNK8FJMFk5QVLn4Y1lp0f9OUNzwHtu9G12Tt4krAzjFZK1/s1600/The_Guildhall_@_Night.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKum4vRfOjGWdiDHUY3_00TsHnGzPcsoZrBsAW4JLnhMhNAIxQqj6kwgaP73-6P6Y98VcVMMMOSJ8X1K8pzHRZmAI86jcQarWNK8FJMFk5QVLn4Y1lp0f9OUNzwHtu9G12Tt4krAzjFZK1/s400/The_Guildhall_@_Night.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guildhall at Night</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Anyways; to end, how about this for an idea: Fred and Doris, (work with me on this!) have lived here all their lives, but there is still so much they have never seen; yet they have seen it all. Both have watched a million and one different councils try their best to “make this town better,” but all that happens is the town quiets seems to die a cold death. However, this week they have been seeing more and more Meerkats (just for Alderman Dickie there) painted weird and wonderful colours; popping up around the town. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-photos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash3/555007_10151060358789161_430164972_a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="170" src="https://fbcdn-photos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash3/555007_10151060358789161_430164972_a.jpg" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Derngate </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It looks so good and has everyone talking about it, so much so that Fred and Doris’s children have heard about it all; and their grandchildren! Moreover, that is not all they have heard about either! Imagine this; there are local plays at the local theaters. There are local bands playing in the local pubs and clubs, there is local art in the local art museums and a whole host of other things too boot.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">However, the best thing about it all is the beautiful buildings and scenery with the amazing history. And guess what? It is something all the family can go and see, they can all experience the history (first hand maybe?) and the stunning scenery! Not only is it on Fred and Doris’s doorstep, but much of it is free! Gosh, how about that; a week where all members of a family can get something out of... who’da thunk it hey?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Lionfish ~ from the Pride of Northampton Lions.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span>Northampton Pasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05195512115799084545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273484732390626338.post-91591425592004820252012-07-16T08:06:00.000+01:002012-07-23T02:22:51.413+01:00Just a Boroughs Girl - Part 3<br />
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By Hair Hardwick</div>
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I was still a girl when I discovered I was pregnant and you can imagine how shocked I was, but it was nothing compared to how stunned my parents were. I was lucky of course, and I knew that back then only too well. The days of being packed off somewhere to hide your shame were over by that time and it was becoming quite a common occurrence. My parents stood by me, making it clear my child and I would have a home with them for as long as we needed it.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St Edmunds Hospital</td></tr>
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My son was born at St Edmunds hospital and on that day, and because of how she had treated me at the time, one of the sisters was sacked. I was only fifteen, I was scared and when I cried out in pain she hit me and told me to shut up. My mother was not amused and nor was the Matron who just happened to be passing the room at the time, so because of her actions and impatience with me that woman never got another chance to hit another patient. <br />
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Money was a problem as I could not get any help until I reached the age of 16 so I had no choice but to earn what I could and any way I could. Social Services helped me with everything I needed for my child as I was determined to keep my baby. I knocked doors and asked if anyone needed anything fetching and back then people were kind and normally said they did even when it wasn’t true. I earned enough that way to buy my son’s food for him if little else, and could often be seen walking to one lot of shops after the other pushing the pram with my baby in it. <br />
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I clearly remember one of my brothers emigrating when my son was just six weeks old and how sad we all were to see him go. For the first time ever that night I heard my mother crying. <br />
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My son was nine months old when I ran away to Gretna with my boyfriend, his father, and I was waved off by my parents who wished us well. It seems just like yesterday as I can picture it all so well, yet that was 46 years ago in august. We lived with my parents for a while then moved to Towcester to one of the caravan parks there. It may seem incredible now, to think that back then my husbands wage was around six pounds ten shillings per week. He worked for brown brother’s ltd as a tyre fitter at that time. <br />
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From there we moved to the prefabs in St David’s road Kingsthorpe our first council premises. I recall the row of shops just over the road from us, and the pub with its window where you could get served stuff to take away. I recall the bakers van, Adams, calling on me twice a week and my having to run up a tab on his second call just to get basics from him to get me through until next pay day. <br />
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From there we moved to Kingsheath and I have good memories of living there in a place we made lots of very good friends. It was while living there that we spent some time running our first bar; it was at the makeshift buildings used for a while by the Twentieth Century Club at the back of what was then the fairly new bus station. The Silver Cornet was our local though from where we lived but we didn’t use it very often and we did use the other pub up on the oval but even more rarely. I can recall watching Barclays sorting house being built during our time there and also the middle school was still standing and was where my son attended until we moved once more, this time into our very own home, at Brixworth. <br />
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Over the years we moved quite a few times all in all, first into homes of our own, then staying with his mother, before buying our own home once more in Cowper Street. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfSAK9BuUUkCxYPjFIpkt-0kIfftZpYExsl1hUhqKZT1QYs3WqJ7LlRnl3Jp9cHjFfwqscIKjPymLDv-Ggo1amZ0jRfZgEPDhI0o4JQfICnbIgsquo4YGoJP2Gi_uyw5tGZs_I0PvVyVdM/s1600/m2_003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfSAK9BuUUkCxYPjFIpkt-0kIfftZpYExsl1hUhqKZT1QYs3WqJ7LlRnl3Jp9cHjFfwqscIKjPymLDv-Ggo1amZ0jRfZgEPDhI0o4JQfICnbIgsquo4YGoJP2Gi_uyw5tGZs_I0PvVyVdM/s320/m2_003.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cowper Street</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Now I am not sure if this will interest you, but I think it might so I shall tell it. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The front of the house next door to us had once been a shop and its front widow was still like a shop one. Neither we nor the people who lived there knew what shop it had been but we soon found out, and not by being told by anyone or looking it up. No computers back then for our use, had we had have known how to use one of course.</span><br />
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The cellar in my house was a door, in the kitchen area, with stairs just inside it leading down to it, the same in the other house but with that one there was a set of steps outside that led to it also. In their cellar there were some marble worktops on the top of white walled brick bases, and there was also a very deep and large sink. There was a back door that led to a small bricked area a few feet in depth and reached across from their kitchen to our house and those outside steps were opposite the door. On the right hand side of it, looking towards to my house wall, there was a bricked up wall that obviously had once had a door that had been bricked in much later than the bricks around it had been laid. From above it just looked like ground but it was hidden beneath the bit of it next to the outside steps. Removing the newer bricks they then found a huge metal rod overhead at the back of what appeared to be very much a place the size of the old outdoor toilet I once used. There was a basin shape cut into the floor and an odd looking drain cut as what appeared to be a run away for liquid. Putting it all together we presumed this place had once been used to slaughter animals in. further investigation, this time in some records, sorry I do not know what or when as the neighbour did it, it was in fact a slaughter house for cattle and sheep that were bought on the race course and kept there until being marched along to the butchers, slaughtered and used in the shop above the cellar. It was once a thriving shop, and perhaps someone in here who knows where to look may be able to tell us more about this butcher, as personally I would love to know for certain. <br />
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It had rubbish that had been dumped in there too and one piece was truly amazing. It was a book, a proper hard back volume of what appeared to be printed pages of some sort of a journal, once kept by a woman and telling day by day, date by date, what exactly had been done in her garden, the weather and how things were progressing and it was printed in her hand writing which was beautiful. Last seen with my friend and one time neighbour and If and when I see her I shall ask if she still has it. <br />
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At the bottom of my garden there was a huge shed, the size of a double garage inside that was fitted out each side with wooden benches and shelving above and below it. We found old tools I wish I still had now and don’t, and some old empty tins without labels and that were disc and small oblong shaped rather like a tin of polish. We discovered it had in fact been the workshop of a polish maker. <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The licensed trade.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me as the barmaid at the Sunnyside</td></tr>
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While living in Cowper Street I went to work part time in a couple of public houses to help with making ends meet moneywise. I worked first at the sunny side for Terry and Sandra Bates and I loved it there. </div>
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The group was called The Host Group, which was part and parcel of Chef and Brewer. <br />
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And the reason I say this is because though we had many wonderful times in the trade, there was another side to it entirely. Trust me it is no fun when things do kick off in a trouble pub. I recall having to call the police, then to lock and bar myself into the bedroom and hang out of the window waiting for the police to arrive, more than once in my time, the first of which was at the Clinton Arms. <br />
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The reason I had to do that was to make sure when the police arrived, not just one or two went inside as there was no way they could have handled the situation there alone. When there was trouble, thankfully not too often, it was generally very bad. One really good thing I recall was meeting number one son as he came to be called, and though I lost touch with him many years ago, thanks to Northampton past we are now back in touch, I have seen him and his lovely new wife and that pleases me so much. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charity Events</td></tr>
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The best thing during my time living and working in the pubs and clubs was raising money for charity. We either held events or helped others too and were by doing so raising thousands of pounds over the years in so many different ways, all sorts of things from weight loss to the biggest one the Saint Ives Fun Bike ride as it was called back then. That still goes on over twenty years later but the fun word was taken out of it and today it is run by the British Heart Foundation I believe. </div>
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We moved from our house in Cowper Street to the Clinton arms the first of the pubs we were to run. For while we let our house when we went into the licensed trade, and that was in 1981. It was a pub that was known for trouble at the time but I can honestly say once we got to know people, through one of the customers there it turned out I knew, we loved it and had a great time. Sadly the pub was condemned at the time to make way for the ring road that is there today. We did not stay until it was pulled down though and moved on to other pubs as and when the managers above us instructed. Those were not in our county and so I left my home town and county for some time, returning a few years later to Wellingborough where we ran the Sports which it was renamed then but has now been turned back to the original it once was and that is The Cromwell. We had almost three good years there and I was able to see and spend more time with friends and relatives once again. </div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It was a known thing in that company, that if profits stopped rising and steadied out they moved landlords on to another pub, as they never seemed to be able to accept that you had all of the customers there were to be had in that area, there just wasn't anyone else you could draw into your pub, just as everyone had only so much money they could spend there. So every few years we were moved on, from pub to pub, and always they gave us trouble pubs to sort out. We were not happy but got on with it as we needed the work.</span></span><br />
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Eventually we could not keep up with the payments for the house or the putting of things right due to non caring tenants that seem drawn to it rent wise, and so we sold it. This proved to be a big mistake and saw us homeless for a time. </div>
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The last pub we took was in centre of Huntingdon. We had given three months notice, due to us both feeling we needed a rest and would then go back into it, but were talked into giving that one a try. Not a good idea and we stayed there only a matter of weeks and left, not only the pub but the trade at that time. </div>
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But that break from being behind the bars was only brief, and soon we were working at The Football Club in Blisworth and living in a caravan on the site there down near the canal. </div>
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That was when we went back into the working men’s clubs. </div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">We moved full time to The Double Top, a place that had been The Trades club when I was a girl and when my son was young. Dad was very much a club man and so I knew and had been to so many of the clubs in Northampton over the years, this one included.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">From there we left our county once again and moved to Leicester, first in a rented house and then, once again, to buy our own. There I worked for a while in a shoe factory, and I can honestly say it must be in my blood, my relatives’ of the past working in that trade over the years, I have recently discovered.</span></div>
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I learned a great deal there, about marking pieces to sew that would eventually be the side, tops or straps of shoes. How to sew and use both a flat machine and post machine and I wish I had one of the later today as I could do so much with one of those. </div>
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I made buttons covering them with leather of just the right thickness and I lost count of how many times I was called into the cutting room to tell them if it had been scathed enough or needed more doing, much to the annoyance of the forewoman who I am afraid I made a bit of a fool of. Well she did it herself really, by trying to show me up for wasting bits of leather. She tried to show me it was okay and there was nothing wrong with it, and in the process wasted metal fittings that were the really expensive bits of the buttons. She could not make one out of it, so she walked away in anger and just sent evil looks across the room at me then, which made me smile and annoyed her even more. </div>
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For a while after the factory closed I worked as a filling in job packing shoe soles, but it didn’t pay enough and so it was onto a cob shop, (known as bread rolls here.) </div>
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Again made redundant but with an excellent reference I worked as yet another gap filler as a domestic in a home there and it was the night before I was offered a job full time that my back first went. </div>
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I lay in bed for weeks, and it took a long time for me to get back onto my feet, even longer to be able to make the stairs and what seemed like forever until I was able to step outside the back door just to sit for a while in my garden. </div>
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At this time hubby had taken over running yet another club bar, right in the centre of Leicester. Eventually I was on my feet and though could not at that time do a full time job I was eased back into work by doing the odd few hours on quieter sessions at that club. And then we moved again, to take the job together in Kent and while there was when I lost touch completely with most of the people, though not all thank goodness, of the people I once new here in the town, just as it was during that period that, as I see it now, our town changed so much. </div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">My back went again and that was it, I was declared disabled, unable to do that work ever again. So I became miss sandwich maker doing so many trays of sarnies and I soon lost count of how many. I cooked endless trays of roast potatoes, sausages and so much other stuff during the next years and honestly, I was not sorry to leave that place even if I was of course sorry it was because of my hubby’s ill health. With the food of course, most of what I did was in the sitting position; I had to have help along the way and did not get paid for my work. Should you wonder why I did it then, simple answer is, it made me feel of some use. I also made a lot of friends while there and some of which are on my friends list.</span></div>
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It was also during that period that I began to write, and now though I do not do quite as much of it, I do still enjoy doing it. Within a few days I had got to grips with typing which seemed to come to me with comparative ease. Through doing it I have learned how to overcome in the main, with a computers help, my dyslexia and other problems associated with that and so was able to put this together for you the way I have, in a comparatively short space of time. I have had a few poems published but still have to re write and correct most of my other work now I feel able to. God willing I will have time left to do at least some of that, and if not I am just grateful that it has filled so many hours with something I have loved doing. </div>
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We returned here, two years ago to our home town, a place we hardly knew anymore about compared to how it once had been for us. </div>
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Suddenly I was in a place I had longed to come back to, but nothing was the same for me. The few friends I was still in touch with had their own lives and families, though thankfully I still had good, long term friends, in Brixworth, and some of their children living right here in this town. It was wonderful to catch up with them and I just wish we could see each other more often. </div>
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And then, during the last year, I joined Northampton past, and once more home seems just that once again. I have met and befriended so many of you, I have found old friends right here within this site, I am finding through it that not the entire town has changed as much as I feared and I am glad about that. I am of course saddened to see how much has gone and is still being taken from us. </div>
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Progress has a lot to answer for as well as a lot to be said for it and we can do little about that can we, though many of us will still try to see we hang onto some of it so our children, grandchildren and so on, can one day still have a town to be proud of as I am, as hopefully those reading this are too. </div>
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Thanks to the members and those running this site, and thanks to Frank’s brilliant idea of starting it, they will at least have a record of what it once was and know how the members of this site feel about it today. </div>
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Tid bits. </div>
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Bread and dripping, bread and jam without margarine or with jam, not both, golden syrup, bread with margarine and sprinkled thinly with sugar, a fried slice on occasion, all done using a tin loaf that with ten children was sliced thinly and went around the table again until it ran out. That was once a typical tea for us kids. </div>
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Meat for main meals would consist of stew made from bones, and thickened with lentils using whatever vegetables could be bought cheaply at the end of the market day. Meat would be rare and probably pigs trotter, a shoulder of pork or lamb or other cheap off cuts that mother managed to get with her frugal means. Fish in parsley sauce would in truth be the heads and tails boiled up and stripped, the stock kept making sure of flavouring. She fed us, it was always filling and tasty, so what if the bacon and onion roll was made from bacon bits, and was it was mainly the dumpling that filled us. So what if the left over stew would fill the centre of a dish with pastry round the edge the next day, with fresh potato and onions on top and then stuck in the oven to finish it. Did we care, no, not really! We never went hungry, mum saw to that by slaving doing other peoples washing, cleaning and so many other jobs, just to earn enough to feed us. She spent hours making us clothes from old things she bought and we had to search for from Perrit’s scrap place just off the Mayorhold, knitted us jumpers after unpicking and washing the wool from hand knitted jumpers also obtained from there. </div>
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But you know what, she was one incredible woman. She taught me so much and I will always be grateful to her for that. Like mother I can sew, knit, and do so much other stuff it’s untrue. Basically life back then taught me, and I am sure a lot of those reading this, how to make the most of everything that comes your way, whatever that might be. </div>
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Just the other day, at the treasure hunt, one lady, no names given as she knows who she is I am sure, and who is a lovely person, said something that set me to thinking. <span style="background-color: white;">She said too much pride is not always a good thing. Perhaps she is right, but for me you see, its not so much about pride, more that I am disabled now, I know it and make the most of every day, yet, its more about remaining independent, something people like me need to retain as long as they can, until the day comes we are forced to accept the help we need simply because we have too.</span></div>
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There were holidays along the way as well, one we were lucky enough to win was to Australia, where after a period of thirty years I was able to meet with my brother once more. So we have seen not just the tourist side of that vast country but also spent a little time seeing how the people there really live, just as we have done in Spain with yet more members of my family. My all time favourite places are, of course my home town, and North Devon especially Exmoor with which I feel I have link from the past though what I do not know, and a small town called Schillersee at the foot of the Alps in Bavaria. Some of the views there are astounding! </div>
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I have played hostess, to big wigs, stars of the sports world such as world champion dart players, snooker players, pool and so much many more people during my time in the licensed trade. We hosted a social night for Northampton cricket team that was never advertised but truly was a night of fun and relaxation for them. They enjoyed it immensely and so did our regulars who they played at an assortment of games such as snakes and ladders, Ludo and many more. </div>
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And once many years ago now Paul and I decided it was time to do some of the things we had always wanted to do, the first for me was the wish to hold a new born lamb. I held one just hour’s old, and then just for a few seconds and one at a time, twins still covered in the gunk they were born covered in. It was wonderful! But then I was a town girl and had not had the chances to do what children are able to do today. </div>
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Recently I was sent a picture of a doll from a girl I knew when she was a child back in 1978 and imagine my surprise that she still has it, that now her children love it too, and it’s just how it was, all bar a missing hat, dressed as I dressed it for her, way back then. </div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Right now my health is better than it was by far, at least short term, and I make the most of it while it is like that. No stairs to climb here I believe to be the reason for a lot of the changes. I am normal, so I am told, Ha Ha! I have my up days and my down days just as everyone does I believe. I have a wonderful son, daughter in law and two gorgeous grandchildren who I adore and so believe myself to be lucky.</span></div>
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Mostly I am happy being here, to be, just a girl from the boroughs, back home in my town, Northampton, today Tuesday 19-6-2012. </div>
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A last tribute</div>
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I feel this should be added at the end here, for the woman who taught me the values I live by today, who taught me so much about creating something out of nothing, but mostly taught me how to care for others. What comes around goes around, she used to say, a term many of us use today. </div>
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R I P mum, may the lord keep you safe so that one day, we will meet once more. </div>
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Thank you all for reading this AND I hope you have enjoyed it. </div>
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(HAIR.)</div>
</div>Northampton Pasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05195512115799084545noreply@blogger.com1