Hi, and welcome to the latest edition of my website. This part is dedicated to my most recent three books. The first one being,
`Ive Gotta Little Black Book With Me Poems In`. It consists of quite a lot of my poems as well as a few anecdotes relating to some real life experiences of mine. I have also added several poems that were written by some very dear friends of mine, some of which I have known for over forty years (Ooh, now that makes me feel old) I shall be adding lots of things relating to this book i.e. photos, sketches and a few snippets of my writing, to give you a little taster of the flavour of its ingredients. I shall continue to add more and more over the coming weeks. I really do hope you enjoy this.
The second book is the first of my works of fiction titled, `In The Hollow of the White Hazel`. A tale of a cat named Harry, who ends up 300 miles from home, and his heartbroken human, Sharon, who has no idea where he could be and wonders if she will ever see him again.
And last but not least, The Address Book with Password-Password Hint, section and Christmas Card List etc.

R

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Reaching the grand `old age` of 65.

 

Being born:

Entering this world near the end of the 1950’s was fortunate for me, in so much as it was a good time for a working class lad, or lass, to begin its journey. 

I know, times were hard, but they were nowhere near as hard as they were 10 or so years earlier. Living in my little house in the middle of our street (sounds a bit like a song by the popular 1980’s band, Madness) was the best a kid like me could ever wish for. I have SO many fond memories of growing up there. Lots of extended family members lived down my road, and several more lived in and around the adjacent streets, plus the added bonus of my many, many great neighbours. And, going to my primary school simply consisted of a short walk to Melcome School in the Fulham Palace Road. Then, as the 1960’s fast came to an end, my secondary school was a two bus journey to Elliott, at Putney Heath.

 

The Music:

The 1960’s were, how shall I put it, Fab. But not just fab because I lived at the time the Beatles were around, but also because there was an abundance of great music. Songs by The Kinks, Keith West, Peter Green, Danny Kirwan and Fleetwood Mac, Roy Wood, The Scaffold, Gerry Marsden, ‘Dave Dee Dozy Beaky Mick and Titch’, The Hollies, The Searchers, Tom Jones, Englebert Humperdinck, Cliff Richard and the Shadows, Roy Orbison, The Shadows, The Rolling Stones, Mary Hopkin, The Monkeys, Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, Cilla Black, Noel Harrison, The Dave Clarke Five and lots more.

 

The 1970’s music:

There were so many great bands and singers in the 70’s too. 

 

Nostalgic Music:

The Mills Brothers, The Inkspots, Al Bowly, Al Jolson.

 

Then there were the films:

Alfie, The Italian Job, The Harry Palmer films, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, A Taste of Honey, The three Beatles Films, A Hard Day's Night, Help and Yellow Submarine. There is a scene in Hard Days Night where the Fab Four run down a fire escape at the back of a large building. That building is The Hammersmith Odeon, where I went to, what was known back then as Saturday Morning Pictures. Then there was Ring of Bright Water, The Jungle Book, Whistle Down the Wind, The Family Way, Kes, The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner, The Leather Boys, The James Bond films with Sean Connery, Oh What a Lovely War, Up the Junction, To Sir, With Love, Oliver, Mary Poppins, not forgetting, The Sound of Music. Phew.

 

Then there were the childrens tv shows:

Muffin the Mule, Andy Pandy, Bill and Ben, Fireball XL5, Pinky and Perky, Captain Scarlett, Stingray, Thunderbirds, Bagpuss, Camberwick Green, Chigley, Trumpton, Play School, Play Away, Captain Pugwash.

 

Then there were the tv shows with their memorable theme tunes:

The Prisoner, Danger Man, Z Cars, Dixon of Dock Green, The Saint, Department S, The Avengers, The Protectors, Randall and Hopkirk, The Persuaders, The Sweeney (opening AND closing credits), Minder (write the theme tune, sing the theme tune) 

 

Starting work:

I failed the aptitude test required to become an apprentice telephone engineer. I didn’t study for any science based exams, namely Physics. So I didn’t even get to the ‘interview’ stage. However, I did get to start my apprenticeship as a gas fitter for NTGB. I was never really happy with that job. I enjoyed the apprenticeship. More often than not, when working alongside the younger gas fitters, we’d end up going to the pub at about one or two o’clock. Sinking a couple of light ales, we would play pool while listening to some of the best 1970’s music on the jukebox. Music from the likes of Thin Lizzy, Led Zeppelin, Gerry Rafferty, Rod Stewart, Elton John, Slade, 10cc, Wings, Al Stewart, Supertramp and last but not least, Status Quo. Most days we would have finished for the day by then so shortly after last orders were called, it was off home I’d go, back home to my parents house.

 But not long after my apprenticeship ended I felt there was something missing as I soon realised I never really liked to work alone, on my own. During my four years of training I remember working with some really ancient, antiquated, boring old farts that liked to talk about the war and how four years was too short a time period for an aprenticeship as in ‘their day‘ it took seven years of training. It‘s funny how you change with age as, now I am a boring old fart (to some) I see things more akin to their perspective instead of the world once seen through my whippersnapper, ignorant, selfish young eyes.

In hindsight, I’d give anything to sit and chat with them these days. I’d buy them drinks all night long for the privilege, Cyril Smith in particular. When working with Cyril, at the age of about 17/18, we would work all day long, at a snail’s pace. Then, sitting in his little two tone grey minivan, he would come to the end of  another of his war stories and, while finishing off the last of his pint, of milk,  looking at his watch as the little hand closed in on the five and the big hand reached ten to, he’d give me a wink and say, go on lad, you can shoot off home now. Like he was doing me a great favour by letting me go early. If only he knew.

 

Retirement:

I also remember, when I was 16, 17 and 18 years old, seeing several of them over time, as they’d reached the age of 65 (retirement age until recently) They all had that same look as they accepted a ‘handshake and a clock’ from the manager of the depot. They looked lost, like they’d just woken up from a century of being in a coma. With tears welling up in their eyes, they accepted their retirement with a short speech as the reality of it began to set in and the rest of us set off to do our graft for the day.

Men like Charlie Ridge (great snooker player, my ol dad beat him once, just once mind), Billy Williams (his twin brother married a German girl and he never spoke to him again after that), Cyril Smith (tragically, his daughter suffered at the hands of a lunatic not far from their house back in the 1960’s), John Barr (always seen riding around on his Lambretta with a fibre rawlplug hanging out of his mouth) and Harry Swan (regrettably, I gave Harry a hard time once. He’d offered my assistance to Cyril for a few days and I been working with a fitter who was in his early 20’s. I was NOT happy). I`m so sorry Harry, really I am.

Men who had worked there from the day they left school at the age of 14. 

Men, who I look back on these days with far more respect than I did in the 1970’s. 

Men, who often repeated that same old chestnut, ‘You have your whole life ahead of you. Make the most of it as it goes very fast. One day you will wake up and wonder where the time has gone.’ How true is that!

 

 Now look at me, fast approaching that very same age in just a matter of hours. Here I am, indeed, wondering where the time has gone. How can I be 65? I do hope I made the most of it, I certainly made the most of some of it. Here’s to the future, whatever that holds for me, and you.

 

Lots of the tv, film and music I’ve mentioned here has long since been consigned to nostalgia. Memories of what once was. Soon, more and more of it will be seen less and less as the years pass. I wonder how long it will be until it’s not seen at all. I guess the same can be said about most of the people I’ve met too, now consigned to the memory of those that knew them best. Then, in a generation or two, their memory will fade and they will be long forgotten. 

Then there’s little me. One day I’ll be but a memory to those closest to me, and in a generation or two, I too,  just as you will, will be long forgotten.