European Court Rules Against Max Mosley
It is being reported that the European Court has ruled against Max Mosley.
My late father would be pleased to have seen this judgment.
He always claimed, that he got Max’s odious father with a tomato in the 1930s. It may even have been at the Battle of Cable Street. My father was there as a Londoner of Jewish ancestry, so he hated Oswald Mosley with a passion. Interestingly, my father was very much on the left of the Tory party, and he was not the only person with that political persuasion, who was there to stop Oswald Mosley and his blackshirts marching.
Interns
There has been a lot of talk lately in how those with power and money have got their children work experience, which is of the highest class and out of the reach of those without privelege and wealth.
It has always been thus.
Take my example.
My father was a successful letterpress printer in Wood Green. He employed half a dozen people and we lived comfortably in the days before letterpress was replaced by offset litho. Much of his work was for a company called Enfield Rolling Mills, that as the name suggests rolled metals into something useful. In their case it was non-ferrous metals, like copper, bronze and aluminium, which were turned into bars, sheets and cables.
So when I got my place at Liverpool University to read electronics, and I needed some work experience, he decided to do something about it. His business wasn’t that healthy too, and he had told me that, he wouldn’t be able to find me work for the summer.
In his usual manner, he started at the top and phoned John Grimston, the Earl of Verulam, who was the boss of his largest customer.
They found me a place in their electronics laboratory, where I had my first lesson in controlling processes. I also learned a lot about industry, health and safety, the various trades and their unions and of course life, which gave me a lot of rich anecdotes I use to this day. Only today, I related to my physio, a story about lady cricketers gleaned from one of my colleagues.
To say that internship, as we’d call it today, changed my life, would be an understatement.
But I got it because my fsther knew someone with influence. And also because he never felt anybody too grand to ask for a favour.
Do Sickly Children Make Successful Adults?
I ask this question because of a post on the UK-Coeliac list from a mother, who was worried that her coeliac child might have problems because of days off sick during his GCSEs.
I was always off sick at school, but I got to Grammar School and obtained good O and A levels, went to a good university and by all accounts I have been very successful since. I often wish that I’d been diagnosed with coeliac disease, when my parents and GP, were looking into my childhood health problems, but you can’t change the past.
Was it because of my many days off school, that my father took me to his printing works so often and my mother taught me household skills from cooking to making clothes? Or was it because I was the boy and was favoured by my parents and especially my grandmother, who lived with us?
I also became very reliant on my own company and this served me well, when I was programming, as that can be a very lonely experience.
Now is that self-reliance is my strongest defence against the trials of my life?
A Walk Down Memory Lane
Or more correctly between Turnpike Lane and Wood Green stations on the Piccadilly Line.
I’d taken a 141 bus to Turnpike Lane from the end of my road and alighted opposite the station.
Turnpike Lane Tube Station
Or should I put the local name underneath which sounded like Turnpicky Larny. I wonder if it’s still used.
I walked down the west side of Wood Green High Road and the first place I remembered was the Marks and Spencer on the other side.
Marks and Spencer at Wood Green
I didn’t go in, but it certainly looked to be in a worse state than how I remember it from the 1960s, when it was one of their flagship stores. I visited it many times, as a bag carrier for my mother, when she used to do the food shopping, when she was working with my father in Wood Green.
Further up you can still see the remains of the old Wood Green Empire above the Halifax.
The Remains of the Wood Green Empire
I can remember going there once to see the pantomime. It may have been Babes in the Wood, with Ted Ray, but even if I hadn’t had the stroke, I wouldn’t be sure.
My father also claimed that he’d appeared on the stage there in a variety show. But at one time, I know he did print the programs and posters for the theatre, so perhaps he did a deal. Knowing him, that could have been possible.
The centre of Wood Green High Road used to be crossed by a railway bridge that carried the Palace Gates railway line to Palace Gates from Seven Sisters. At one time there was a station in the area called Noel Park and Wood Green, but although I can remember the bridge and trains running on the line, I can’t remember the station. To the south of the bridge there used to be a pub called the Alexandra, which was pulled down in the 1960s or just before to build Wood Green’s first supermarket. Now the whole area has been redeveloped as Wood Green Shopping City.
Wood Green Shopping City
Moving along towards Wood Green tube station, I passed what some refer to correctly as the Broadway, but I just remember it as the place where you caught the trolley buses. On the left there used to be a restaurant called the QS for Quick Service and one of the first burger bars. I can remember visiting both quite a few times with my mother. I can still remember and smell, the chef, Ally, turning the greasy burgers as he fried them.
On the corner opposite the tube station, there is a pub which is now called the Goose.
The Goose, Wood Green
I think the pub used to be called the Nag’s Head and it is part of a family tale. My father used to live with his mother over the print works in Station Road, which is just around the corner. One Sunday morning her dog, who was a renowned thief, arrived back with a large cooked joint of beef in his jaws. My grandmother, immediately washed such a prize present off and that was the family’s Sunday lunch. My father surmised that the chef in the Nag’s Head had put the cooked joint on the window sill of the kitchen at the back of the pub to cool down a bit and the dog just couldn’t resist.
I then crossed the road by the tube station to catch a 141 bus back home from where the trolley buses stopped.
Wood Green Tube Station
All of these stations from Cockfosters to Turnpike Lane are very much part of my childhood and I remember them all with affection.
Hail the Humble Hand Drill
The walls in my new house are probably very typical of modern houses, in that with one exception they are all plasterboard sandwiching air. So to put pictures up, the averahe picture nail is not the best and a plug and screw is better especially, if the picture is a bit weighty.
Given the fact, that my hands are a not the best, I’ve fund that a humble hand drill is the best way to drill the walls, as I have so much more control.
A Humble Hand Drill
My father had a couple of very smart hand drills, which you’d never see today. He also had a drill chuck, with just a T-handle on it, which was ideal for making holes in delicate materials. It was always in demand in the autumn for drilling holes in conkers.
Lawrence of Afghanistan
The Times today has an article about T. E. Lawrence, who as well as his efforts in Arabia, served in the RAF as Aircraftman Shaw in Afghanistan. We should listen to what he said.
Here is an extract from the article.
With the help of Hollywood, he would become a legend, Lawrence of Arabia, but today he might more aptly be termed Lawrence of Afghanistan: he understood more clearly than any of his contemporaries (and many of our own) the futility of trying to bomb an insurgency into peace; he put into action the tactics of modern guerrilla warfare; and he pioneered the improvised explosive device (IED), the most important weapon of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.
In Britain Lawrence is revered as a figure of romance, the camel-mounted scholar-warrior in flowing robes, but his reputation comes tinged with a distinctly British embarrassment. Lawrence was stupendously strange: a diminutive, ruthless, obsessive, sexually repressed oddity, who spent his life striving for attention, and then rejected it.
What is too often forgotten in the mythologising (and debunking) of Lawrence is his enduring legacy as a military strategist of genius and cold-eyed guerrilla leader.
I like one particular statement.
Lawrence believed that “winning hearts and minds” (a term that would have made him snort) could only be achieved by education or cash, and never by coercion. “The printing press is the greatest weapon in the armoury of the modern commander,” he wrote. The Arab rebellion was fought with new British tactics, and bought with new British gold.
The trouble is the Americans used to think that the only good Indian was a dead one and their thinking hasn’t changed much to reflect the modern age.
Every politician and military man, from the highest general to the lowest private, should read Ben MacIntyre’s article and then be tested on it.
My father was a printer and one of the most interesting things I saw in Belarus was this battlefield printing press from the Second World War.
Battlefield Printing Press, Minsk
The Russians and Belarussians obviously know their T. E. Lawrence and it served them well, when they turned the Nazis in 1941.
I share two things with Lawrence;stature and birthday.
The Intelligent Decorator
My father was no mean wielder of a paintbrush, not in an artistic sense, but as a decorator. As he used to drive me to his print works in Wood Green, he’d sometimes tell how when they built the houses in Waterfall Road in Southgate in the 1930s, he had a contract to paint them for just a few pounds a house. He did teach me, but I’ve never been very good at it, although I used to be able to hang wallpaper. My hands probably aren’t good enough now!
My late father-in-law was also a professional painter and decorator in Barnet, working for a firm called Curtis. He would tell tales about how in the richer parts of the area, such as Hadley Wood, how sometimes he’d wallpaper the same house, as many as three times, because the lady of the house or the cat didn’t like the new colour scheme. C used to say he had endless patience, which was why he was in so much demand.
And then there was Terry. He used to do the decorating for us at Debach and when we moved to West Suffolk, we still continued to use him. He was neat and tidy, never smoked and sometimes you never even knew he was in the house. In one case, we’d asked him to paint a bedroom and C phoned him up to ask when he was coming. But he’d already done it!
Sadly Terry died of cancer a couple of years ago. The funeral was one of the best attended, I’ve ever seen, such was the respect he was held in the town of Ipswich.
So when I see good decorators I know what I’m looking at.
My new house was in a terrible state, as the previous owner had rented it to tenants. There were rather hideous constructions in some of the wardrobes, television wires everywhere and all sorts of damage. The builders had also not built some of the details properly either and the house had never been desnagged, as it should have been under its guarantee.
I arrived yesterday about nine and found that the decorator, one Mark from Harlow, had really cracked on and was doing a good job.
My New Living Room Takes Shape
The picture shows the main living area of the house. The walls are being painted ivory and the original specification said that the steel beams were to be black. But the first thing Mark said was that the beams just needed a good clean and the original chocolate colour would be much better. How very Great Western, as it’s almost chocolate and cream!
By the way, notice the blinds in the photo, they may be rather broken, but that was because they’re the wrong size in the first place.
But to return to the colour scheme. I agreed with Mark on the colour of the beams and they will be left, at least for a few years.
Terry, my father and my father-in-law may be long gone, but it seems I’ve found another inteligent decorator.
Book Burning
It is being reported that a fifteen-year-old girl has been arrested for burning a copy of the Koran.
My father was a printer and bookbinder and to me, all books are to be treasured and not defaced or burnt in any way. Perhaps, when a book has been fully read, it should be passed on, but only in the last resort, should it be burned and then to do something positive like generate heat.
So the girl was wrong in what she did and arresting her for what was probably a childish act, will only encourage others to do similar things.
We need a lot more tolerance and common-sense.
Especially in these days, where we have had the Sunningdale and Milton Keynes murders and the Derby sex attacks to keep the Police busy, with more much serious problems that could be considered to a racial dimension.
Memories of Some Late Goals
On the coach to Ipswich today, we were thinking that no-one could ever remember Ipswich scoring any late goals. They certainly could have done with a couple today!
In the 1960’s I used to cycle from my home in Sussex Way, Cockfosters to White Hart Lane, parking my bike in a garage near to the ground, that charged a half-crown. My father always said that he went to Spurs before the First World War with his father and they used to give a kid, a shilling to hold the horse’s head for the duration of the match. It seems that nothing has changed except the price and parking costs near Portman Road is now about a fiver.
I think that on the day of my tale, I must have gone to see Spurs entertain Manchester United on the bike as I got back fairly quickly and the alternative of the train from White Hart Lane to Enfield Town and a 107 bus, always got me in quite a bit later.
In this match, which according to this page, most probably was on the 10th September 1966, I was home reasonably early and met my next door neighbour, a Mr. Gibbon, who had been to the same match, but had driven in his car. Note that I never had a lift.
He was a Mancunian, who supported United, although he had season tickets at both Spurs and Arsenal, and went to each when they were at home. They alternated home matches in those days, so you could do this.
He said that it had been a great match especially as United had won by the only goal. I also knew that he always left with about ten minutes to go, so I said that I thought it had been a good game too, especially as Spurs had won 2-1 with two goals by Greaves and Gilzean in the last few minutes. He obviously missed them and as he didn’t have a radio in his car, it was myself, who had given him the news.
How Can They Get it So Wrong?
This is another story, that would make my father turn in his grave. There is no excuse these days for publishing a book with so many mistakes, as HarperCollins has done for Jonathan Franzen.
The Anonymous Widower 