In search of the half pence!

I know I have some somewhere, I’ve kept them specifically for the day when I might need one and today is the day when I needed two! Introduced with decimalisation in the early 70s, the diminutive half penny coin was inevitably doomed to extinction almost as soon as it was minted. It struggled along for thirteen years but was finally withdrawn in 1984. Back in the late 70s I was doing a lot of plumbing work on our large house in Southerndown and soon discovered that the half penny coin made a suitable substitute for a 15mm blanking disc; a little PTFE tape wrapped around and it does the perfect job. Naturally I hoarded a number of these coins should I ever be in a situation again when I needed a blanking disc, except, I can’t remember where I’ve put them!

There was nothing for it, couldn’t waste any more time looking, off to the nearest DIY superstore to find some of the real thing. First store had nothing suitable so drove the short distance to the next where I was able to acquire what I needed without too much hassle. Whilst there I also looked for a 22mm blanking end, but was rather irritated to see they were packed in twos; I don’t need two, will never ever have a need to use the second one – leave it on the shelf then, I’ll improvise! Whilst there I somehow got into a lengthy discussion about central heating, the couple obviously mistook me for a tradesman as I was rather filthily dressed.

It was chucking it down when I left the store and I scurried back to the car past the fast-food wagon and immediately I was transported to another dimension, it was like a time-machine had whisked me back thirty or more years to a past life in another era. It was that smell, a heady mix of frying chips, onions and the sweet aroma of doughnuts, reminded me instantly of my many years spent on the rally fields with my vintage machinery. All it needed to complete the sensation was the slap of a drive belt on a dynamo, the slight chuff of the steam engine and the strident sound of a fairground organ and the illusion would have been complete, perhaps a bit of mud as well would have added the final touch!

The Breakdown!

Looking back, I’m not entirely sure when I became interested, but interested I certainly became, in buses; not any old buses though, but those of the Western Welsh Omnibus Company. Certainly, by the age of ten I was considered by my peers to be an authority on the subject knowing every little detail of the various designs of each of the models. Many were very similar at first glance but I could easily identify all of the models which frequented the largest depot of the company which was at Bridgend, my home town.

When I was in the last year of junior school my grandmother thought it would be a lovely idea to take me on a coach tour. I was enthusiastic about this, naturally, and must have talked non-stop about spending the day on a coach. Gran had other ideas though and decided to start small and booked an afternoon mystery tour. I was a little disappointed in this as I knew the afternoon tours used the older coaches of the fleet and I really wanted a ride in one of the more modern ones. However, it was booked, and we arrived at the bus station early hoping to grab the front seats on the coach. Sitting in the coach bay was, sure enough, one of the older coaches but looking very smart. It was one of the Willowbrook-bodied 39-seat centre-door models built in 1953, in the GUH registration series (like the one shown in the photograph). Unfortunately we couldn’t get the front seat, that was bagged by a talkative eccentric lady with long flowing hair that we both knew, so we chose the seats just behind the driver instead. I have no recollection of where the coach took us, but I recall I really enjoyed our trip.

A year or so later, when I was in the early years of secondary school, I suggested to my grandmother that we should go on another tour, their “Welsh Wonderland” sounded ideal and I had seen the coaches they used on these tours and I wanted a ride. They usually used a 1958 AEC Reliance with Harrington Wayfarer IV coachwork in the OUH registration number series. These were very smart looking coaches and in my eyes very modern even though by the time I went on this tour they were four years old. The trip was arranged and my grandmother had been early enough in booking to reserve the two front seats which was an added bonus. The Wayfarer featured a lot in the 1958 timetable book published by Western Welsh and shown here is one of the advertisements.

On arrival at the bus station, there was one of the Wayfarers parked in the coach bay, we boarded and sat in the front row. I chose to sit, not by the window, but in the aisle seat where I could get a better view of the driver as well. That was quite a good move as we also had a co-driver who stood in the step-well for much of the time describing the journey we were taking and blocking some of my grandmother’s view of the road ahead. I have no idea which route we took, but we ended up at Builth Wells where we all had to vacate the coach for an hour or so while the drivers had lunch. Gran and I sat on a bench by the river eating our sandwiches until the time came to re-board.

The journey home commenced well enough but before long the coach started to cough; this continued for a while and then it seemed to settle down. Somewhere near the village of Erwood when ascending a steep hill the coach engine suddenly died, no amount of coaxing from the drivers could get it restarted so one of them walked back to the village to a telephone box to call an engineer. It took ages for the mechanic to arrive on the scene and he pronounced it dead! Another coach was summoned from the Brecon depot and I wondered exactly what they would have available which was suitable for tour work. When the replacement eventually arrived I was really disappointed to see it was an ordinary service bus. It was one of the MKG registered 41 seat Willowbrook dual purpose Tiger Cubs that had been new in 1956. When new they had been very smart but as the years went by they looked shabby very quickly; we had a few in Bridgend and I didn’t like them, they were ugly and their semi high-back dual-purpose seats were not comfortable. Gran and I boarded the bus and set off for home arriving well after the hour we were supposed to return. We never did go on another coach tour!

Introducing Custard Cream!

Back in the mid 1990s I bought a trail-boat, an impulse purchase, but being interested in canals I intended to use it at trail-boat rallies which were usually held on isolated stretches of ancient canals. It was 18ft long from stern to the tip of the bow and the plan was to build a cabin in the style of a canal narrowboat so that it could be slept in when at a rally. I acquired it when I was staying with friends who lived in west Wales and the boat was put in their barn where the build would take place at occasional weekends over the coming months.

The day after purchase it was gloriously sunny and we just had to go and try it out, so we towed it down to near Gwbert on the estuary below Cardigan and set about to launch on the public slipway. Here we see friends Lynne and Jon with young Richard sitting in the hatchback of my car preparing to unhitch and push the boat into the water. The whole outfit was extremely light and could easily be handled by one person. Our maiden voyage took us upstream nearly as far as Cardigan where we beached the boat and then had a picnic before returning on an eventful bumpy journey against a rising tide. We had used Jon’s vintage Seagull two-stroke outboard engine which was fine once started, but did take some string pulling to get us in motion.

Back at base later the conversation came round to a suitable name for the craft. All sorts of daft and strange suggestions were put forward and it was only when Lynne brought out coffee and asked “Custard Cream?” (my favourite biscuit at the time) did I realise it was the perfect name. Custard Cream was christened later with a toast of home-brewed red wine (half a glass for Richard) and a lovely meal provided by Lynne whilst we all sat on the boat, on dry land in the back garden, and became very intoxicated with the situation and perhaps the wine as well!

The cabin I built on the little boat was a little on the eccentric side, but then, what else would you expect from me? Based very loosely on a canal working boat it had roll-up canvas sides and a small cabin at the rear in which I installed a camping stove on one side and a portable toilet on the other. It had a bench seat either side which would accommodate six persons seated and was just wide enough to provide two (very narrow) single beds for night time use. The construction was made from 2″ x 1″ timber with very thin plywood covering so it would bend to the contours I required, and the canvas roll-up sides were lettered with SMT&Co, although what that stood for has dissolved into the mists of time, but it’s probably the first initials of the surnames of the persons who used to holiday on the canals together!

At its first trailboat rally at Resolven on the Neath Canal in 1995 it chucked it down for much of the weekend and young Richard and I attempted to sleep in the cabin. It leaked very badly, not through my workmanship I might add, but through a quirk in the boat’s design, so our sleeping bags became drenched overnight. We had to find a launderette nearby capable of drying them out before we could spend a second night aboard, which turned out to be a little less moisturised! Motive power was via another of Jon’s boat engines, a diminutive battery outboard one, very silent and just powerful enough to propel us gracefully and sedately up and down the short stretch of canal available to us. I shared the engine with Jon’s tiny little boat Puffin so it was either one or t’other in operation that weekend with Richard and Puffin using it most of the time.

That very damp Neath Canal Rally was  the maiden voyage of another boat, a radio controlled narrowboat which Jon had made for Richard (and himself). We also took this little boat with us when we went on our annual canalboat holidays which we did for a few years during this period. Jon and Lynne were so enthusiastic over canals they had a narrowboat built to live on permanently and are still enjoying canal life, albeit less nomadically these days. Richard christened the little narrowboat Chugga and is seen here extremely early in the morning, dressed suitably for July, before the day dried up just a little!

Custard Cream only ever went to the one event, the following year at Resolven we were boat-less but attended as we were members of the Canal Society and one of the crews operating the Society’s trip boat that weekend. In July of that year I took a temporary job at the local crematorium, it was only meant to last for six weeks but actually finished fifteen years later when I retired last June. The boat was eventually sold in 2006 just a couple of weeks before we moved out of our home at Southerndown. It was fun while it lasted and I have pleasurable memories of the short period in which Custard Cream featured in my life.

A Collection of Listers – Part One

Back in 1982 I prepared a number of articles for a specialist magazine Vaporising, the journal of the National Vintage Tractor & Engine Club of which I was the secretary of the Glamorgan & Gwent Group. The magazine had a national circulation of a couple of thousand published quarterly. I have recently rediscovered my scripts so have decided to reproduce them here. I have decided not to use the original illustrations, I always felt the ones selected were not the best I had submitted. I have taken the liberty of correcting some errors made at the original transcribing and removed some paragraphs which are not relevant for today’s readers. So, here is the first part of A Collection of Listers.

To most stationary engine collectors the name Lister conjures up an immediate vision of a small angular machine with a flywheel protruding from one end, and a starting handle on the other; the ubiquitous ‘D’ type inevitably to be found hidden away in most enthusiasts’ collections.

My first ‘D’ type, of 1938 vintage, was recovered from under many bales of straw and and lay upside down suffering from years of neglect and abuse. Mice had nested in the hopper and fuel tank, the crankshaft was bent, and all external parts rusted solid and either bent or broken. With much love and attention this engine satisfied my collector’s appetite and for two years travelled all around the southern part of England and Wales with me and enthusiastically exhibited at numerous steam rallies and vintage shows. This was just the beginning of what would in the following years become one of the best collections of vintage Lister engines in this country.

This photograph shows the restored Lister ‘D’ (centre stage) at a rally early in 1977 during the period when I lived in London. This photo also shows some of the youngsters with whom I worked one of which is polishing brass on another of my engines whilst the other supervises!

The firm of R A Lister & Co began on 23rd August 1867 with just two employees setting up initially as a general toolmaker with a small foundry. By 1872 the decision to concentrate on farm machinery had been taken and chaff cutters, grinding mills and cheese presses started to roll off the production lines. By 1908 it was realised that some form of motive power was needed to operate the machinery being produced, so the company of F C Southwell & Co of south London were approached to to supply the first stationary engines. These were soon made at the Dursley factory and were an American ‘Pilter” design made under license. 1909 saw the first ‘Lister’ stationary engine, this strongly resembled the Southwell engine with its fuel tank base and similar governing systems, but this was soon phased out in favour of the more familiar throttle slide governor and external fuel tank. Around 1912 the first paraffin burning engines were produced, these were the K type, M type, P type and Q type, which were variants of the J type, L type, N type and R type respectively. The only petrol type of the earlier engines which appears not to have a paraffin sister was the diminutive 1½/2hp H type.

The first ‘L’ type to appear in my collection was found on a farm at Trerhyngyll in the Vale of Glamorgan, this was located after a tip-off from a friend. Actually I knew the farm well, or thought I did, as for six years I worked at the children’s home sited next door and often took the youngsters around the farm. That was in my pre-engine days! The engine was in poor condition externally and almost solid with old grease and oil. It was originally installed during the 1st World war and worked regularly, driving an Albion corn grinding mill, until about 1945.

When the engine was installed the original exhaust pipe was removed as an extension pipe was to be fitted though the wall to convey fumes outside the building. The original pipe bend was thrown into a corner of the shed and, in 1979 when the engine was removed, was uncovered from underneath a pile of muck and dirt.

To remove the engine we had two options open to us; firstly to take the engine through the window of the shed, the only access readily available, or secondly to shovel a few cwt of manure and miscellaneous lunge from the barn next door to clear a path – we chose the latter.

Restoration was undertaken over the next few months and the engine was running again, after 34 years, on 28th April 1980. The only parts requiring replacement were tow hoses, HT lead and a silencer. Axles and wheels were added to the original timbers for ease of transportation. Some small repairs were necessary to the bottom of the water tank and the fuel tank.On its first trip to a rally the engine gained second place in the stationary engine section for which an engraved tankard was presented.

The ‘L’ type following the fuel tank base model had a semi-open sided crankcase. This had a brass or steel mesh to prevent dirt entering. Around 1919/21 experiments were being undertaken with compression ignition engines using the crankcase of the ‘L’ type. This was not strong enough for the extra stresses imposed upon it so a modified crank case started to appear around 1921 and was used on the ‘L’ type from that date. Incidentally, the same crank case is still used on the Lister 5/1 series which is produced mainly for export.

The same period also saw the changeover from a “flick” magneto to chain-driven rotary magneto. During this time the one piece cylinder head was being replaced in favour of the removable “split” cylinder head type. The ‘L’ type with the modified crank case was thereafter designated type ’2L’ (to be continued)

The first ’2L’ to join my collection was first spotted in 1975 in my early engine days. At the time the farmer wanted £20 for the engine which had stood outside for 40 years and was in very poor condition. I felt his asking proce was high and on subsequent visits went even higher. I abandoned the idea for a few years and on acquisition of my ‘L’ type in 1979 went the three-quarters of a mile to see if I could purchase the ’2L’. To my surprise the answer was yes and I was also steered in the direction of a 5hp tank-cooled Petter ‘M’ engine on a nearby farm.

However, both engines were eventually found to be surplus to my collection so both were passed on; the Petter to Oxfordshire and the ’2L’ to a friend and engine collector in my own area.

The summer of 1980 saw the first unusual Lister to come and live with my collection, a type ’2L’ No 32398 5hp fitted with a spherical cooling hopper. The engine was on a colliery farm near Pontypridd and until around 1959 had been driving a corn mill used for preparing pit-pony feed. We had to remove the engine from an upstairs barn but the kind help of the farmer and his tractor fitted with a hydraulic bucket saved the day.

The spherical hopper was designed for the Canadian export market, presumably to compete with the American built ‘Monitor’ stationary engine which had a similar ‘football’ shaped hopper. A few of these found their way onto the British market where short running periods did not necessitate the use of the normal cooling tank. About five examples are know to exist in this country, three of them within 100 miles of the Dursley factory.

There are another two sequels to this story which I may retype one day and post here!

Friday the 13th!

There is no doubt that during my life, Friday 13th has been a significant date on a number of occasions; I know that for three of these I have ceased employment. The first one was in September 1974 when we had been given notice just one week previously that the charity I worked for had run out of money, I had been with them for nearly six years so sudden redundancy was something of a bombshell to land in a 24 year-old’s lap! However, it is a Friday the 13th exactly 34 years ago in January 1978 that is the feature of this story today.

Readers of flickr and my blog will recall I worked at a long-stay home for children and young persons in London in the 1970s, this was an enjoyable and memorable experience which to this day I remember with fondness and almost sadness for irretrievable times past. You might think I’m a bit sentimental about this and you’d be right, it really was an unforgettable period and I hope I was able to help the youngsters retain a foothold on life in their formative years.

By late 1977 I had made the decision, rightly or wrongly, that my time as a residential worker at this home must come to an end. This was not a conclusion that I arrived at with any positivity and I pondered some while before discussing it with the manager. There were many factors influencing this decision, not the least of which was the knowledge my parents were going to be one half of a team opening up the first private care home for the elderly in Mid Glamorgan and I had been asked to assist with the preparation of this. Difficult choice, I loved my work in London, but latterly realised I was becoming rather too attached to the youngsters in my care and was finding it difficult if not impossible to emotionally disentangle myself after my shift. That was one of the disadvantages of living on the premises, but it also had its good points as I got to know the youngsters really well and also I didn’t have far to go to work! In fact, work was my life and I don’t recall doing much outside that environment, everything I did in London revolved around the youngsters, they were like family, my special “chosen” family, I had elected to live with them albeit as part of a job package.

A few days after an agonising Christmas, on the last Friday of December 1977, I handed in my resignation giving the statutory four weeks notice which, with holiday time owing, would mean I’d be finishing in just two weeks, on Friday 13th January. That didn’t leave much time for the inevitable painful parting, or for all the stuff I had accumulated to be moved back to Bridgend, but that’s another story! The manager and I decided that the best time for me to inform the youngsters of my decision to leave would be at the traditional New Year’s Day lunch, when everyone would be present and so, I recall, I stumblingly informed my young friends that I would be departing. I won’t tell you the reaction and some of the comments as I’m rather too modest for that, but suffice it to say they were quite surprised, saddened and shocked, after all, I had been a prominent part of their lives for a few years.

The last two weeks are a blur and details now mostly forgotten, only remembered through the photographs I took of one or two events during my last days. One of the things some of the boys had been involved with had been my interest in vintage machinery and a few of them had been regular attenders with me at steam rallies or vintage shows. In agreement with the manager I arranged for the four rally boys to come on an evening picnic in my mobile home where I had planned a night-time walk with torches and lanterns to conclude with a barbecue style meal cooked in the van by one of the boys who, at 11 years of age, loved to do the catering. In the event, one of the rally boys couldn’t come so I took along two others instead and we had a fun evening sloshing along the muddy towpath near Walton-on-Thames before our meal of sausages, burgers, rolls and reminiscences. I really didn’t want that evening to end, but eventually I reluctantly started the engine and slipped it into gear for their last journey in my motor home.

The evening before I finished was rather sad with a party tea in my honour followed by a presentation. All the youngsters had contributed some of their pocket money and a member of staff had been sent out on a mission to buy a book suitable for a railway and vintage enthusiast. The one chosen was Nameplates of the Big Four a book featuring photographs of just locomotive nameplates, as the title suggests. There was no parting message inside as the staff knew I liked to keep my books in pristine condition, but this one was different so I had all the youngsters sign their names on one of the pages and I have reproduced that here, although for privacy I have painted out any surnames. The details of the rest of that evening have now disappeared from my memory, my only regret is that I didn’t assemble all the youngsters and colleagues for a group photograph.

The following morning I sadly bade farewell to each and every one of my young friends as they departed for school, all that is, with one exception; one of my final duties was to take one of my rally boys to a dental appointment and then walk him to junior school afterwards. I recall being reluctant to undertake this task as I was anxious to get all partings over with as quickly as possible and this one was going to be difficult, this lad (the one keen on cooking) had been to all the rallies with me since I had introduced them and saying farewell was not going to be easy. After the appointment I remember standing outside the school entrance watching him walk away, as I vainly attempted to suppress the tears welling up in my eyes; I had wanted to give him a departing hug like I had with all the others earlier, but that wouldn’t have done, his school chums might have seen and then made fun, so I made do with a quick squeeze on his shoulder and a brief unemotional statement like “Well, see you around then”. He then slipped quietly into school only glancing back and giving a discreet little wave before disappearing inside; I stood there for a brief moment looking at the empty doorway and then turned away with an empty feeling in my heart. That morning I had lost my entire “chosen” family; it was the end of an era.

The years go by and although I kept in touch for a while I eventually lost contact with everyone, the home closed down and was demolished and all that remained were the memories recollected through the hundreds of photographs I had of the few short years I was there. A year or so back I was unexpectedly contacted by one of my former charges via Friends Reunited, I was really pleased by this and although our correspondence has been sporadic I am grateful he made the time to get in touch. Since then I’m delighted a further three have made contact through other social network sites which has inevitably brought back nostalgic memories of my time in London all those years ago. Writing and illustrating this hasn’t been easy, I started it three weeks ago when I discovered 13th January was going to be on a Friday and even today I’m still editing text and pondering which photographs to use; if you are reading this, I guess I’ve made my decision!

Outbid on ebay!

I discovered a rare postcard of Bridgend being offered for sale on ebay; I quickly put in a bid which was confirmed as being the highest so I sat and waited to see what would happen. A day or two before the auction closed there was a sudden flurry of activity which saw me outbid and I had to considerably increase my offer until I was the highest bidder again. All went very quiet and with minutes to go on the auction I was still being told by ebay my offer was the highest so I watched with baited breath for the last few seconds countdown, 5 – 4 – 3 – 2 – 1 – only to see the message “You have been outbid” when the auction closed. Oh well, it was not cheap although I might have gone a little higher to secure it.

The reason I was anxious to acquire this little gem is because it included the shop which my great grandfather took over in the late1800s. Thankfully the seller supplied a reasonably good preview of the postcard. H J Stokes took over Mr East’s business in 1896 but the shop (third up on left) was opened a number of years before the family moved from their previous home at Aberavon to their newly-built home in Merthyr Mawr Road. At the time of the 1911 census, H J and his son Wilfrid (my grandfather) were living in lodgings in Acland Road, Bridgend but the other six members of the family have completely disappeared, I can’t find them anywhere – a mystery to be solved!

The first Quarry of 2012!

Well folks, a very belated Happy New Year to you all, hope you’re going to continue to read my mental meanderings throughout the coming seasons!

Photographically, the weather hasn’t been very inspiring lately and the camera hasn’t been out of its bag since before Christmas but this morning I was invited to visit a new quarry with flickr friend Neil; I didn’t need much persuasion as I’m always eager to pursue two interests at once, photography and industrial archaeology. The location this time was a small quarry near Heol Senni within the Brecon Beacons National Park. Although the morning started off well and was sunny as Neil drove us there, by the time we arrived the clouds had descended and we were in amongst them. It did make for some rather atmospheric shots though, here’s a couple from our trek!

We want Muffin the Mule!

Wonderful nostalgia on BBC2 last evening about Christmases past, brought back some lovely memories of simpler times of my childhood which included some very early children’s programmes that the BBC transmitted during the 1950s. I was particularly moved at being re-introduced to one of my infant idols, Muffin the Mule. Unfortunately, that also reminded me of an embarrassing moment in my place of work some years ago!

One morning in the Crematorium office we had been discussing television from the past and I, being the oldest member of staff, was trying to explain all about Muffin the Mule and what was so endearing about this simple puppet show. Anyway, they had no idea what I was prattling on about so decided to give them a lusty rendering of the theme tune:

We want Muffin, Muffin the Mule;
Dear old Muffin, playing the fool;
We want Muffin, everybody sing;
We want Muffin the Mule!
I sang loudly and heartily!

Of course, the inevitable happened, my 10.00 appointment walked into the office early, just as I commenced my raucous solo and I didn’t notice; my colleagues didn’t stop me however and suddenly I realised a stony face woman was waiting for me to finish. Red-faced, I bumblingly offered my apology, but she made no comment whatsoever which really made me feel even more foolish. Somehow I managed to get through the appointment in a dignified way after my appalling start and dealt with all the business necessary for purchasing a resting-place for her loved-one. On completion the lady said “Thank you Mike, you’ve been more than helpful” and added, with a twinkle in her eye; “Thanks for Muffin as well, made a difficult task much more bearable, I shan’t forget that in a hurry!”

Right then, everyone join in:
We want Muffin, Muffin the Mule;
Dear old Muffin, playing the fool;
We want Muffin, everybody sing;
We want Muffin the Mule!

Bah, humbug!

It had been my intention to compose a blog story specifically for Christmas Day, I had an idea in the back of my mind and over the past week or so have jotted down a few notes. It was to be a tale of simpler times when happiness was an addition to your Dinky Toy collection and the annual Plasticine in the stocking, not forgetting the tangerine in the toe, but I think I have bored you enough with that sort of thing over the last week on flickr where I have presented you with a miscellany of Christmas memories and images.

What we see before us in this 1967 photograph of our family is the annual ritual, which continues today, of the Christmas Day supper, here consisting of cold turkey and bread and butter. In the background is my father who has cut up the meat and filled everyone’s plate, well almost everyone, but we’ll return to that later. To the extreme left is my sister and Mum sitting next to her. On the other side of the table (from the right) is “down-to” Gran, then “up-to” Gran sitting next to my grandfather. The grandparents were very formal with one another, Mrs and Mrs Simmonds and Mrs Stokes was how they addressed one another. We differentiated between our grandmothers with the simple prefix of up-to and down-to because, well, it’s complicated, in our previous house we used to go “Up” to visit one grandmother and “Down” to visit the other, the only problem with this was we first had to go up before we could go down, it confused our cousins greatly with our ups and downs. With Grampy we didn’t have such a problem, he was just Grampy, our other grandfather had died when we were very young so have no real recollection of him at all!

Christmas Day in our household was the culmination of weeks of very hard work. My father had a shop in town and during the previous month or so, in the run-up to the big day, he would be very busy. After work every day throughout December, the whole family would return to the shop in the evening for a few hours where we would tidy up and restock for the following day’s onslaught. The normal staff of three would be supplemented by the Christmas staff, I think fourteen was the most we ever had, and we’d all be running flat out to cope with the rush. From an early age we were encouraged to help if we could and I think I was serving customers when I was about thirteen. By the time Christmas Day came round we were all exhausted!

In the evening it was traditional for our “up-to” grandparents to join the rest of us for supper, “down-to”, who lived a few houses away would have been with us for the whole of the day anyway. Usually Dora, my grandfather’s sister, would have been present as well, she lived with them “just for a few weeks until I find somewhere” which lasted for 25 years!

Some of the artefacts we see before us are also worthy of a mention, the table is one of two that my sister and I now have, but as they are almost identical I can’t tell you which is which, one of us has this one. The best china is out, only on very special occasions did this come out and I have to confess, as the current custodian, I’m afraid of it, hand painted, each item different!

Finally, in the foreground, we must mention my brother; he looks miserable because he was! You will notice he has no supper in front of him, not because he’s already eaten it, but because he really was not well. Back in his early teenage years he used to suffer with extreme nose-bleeds which would go on for hours, on this day he’d had a bad time and joined us, in his dressing gown, for supper. He later had his nose cauterised which prevented any further major problems.

Anyway, looks like my supper on this end of the table is ready to be eaten, so best get on with it then – Happy Christmas everyone!

I like a bit of surfing, I do!

Now you can put away that image of me dressed in a skin-tight neoprene suit balancing on a plywood or polystyrene plank crazily riding the wild surf at Coney Beach or Rest Bay, no, that’s not what I meant and you know it! My idea of surfing is sitting in front of my computer “surfing the net”, something which I do tend to enjoy from time to time.

As the build-up to Christmas continues so I have been looking around the internet for inspiration and image-links for a story which has been slowly germinating in the deepest recesses of my imagination. Based on fact, Christmas in the 1950s, I wanted to find some illustrations that would be suitable to accompany my typed meanderings. Needless to say there are countless sites that will provide me with examples suitable for my tale, but sometimes one can be led astray  and go wandering off at a tangent and completely forget one’s mission in the visual absorption of the material discovered.

A couple of websites have captured my imagination recently, both Irish as it happens, illustrating life in rural areas in the period I am researching. The first of these is the Kenelly Archive which has been put together to show the work of professional journalistic photographer, Padraig Kennelly, who worked from a studio in Tralee in southern Ireland from 1953 until the 1970s. The photographs show life as it was happening at that time and is an excellent record of a way of life now past. As we now approach Christmas I’m going to show you just one photograph from this vast resource and it’s one of hundred’s taken at a Santa school visit showing a group of children posing with Santa to have their image captured for posterity. This one is typical of the majority of the Santa series and shows the youngsters dressed in very run-down clothing, you just need to look at the shorts on the boy on the left to wonder how many more times they can be patched! An excellent site, not easy to navigate, but worth it if you’re interested in this period of social history.

The second site I am currently enjoying is the Clare County Library images on-line section. Once again, this is a vast site with thousands of images covering a much wider period than the Kennelly Archive. Of particular interest depicting the 1950s is the Michael John Glynne Collection which deserves a good browse. One of the photos which attracted my attention is this one from the Killahoe Heritage Centre Collection on the site and shows a group of six kids all with a cigarette in their mouths; I guess the oldest would be thirteen or so with the youngest about four or five, can you imagine this sort of photograph being taken in this day and age?