Category Archives: topographical

memes, personal, photography, topographical

[37/52] Richard Meades

Week 37 entry for 52 weeks challenge.

As Noreen has reported on her weblog, yesterday we went to Chipping Norton in Oxfordshire in search of some of her ancestors — and just to walk the streets they walked. The Meades line was an unexpected find for Noreen, both in that they come from somewhere way away from Lowestoft but also because they are a family of stonemasons.

Richard Meades

This is the gravestone of Noreen’s great-great-great-great-grandfather, Richard Meades, in the churchyard at Chipping Norton. He was the stonemason responsible for the work to rebuild the church tower in the 1820s. It is Richard’s stone, William MeEades who eventualy moved to Lowestoft.

Chipping Norton (or “Chippy” as the locals know it) itself is a delightful small Cotswold town built out of the local golden stone and on the side of quite a wicked hill — hardly surprising as it is supposedly the highest town on Oxfordshire. And the fact that it is on the side of hill has resulted in something quite unusual: the parish church (St Mary’s) is in fact lower down the hill than most of the rest of the old town — the main street is at about the same level as the top of the church tower.

More photos of Chipping Norton over on my Flickr photostream.

books, topographical

Listography – Last Week

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In this week’s Listography Kate is asking us what we did last week. So …

1. Spent Sunday morning driving round London testing a coach tour I’m conducting in under two weeks time. Can I get a coach in there? What is there interesting to say about this boring street?

2. Had coffee with a TV Producer and lunch with a publisher the same day. No not as exciting as it sounds, deals to pay me loads of dosh were not being done, nor did it relate too …

3. Sent off the (I hope) final proofs of my book. It should be out in October. Watch this space.

4. (Finished) reading four books.
Steve Burgess; Famous Past Lives. Very interesting, even if one isn’t totally convinced. Can’t put it down!
Christopher Ryan & Cacilda Jethá; Sex at Dawn: How We Mate, Why We Stray, and What It Means for Modern Relationships . Although interesting and makes a lot of sense it could have been much more tightly written. In the words of Ambrose Bierce “the covers of this book are too far apart”.
Tony Thorne; Jolly Wicked, Actually: 100 Words That Make Us English. Curate’s egg-ish; by turns interesting and dull; mostly dull.
Anthony Powell; Caledonia: A Fragment. Spoof pastiche poem, written in 1930s (and privately printed) which takes the piss out of the Scots unmercifully. Now publicly published as an entity in its own right. Introduction by the Earl of Gowrie.

5. Went to see my hypnotherapist. Yes, we’re making progress but it’s slow. Come on subconscious … LET GO!

And in between all that lot I was working full time getting everything ready for the conference I’m organising in 10 days time. Busy. Busy. Busy.

natural history, photography, topographical

Weasel!

Weasel

Weasel!

Weasel??!!??

Blimey, that is a weasel!

Something I never expected to see in suburban London — at least not in broad daylight. And I think it is only the third time I’ve ever seen a weasel, the previous two times being fleeting glimpses in the twilight as they disappear out of sight at breakneck speed.

This one was running around on the pavement and road (trying hard to get run over – stupid creature) on the busy Greenford Road right outside the Bridge Hotel about 1130 yesterday morning. (If you go to the “Location” tag at the bottom of this page, or to the Flickr image, you can see exactly where this is on the map.) The beastie is here seen lurking under a piece of metal barrier; (s)he’s probably about 15cm (6 inches) long in the body.

It was so fast it was a question of point the camera out of the car window in vaguely the right direction and hope. I got one shot in before the lights changed (and I almost missed that!). This is a tiny crop from the middle of that one shot.

personal, topographical

No, I'm Not Ashamed

As a result of the current “little local difficulties” being experienced in London (see, for example, here) there are a lot of people around saying they are ashamed to be Londoners.

But I’m not one of them.

Yes, I’m a Londoner. But I’ve never been ashamed to be a Londoner. Because I’ve never been proud to be a Londoner. I’ve always known that London is, under a thin surface veneer, crap. And I have never understood why anyone would have any interest in, or get any enjoyment from, the place despite all it’s interesting history (which I love).

London is crap. It always has been. And likely always will be. All that’s happening now is that it is living up (down?) to it’s true nature. And this is a nature which is probably that of many large cities.

That is not to condone what is happening in the smallest iota. I wish it wasn’t thus. Probably we all wish it wasn’t thus. But it isn’t. Shit happens. Always has. Always will. The best we can hope for is that some semblance of the rule of law returns and we’re allowed to back to being crap in our own, relatively peaceful way.

I recall some proverb about leopards and their spots.

Plus ça change!

books, topographical

Rye Reprise

It feels like time for another piece of poetry about Rye, again by Patric Dickinson.

William Henry Borrow, Rye from the Marshes

Topographical

Van Dyck drew it from the South
From the river, seeing a plateau,
The great church riding eastward
In its tideless ocean of faith.

From the East, coming over the marsh
Or from the golf-club it’s a pyramid
With the church tower at the top.
A black silhouette in the twilight.

Turner halfway from Winchelsea,
From the West, romantically stationed
Upon some dangerous sea-stropped
Causeway of his imagination.

Drew Camber Castle floated away
Almost hull-down to the east
And Rye in a spotlight, half Italian,
And half as it were a volcano.

With smoke and fire belching
From the church, it is always the church
That crowns the unique town.

From the North you come down hill
From the mainland then climb again,
Up this rocky hillock like a moraine heap:
Rye is an island, St Mary’s Mount.

Is also a castle, should have a drawbridge,
There are aeons of life in this pyramid,
Fire in this volcano,–
Is also like a beautifully jewelled broach
Worn at South England’s throat,
As land gives way to channel:
The Tillingham mates with the Brede
And both mix in the Rother
The sweet and the salt waters,
Below Watchbell Street and under
The eyes of the Ypres Tower,
Last dry land or first island,
A place between past and future,
A historic present to speak of
In a language of salty silence
That is sweet on every tongue.

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.