Weird and wonderful tales

by Maureen Hardcastle

 

When I was asked to write for the Haltwhistle page on the Internet, I thought for about all of 2 seconds, and then agreed. I never really gave a thought as to how people would enjoy, or even understand, the way I write, let alone my --sometimes ‘different'--way of describing things.

 

For those of you who read the Haltwhistle Times, please be patient, as you will have seen much of this before. For those good souls that have just ‘logged on' I hope that you will enjoy this addition to the Haltwhistle page.

 

One more thing that I must explain, I often use  local ‘Haltwhistlian' words which I will translate as I go along.

 

I will tell you a bit about myself for starters. I was born here 58 years ago, and now live in the hamlet of Halton-Lea-Gate, which is about 7 miles from Haltwhistle, up on the fells.

From 17 years old I have moved house round about 28 times, have lived in Dorset, Wiltshire,  Hampshire,  3 times in Germany, and various places in the local area.

My family consists of, Trevor, my husband, 1 son and daughter-in-law, 2 daughters and sons-in-law, 2 grandsons, and 1 granddaughter, who are of course the bonniest, most intelligent children that ever breathed.!!!!!

 

Well that's roughly the background to me, now lets see if there's anything I can blether*  about.

 

Did you all enjoy the festive season?               I hope so.

On Christmas Eve, Trevor had been out the back getting the coals, when he rushed in, grabbed me, opened the front door, and said ‘listen'.  We stood and heard a sound just like sleighbells.  For a few seconds, it was magical!

The fact that it was Nigel, over the road, blowing his tyres up with a foot pump, didn't spoil it. It just gave us the giggles.

 

Before Christmas there were ‘taster' evenings for ladies in the Chapel hall here in the village. On offer was Yoga, aroma therapy, computers, beauty advice, counselling, and BELLY DANCING!

I just had to go to that one.  

The young lady who came to demonstrate was that thin, there wasn't a picking of fat on her.  She was so elegant, and we, by comparison, were like a herd of camels.

We all wore various scarves and skirts. I even managed to find a lacy, tasselled thing that I wore during the ‘Flower Power' era.  (Any excuse to make myself look even dafter than usual!).

Also, this is not an easy way to dance.  I was lathered*.  I went straight into the shower when I came home, and I couldn't be bothered to speak until

I'd had a cuppa.     

 

According to Trevor, it's only the second time he's ever known me to be speachless. The first time was when he proposed, over the phone, after three dates.  He would have had us married by that weekend, but my offsprings wanted a ‘do' so we had to wait three weeks for the banns to hang.

So from our first date 12 years ago, to getting married was all of four weeks.  Not bad eh!

 

Of course, Trevor being the cheeky thing that he is, delights in telling everyone that the little bit hair that he had was auburn, till he met and married me! One of these days I'll sort him out!

 

I went into Haltwhistle this morning to watch Daniel.  He's the youngest of the clan.  He was 1 year old on the 7th of January.  (My Dad's birthday)

As we were walking down the street I was asked when the coffee mornings were starting again.

Now I know that, for anyone who does n't live here, it must seem a little odd to be mentioning coffee mornings on the Internet. However, these are great social events here.

It doesn't matter where they are held, nor indeed which charity, church, or organisation they are in aid of, coffee mornings are well supported.

In fact, over the years, the people of Haltwhistle must have raised millions of pounds for different things.

Sometimes there are two, or three on at the same time, and you can hear people refuse a second cup of tea/coffee as they are going to the others as well.

On days like that, there is never any lunch, and you can't venture far from the loo either!

 

Talking about loo's.  Many years ago, Mam and I went  for one of our frequent days out.  After lunch, the call of nature had to be attended to. I ‘went' first, then paid the bill while Mary Ann sallied forth.  When she returned, I was still at the cash desk. Speaking in a voice that was supposed to be low, but was anything but, said "What a funny place. There were only two toilets, but six very odd washbasins that only had one tap."

That right. You've guessed it. She'd been in the gents! We shot out of there quicker that a bat out of hell.   

I was hysterical with laughter, and it took about an hour for me to settle back down again.

That was something else that she never lived down.

 

More tales from Hardcastle Hall

hope you like them Maureen

 

I have been asked to relate some of the tales that I have written for the Haltwhistle times.

They're not in any special order, but they are all true.

 

When I was first married We went down to live in Dorset. Peter was in the Royal Artillery  and we were stationed at Bovington Camp. At a St. Barbara's Day ‘do' in the evening, I was sitting talking to other ladies, when one of them spoke to me, enunciating her words very slowly and carefully.  "You must find it very cold here."  Now after living here, Dorset is a whole lot warmer, but I---being brought up to be polite--replied that I thought it was really very pleasant.  "I'm surprised", says she, "you being MALTESE.

Do you know, your broken English is quite understandable".

I didn't enlighten her to the fact that I was Northumbrian. Though from then on in I tried to speak "posh" Geordie.  Mind you, since coming back home I've lapsed again.

 

Over the years it's been great fun when people have tried to place my accent.

In Germany I've been Irish, Scottish and Welsh.  In Salisbury, Italian, and in Winchester, Dutch Norwegian and Spanish.

 

Perhaps it was my long black hair that foxed* them.  

 

It used to confuse the life out of my friends when I talked about CLARTS*, having a good RATCH*,   or a PLATE CAKE*.

Nothing in the English language is as descriptive as Northumbrian.

 

This next one also involves me speaking, but this time I was about 5 years old.

 

My Aunty Francis is a 100 years young, and at the time I'm on about she lived with her parents, Uncle Jack and Aunt Lizzie Hannah, in Primrose house in Henshaw.

We used to go there on occasions, for tea on Sundays.

I loved the place. It had a big black range, and a settle in the kitchen

and in the winter there was toasted teacakes, done over the embers.  There was no electricity, just oil lamps--the dairy was so cold that a fridge wouldn't have been needed, and no water indoors either.  That meant the netty* was down the garden. Definitely not warm and cosy on a winters day!

As a child this was the most marvellous house. Looking back it must have been hard work.

Anyway, back to the tale.

As we were sitting at the table, up pipes Maureen. "I can say grace Uncle Jack." I then proceeded with one that Dad and Jimmy Bell from the Spotted Cow Cottage had taught me;-            

 

THE LORD BE PRAISED ME BELLY'S RAISED

IT ISN'T MADE OF A BLANKET

IT'S MADE OF A SKIN

THAT GANS* OOT AN' IN

AND MAY THE LORD BE THANKIT.

 

According to Dad, his life wasn't worth a tinkers cuss for ages. When Mary Ann got wound up, she stayed like that for quite a time, and boy, was she wound up!.

 

Another time was when Miss Carrick asked me if I would say a recitation for the Chapel Anniversary.

"I know one", says I, and began;-   

 

THERE WAS A LITTLE DICKY BIRD SAT UPON A THISTLE

EVERYTIME IT PRICKED IT'S BOT             

IT MADE THE BIRDIE WHISTLE

 

Somehow or other I can't remember saying that one!!!!!!!!! I think I sang Jesus wants me for a sunbeam instead.

 

People who know me know very well that I have a funny sense of humour.

Luckily, the whole family are the same.  

This tale is about Mary Ann's funeral.  Not very funny you think. Well --judge for yourselves.

Mam lived with Trevor and I for about 10 years, mostly in good health, but at 92, things get slower and harder to do. Anyway, Mam died in December ‘99.

WELL!!!! The undertaker, poor soul, not being a local man, and not knowing the roads, took the wrong one.  Our driver honked the horn and flashed the lights, but to no avail.

That meant instead of going by Coanwood, on the decent road, we  went by the Shanters and Red Peth, which is only marginally better than the road by Kellah.

It had been snowing, and of course that road had neither been cleared or gritted, and there were times that I didn't think we would make it.  

I had visions of getting stuck, and Melanie, my youngest daughter, who was VERY heavily pregnant at the time, going into labour. Us having to put Mam on the roof of a car, while we used the hearse for a delivery room!

 

A tractor that we passed made some very funny patterns in the snow, as he turned to watch the cortege.  We even passed a shooting party, and boy oh boy, were they taken aback!

 

We could all picture Mary Ann, who had no sense of direction at all, watching this and saying, "where are we now", every 5 minutes, and thoroughly enjoying the situation.

 

I have seen films where things like this are shown, and have said "this doesn't happen in real like". WRONG!  Yes it does.

Truly though, we were very glad that it did. It lightened a very miserable morning, and I'm sure that Mam, who had a sense of the ridiculous, would have been amused as well.

 

According to my daughter-in-law, our funerals are tame. Theirs are ended by a fight on the front lawn!

 

Just before Trevor and I were married, I took my two girls, Marie and Melanie to Newcastle to buy outfits for the wedding.  Millinery shopping, or indeed a days' window shopping' I dont mind, but after that --forget it!

Still, off we went. We arrived in Newcastle by 8.30am, and came home at 5.30pm. We had bought our coffees, lunches, an afternoon cuppa, and absolutely nothing else.

 

My clothes were off oftener than a fan dancers. All I wanted to do was sit and weep. There was nothing that was just right. It was terrible.

Then to add insult to injury, after warning the girls about the roosting

pigeon, didn't one go and drop a blessing right down my front! To be

truthful, blessing wasn't what I called it, nor the****bird.

Sealing wax and it's rear end conjured up visions that I still haven't quite got rid of!!!

The girls still think it's hilarious,--- and I still want to choke them!!!

 

We live in a beautiful cottage that was originally two.  The row is marked on

an 1840 map that I saw, but how old the cottages are, I honestly don't know.

The conversion was done before we bought it, and it's been sympathetically done as well, which is lovely.  However, over the years, we've done bits as well. Here are some tales.

 

My kitchen, having been made from two houses, is 6ft wide,  22ft long, and

being a ‘lean to' shape,  is 6ft  6inches high at one side, and 15ft high at the other.  

Trevor can reach the high bits from a stool ---he's 6ft 4". Where as me, well if I draw myself up to my fullest height, I'm 5ft. So there it is, I'm not the tallest person you've ever met, and seemingly not the brightest either!

 

Picture this, muggins*, complete with a bucket of soapy water, is standing on one of the benches, looking at the ceiling that seemed about a mile away.  

Suddenly, like a blinding flash, a brilliant idea forms.  Get the long

handled cobweb brush. That will reach.

 

Oh it surely did.  The only thing was, it wouldn't stay bent at the angle that the ceiling was.

I did all kinds.

 

The end result was a vision of loveliness, complete with wet hair, wet dirty face, wet tee shirt, water running up my arms, down my sides and into my jeans.

 

Not being the most patient of souls, I was exasperated, furious, and ready to spit tacks.

So this creature from the deep went next door and asked Bob to do it, while I showered and changed.

 

I vowed from then that if no-one was around to do the high bits, I would let the cobwebs alone, THEN SPRAY THE BLASTED THINGS SILVER FOR CHRISTMAS!!!

 

It must be noted that both the kitchen ceiling and the one on the staircase have been lowered since then!

 

The staircase was even worse. It went from the dining room floor, straight up to the eaves.  I didn't stand a chance, even with the long handled brush it was hopeless. I tried the stool, the steps, even the stair lift.

All to no avail.

 

Of course as you can imagine, I've had all kinds off helpful advice. Like, stand in some muck, you'll grow.   No chance! I've been a gardener ever since

I can remember, and I've barrowed loads of the stuff.    I'm still 5ft.  So that was a dismal failure.

Another was. Use the rack.  Fat chance. I'm allergic to pain. Particularly mine.

So even if it was available, I wouldn't volunteer.

 

The translations for this bit are;

Foxed--------------fooled

Clarts--------------oozy, sticky, glutenous mud

Ratch--------------hunt, browse, look

Plate Cake--------fruit tart

Netty---------------toilet

Gans---------------goes

Oot-----------------out

Muggins-----------stupid

 

Even More tales from Hardcastle Hall

Since talking to you last month, we have a gorgeous, brand new   Grandson.
Alex Lewis Hepple made his entrance at 5pm on the 8th of August.

He has Ivans' colouring and hairline, Melanies' dimples, but his features,
for now, are all his own.

Isn't it great to watch such a tiny scrap of humanity turn from being a
‘skinned rabbit' into a sturdy little baby who giggles when you play
‘peep-bo.'

Ah! I tend to wax lyrical at moments like this. All the same, it's nice to
hand them back again after your ‘borrowed' time.

My Mam used to put my nose out of joint when we came to stay for holidays, by
saying "It's wonderful to see you arrive, but it's nice to see you go."
Now I understand perfectly!!!!

We have just had Natasha for three weeks, and then Marie as well for the
weekend. It's been smashing, but then, so has the quiet, tidy house, -with
the empty laundry basket- when they have gone home.

Things are so much different now. Children are so ‘matter of fact' about
babies and childbirth.
Natasha never batted an eye when I took Melanie to hospital.

When I was small I was told to save all my silver paper, and if we collected
enough Auntie Nance could have a baby.

Well I must have done, because all of a sudden, there was our Richard in the
cot!
There must have been a sale at the hospital, or Dr Adamson brought him in his
bag, because I never saw a stork on the chimney of Edmount House, up Park Road!!!!

There was a ‘garage sale' in the village in July.
It was at Bob Davidson's old house, just over the road.
It's a great way of getting rid of things.

Bob was a lovely Lancashire man, who had a grand sense of humour, and who
‘jiggled' when he laughed.
As he was most definitely a ‘collector', I bet he has started again in heaven
collecting broken halo's, stringless harps, deflated clouds, and odd sized wings!!!

Megan is trying to get ten volunteers, in the village, to learn to use a
defibrilator--hope I've spelt that right--.
These volunteers will be on call and work a rota system to help those who
have a stroke or a heart attack, until the ambulance arrives.
This is a brilliant idea. In fact any idea that will encourage one person to
help another is fantastic.
Unfortunately, looking after one another isn't a priority these days. It's so very sad.

I've just read a book that was written by Trevors Uncle, Jack Lawson, an M P
in Clem Attlee's government.
He tells how he was born at Whitehaven into an impoverished family, ---as
most of them were in those days. The family moved to Chester-le-street, in
County Durham, and he worked a ten hour shift down the pit from twelve year
old, as did my Grandad.

Any money he had left was spent on books. He read classics like Ibsen and
Thomas-a -Kempis, and taught himself French.

He was rightly proud to have come from such humble beginnings, and praised
his parents and those around him highly.

If his book is anything like him, he must have been a hard working, kind,
fair man, with a wonderful, fascinating philosophy on life.
I would have loved to have met him

 

Another blast from the past.

Trevor's convinced that I'm never content unless the washer is going, and Mam used to say that am just like my Grandma. Seemingly she liked to wash as well.

 

I can remember when we lived up the Burn. 5 ash tree cottages, to be exact.

(The house where Joan and Angus Henderson live now).

It was one up, one down, and the tap was outside, as was the netty, so consequently all the laundry had to be done outside.

Grandma used to come down on a Friday, to make sure that Mam soaked the clothes properly

 

Saturday the clothes were scrubbed, and then they were left till Monday.

Monday was not only washing day, but ‘twiney' day as well.  Mary Ann didn't like Mondays with the possing and the scrubbing board, and anyway, the steam from the set pot in the corner made her glasses go foggy.

If it happened to be a nice blowy day, things weren't so bad, but Lord help us if it was either raining, or the sun was so hot that the starched things dried too quickly and had to be damped before they could be ironed.

 

It was worse still in the winter if the tap froze, then Dad and Uncle Billy Bell from next door, had to go up to the spring on the hillside, on the corner, as the road turned to go to the brickworks.

 

When we moved to Fell View, she invested in on of those washers that looked like a zinc box on legs. It had a mangle attached, and a wooden top with a handle on. When the top was lifted, underneath was a paddle of some description.

 

This seemingly was an improvement on the poss tub. The only drawbacks were, the amount of effort, sweat, and aching arms that must have gone into turning the handle-- AND-- when the top was lifted, all the washing was wrapped around the paddle.  It must have taken ages to unwrap the pinny strings!

 

Thank Heavens for my automatic washer. Life is bliss!

 

When we moved to Fell view, (no 7) I was nearer two of my friends Jennifer Lowes --nee Anson, and Lorna Woodmass, nee Hutchinson.

We used to play together on some steps leading from Jennifer's Grandmas' at 2 Fell View, down to her house---which she still lives in— at 14 Greencroft.

Those were the days when very few folk had cars, so we were perfectly safe.  

There's no chance of that at all now.

 

Anyway, the Christmas that ‘Patsy' dolls came onto the market, they were the first ones to wet their nappies, and Santa was very kind and brought us each one.

When I look back, they were really ugly dolls. They were made of rubber, which was a beige-y colour, and they were completely bald. However, to us they were the most desirable dolls we had ever seen.

The only problem was, there were n't any men’s' hankies left in any drawer.

They were all soaking wet and draped over the fender in whoever house we happened to be in at the time. ‘House' was under the table, with the chenille cloth pulled down over the front. We only emerged either to be fed or go to the toilet.

 

We all have a photo, taken at my Aunty Nance’s, all in our Sunday best. Each of us has great bows of ribbon in our hair.

Now speaking from my angle, it was plaits for through the week, and ringlets for Sundays and special days. Mind you, I had to go to the neighbours to get the ringlet rags put in. Mary Ann could never do it.

 

Anyway, there were only two bows with ringlets, but for plaits there were SIX!  

Two at the top near the parting, two at the nape of my neck, and two woven in at the bottom. It would n't have been so bad if they had been narrow ribbon, but oh no!  Her Ladyship bought the 4-inch wide stuff, and woe betide me if I lost one. I couldn't have mis-marred * ribbons.

What a clip!!

I'm sure all the haberdashers in Haltwhistle made a blooming good living out of the miles of ribbon---'for Maureen’s' hair'.

 

When I'm on about having to wear things. Did anyone out there have to wear a

Liberty Bodice?

If you didn't, think yourself lucky.

They were things like a white, short, thick vest, with fleece on the inside, and tape reinforcements sewn on the outside.  It was worn over your cotton vest, but under your petticoat.

Now as if this instrument of torture wasn't bad enough like that, on the bottom edges were pink RUBBER buttons.  The suspenders that hooked over them were inch wide elastic inch--wait for it--LEATHER tops!

These were obviously there to keep your hand knitted stockings up. (Mine were brown for through the week, and grey for Sundays.)

 

In theory, these suspenders let down when you grew.  Hah! Don't you believe it!  You grew, the stockings shrunk, and by the time it was sock weather, there was all these little hunch backed girls running around.

No wonder, in the spring, you could hear Mothers saying,’ hasn’t she grown'.  

We hadn't grown that much; we just had been freed from the contraption from Hell.

 

To complete the picture of the undergarments worn at that time were navy, or bottle green knickers. These had legs that came right down the thigh, nearly to the knee. They came complete with a pocket in the leg for your hankies!!

Every girl hoicked* the legs up and tucked the spare material under the elastic. We all looked as though we had a folded towel around the tops of the legs.

This wasn't too bad until the elastic snapped in one of the knicker legs.

Then you ended up with one up, and the other one flapping in the breeze around your knee.

 

My grandchildren can't believe I wore things like that.

They don't even comprehend that the ‘nit nurse' came as well.

 

Just two words this time.

Mis-marred----odd, as in a pair of socks

Hoicked----------hefted, lifted.

 

How about the W.I.?

I am, and have been since I was a young woman, a great W.I. fan. Every time I came back home, I would go to the monthly meetings. Since being back permanently I go all the time.

 

Any lady who doesn't go , doesn't know what they are missing.

 

It certainly isn't just 'Jam and Jeruselem'. Of course Home Economics are there if you are interested. So are all kinds of crafts. Anything that is of interest to you, the W.I. will have a tutor for it somewhere.

 

Denman College, is run by the W.I. Courses there are wide and varied. Some of the subjects are Astrollogy, graphology, painting, stone carving, bridge, organic gardening, silversmithing, languages, Chinese brushwork, history, complimentary therapies, Mah Jong, computing, archiology, stickmaking, and many more. Add all these to the cookery, music, speech training, and fun times such as Burns Night etc, and you will see that we are not an organisation in our dotage.

 

We discuss, and lobby, on subjects like testicular cancer, pesticides, G.M. foods, pornography, and many other subjects of great importance.

 

Plus some of the organisation make callenders!!!!!

 

The callender girls have done more to dispel the old fashioned image, than anything else I know. Three cheers for them, I say!

 

At one of our meetings, we had Keith Belmont from Hexham. He is a Feng Shui expert. He is very good, but it all seems so complicated. I'm a complulsive 'dabbler', and I've had a go at Feng Shui. In fact I've had a few go's. I've also got enough books on the subject to fill a bookcase, and I still can't seem to figure out how the 'square' works. One thing I've managed to grasp though. Keep the toilet lid down and all the bathroom plugs in. This is to stop your wealth going down the drain.

 

Now I can't guarantee that you will become wealthy, but at least you won't become poorer quicker!

 

We have a Farmers Market in Hexham, about once a month.

 

Trevor and I have been, and it's very good. We love cheese, and there's a lovely stall that sells all kinds of it. Goat and ewes' cheese was available, (it's delicious), and an absolutely gorgeous nettle cheese that I can definately recommend. Well worth the trip just for that alone.

 

There was a stall selling Boar meat. They seemingly raise there own Boars, then turn the meat into sausages, burgers, and joints. I couldn't persuade Trevor to try any, but I reckon that if you eat meat, then you should be willing to try every kind. YUK!!!!

 

Give me fruit and veggies any day.

 

My stomach heaves when I go to places like the Big Market in Newcastle and I can smell the meat. When I cook meat for His Lordship, it has to be easily tipped out of it's wrapper and into a tin, so that I can hold my breath till the whole thing goes into the oven.

 

Fish is another iffy thing for me. (Thank heavens we're not all alike). I could no more eat a fish with it's head on, than fly, --When I eat it at all. I would be certain that that glazed eye was watching every bite I took, and it was accusing me personally of catching and cooking it.

 

As for things like winkles-----they look like-----I'll leave that to you imagination, but I usually burn the contents of my paper handkies!! The very thought makes me shudder!!!!!!!!!

 

Glastonbury

Once again the occupants of Hardcastle Mansion have been on holiday.
It's lovely to go away, but isn't it nice to be back home?
We've been to Glastonbury again---- and no, it wasn't for the festival! I
like my creature comforts far too much to want to loll around knee deep in
clarts.

We go to a lovely farm complex about a mile out of the town, where all our
wants are catered for.
The proprietors are very nice people who do their best to make sure you are
comfortable and FED!!!
In fact if we had stayed there much longer, neither of us would have been
able to bend.

I had hoped that by the time we came back, we would have drinkable
water---but no, we still have to use the bottled stuff.
It seems that the new plant that was just put in earlier this year, has
problems, and for safety's sake all water for drinking and cooking has to be
boiled.
It's no great hardship to do this, it's the thought that perhaps our back
lonnen will be pulled to bits even more. As it is it's like a bomb site. We
still cart the bins down to the first house on our terrace, in case the
weight of the bin waggon wrecks the road and the ditch even further.
Heaven help us in the winter if nothing is done to repair it, the clarts are
bad enough now!

Our W.I. was on the 3rd of October. What a grand night we had.
Mr Hemstock was the speaker and he took a day off work to gather a hedgerow
bounty, and then to cook it for us.
Within the space of an hour he made Mushroom soup, Nettle soup, Mushroom
omelette, Tagliatelle with a cream and mushroom sauce, Rose hip tarts with an
elderflower wine sauce, pastilles made from Hawthorn berries, (cataws, to you
and me), and to finish off, a drink made from Elderberries. (Elderberry Rob
that my Grandad gave me in the winter for vitamin C)

If you have never had Nettle soup, then I would advise you to make it. It is
absolutely beautiful. Next on my list for "must do" is the Rose hip Tarts and
the Hawthorn pastilles. They are fantastic!
Best of all, the main ingredients are there for the picking.
If anyone would like the recipe, just let me know and I'll give you a copy.
On the topic of recipes, I have made a Bramble Brandy which is unsurpassed as
an accompaniment to either ice cream or milk pudding!
Mind you, I advise using the cheaper stuff. I used the best brandy because I
don't drink the stuff and didn't know any different.
Take my word, there was hell to pay after that I can assure you!!!!!

 

Not quite over the hill

In April we organised a class reunion for the girls we went to school with. We will all be 60 in this school year! I managed to contact all but one, so if anyone knows the whereabouts of Moira Bowes, I would be most grateful.

There were 27 ladies who were able to come, and it was wonderful to see everyone again. Most people hadn't changed, and it was great to see friendships re- established.

We arrived for lunch at 12, which then went on to tea at 4, for the die-hards who didn't want the day to end

The noise and the shrieks of laughter over old photos was tremendous. Everyone voted it such a success that they want another one when we're 65.

 

I must tell you about this daft man of mine.

We were in Morrisons getting our groceries, and I was in a world of my own, when I heard him call my name.

When I turned, I nearly had a fit. Here's he is, 6'4" tall, with a deadpan face, dark glasses, with a colander on his head, and a fish slice in his hand, standing in a swordsmans pose, saying "On guard".

 

I fled. I didn't own him at all!!!!

 

I've also started making wine again, and trying to get the corks into the bottles is just awful.

So I must get a proper corker. I used to make wine years ago. The first time was at Westlands when demi- johns weren't on the go.

The wine had to be made in earthenware mixing bowls, or bread mugs. As you can imagine, the whole house stunk like a brewery.

 

The next time was at Longbyre.

I had set some beetroot wine down, and for the first few days it was suggested that the air-locks were left out of the demi-johns (for obvious reasons), and cotton wool was put into the top to keep the dust out.

Now not being daft, I put the bottles on trays--just in case there was a little drop that might overflow.

Then I went to bed.

BAD MOVE!

I should have stayed up all night, or put the whole lot outside.

When I got up next morning, you would have thought that there had been a massacre in the dining room.

The pressure must have been so great that it blew both cotton wool bungs out of the bottles and plastered them to the ceiling!

A gallon of beetroot juice had shot out over the ceiling, walls, furniture and carpets.

Now anyone who knows anything at all about beetroot, knows that once the stain is in, it's the devils own job to get it out.

 

My language was choice. I salvaged only about a gallon. I had to re-decorate, and to make matters worse, I didn't enjoy the blasted stuff when it was time to drink it!!!!

 

I know it sounds a bit like ‘The Good Life', but pea pod wine is potent, and as for a staircase and strawberry wine drunk on a hot day------- well let's say, I've not drunk strawberry wine since

 

Reflections

I was looking back over some of the things that I have written and I thought about the things that I didn't like.  As recall isn't instant with me, (I'm getting old and doddery!!!) here are some that come to mind easily.

Friday nights.     

This was the bath time routine....with extras.  Not only was my long hair (I could sit on it) washed, it was also wrung out just like wringing a cloth.

Then came the nit comb.

Mary Ann was so heavy handed with the thing; I was convinced that she used to knock fence posts in before I was born. I must have been the only child in the area with a serrated forehead.

THEN.. Horror of horrors out came the bottle of Syrup of Figs. UGH!! I still shudder at the thought.

Shouts of ‘I've been. I've been.' had no effect whatsoever. It had to go down.

Talk about inner cleanliness. YUK.

 

I never liked the meat in pies. (Still don't!) I love the pastry, especially the hot water kind, but the dog, or cat, or the birds can have the meat.

Come to think of it, I love anybodies pastry. It's always better than mine!!

 

I never liked practising the piano either. My lessons consisted of half an hours playing, and half an hour’s theory. I was ever so glad when my teacher told Mam not to send me any more.

There is always music in our home, and I love to sing, but I still can n't play piano.

 

A real pet hate--next to the liberty bodice--was the gymslip.

This, for the un-initiated, was a garment that came in the fantastic shades of navy blue, bottle green, or chocolate brown.

It was designed to go over a shirt or blouse. This wonderful, stylish addition to any girl’s wardrobe was sleeveless, with a square necked yoke, from which hung the rest of the fabric, which was PLEATED in two pressed pleats.

 

This gorgeous piece of attire was then tied around the waist by a KNITTED belt.

Both the front and the back were the same. Only the tag told you which were which.

Now on a tall willowy girl, it didn't look too bad. BUT, I'm 4 foot 11 inches in height. Not the tallest person you've ever seen, and as a youngster always busty, (nothing changes) so you can just imagine how I looked.

Those damn pleats would never lie flat!

 

Of course, I have to mention school dinners.

Now most of the time they weren't too bad. Only one choice, which is fine, and usually Luke warm, which is ok by me as I can n't eat anything piping hot. However, when it came to having CHOPPED DARK GREEN CABBAGE, my stomach turns just thinking about it.

If it had been just a tiny bit, perhaps I might have managed, but there always seemed to be a huge, mountainous pile.

Perhaps that's why I'm still small, I did n't eat my greens!

 

Can you remember ‘Nitty Nora' the nit nurse, and the shame of anyone who had to stand beside her?

 

Come to think of it, school had various; peculiar smells in my early school days.

There was the smell of chalk, ---- and the horrible screech it made on the blackboard,---- the carbolic soap in the cloakroom, Suleo on the hair for the nits, and Camphorated oil--or Vick— rubbed on chest and back if you had a cold.

 

Finally, what about the school dentist?   

That man put abject terror into every child in the school when his caravan came into the yard.

The amount of people my age that have had to conquer their fear in order to have good teeth must run into thousands.

 

Thank goodness, in these respects, things have improved.

 

Dippy pets

Over the years I've had a few. Most of them dippy*, so they fit in well with the household.

 

I must say before I start, that although I love animals, I don't think of them as humans with a fur coat on. They are much loved and respected, but animals just the same.     

 

There have been cats in my home for as long as I can remember.

One used to lie dressed up in my dolls clothes, and I would wheel him around in the pram.

Another liked to lie around your neck, which was wonderful in the winter, but a bit bad to bide* when the summer came.

That one also liked to lie in the bathroom basin, and if you were having a bath, it used to play with the water, or better still try to get in with you.

 

After those two cats, Mary Ann in her wisdom bought me a budgie for my 16th birthday.

Now as I don't like to see birds in cages, that present went down like a lead balloon I can tell you.

However Mam and Jackie, the budgie hit it off big time. She talked to the bird, and it talked back. For the life of me, I couldn't understand a word of it, but seemingly it said nursery rhymes and all kinds of things.

A lovely mesh door was fitted to the back door, so that we could have fresh air, and the bird could fly about.

 

Now as ‘sod's law' often reigns supreme in our house, guess who was at home, by herself, when the blasted thing decided to up and die!

Glory be! I ran the length and breadth of Haltwhistle to find another bird, or cat, or dog, but nothing!  

Weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth, was heard throughout Northumberland.

 

Much to my horror, a few weeks later, I was greeted with,” I’ve just ordered a Mynah Bird chick".

 

When Barney the bird arrived, quite honestly, I've never seen an uglier little chick. Plus he couldn't feed himself, so guess who got the job? Uhuh, muggings* here!

Barney grew into a handsome bird, and this time everyone could hear what he said.

These birds are great mimics, and he sounded exactly like Mam.

His great favourites were, a wolf whistle then Oh boy, what a smasher.

Howdy*, give us yer crack*.

 

There were lots of other things, but the one that foxed people was, every time the doorbell went, he would shout ‘come in', just like Mam.

Many times visitors would shout through the letterbox,' I can't come in, the door's locked Mary'.

 

One thing was certain; Barney wasn't allowed out to fly around.  They need soft food with lots of fruit. The result of this is like walking under a seagull, so he was definitely confined to quarters.

 

I've had two tame Jackdaws at different times.  They flew around outside, but roosted in the house at night.

One used to pull the clothes pegs out of the washing as I hung it on the line outside. He used to like going for walks as well. When he got tired of walking, he would either sit on my shoulder, or on the pram handle.

He also liked being in the bathroom with me, but it's very disconcerting having those beady eyes watching you as you bathe.

 

The other Jack used to terrorise one of the dogs. It never bothered the cats, just this one dog.

 

There have been Tortoises that laid eggs and wouldn't hibernate, so they lived on the hearth, and got washed each morning when I did the fires.

 

The rabbit that liked to lie on the settee, but used to do unspeakable things to the grey Persian cat.

Then when it couldn't get its wicked way, would eat the wallpaper.

 

This cat’s favourite sleeping place was on top of the TV. It's very

difficult trying to watch a thriller when there's a grey bushy tail moving back and forth across the screen!

 

Sandy a beautiful ginger and white tom who arrived in a cupboard, when I lived in Wiltshire.   For about a month, all he ever did was eat, sleep, and grow.

Sandy and Charlie, the runt, were firm friends. It was lovely to watch them playing, and then fall asleep in a heap.

 

Six Aylesbury ducklings were raised in the bathroom for about a month.

Swimming lessons were twice a day!

 

There were the three Saanen goats, and a British Alpine. Marie was doing a project at school, so the goats and Marie were transported to school on a Sunday night, and brought back on a Friday. The project had something to do with the digestive system.  Measured food was put in at the end with teeth, and exited into a catching bag strapped to the smelly end. I think it all went through the centrifuge, but goodness knows what she did next.

 

As for dogs, there have been two Samoyeds. Beautiful gentle

creatures. The canine equivalent of the ‘dumb blonde'.   All the rest were rescue dogs.Donna, a Munsterlander, Jonty, a rough haired collie, Panda, a black and white Mutt. He was vegetarian like me. I tried alsorts for him, but he would hunger rather than have meat.  Mind you, sit down with a salad sandwich, and he gave out enough drool for you to bath in.

 

Putsil was a toy Poodle who loved cowpats.  She would come back from walks with green feet and a green muzzle.  She thought the oldest pats were obviously the best because those were the ones she made a beeline for.  That dog had disgusting tastes!

 

There was Charlie who was the runt of a litter, and I carried her around in my pinny pocket for quite a while.

 

Then there was Fred. A beautiful rough haired collie, who wandered into my garden one day.

After asking the police each day for a fortnight, if anyone had lost a dog, I was told to get a licence if I thought that much of him.

 

Fred was only about six, but because of the way he was housed and fed, he was crippled with arthritis. In the winter Fred went for his walks with gaily-coloured leg warmers and a vest on, to try to keep him warm.

When we returned home, there was always a hot water bottle in his bed to ease the pains.

I always felt safe with Fred. He had the deepest bark I've ever heard, and if we should meet someone while out for a walk, he was always in by my side, ready to be my champion.

 

When Trevor and I married, I had a Samoyed, and Trevor had a Labrador. Now Sandy, the Lab, had just about been killed with kindness. Trevor would buy it cream cakes and trifles. Every time the dog went for a pee, he got a biscuit.

 I swear, if that dog had had no teeth, Trevor would have shoved the food up it's rear end!

 

I insisted that Sandy was fed at the same time as Chrissie, and the cats, all four of them.

Poor Sandy. For a month he walked around with the ears down, obviously thinking that his throat had been cut, and that I was the villain who had caused it.

 

After the dog lost a stone in weight, he had a new lease of life. It was wonderful to see us all going for walks. Trevor, two dogs, four cats and me.

 

We're down to one cat now. That's Katy, who is the ripe old age of twenty in April.

 

She still catches mice, mostly alive, and then lets them go in the house.

After that she just doesn't want to know.

 

The last time she did this, it was a beautiful little shrew, with huge

luminous black eyes.

Of course the shrew was much quicker than me and ran in amongst some books.  

(We're known to have a few!

I tried to catch it by the tail, but it certainly wasn't having any of that!

I didn't want to use a trap, so advice was sort.

 

Now four doors away from us lives Leslie, a ‘leg puller' beyond compare, and considering that desperation calls for some very strange actions, I heeded his ‘non killing, foolproof, shrew catching plan'.

 

I required; - an 18-inch square of cardboard, enough sticky, very sweet, Golden syrup, and an obliging shrew.

 

The idea is that the syrup is thickly smeared over the cardboard, which is then left where the shrew can walk over it. The invader then claggs* to it, and is unable to move--the shrew being so small and light.

The caught animal is then taken outside, into the garden, and gently washed from the cardboard.

 

I didn't catch the shrew, but it must have vacated the premises, because I haven't seen it since I put the cardboard down!

 

I know! I know! I get drafted with age!

 

New words for you; -

Bide- put up with, or wait. Depending on how it is used.

Dippy- silly, soft in the head.

Howay- come on, or ‘I don't believe it'. Again it's the context in which it is used.

Muggins- stupid

Crack-conversation, chat.

Clagg/claggy- extremely sticky.

 

 Changes

Since I last blathered to you, we've done a couple of changes to Hardcastle Mansion.

It's been mainly out the back.

As Daniel has got older, he obviously wants to play outside, so a safe area had to be created. The front garden was out of the question for a few reasons.

First, I like my plants, then there's not enough room for plants and

small boy, anyway, the two don't mix for a while yet, also I have thorny rose trees, and the Euphorbias need to be handled with care---and gloves.

So the back came in for a make over.

Bob, from next door helped Trevor and between them flags have been

laid, a perimeter fence about 4ft high erected, a folding double gate, and a single one fixed on, the steps altered, and a fence fixed from the shed along the top of the cundy that runs down the back of the house, and across the steps.

 

It's brilliant!

 

Sand is put into a box, water into the baby bath, and out goes the little tornado, plus his toys, all the brushes, the dustpan, the fire shovel, thesweeping brush, and the yard brush.

 

He's happy. I'm happy. As for the mess, who cares! It sharp cleans up.

 

The other is upstairs, but still concerns Daniel.

 

Melanie is going to put him into a bed before the new baby arrives, so, what goes on at Haltwhistle has to be mirrored here as well. That means that now

I have a cot, a door gate, and soon a bed in what was set up as a treatment room for Reiki. The treatment bed, my cerificates, and what Trevor calls my ‘weirdy' paraphanalia is now in the room that I use for my handicrafts and my computer.

There's only one slight snag, I cann't find a ‘put' for a squishy bluechair.

Ah well! Back to the drawing board!

 

There was a terrible accident by Lambley Chapel the other week. It involved motor bikes. One fatality, and two seriously injured.

I don't know what happened, but it is a tragedy.

So many people use this road like a race track, and I don't just mean bikers.

It's horrendous. Sensible drivers slow down at the 30mph signs on the road,

(which, incidentaly, cost the Parish Council a great deal of money), but others must have vehicles that are made to fall to bits if they go at 30.

When I was Parish Clerk, I wrote to the various authorities begging for a speed camera. I offered to to dig up my shrubs so that one could be put in my garden, but to no avail.

The offer still stands. I just wish someone would take me up on it.

 

We've had a great time W.I wise these last two months.

Carol Grieves did an evening of flower demonstrating in May.

After Carol finished, we had a go--with varying degrees of expertise.

However the finished results looked so lovely that Megan took photos. It's just a pity that we couldn't capture the perfume. It was a sheer delight!

Next came a coffee morning at Shirley's. It was on Polling Day, but despite that, the rain and the hailstones, a healthy total of £70 was taken, which was excellent.

Lastly, the meeting this month was a social evening at the Cumberland Hotel in Alston with Nenthead and West Allen..

We had a whale of a time. Supper was a nice buffet, with copious amounts of tea and coffee.

We had daft games, charades and quizes, a bran tub, and even an ankle competition.

The young barman judged it, and I've never seen anyone exit a room as fast! He will retell that evening--with embellishments, no doubt--many times over his life, I bet!

In fact the evening was such a success, that we will most probably do it again! I hope!

 

Holidays.

I've just come back from a weeks holiday with Marie at Clacton. We had a whale of a time. All we intended to do was walk, read, eat and sleep.

This was most definitely accomplished.

The only things that were extra was that Marie ran at about 7.30am most mornings, ---the mad fool---, we went to Beth Chatto's garden--absolutely fantastic--, to see the National Collection of Bourbon roses, and to the theatre to hear Vivaldi by candlelight, once again absolutely fantastic!

 

Where we stayed, the food was vegetarian, and it was heavenly to smell the bread cooking in time for breakfast. Bliss!!

 

The primary school at Herdley Bank had a fete on the 7th July. I wasn't there, as I was at South Shields with the Senior Citizens.

From what I have been told, it was a great day. There was a Fancy Dress Competition, face painting, nice things to eat, and plenty to do.

The money raised was 300.00.

Very well done!

 

I take Daniel to the Under Five's at Herdley Bank. It is a first class little play school.

There are lots of activities that the children are encouraged to do, it's

wonderful to see them icing buns! Theres as much icing on little faces as there is on the buns.

There are toys, games, musical instruments, paints, sand, and much, much more.

 

As you probably read in the Courant, Miss Halbut opened the play school officially on the 22nd of June.

We were blessed with a fine day and everyone enjoyed themselves.

 

We had Lillian Gallen at our W.I. this month. She was showing us how to make roses and other cake decorations with a paste made from Marshmallows and chocolate.

For those of you who do not know this lady, you have missed a treat! She is a gifted cook, is an expert at sugar craft, has a varied life, and is a dab hand at making people laugh.

 

Our ‘goes' at making ‘things' out of the paste ranged from very good to ‘oh my giddy Aunt, what is that' type of heap.

 

The best part about it was--- the mistakes were all eaten!

 

Can I ask again for contributions to a Haltwhistlian Dictionary.

I have quite a few, and I've been given more, but I could do with help.

 

Please wrack your brains. Think of the words your Grandparents used, and write them down. The older the better.

If you leave your list at Truly Scrumptious, I will pick them up from there while I'm ‘supping' coffee and ‘blathering'.

 

This little quote was sent to me from a lady in Canada that I have never met.

I think it's spot on, what do you think

 

"What you do today is important because you are exchanging a day of your life for it."

 

She's at it again

Alex was christened on December 23rd. It was really lovely. The chapel was decorated for Christmas, and the Sunday School children did the Nativity. Daniel wanted to be part of it of course, so he went and sat with the angels. I don't think Alex was over impressed with the water, but a dummy and a cuddle improved the mood.

 

In the spring of last year I sent to the Shetland Isles for a shawl pattern and 1ply wool. Now I can manage plain, purl, and a bit cable, but that's your lot. However a young lady in the village knitted the shawl for me and without doubt, it is a work of art. When it's held up, it just looks like a cobweb, I have never seen a shawl as beautiful. It will definitely go into the ‘heirloom' box.

 

Christmas Day was spent at Melanie and Ivans'. It was great. I was chased out of the kitchen thrice, so I didn't volunteer again! Santa, of course, had arrived with a vengeance, so walking around was hazardous to say the least. Daniel was 2 on the 7th January, and he was convinced that Santa had been to his house again. Nothing would change that point of view either.

 

He had a little party at play school. The children iced biscuits, and a cake--- and then we all stuffed ourselves silly. There were Dolly Mixture sweets for decoration and it was impossible to see space on either the biscuits or the cake. I didn't bother with lunch that day!!!

 

I must tell you about Saturday night. (Feb 2nd) Melanie, Marie, Natasha, three other ladies and myself went to the Theatre Royal for a participation evening to the Sound of Music. If you ever get the chance to go to an evening such as this, do go. Leave your dignity behind, and join in. Melanie went as a nun, Marie and Natasha were — girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes, and I was Fraulein Schneider.

 

Would you believe we went for a meal like that? Well, yes, you would believe it if you knew us. It was a hilarious evening. We had double-takes, as cars passed us. People genuflecting, some very peculiar comments, and lots of laughter.

 

I had coffee with my friend Angela last Friday. We were discussing the start of our coffee morning year. We are both on the Senior Citizens committee which raises money to take 200 senior citizens to Gilsland Spa Hotel for lunch, tea, and day long entertainment. And on the 1st Saturday in July there are three bus loads off to the coast for the day.

 

That takes three coffee mornings plus other fund raising throughout the year. Angela is on the League of Friends for the hospital, and her church committee. I am President of the W.I. in my village and we have three coffee mornings during the year.

 

It seems as if we are always baking -- and cadging-- for these events. But the one that is nearest to my heart is Chin-Up. This is a charity that is trying to raise 2 million pounds to build and run an independent childrens hospice in the North-East. We both work at a coffee morning for that, and then I fund raise by speaking to local groups on behalf of the charity.

 

2 million takes such a lot of making, and of course, each year the costs get higher. What we need is someone who had lots of money and who (a) has a wish to see children and their families looked after like we were, or (b) someone who would like to be on the honours list. I would personally kiss the feet of either person, because it takes all types of souls to get things going.

 

At this point I must say that Haltwhistle is the kindest and most open handed place in England as far as giving is concerned. Coffee mornings are a social event. If there are two on, everyone goes to two. Nat King Coles song ‘Dear Hearts and Gentle People' fits the vast majority of folk who live in this area, and at the risk of being ‘soppy' I wouldn't want to live elsewhere.

 

Proper mix up

Was talking to a friend the other day, and we were discussing the things that we didn't do very often now. Baking was one of the things mentioned.

 

Now I love baking, and I'll turn my hand to most things with reasonable success, but my pastry is renowned throughout the area. It is DIABOLICAL!!!

 

I've tried everything. Iced water, very little handling, packeted stuff, frozen stuff, I even bought a food processor.

All to no avail. Nothing works. It's still horrible.

 

Once it's cold, it's like a secret recipe for concrete!

 

It's definitely a conversation stopper at the dinner table.

 

When I was younger, one of my main friends was Sheila (Thompson) Ferrol, who was 16 months older than me.

Looking back, we must have made a comical picture. Sheila was tall and thin, and I was short and dumpy.

(No changes there then, huh!)

Anyway, one evening we decided to make a cake, ----Sheila knew how----,for my Mam to come in to.

Out came the ingredients, and a sandwich cake was duly mixed. The only thing was, once we had it mixed, neither of us knew what to do with it!!!

Here was this bowlful of mixture lying looking at us, and what to do with it?

The solution was simple--- we would eat it!!!

 

Now scraping the bowl out is a lovely treat, but eating a bowlful is an entirely different thing all together.

 

Boy, was I sick.

 

Sheila went home that night, which was maybe a good job. UGH!

I've never licked a spoon since!

 

Another time we made Welsh Rarebit for supper that turned into a ball and we didn't know whether to eat it or bounce it.

I've not made that since either!

 

Moving on from me, I come to my children.

 

When I was heavily pregnant with Melanie, Robin and Marie decided to make Brian and I breakfast in bed.

Up came this tray with a soup bowl piled high with All Bran, with about a 1lb of sugar on it, and moistened with about 3 tablespoons of milk. That was mine. Brian's was 6 slices of toasted brown bread, spread with MARGARINE, and to wash it down was tea which, ‘ we didn't have to boil the kettle Mam, because there was some in the teapot. So we added some hot water to it from the tap'.

Two eager children sat on the bottom of the bed and watched as we tried manfully to smile as we struggled to get it down.

It was awful.

 

As they all got older, they would cook if they got bored. Most of which was very nice.

 

Melanie's was a little different. As a tot she would make ‘cakes'. This consisted of flour and water, which may, or then, may not, turn into jam tarts.

These delectable, grey, brick hard, offerings were then offered to us all.

Robin, to his eternal credit, would eat any, and all the mistakes or experiments. He would just sigh and say, ‘Make lots of coffee will you please Mam'. And he would plough his way through whatever it was that was in front of him, as this blonde, blue eyed tot stood watching his every mouthful

 

I reckon I owe him big time for that!!!!!. And I still cannot make pastry!

 

Branch Lines

Do you ever leave things so long that you forget to get back to them.

Well, this is one of those things.

It's not that I don't like to write. It's not even that I was forced into doing it.  My excuse, and it's true, is that there has been so much going on  that I'm involved in, that writing, I'm afraid, has had the go by.

 

However, conscience, and a gentle push from John Watson has got me back to the computer once more.

 

What shall we talk about? The weather?  

Spring is definitely springing here at Hardcastle Mansions. The garden looks lovely, and our resident lodgers, the house sparrows, have built their nest in the rose tree by our bedroom window.

I love to sit outside, with the obligatory cuppa, and watch them. Mind you, I don't love them quite so much when the days are long, and they start to welcome the morning at 4 o'clock!

The other morning the choir included the cuckoo. This morning it was wood pigeons.

I wish that their internal clocks would switch on somewhere around 7 (am). That's just about right.

 

With the spring and all its glories, comes the dreaded cleaning.

There was a time when I would change things around at the drop of a hat-now it's a chore.

 

Still, for a while if anyone comes for a coffee and a natter, we will sit in the kitchen and I'll open all the cupboard doors. You see I washed them all out last week and everything is clean, neat, and tidy.

It won't last. Perhaps I should take photos just to prove that it's been done.

 

When I was much younger, Grandads youngest sister, Aunt Ettie, used to help out at cleaning time.  Frequently it would end up with Mam playing the piano and all of us singing. This in the midst of buckets, mops, and other assorted paraphernalia.

 

Don't say it! I know! We were all barking mad!

 

Nothing much changes in that respect then huh?

 

I was talking with the 'son and heir' today. Robin was telling me that these last three days the temperature in Kuwait has risen from 25 degrees to 40 degrees, and it isn't even summer yet.

Glory be! I'd just be a blob of grease on the ground. Fancy having to work in that.

 

Years ago I used to be a proper sun worshiper, and just could n't understand why Mam used to seek the shade. Well now that I have reached a 'certain age' and my internal central heating has gone to pot, I can sympathise with the 'shade lovers'.  

I no longer strip off and fry.

Mind you, the body doesn't look as good these days, so a cover up is definitely necessary!!!!!!!!!!!

 

Maureen's Computer

Aren't computers wonderful things?
Not that I claim to be good with them. I 'kind of muddle along'.
Most of the time I eventually get there, But on occasions, (getting fewer I have to say) my work disappears into the wide blue yonder.

Nothing much changes though really. Recently I was bought a new three in one copier, scanner, and printer. This had 'made for idiots' picture instructions, " foolproof", I hear you say!
Hmm.
The first thing that happened was an instruction to disable any spy ware/firewall that might be installed.
Yes, you've got it. I couldn't find out how to do it!
Emergency action had to be taken! I asked Tracey, from down the lane to come and sort it.
Bless her, she arrived and within a short while she had done everything and I'm now the proud owner of a gizmo that works perfectly.

I do love getting e-mails though. I've had them from Canada, Australia, America and New Zealand.
Some are from people I know, or knew of, some from those who are trying to find relations and friends, others have read my scribbles and have been kind enough to comment on them.

I arranged to pick up a lady from California who was walking Hadrian's Wall.
We had coffee and a short tour of the area by car and foot and she liked the place so much that she is going to come back for a longer stay. Her comments were;-"I would love to come and live here, but at my age I think I'm too old to do it."
That's such a shame as she is so nice, I'm sure she would be an asset to the community.

I must say that getting on the internet here is often a problem as we don't have Broadband. There are days when all you get on the screen is 'This page cannot be displayed'.
It is so annoying that I could quite cheerfully throw the thing out of the window.

As you must have gathered, I am not the most patient of people when it comes to technology. In fact, when God was giving out patience, I was hiding!

I will fiddle all day making cards, dream catchers, anything like that, but washers, Hoovers, cars etc, are machines and should work.

Trevor says that there is absolutely no hope for me!!!!!

 

Strange words

As you have noticed, I use a few different words, eg, claggy and dippy etc.

I personally feel that it's a shame to let these old words disappear through

lack of use.

Perhaps it's possible to trace some of the words back to Saxon or Viking

times. I'm no expert on language, so it's only a guess, but when you think

that some of these valleys were the "back of beyond" until comparatively

recently then maybe it's not such a far fetched idea after all.

 

My Grandad lived with us and some of his words were;-

GULLEY--------bread knife

SARK-----------vest

WILLEY--------nightie

BOOLIES------china

BRAAT----------a sacking apron which was worn to black lead the range

ROWK-----------mist or fog

GOWK----------an apple core or someone who is silly or foolish

STOOR----------a dusty atmosphere

BOKE------------a perch in a hen cree

COWP-----------spill

STIFE------------blue haze from hot fat

CLOSET---------an outside flush toilet

Many of these words are still to be heard, as are DUNCH--to collide, and

NETTY--now means any toilet, but used to mean an outside bucket one.

If there was a row of these toilets, they were often referred to as the

MIDDENS

 

If anyone has more of these local words, please contact me and we'll add them to the list.

 

Grandad used to make his own words up to songs and hymns as well.

I can remember being in the Chapel with Mam and Dad, not being able to read

the hymn book,but singing parrot fashion. I must have been about four or

five.( I seemingly had the reputation for singing long after everyone else

had shut up. According to my husband --nothing changes!)

 

Ah well, back to the story of Grandad home made songs.

 

Now then, there is an old fashioned hymn that goes;-

Hold the fort for I am coming

Jesus signals still

Raise the answer back to heaven

By his grace I will

 

I sang Granada's version;-

Hold the fort for I am coming

Jesus says he'll swim

Up to the neck in sago pudding

By his grace he'll win

 

I wondered why everyone was laughing!!!!!!

 

Guess who got a flea in her ear when we got home!!