Category Archives: topographical

history, topographical

Shoe Shine

I had a minor-ly interesting experience last Thursday. I had to go into central London for a meeting and chose to travel on the Chiltern Line from Harrow on the Hill to Marylebone. Being early we stopped for a coffee. It was then that I noticed, in a corner of the station something I’ve not seen for many a long year: a shoe shine. So of course I had to do something I’ve only ever done once or twice before when quite young and have my shoes shined.

Well they did need it!

Apart from the fact he was there, what interested me were two things.

First he wasn’t the old-style shoe shine with a wooden box, a mat and a stool. He had a sort of booth affair which meant the young man had a better working environment as he could sit in relative comfort while I perched on a high seat as well. It felt a bit unsafe as the super-sized me was perched some way off the ground on what felt like quite a small bolster. But with feet on the foot-rests it was actually fine and a fine view as well.

The other interesting thing was that he had three grades of service: basic at about £2.50, a better one at about £4.50 and the luxury job at £5.99. I went for the luxury job, as I felt my shoes needed the extra nourishment and they got several rounds of polish and buff. The job took about 5 or 6 minutes — nice time for Noreen to finish her coffee.

I remember the old shoe shines in London in the 1950s. Indeed I remember my father telling me about them and taking me to experience having my shoes shined, I think by an old boy on Liverpool Street Station, when I was probably about 8 or 10. By the time I remember shoe shines they were mostly old men (often war veterans). They were all real old characters, often dispensing worldly wisdom, racing tips or Stock Market predictions. But they were a dying breed as there weren’t many boys learning the trade and even fewer people prepared to pay for their services. Essentially they had died out by the 1970s to be replaced by inferior mechanical brushing machines in hotels and offices.

But they’re making a come-back albeit often with upmarket stands/booths. I first noticed one a few years back in Heathrow Terminal 1 and they now seem to be creeping back into central London — there are certainly shoe shines in Leadenhall Market and Burlington Arcade — although I can’t see them becoming as ubiquitous on street corners as they obviously were before the war.

I don’t recall the cost of a shoe shine in the fifties (one shilling comes to mind, but I’m sure someone will be along to correct me), nor if they had several differently-priced offerings, but the cost of the modern version seemed eminently reasonable.

history, medical, pleasures, quotes, science, thoughts, topographical

Quotes of the Week

Somehow I’m not writing this week, probably because I’ve spent a lot of time with my head in family history research. But here is this weeks strange set of bedfellows.

First I’ve been reading a 1923 book about my home town and discovered that even Cromwell’s officials in 1650 could write estate agent-ese …

The Presence Chamber. One very large, spacious delightful Room called the Kinge’s Presence Chamber, being wainscotted round with carved wainscott of good oak, coullered of a liver color, and richly guilded with gold, with antique pictures over the same ; the ceiling full of guilded pendants hanging down, setting forth the roome with great splendour […] Also a very fair, large chimny piece of black and white marble, with four pilasters of the same stone […]
[Government Survey of Theobalds Palace, 1650 quoted in Percy Charles Archer, Historic Cheshunt]


This really is what it’s thought Theobalds Palace looked like!
And from the same volume this delight …

For, if those enemies to all good endeavours, Danger, Difficulty, Impossibility, Detraction, Contempt, Scorne, Derision, yea, and Desperate Despight, could have prevailed by their accursed and malevolent interposition either before, at the beginning, in the very birth of proceeding, or in the least stolne advantage of the whole prosecution; this Worke of so great worth had never bin accomplished.
[John Stow, Survey of London, quoted in Percy Charles Archer, Historic Cheshunt]

And now for some things much more of our time …

Face to face advice on the internet.
[BBC TV London News, 11/07/2011]

Be especially sure to wipe your children down. Children are just about the grimiest thing in the world.
[Rob Dunn at Scientific American Blogs]

Boris Johnson knows even less about geology than he does about geography. Undercutting Ealing with a tunnel means my constituents, and his electoral voters, will fall into the ground. London’s transport system is built on clay, it would cost more money to tunnel through that than if we replaced HS2 with sedan chairs and walked people to Birmingham.
[Ealing North MP, Steve Pound, on Mayor Boris Johnson’s idea of tunnelling HS2 rail under outer London]

history, personal, topographical

Priceless Records

Grubbing around in family history again this afternoon, I’ve happened upon a couple of absolutely priceless extracts of London parish registers on Ancestry.co.uk.

01 Dec, 4 Elizabeth [1537] — True Bill that, from the said day even until now, John Hardy [… and 34 named others …] have without reasonable excuse neglected to provide themselves with bows and arrows, and neglected to practice archery, in contempt of the statute in this matter provided.

And quite right too. The English archer remained a potent weapon for probably another 50 years by which time the arquebus/musket was taking over as the weapon of choice. So it remained important that all healthy Englishmen were at least competent archers to defend the realm.

Tuesday after the Feast of St Martin ao 10 Edward III [1322], information given to the aforesaid Coroner and Sheriffs that Simon Chaucer lay dead of a death other than his rightful death in the rent of Richard Chaucer, his brother, in the parish of St Mary at Aldermarichirche in the Ward of Cordewanerstrete. Thereupon they proceeded thither, and having summoned good men of that Ward and of the three nearest Wards, viz.: Queenhithe, Brede Strete and Walbroke, they diligently enquired how it happened. The jurors — viz.: William de Chelrythe [… and 25 named others …] — say that on Monday before the Feast of St Luke last passed, the above Simon Chaucer and Robert de Uptone, skinner, were quarrelling after dinner in the High Street opposite the shop of the said Robert in the parish aforesaid, when the said Simon wounded the said Robert on the upper lip; that John, son of the said Robert perceiving this, took up an instrument called “Dorbarre” and therewith struck the said Simon on the hand, side and head and forthwith took refuge in the church of St Mary de Aldermarichirche, whence he secretly made his escape on the following night. Chattels none. They further say that the said Simon lingered until the Tuesday aforesaid when he died at sunrise; that the said Robert was captured, before the holding of the inquest, on suspicion and taken to the house of John de Northhalle, the Sheriff […]

Don’t you just love lay dead of a death other than his rightful death? What more picturesque circumlocution could there be?

books, medical, memes, personal, photography, pleasures, science, topographical

Listography: What I want to do this Summer

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Keith at Reluctant Housedad is running Listography again this week while Kate Takes 5 has a break and we’ve been asked to say five things I want to do this summer.

Hmmm … well .. I thought summer was over. Wimbledon has finished, the first blackberries have been picked and it’s raining. Sounds like the end of summer to me. 🙂

But in the spirit of beating my brans out (‘cos I actually found this hard!) here is my rather pathetic list …

Run a Successful Conference. For the Anthony Powell Society; at the beginning of September. Yep, I’m organising it (again — that only five of the last six!). It certainly promises to be good, but you never know until you get there if some joker or other is going to be put into play. So let’s hope all the speakers turn up; the venue works OK and the events all run smoothly.

Kill off my Depression. I’ve had depression for far far too long. It’s high time it b*ggered off for good. It’s certainly better than it was; I’ve halved my dose of anti-depressants this Spring and the hypnotherapy seems to be doing some good. Now for the remainder, please!

While we’re at it can I also Get Rid of my Hayfever once and for all. It had really p’ed me off more than usual this Summer as I’ve been having really itchy, watering eyes despite my usual anti-histamines. After 50-odd years enough is enough. Thank you!

Visit Kew Gardens at least once on a nice day. Kew is one of my favourite places, but despite living only a few miles away we get there all too seldom. At least one visit is a must this summer.


Prospect Cottage, Dungeness, home of the late Derek Jarman.
© Copyright Dr Keith C Marshall, 2010.
Finally we need a Holiday. But it ain’t going to happen until after the conference in September. Does that still count? We’re going off to wallow in decent B&B in New Romney, Kent. The Romney Marsh area is another of my favourite places: wide open spaces; Dungeness; seaside; medieval churches; RH&D Railway. And I have ancestors from New Romney and around the edges of the Romney Marsh, so we’ll be doing some family history while we’re there too. Mix and match depending on the weather, but get away and get some good sea air — and even better if it is warm and sunny.

Will that do?

amusements, topographical

More Silliness

On Sunday morning I shall be travelling through central London by car, so I looked to see what major roadworks/closures there are lined up only to find that at the Blackfriars Bridge/Queen Victoria Street interchange

TfL contractors will be working at the junction to put poles into barrels.

Presumably this is so the foreigners can be pickled and repatriated.

beliefs, books, memes, pleasures, thoughts, topographical

Listography – Travelling

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Unlike me, many who responded to last week’s listography about decision they’re glad they made included some item of travel. So this week Kate is asking us to nominate five places we would still like to visit.

For me this is quite easy as I have some places I know I would like to see. But it is sad because I know I likely never will see most of them: I don’t much like the actual travelling to get to these places (too much stress) and at 60 and living on my pension I’m unlikely to be able to make myself afford (even if fit enough) the cost of getting there. Quite a number of the places I won’t visit on principle because of their lack of respect for the environment or the people. But leaving all that aside, here is my choice of five places I would love to see.

Japan. I find Japan a fascinating country. I’d really love to see all those Buddhist, Taoist and Shinto temples; Kanamara Matsuri, the annual Shinto fertility “Festival of the Phallus”; the koi carp farms; the unspoilt mountainous country; zen gardens; Mount Fuji; and the bullet train. What a photographic experience it would be. We have friends in Japan, so we should be able to do this easily; and as our friends are in topical Okinawa islands we’d get some great music and wonderful beaches too. But I won’t go to Japan on principle because of their intransigent stance on whaling. And I don’t much relish a 12-14 hour flight.

Iceland. Land of glaciers, volcanoes, geysers and geothermal hot water. The country looks frighteningly beautiful; Earth in the raw; new land still very much being built by plate tectonics. Visiting should be easily achievable (there are endless package tours) and a wonderful photographic experience, but again it’s a land I won’t visit because of the whaling issue.

Norway. Like Kate I’d love to see the Aurora Borealis. The midnight sun. The fjords. And to go to Hell. (Yes, there really is a place called Hell). And Noreen has friend who lives on a tiny island off the south coast. Again it should be easily achievable. But again it is off-limits for me because of the whaling. (Why is it that my top three picks are all off-limits because of whaling? It really wasn’t designed that way!) Although we could achieve a lot of that by visiting (friends in) Sweden; which we might yet manage — at least do keep talking about going to Sweden!

Tibet. It must be one of the poorest countries on Earth, but it’s hard to find out because it has been assimilated into China. But it’s a land of rugged mountains, high plateaus and curiously interesting Buddhist monasteries. But it is another place I’m unlikely ever to visit: it is so hard to get to and I won’t go on principle because of the way China has occupied it and largely destroyed the culture and the people. Again it would be just such a wonderful photographic experience. One really should have done this when young and fit.

The Amazon. I’d love to see the Amazonian fishes and parrots (not to mention Jaguars) in the wild. And for once I have no moral objections to going there other than tourism beginning to impact the environment, although nowhere nearly on the scale of Africa. Again I can’t help feeling this is travel one should have done when young and fit.

So they’re the five places I’d probably most like to visit. But there are so many others which should be more achievable: Bruges, Kyle of Lochalsh, Ireland, Italy, the pyramids, the Alhambra, ride the Orient Express, travel from Thurso/Wick to Penzance by train, Scilly Isles.

So much to do, and so little time to achieve it.

amusements, books, history, pleasures, quotes, topographical

Quotes of the Week

A small selection of this week’s strange and interesting findings …

Hogwash entered the room, and, having entered, decided, upon entry, having viewed all there was, and some of what was not, to be seen, to remove himself, once more, from the room by the same route through which he had, so recently, entered.
[Craig Brown, The Marsh-Marlowe Letters, parodying Anthony Powell]

He possessed that opportune facility for turning out several thousand words on any subject whatever at the shortest possible notice: politics; sport; books; finance; science; art; fashion – as he himself said, ‘War, Famine, Pestilence or Death on a Pale Horse.’ All were equal when it came to Bagshaw’s typewriter. He could take on anything, and – to be fair – what he produced, even off the cuff, was no worse than was to be read most of the time. You never wondered how on earth the stuff had ever managed to be printed.
[Anthony Powell, Books Do Furnish a Room]

I just love Tudor/Restoration “irregular” spelling …

[I]n 1558-59 St Mary Woolnoth paid ‘one Robert Bennett syngyngeman for servynge in the churche at dyvers tymes from the begynnynge of August tyll Michaelmas’.
[John Harley, The World of William Byrd: Musicians, Merchants and Magnates]

London is a patchwork of the fabulous and the shit.
[Antonia at Whoopee]

Too right!

Finally something bringing us right up to date …

This train reduces CO2 emissions
[Slogan on a Southern Trains emu at Clapham, 19/05/2011]

I’m not sure how this is achieved: presumably the train selectively sucks CO2 from the atmosphere. One suspects they mean “this train causes the emission of less CO2 than other trains/modes of transport. But that’s not what it says, guys!

books, photography, topographical

Rye

Rye, in East Sussex, is another of my favourite places because of its history, its friendliness, its proximity to the sea and to Romney Marsh and of course because of its “olde worlde” charm and picturesqueness.

St Anthony's, Rye
St Anthony’s, Rye, © Copyright by Keith Marshall, 2010.
Following on from my post of a couple of days ago about Fairfield church, I came upon this poem by Patric Dickinson (the poet, 1914-1994, not to be confused with my friend Patric Dickinson who is currently Clarenceux King of Arms and still very much alive).

Rye

It seems solid enough
As you come through the Landgate
And the streets climb up to the church
That, like a stranded ark,
     Straddles the hilltop.

But Time is different here.
The streets are full of beggars
You cannot see, who speak
The tongues of centuries
     To the deaf tourists.

‘We have always been perverse
And unprofessional beggars,
For we want to give, not take,
To offer you this town’s
     Particular nature.

‘It is not what you see
As you trip on the cobbles
And say the houses are quaint,
Nor was it ever like that,
     It is our presence.

‘The town keeps whispering
Its history – fishermen, merchants –
Lifetimes that have been built
From unimportant scraps
     To construct a clement

‘Enclave and sanctuary.
Once you have understood this,
You will feel Rye within,
And be disposed to come back,
     If you ever leave it.’

books, history, personal, topographical

Fairfield

Wanting something to read in bed the other evening, and not wanting anything heavy, I chose at random from the pile of books by the bed. My hand alighted on Betjeman’s England, an anthology by Stephen Games of extracts from the scripts of Sir John Betjeman’s TV films about England.

Now I love the Romney Marsh and Dungeness in Kent, and the nearby small town of Rye. So imagine my enjoyment when the book fell open, quite at random, at the following piece about Fairfield Church in the heart of the Romney Marsh.

KENT

FAIRFIELD CHURCH, ROMNEY MARSH
From the Shell series Discovering Britain with John Betjeman
Random Film Productions Ltd
ITV, Spring 1956 (exact date unknown)
Director: Peter Woosnam-Mills

Romney Marsh, on the Sussex border of Kent and close to the sea. Romney Marsh, where the roads wind like streams through pasture and the sky is always three-quarters of the landscape. The sounds I associate with Romney Marsh are the bleating of innumerable sheep and the whistle of the sea wind in old willow trees. The sea has given a colour to this district: it has spotted with silver the oak posts and rails; it gives the grass and the rushes a grey salty look and turns the red bricks and tiles of Fairfield Church a saffron yellow.

For a moment, when you see Fairfield Church there on the skyline, you think it must be a farm or a barn. There’s no road to it – only a footbridge and a path. And in the church, you feel you’re on an island in the marsh.

Inside, it’s like walking underneath an upturned ship. (Those great beams are made of Kentish oak.) The communion rails go round three sides of the altar as they used to in many churches two hundred years ago; and since in those days, just as much as now, people were literate, they hired a local inn-sign painter to paint, in yellowish-gold letters on a black background, the Creed, the Lord’s Prayer and the Ten Commandments.

The church is still kept up and used, though it’s miles from anywhere, and that’s what gives it atmosphere.

Another thing that endears Fairfield Church to me is that it’s been spared electric light and the surgical basins in the roof that go with it. How pleasant those Victorian oil lamps are and how well they fit in with the scene.

Let’s go into one of the high, white box pews. And sitting here in the quiet waste of marsh, islanded by grass in water, let’s think ourselves back two hundred years. The place can’t have looked very different. The parson read the service from that lower desk where the candle is, he climbed to the pulpit to preach, and if you found yourself not attending to the sermon, there was always a text to remind you of where you were and of the reverence due to this loved and lonely house of God.

Fairfield Church: it’s about ten miles from Tenterden in Kent and therefore sixty-three miles south-east of London.

I’ve been to Fairfield a number of times and it is even now just as fascinating and delightful as Betjeman paints it, despite several heavy restorations in the last 200 years. Fairfield really is in the middle of nowhere, and probably always was as there was never anything much by way of village there. There is still no electricity but the church is used, at least sporadically.

For me Fairfield has a further attraction. It is dedicated to my patron saint, Thomas Beckett (Thomas of Canterbury), ca. 1118 to 29 December 1170; murdered at the behest of Henry II and canonised by Pope Alexander III in 1173.

The church, which is tiny, is on a slight rise in the middle of a rather wet sheep field, and when you go into the church you have to remember to shut the door behind you so the sheep don’t follow you. I have been there and found several sheep sheltering in the porch!

Yes, it is one of those idyllic and idiosyncratic English places!

There’s more on the architectural structure of Fairfield church here.

Stephen Games (Ed.), Betjeman’s England (John Murray, London, 2009)

natural history, quotes, thoughts, topographical

Quotes of the Week

A rather more eclectic mix than usual this week. I just love some of the names in this first quote …


Transport on Water: Barge Driving Race – Saturday 18 June 2011
Race Start 1200
A number of Thames barges will be raced, under oars, from Greenwich to Westminster Bridge on Saturday 18th June 2011. The race will start at Greenwich at 1200 from 3 start lines for the different classes of barge, off Greenwich Pier, off Trafalgar Tavern (lower end of Scrap Iron Park) and off Tunnel Glucose Wharf. Each start line will be marked by 2 pellet buoys, one on each side of the river.
[Port of London – River Thames, Notice to Mariners, M34 of 2011]

Scrap Iron Park indeed!

Cease to inquire what the future has in store, and take as a gift whatever the day brings forth.
[Horace]

I’m not a beatnik, I’m a Catholic.
[Jack Kerouac]

Which reminds me that in response to some god-botherer’s query “are you saved?” a friend once responded “Good God no, I’m a Roman Catholic”.

You kill ’em. We grill ’em.
[Bart Simpson, aka Matt Groening]

That sums up the feelings of last couple of days quite well!

To us, the moment 8:17 AM means something – something very important, if it happens to be the starting time of our daily train. To our ancestors, such an odd eccentric instant was without significance – did not even exist. In inventing the locomotive, Watt and Stevenson were part inventors of time.
[Aldous Huxley]

Time can’t be measured in days the way money is measured in pesos and centavos, because all pesos are equal, while every day, perhaps every hour, is different.
[Jorge Luis Borges]

Earth laughs in flowers.
[Ralph Waldo Emerson]

If so then our garden is rolling on the floor peeing it’s pants ‘cos we have an absolute riot of roses at the moment. Our large apricot-coloured climber Lady Hillingdon currently has more flowers than leaves – it really is just one mass of flowers like never before.