Closer to home, this is a shed next to my allotment, I think it’s so full of stuff that no one would ever be able to get into it. It’s not my shed, but I wish it was. I’d give it some tender loving care.
It’s actually owned by the Chinese lady who has the next plot to me, where she grows vegetables and plants that I’ve never seen before. Makes a change from carrots.
This is really a shed on wheels. It’s that colour from alcohol. The stuff in the shed on the back is used to make a sort of brandy and the vehicle is on a little farm in the South West of France. The farmer kindly let me take the photograph. He spends his spare time driving to fairs and events where he makes this liquor and no doubt sells it. All in the very best possible taste I’m sure. He’s probably on wheels to give himself a head start on the Revenue people.
This is a letter sent from Arlou in Belgium on the 16th December 1945 to my mother and father on the birth of my brother John, who was born on the 14th November 1945. It’s from someone called A Kinnaert. It’s a congratulations to my parents on the birth of their son.
Our father was with the Guards Armoured Division in Belgium during World War 2 and, as I understand it, he was billeted later in the war with this Belgian family in the small village of Zetrud Lumay. I assume after the liberation of Brussels in the September of ’44. The Welsh Guards being the first troops to enter the City on the 2nd September.
The lady who wrote the letter found out that my father and mother were expecting John sometime, how she came to know about his birth is not known to me, but she did. She also took the trouble to write to him at his then home address in St Helens, Lancashire. Actually the home of my grandparents, and where my father was ‘thrown out’ when they found out their daughter was expecting me some 11 months later.
The letter was beautifully preserved in my late father’s paperwork. I wonder what became of A Kinneart, or who now lives at Chausse de Tirlemont 53, Zetrud Lumay, where she lived when my father as obliged to stay there. What other story might be behind the carefully chosen words in the letter? How did she find out about the birth of my brother? What became of the other soldiers mentioned in the letter? Were they, like my father, lucky enough to survive what was left of the War that liberated Europe?
I don’t expect to ever find out, but this might find someone who knows more than I do.
How strange that my son is now married to a Belgian, who lived not that far from Zetrud, and now lives in Sheffield and will be having a son in December, and will be one of my late father’s four great grandsons, the other three all born on my mother’s birthday. Bless them all!
I’ve had some fun in the last few days. Thanks are due to a great extent to the History Festival in Gloucester which is simply packed with history and recommended to any visitor to the area. It’s all been helped by brilliant September weather . I’m going to give star rating today to these two characters who are Gillian and Rob Guest, they play ancient music and the instrument that Rob plays here was known originally known as the Symphony, but later became known as the Hurdy Gurdy. Here they are playing at the Cross in the Centre of Gloucester. Edit out the sign on the right and it could come straight from the old times as they play with the backdrop of St Michael’sTower.
They also play the tabor, hobby horse, jig doll and medieaval percussion and as you can see from this short video they make a charming sound and a handsome couple.
Tredworth: Shoes with a very large sole as used by teddy boys.
Tuffley: One of those men who go out every Friday and Saturday night in a white tight t shirt and jeans, no coat, whatever the weather. The female version wears very high heels and a ‘dress’ that grips in certain areas and makes her body wobble like a Mexican wave. Perpetual motion.
Tunley: Moody. Uncooperative and sullen like a 14 year old.
Perhaps the title whould be ” Where to stop?” I was reminded of this by a posting on Facebook of a Canadian lino cut artist called Linda Cote, and who’s work I really like. She posted an image with four different prints all of the same subject, with slight variations. The thing about reduction lino cut work, as I understand it, is that when it’s gone, it’s gone. Take away part of the image and you can’t put it back. The same applies to drawing to a degree, but with cartoons like mine, the tendency is to just do it again, if you can.
What you don’t get when you do it again, is the spontaneity of the first drawing, so in some respects, you can’t do it again. Case proved?
Here’s a little drawing that I found on my desk. I did it when trying to put together the idea for the one below. The little drawing of the hapless captain of the ship did not fill the purpose of the idea, but I like the drawing and the way it shows the various thoughts in it. Like when you see a child’s drawing and it looks really good so you hope they will stop before they over cook it, or simply scribble over it in a moment of creative release, I stopped.
I might have a go at finishing it sometime, but in some respects it is finished. Hapless Captain looking grumpy and the parrot looking rightly worried that the ship is heading for the rocks. I could draw in the water around rising around him perhaps.
Totterdown: The way the heels of female Tuffley’s shoes clatter on a wet pavement, generally accompanied by some choice language like: “ It were you wot sed these shoes were ok Dawn but they’s crap, oh bugger av just lost me cheps” which loosely translated means “ this footwear came highly recommended by you Dawn, but they cannot stand up to the rigours of a night out in Gloucester, oh dear I seem to have dropped my French fried potatoes”.
Tibberton: The high speed speech of a female Tuffley which is completely unintelligible to anyone other than another female Tuffley, even when slowed down to normal speech speed.