Charity Reg No 1178911

Enquiries: [email protected] Website: https://u3asites.org.uk/buckhurst-hill

Chair Kevin Lucas 020 8506 0206 / 07799 883100 [email protected] Vice Chair Hilary Wrightman 020 8559 2777 / 07836 671582 [email protected] Treasurer Sue Bird 020 3894 3694 [email protected] Business Secretary Cathy Tredgett 020 8506 0762 / 07961 614566 [email protected] Accessibility Officer Hilary Wrightman 020 8559 2777 / 07836 671582 [email protected] Group Co-ordinator Sue Meredith 020 8504 3181 / 07866 957538 [email protected] Hall Hire Secretary Christine Slade 020 8505 1005 [email protected] Membership Secretary Christine Slade 020 8505 1005 [email protected] Newsletter Editor Christine Slade 020 8505 1005 [email protected] Social Secretary Mary Nathan 020 8506 2203 [email protected] Speaker Secretary Pat Hallard 020 8504 1812 [email protected] Committee Member Ann Denwood 020 8551 0313 [email protected] Honorary President Anthony Young 07743 097973 [email protected]

Contents Newsletter Page 1 Literary Supplement Page 16 Quizzes Page 25 Group Information Page 29

1 Welcome from the Chair Welcome to the November edition of the Buckhurst Hill U3A Newsletter. So, here we are at the start of “Lockdown 2”, although it does seem rather different this time. Walking around Buckhurst Hill and Woodford on 5th November (day 1) there seemed very little difference. Perhaps it is because the restrictions are different, perhaps it is because we were already in “Tier 2” or perhaps people are just a bit fed up with the whole situation. What was obvious was that the usual heavy traffic along Woodford High Road was still there!

The timing of this latest lockdown is unfortunate. The Craft Group held its second meeting in October, the Photography Group managed a forest outing, and the Walking Group was gearing up to restart. November will see these activities put on hold once again but hopefully Craft will be able to meet in December. Photography and Walking are heavily weather dependant so it remains to be seen if they can manage an outing in December. As mentioned last month, our Honorary President, Anthony Young, has very kindly offered to run a quiz via Zoom on Saturday 14th November. This will be our second quiz of this sort and I hope as many of you as possible will register to take part. The quiz will start at 7.30pm and if you would like to take part please register your interest by emailing me at [email protected] before Thursday 12th November. Thank you to all members who have already registered. I will email joining instructions on Friday 13th (with apologies to any sufferers of Paraskevidekatriaphobia). We have not so far received a significant response from members to the idea of engaging speakers willing to deliver talks via Zoom. The deadline to register interest has been extended to Monday 30th November, so if you have not already done so but would be interested please email me at [email protected]. To continue producing a monthly Newsletter when all our usual activity is on hold means that we are reliant on you, the membership, to keep submitting interesting articles for inclusion. We are still receiving appreciative feedback so please keep them coming! In the meantime, take care and stay safe.

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2 BUCKHURST HILL U3A NEWS

Art Practical Group (Angela Ross) Unfortunately, for various reasons the group has decided to close. However, if anyone wished to take over running the group it could certainly continue (once things are back to normal and we can meet face to face!). We normally meet twice a month at the Woollard Centre at 2 pm to 5 pm and have an enjoyable afternoon painting in the medium of our choice. We have no formal teacher, but group members are very happy to help if there are any new members who may not have painted before. We received a refund from Buckhurst Hill Parish Council for the cancellation of our hall hire due to the closure of all halls during the coronavirus pandemic. That sum, and a larger amount which was from individual payments made by members who joined the group occasionally, will be donated to Macmillan, as we were unable to hold our Coffee Morning this year.

Craft Group (Fiona Lucas) This month, a small number of crafters gathered for the second time since last February to make some greetings cards. We made two different cards: one which opened to reveal a pop-up bouquet and the other was a waterfall card which, on pulling a tab, cascades a series of pictures and the greeting. We had fun cutting, colouring and sticking! It was also great for the second month in succession to feel ‘normal’ and get back to our group sessions. Below are some photos of our cards – I think you will agree that they are most attractive, although it is difficult to capture the action of a waterfall card! The Pop-up Bouquet Card

3 The Waterfall Card

Unfortunately, with the second Lockdown now in force, we shall not be able to meet in November but, fingers crossed, we shall get together on 18th December for a lovely Christmas make. Usually, the Craft group meets on the third Friday morning of the month at the Roding Valley Hall. Our aim is to work at a variety of crafts, giving us all the opportunity to work with an assortment of materials using different skills. At each session, we tackle a different craft. Absolutely no artistic or special skills are required. Anyone can join us! No one is an expert, we just like having a go at making things, helping each other and having a chat and a laugh! The Craft Group page on the website has photos of all the projects we have undertaken so far. At the moment, there is a waiting list to join the group but because of the current uncertainty and the fact that our meeting numbers have had to be reduced because of the limited numbers of tables in the Hall, I have had to close the waiting list. To those of you who are on it, I am sorry, but I have no idea when I shall be able to invite you to join us. I am sure you understand that it might be a long wait!

Now for some other Crafting News! Joan Brunt has sent me photos of her recent crochet projects – a ‘bobble’ jumper (which she is modelling in the picture!) and a scarf that she has completed for her niece. She has also begun working on another beautiful blanket from a pattern by Janie Crowe entitled ‘Fields of Gold’, which was inspired by fields of sunflowers in France. I’m sure that this blanket will turn into another triumph like the last one! I’m looking forward to seeing Joan’s monthly progress with the pattern which looks so complicated!

4 Joan has also crocheted a lop-eared rabbit for her niece, which just needs sewing together and some features added. The pumpkin was requested by Joan’s daughter. Joan’s hands must never be still with all this crocheting!

Sue Palmer reports that she has been busy knitting hats to match gloves that she has bought throughout the year for Christmas Shoeboxes.

Judith Wilson has been very busy baking cakes for a multitude of family birthdays. She is obviously a great cook – maybe the ‘Great British Bake-Off’ might beckon next year!

5 Judith has also spent a lot of time turning a spare bedroom into a dedicated Craft Room – oh, how I envy her! She even has a sink in the corner, so useful for cleaning up after those messy crafts – what luxury!! She has named it the Rainbow Room, inspired by Covid19 and the work of the NHS. Now that the weather has turned and we are locked down again, Judith will be spending a lot of time in her Rainbow Room, making ‘Hugs made with Love’ for a small charity she runs with a friend. We look forward to photos of those next month!

Prolific crafter, Yvonne Hall has sent me photos of two Tote bags that she has made for a Hedgehog loving friend for Christmas and she has also made a pair of starry Christmas oven gloves!

It has taken Cheryl Macnair approximately 15 years to complete this lovely tapestry! She started this project ages ago and she reports that it has lain dormant at the back of a wardrobe until she finished it during Lockdown. Cheryl decided to recover her piano stool using it and I think she can be justifiably thrilled with the end result.

6 Finally, Valerie Nettles has been experimenting with freehand embroidery with her sewing machine on dissolving fabric. She has created these lovely ‘wispy’ seed heads and (my personal favourite) autumn leaves, which look great arranged around the twig.

Don’t forget to send me any photos of your creations – you do not have to be a member of the Craft Group – so that other people can also enjoy the fruits of your labour. And, you never know, it might give inspiration to others!

Creative Writing (Jackie Jacques) If you remember, the task for last month was to write a story that included 8 words that other members of the group contributed. The words were: vertiginously, altogether, dance, discombobulated, intimidated, relation/ship, ambition and melody. A very different offering to last month is included using these words.

History Group (Anthony Young) We are going to start our History Group again via Zoom. This will be from Tuesday 3rd November from 2.00pm to 2·40pm, and then every Tuesday. We are a small group who investigate and discuss all different aspects of History. Our current task is the History of the Motor Car.

7 The British Empire (Peter Spencer) At its height in the reign of Queen Victoria the British Empire, when it ruled one fifth of the world’s population, exceeded the territory and wealth of the Roman Empire although not its military domination or its legacy. Newfoundland was first settled by English and other European fishermen in 1501 and gradually other migrants went to North America to settle until, in 1562, a shortage of labour led to slaves being transported there from Africa. Elizabeth I sent explorers such as Francis Drake to find new lands, and from 1601 the English started to colonise the eastern coastlands of North America, and the East India Company was granted a Royal Charter to trade in Asia, arriving in Hong Kong in 1635. In 1664 the tea trade began and became a big profitable business for the company. Fast sailing ships known as clippers such as the Cutty Sark raced to bring the tea to England. As it was highly taxed, smugglers often landed the tea in secret. In North America, the Hudson Bay trading company was granted a charter in 1670. Between 1536 and 1691 British Protestants colonised Ireland. Of the 200,000 settlers in the early 1700s in North America, one quarter of them were convicts who were used as cheap labour. After the loss of the 13 colonies in the American War of Independence, convicts were housed in prison ships and penal colonies set up in Australia, India and Singapore. The English game of Cricket was used as a political tool by reminding indigenous people of the superiority of the white settlers who considered that they were spreading civilized values. Nelson became a captain in 1779 and, as admiral, was shot and killed in 1805 as the British destroyed a French and Spanish fleet in the battle of Trafalgar. In 1839 a report initiated the idea that colonies could introduce the Westminster first by the post electoral system. Canada adopted it in 1848 and, in 1855, Australia following a gold rush and increased immigration protected from the French and German Empires by the British Royal Navy. In 1858 the British Crown relieved the East India Company of its political duties and Viceroys were appointed who ruled over two fifths of the sub-continent. Queen Victoria, during a long period known as Pax Britannica, became the Empress of India in 1876. Her German husband, whom had she married in 1840, popularized the Christmas tree. By the end of the nineteenth century, Christmas had become a national holiday in the Empire. Politicians realised that an aggressive foreign policy appealed to the public as they had a nationalistic and patriotic belief known as Jingoism that their country was best as the British Royal Navy ruled the world The Height of the British Empire Alarmed by the Russian Empire’s expansion into Asia in the early nineteenth century, the British moved their troops northwards to protect India. Three wars were fought in the Buffer Zone of Afghanistan and finally the great game as it was called ended in 1907 when Persia, which had been allied to Russia, was divided between the two Empires. The sale of opium in China helped to finance British demand for tea and silk. When the Chinese tried to stop the trade, it led to wars. In 1841 the British occupied Canton and captured Nanking. The wars ended when the British and French occupied Beijing in 1860.

8 In Ireland, between 1845 and 1847, the potato harvest failed three years running and one eighth of the population starved to death. The British Government’s polices prevented any sort of structured aid and did not prevent the export of Irish grain. Corn sent from England was not distributed efficiently and could not be afforded by the average Irish person who had no way of turning it into flour. Kitchener, whose military career lasted from 1871 to 1916, was an iconic image of Britain and the Empire. He was appointed governor general of the Sudan which had been at war with Egypt and led an Anglo-Egyptian army to victory at the battle of Omdurman in 1898. Although a national hero, he was criticized for his use of concentration camps in the Boer War, the poorly planned Dardanelles campaign in the First World War, and the shell crisis of 1915. Explorers in Africa such as David Livingston, a missionary doctor who made several trips to Africa, mapped vast swathes of the previously uncharted African continent. The discovery of gold and diamonds in Zulu lands led to an Anglo-Zulu war in 1879. British tactics and firepower broke the Zulu nation and they handed over their lands to Britain. Then the British fought two wars against the Dutch, German and French protestant farmers known as Boers, early settlers in South Africa. Colonel Baden-Powell and his men in Mafeking held out against 7,000 Boers for 217 days in 1899/1900 until they were relieved. He went on to found the Boy Scout movement. The Ugandan/Kenyan railway was built between 1896 and 1901 by thousands of Indian and African workers, some of whom were eaten by lions. This enabled the British to control the East African coast, control the Nile and prevent German influence in the area. In both World Wars, Dominion Colonial troops fought alongside the British but afterwards were granted their independence sometimes after violent exchanges. In 1947, India was granted independence and adopted the Westminster System. In Kenya in the 1950s, thousands of Africans were imprisoned or killed when the Mau Mau rebellion was proscribed as a terrorist organisation. In 1956 the British lost control of the Suez Canal. As predicted by Dr Samuel Johnson in the eighteenth century, the colonisation of the Falkland Islands near the Antarctic Circle led to war between Argentina and Britain in 1982. Now only these islands and a few others dotted around the world remain British.

Prince Regent 70s SnowBall (Sue Bird) Refunds have been made to everyone who had booked for the Christmas event at the Prince Regent.

9 Photography Group (Kevin Lucas) The Photography Group’s October challenge was to take photographs on the subject of “Autumn”. To help with this challenge we finally managed an outing into Epping Forest! Following guidance from the Rambler’s Association website and having carried out the necessary risk assessment, we were able to class ourselves as an “outdoor organised physical activity” which meant we were exempt from the Rule of 6. Our first outing since January (!!) was planned for Wednesday 21st October only to be thwarted by torrential rain. A hasty rescheduling to the following week found an enthusiastic group of 9 meeting at High Beach. The conditions were not ideal for photography but that did not seem to worry any of us, it was just really nice to catch up with our fellow snappers. Once again, the group members have submitted a large number of photographs and a small selection of these can be seen below. Janet Gray:

Anne Harriman:

10 Cheryl Macnair:

Yvonne Hall:

Vivienne Danzey:

11 Pauline Leadley:

Chris Embling:

Cathy Lee:

12 Valerie Nettles:

Tony Bird:

Kevin Lucas:

The imposition of “Lockdown 2” has scuppered any chance of an outing in the coming weeks and so the possibly slightly harder solo challenge subject for November is “Christmas”. If the weather is kind and we are allowed to, there will be an outing in December.

13 Tips and Tricks (Hilary Wrightman)

10 Uses for Aluminium Foil 1. If brown sugar has gone hard, wrap in tin foil and bake at 300 deg for 5 minutes. 2. If you cannot find your piping bag, use foil to make a disposable one. 3. Place a sheet of foil in the bottom of a baking dish, lay silverware on foil, sprinkle 2 teaspoons salt and two teaspoons baking powder. Pour hot water into bowl until silverware is submerged. Leave for 5 minutes, rinse and buff. 4. Use a balled up piece of foil to scrub crust messes for cast iron pans. 5. Sharpen scissors by folding a piece of foil three or four times and make several cuts with the scissors. 6. Make a foil funnel if you are unable to find yours. 7. Line a roasting pan with foil, to save scrubbing after use. 8. If planting seeds, line the container with foil. The foil will reflect light and heat and assist germination. 9. When painting, wrap foil around handles and knobs, saving you taping. 10. Freeze food wrapped in foil to keep in flavours and keep out smells from other foods.

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14 STANDING NOTICES

Charity Collections

Crisp Packets (Sylvia Medhurst) At the moment the Guide Dog Centre at Woodford Green is shut down, with neither staff nor dogs there. If they reopen I’ll let you know. Till then, please dispose of your crisp packets in your non-recyclable waste.

Milk Bottle Lids (all Colours) in aid of Wheelchairs for Children (Mary Nathan) I'll be collecting milk bottle lids in future. However, just a reminder that apart from them being clean, please ensure that only tops from milk bottles and not from any other bottles, cartons or containers are included. Stamps (Sylvia Medhurst) They don’t take up much space! Please keep them until we reopen. Reminder: please leave a half-inch border around the stamps to help protect their perforated edges - stamps without this border are unusable and should be discarded.

Membership Renewal (Christine Slade) Membership renewal is in abeyance until we resume monthly meetings.

Newsletter (Christine Slade) All members are welcome to provide inputs for newsletters. This is especially important as we are in a period of shut-down. Articles should be sent to my account: [email protected] or hard copy can be sent to: Miss C Slade, 18 Scotland Road, Buckhurst Hill, IG9 5NR. Our next newsletter will be issued on Monday 7th December. The closing date for inputs is Friday 4th December. Unfortunately, the Newsletter doesn’t always arrive when emailed. BT Internet accounts are those most affected. Sometimes I receive a non-delivery report, but not always. I know this has happened from both the old gmail account and my account listed above. Please contact me if you have not received your copy by the Wednesday after issue day.

15

THE DANCE CLASS

by Marion Shepherd

Carol pulled her coat round her as she stepped out of the car. There was a chill in the air, but it was September, and she hadn’t been out this late for ages. She picked up the bag that held her high heels and made her way into the community centre. The building was old and imposing; it had once belonged to the Lord of the Manor but now it was buzzing with people of all ages booking into classes for the new term. As she slowly made her way to the office, she was feeling rather apprehensive as she was met by a middle-aged woman who looked remarkably like a horse. “Hello! Can I help you?” she cried in a loud theatrical voice. Carol looked at her - she couldn’t take her eyes off her. She had large teeth and her hair was swept back into a ponytail. Her long false eyelashes - one of which had become slightly unstuck - hung from her eyelid and drooped across one her large, green eyes. She wore a very short skirt and a very, very tight roll-necked jumper; her feet were clad in a pair of red shoes on which she teetered vertiginously.. “Ah - I was thinking of joining the ballroom dance class,” Carol faltered, “but I haven’t been out for a long time – not in the evening. I’m feeling a bit lost.” “Great! Great! That’s the spirit! Ballroom dancing! Great! Get to know lots of new friends - a lively bunch – have you danced before?” “Not for ages - not since I had the children, and now I am on my own I feel that I should try to socialise a bit more than I have in the past,” Carol answered. “Great! Great! That’s what we like to hear – a girl with get up and go! Great! Great! Now, if you like, I’ll take you to meet Tommy, the tutor – he’s great – my name is Josie and I’m the warden here, so if you have any problems please come and find me – I’m usually in the bar!” she snorted. Carol followed her to the Main Hall which was quite a grand room. Panelled in oak, it had obviously been spectacular in its day. The floor was polished to a high sheen. Quite a few people were standing around in little groups, chatting and, as they entered, some turned to look. “Hi y’all,” drawled Josie, “I’ve a new recruit for you! Where’s Tommy? Is he not here yet?” “Yes, he is just getting changed into his patents,” said one of the men. “He’ll be here in a moment.” Josie took Carol over to one of the little groups and introduced her. “This is Carol - she wants to get her dancing feet going again. Now I hope you will look after her and fill her in with all the info about the class.” She smiled at Carol and whispered, “Good luck! I think you will enjoy this class. You can do all the paperwork and membership next week, if you like,” and tottered back to the office. One of the ladies in the group turned and smiled at Carol. “You’ll enjoy this class - we are a friendly bunch – we go away for weekends to Warner's. And we have Christmas parties. And we spend an awful lot of time in the bar,” she grinned. “I’m Shirley, by the way and this is Eric, and this is John,” she said, turning to a grey-haired, tall man dressed in jeans and a pale blue sweat shirt. He put out his hand and said, “I hope you haven’t got ambitions to be on “Strictly” – this class is all about fun and having a laugh.” Carol smiled. “No, I will just be happy to listen and learn.”

16 Just then the door flew open and in strode a middle-aged gentleman, dressed from head to toe in black, his patent leather shoes twinkling in the light from the chandelier that graced the ceiling of the room. “That’s Tommy, our tutor – great bloke, full of energy - don’t know where he gets it from,” said John. Tommy twirled round and came over to the group. “Hi, everyone – did you all enjoy the summer break? Ah! I see we have a new recruit. Welcome!” he said, turning to Carol. “We like new blood – have you danced before?” he enquired. “Just a little when I was younger, but I do love to watch it. I hope I can pick it up again.” “You will,” said Tommy, “you just have to go with the flow and follow the melody.” The class started to divide up into pairs and Carol stood to one side feeling a bit discombobulated, she wasn’t sure what to do but then John came over. “Would you like to partner me?” he asked. “We always start with a waltz to warm us up and then go on to the more exotic dances when we can remember which foot to put in front of the other!” “Thank you,” said Carol, taking his hand as the music filled the room. “I think I can remember the steps.” John took her in his arms and together they circled the floor to the strains of Mantovani. Carol felt very strange. It was the first time that anyone had held her since Mike’s funeral. Oh, she had had the odd peck on the cheek from various relations and the grandchildren had hugged her, but no one had actually held her in their arms, and she realised she had missed the feel of another human. She felt overwhelmed by the sensation and blushed at the thoughts going on in her head. Tommy, the tutor, was whirling around, watching every-one’s footsteps and calling out helpful tips - “More on the balls of your feet, Harry, too flat-footed. Lovely, Diana, wonderful footwork there. Keep in time, Mary - 1-2-3, 1-2-3,” he intoned. Soon the music stopped, and everyone went back to their seats. “How was that?” said John. “Wonderful,” said Carol, breathlessly, “I’m just amazed that I can still remember the steps after all this time” “Would you like to partner me in a quickstep, Madam,” said John, as he stood in front of her and held out his hand. “Yes, please, I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in ages”. Carol and John spent the evening dancing and talking. She felt like a new woman – or perhaps the old one had come alive again. In the interval they went into the bar and she bought John a beer and she had a small sherry. He was easy to talk to and she didn’t feel a bit intimidated. She told him about Mike, and he told her about his wife who had died six years ago. He had two boys who were very good to him, but they lived in the Midlands and he didn’t see them very often. He said he had taken a long time to recover from his wife’s death but one night he had been watching “Strictly” and he remembered how much he and Sarah had enjoyed dancing together when they were young so, he decided to take it up again. “The old bones are not what they used to be,” he grinned, “but I can get around after a fashion and I enjoy the company.” “I think you are altogether too modest,” said Carol. “You made me feel I was dancing on air!” “Good – it’s Latin American after the break so, let’s see how we get on with that, eh?” he said, as they made their way back to the Hall.

17 As they passed the office, Josie poked her head out of the door. “How goes it, Carol?” she yelled. “Fine – I am really enjoying it,” Carol answered. “Great! Great! We aim to please.” “She’s a bit of a character,” said John, quietly, “She looks like something from a fright night, but she never forgets a name or what they are doing – she makes this place what it is” The music started up and John took Carol onto the floor to the sound of Barry Manilow and “Copacabana” They Cha-cha-cha-d and Salsa-d and even had a little go at a Tango but that defeated them and they sat down to watch the others. “Will you come next week?” asked John. “Yes – will you be here?” “Of course - now I have a new partner I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” smiled John. At the end of the evening, Carol said goodnight to her new friends and made her way to the car. John followed her. “See you next week,” he said. “Don’t be late.” “I won’t,” she said. “We will have to practise that Tango!” …

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18 WHEN THE BUG BITES

by Jackie Jacques

I’m the kind of guy, if I get an idea, I can’t put it on the backburner. The busy man does it now. ‘For God’s sake, Jerry,’ Marion would groan, ‘the tap can wait. I’m about to serve dinner!’ But an itch cannot be ignored. Problem on the shop-floor, dripping tap, tomatoes wilting in the greenhouse? I have to deal with it, fix it, water them. Now, right now. And that morning two summers ago, when I woke before dawn, I knew I had to get up and spray the roses. I could almost hear the aphids sucking the lifeblood from my Gertrude Jekyll. It had to be done, and quickly. Before the sun came up and the bees got to work. You can’t go killing bees. It was blissful in the garden, frogs croaking at the moon, moths flitting about like tiny ghosts, the scent of stock and honeysuckle swelling to overdose proportions in the still, warm air. Of course, once I got spraying all I could smell was pesticide. The moths hightailed it out of there and even the frogs sloped off. It wasn’t until later in the day I found the body. Poor Sooty must have been taking a crap in his favourite spot under Gertrude and taken the poisonous blast full on. ‘It was dark,’ I pleaded. ‘I didn’t see him. Why couldn’t you have got a white cat? Or given him a luminous collar? With bells on?’ To no avail. ‘Murderer!’ she screamed. ‘You never liked him.’ She was adamant - I was the pest - and she left. She’d rather have greenfly than me! As a Union man, I was too caught up in the daily battles of negotiations with management, and committee meetings, to think about loneliness, but when I opened my front door silence throbbed down the hall like poison in a vein. The things that had seemed so important when Marion had been there to admire my handiwork - the DIY, the striped lawn, the gourmet meals - all went by the board. I made do with takeaways and watched the grass grow and the cupboard doors droop. What would have become of me if the Evening Class brochure hadn’t dropped through the door, I dread to think. I signed up to Creative Writing on enrolment night. Liz was just what I needed: a no-nonsense teacher who promised to turn us all into writers who sold. ‘Write what you know, little loves,’ she crooned. ‘Write what you know.’ Everything we read, she told us, was written by someone - including the back of the Cornflakes packet. We simply had to find our niche. Beginning with two-line fillers and competition slogans, we scribbled five-minute 'what-ifs', alliterated and simileed, cut down hung clauses and punctuated pianos for ladies with carved legs and, in the fourth week, made our first forays into the short story. And that's when the bug really bit. I was used to writing reports for work and, heaven knows, some of them were creative enough but this was what I was born to do. Godlike, I could create characters from the dust of my experience; I could breathe life into them, place them in a world of my making, and have them dance to my tune, lead them through crises and conflicts to a satisfying conclusion. The days weren't long enough. I left union meetings early and, instead of fighting corners, referred cases of unfair dismissal to the Appeal Tribunal. The aphids took over the garden and next door’s cat made free with Gertrude. Sometimes it was two or three in the morning before I could tear myself away from the computer. And then, as I was about to drop off, I would find myself jumping

19 up again, to jot down a telling word or an apt phrase, that had just popped into my fading consciousness. Otherwise you lay yourself wide open, don't you? The gentle reader will not hesitate to pour contempt over any cheap humbuggery, no matter how beautifully it's written. 'Doesn't know his backside from crap, this Jerry Smith. He's never been down-and-out/to the top of Mont Blanc/ lost in the fog, not in a million years. Got it off the back of a Cornflakes packet.' And they'd be right. If you're going to do a thing properly you should have experienced it, breathed the air, felt the bowel-loosening terror of being at the dark core of a blind malignant world. I mean, if JG Ballard was short of an idea or two, you wouldn’t find him Googling for inspiration. He’d been there, done it, got the coolie-hat. ‘So, you’re saying you can only write from an old man’s point of view if you are one, and PD James was some sort of serial killer?’ ‘No, obviously, she researched all that.’ ‘So, what happened to ‘write what you know’?’ ‘Well, she did know, after she’d researched it.’ This was the first conversation I had with Roz, in the bar after class. She had wafted in, after half- term, on a cloud of Chanel and chiffon, a willowy beauty with a mass of pre-Raphaelite red hair and Nefertiti eyes and now she was smiling at me, strangely, over her vodka and lime. My heart took off like a flock of pigeons. Her boyfriend, Nick, was an entrepreneur, she said. My heart sank but perked up when she said that he was away for a month, on business, leaving her without a car. That settled it: it became a matter of urgency to wean her away from that selfish capitalist. I said I would be more than happy to give her a lift home. I had led a sheltered life, missing the swings of the seventies and the roundabouts thereafter: too busy studying Economics to 'freak out' or 'love in'. From college I went straight into the Union, married Marion, a fellow shop steward, and cleaved me only unto her. Until the cat-thing. But cleavage of a different kind caused my breathing to falter when Roz curled into my car like a long, contemplative question mark. This close, I could feel the heat of her body, breathe her musky fragrance, hear the invitation of her earrings and I couldn’t believe my luck. Driving her to and from Creative Writing became the norm. She even bought me a box of chocolates as a thankyou and we shared them, hard centres for me, soft for her. A few boxes of chocolates later, I was not only transporting her to and from the class but to the outer reaches of paradise, say so myself. In between times, there were stories to be written. Week by week, Liz was unlocking doors to the various story genres: romance, adventure, fantasy. Crime appealed to me, the challenge of close plotting, fitting all the pieces of the jigsaw together. Then Bob came in towards the end of term, with smugness oozing out of every sweaty pore. He’d sold a novel for £15,000. It would be in the shops for Christmas. ‘Oh, Bob, that's wonderful! Bravo!’ Liz clapped her hands. We all nodded, too gutted to speak. ‘What was it about, dear boy?’ Turned out the book was pornography at its smuttiest. ‘Well,’ said Liz with a smirk, ‘I told you there was a market for each of you. Bob has obviously written what he knows...’

20 My crime thriller had rather backed up a dark alley. Not that I had a block. My brain was teeming with ideas for murdering a greasy sex-writer but I couldn't bring my story to a convincing conclusion. I just didn't have a criminal mind. So, for research purposes, I tried stealing from the Body Shop. Apart from a pocketful of warm slime when the bath bubbles melted, it was no use at all. I tried filling up with petrol at a self-service station and driving off without paying. Agony down the M11, but no other probs apart from running over a squirrel. I had to pull over to be sick, but I couldn't use that in a murder-mystery. Surely JG hadn't suffered like this? Then Nick returned and Roz said our affair must end. I tried bringing her gifts, strawberry creams and late blooms from the garden. She kept the chocolates but refused the flowers, saying that her flat was full of hothouse orchids and roses that Nick had bought her. The Chrysanthemums shed petals all down her path. She, most certainly, loved me not. Blood pounded in my brain and my fingers were on fire with a terrible urge, a need to claw, gouge, rip and tear at an itch that was driving me crazy. It's easy to kill a chocolate junkie. You just inject their fix with something nasty - like weedkiller, maybe. Last night, after class, I managed to catch Roz before she climbed back into Nick’s Bentley, and, while the chauffeur rudely revved the engine, I handed over my souvenirs, a dolphin earring, a gold sandal with a broken heel, some photos and tapes, last year's 'Writer's Handbook' and a box of chocolate liqueurs I couldn’t fancy now. ‘Your things,’ I muttered, shoving the carrier into her arms. She looked, acted, for a moment, like some operatic diva receiving her bouquet. ‘How sad,’ she pouted, looking inside. ‘A cliché. But then you live, breathe and write clichés, don't you, Jerry? I suppose these are the 'ashes of our affair?’ Then she looked at me with those Nefertiti eyes and smiled slowly. ‘Nice alliteration, though, Jerry. You can use it if you like. You need all the help you can get. Me, I've just had a story accepted by ‘Bella’, about a balding Marxist, a pathetic little man, who sells his soul for love of a beautiful and sophisticated authoress. Write what you know, Liz said, didn’t she?’ Bitch! I came home and dusted off the computer. And, in the privacy of my back room, I scratched my itch until it bled.

* * *

21 MY FIRST BALLGOWN – 1949 by Pam Eaves

‘Walter asked me if Pam could go to his Masonic Ladies’ night with him and Doris,’ Dad said. ‘Why? Whatever for?’ Mum glanced at me, but I pretended I hadn’t heard. Children didn’t join in their parents’ conversation in those days unless they were invited and, as far as my parents were concerned, I was still a child, even though I’d started work in a buyer’s office near Oxford Street. I was sixteen and had only just left school. Anyway, Dad had been scathing when he heard his brother had joined the Masons. ‘It’s ridiculous,’ he’d said to Mum. ‘Doris probably put him up to it. She’s always been full of airs and graces; thinks she’s a cut above, especially since she met up with Mr. Martin again.’ ‘Shush,’ Mum had said, nodding towards me. Not that I was interested then. Auntie Doris had never seemed too fond of me. But now they’d invited me out I kept quiet pretending to read my book, but my ears were positively flapping. ‘I don’t know what for.’ Dad sounded irritable. ‘Some sort of celebration I suppose. They probably have all sorts of celebrations in these organisations.’ ‘Well, Pam can’t go and that’s it. She’s too young for one thing, and she’d need a frock of some sort.’ ‘A long dress, Walter said, and long, white gloves.’ ‘What?’ Mum’s voice came out in a squeak and I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t there any longer. ‘What’s a Masonic Ladies night?’ My parents both stared at me for what seemed ages, then: ‘Your Uncle Walter has joined the Masons – a sort of organisation for businessmen and they have dinners and dances,’ Dad said, then looked away; the sign he was leaving it to Mum to sort out, as always. ‘You’re too young,’ Mum said. ‘Walter said Pam should be exposed to better things now she’s left school.’ ‘Rubbish,’ said Mum. ‘Doris has put him up to it, but why?’ ‘I think Mr Martin is going.’ With that, Dad stood up and left the room. I heard the toilet door upstairs shut - his refuge when the going got rough. Mum cleared the table and started banging about in the kitchen. I don’t know what happened between them after that, but a week later I was told that I was going to a dinner and dance at the Dorchester Hotel in Park Lane with my uncle and aunt in a couple of months’ time and Mum had no idea what I could possibly wear that would be suitable, especially since she had no time to make me a frock, and anyway, there was no material in the shops for evening dresses even though rationing was finished now.’ Mum seemed very het up about it all, but I didn’t much care one way or another because I wasn’t that keen on Auntie Doris. Uncle Walter was alright when she wasn’t around and I know he and Dad got on fine; they were brothers after all, but it did seem odd, them wanting to take me to some sort of celebration – of what? I felt nervous about the whole thing and rather hoped Mum would put the block on it.

22 ‘Can you dance?’ Mum asked me one evening. ‘I’ve been going to dancing classes since I was eight,’ I replied huffily. ‘No, I mean ballroom dancing.’ ‘Yes. Ron taught me at the youth club and ATC dances last year.’ The penny dropped and I realised she was referring to the dinner dance. Mum’s face fell. Dad smiled. ‘Better ask Mrs Miller if her Eileen can make Pam a frock then,’ he said. I’d overheard Mrs Miller telling Mum her daughter was working for a West End couturier making ball gowns. Eileen was duly contacted, came round and measured me. ‘There’s nothing much in the shops suitable for evening gowns,’ she said and Mum looked hopeful. ‘But,’ Eileen continued, ‘I made myself a lovely frock from curtaining to go to a dinner/dance last year. John Lewis has a fairly good selection.’ Eileen met me in Oxford Street after work. We chose pale green brocade from the curtaining department and she made me a frock. It all went very smoothly – none of that stressed, ‘stand still or how on earth can I make this fit’ stuff that I got from Mum when she made my clothes and I was surprised at how grown up I looked when the gown was finished, especially when Eileen produced a pair of long, white gloves and pulled them onto my hands. She stood back proudly. ‘There,’ she said. ‘Better take the dress off before you mark it,’ Mum said. But I stood on a chair in my bedroom so I could get a good view in the mirror before I carefully hung it up and wrapped it in an old sheet. I didn’t think I need be ashamed when I burst onto the ‘better things’ scene. When the evening arrived, bitterly cold, but dry, I’d stood on the chair in my bedroom again, but was still nervous when the limousine drew up before our front door with the tense faces of my uncle and aunt peering out, Auntie Doris’ plump cheeks sticking out from a fur wrap. I only had my old winter coat. It didn’t seem to fit the bill somehow, but… ‘Behave yourself,’ Mum said, her face all tight. ‘And watch your handbag.’ I had nothing but some loose change, a comb and lipstick in the small evening bag which had been borrowed from goodness knows who, and when I clambered into the car and sat on a silly little seat with my back to the driver, I felt as though I was going to the guillotine. Nothing was said as we drove through the huge gaps in buildings left by the bombing. The stars were bright, I remember, and the City appeared bleak and derelict until we reached the West End, where the lights were sparkling and there were other cars as luxurious as the one we were riding in. ‘A Daimler’, Dad had murmured admiringly as I stepped from our front door. The Dorchester Hotel breathed warm air into the icy night as we entered a kaleidoscope of gilt paint and crimson velvet carpets. Gliding around in this luxury, a bevy of white, mottled arms and décolleté oozed from multi-coloured gowns against a background of plump penguins. Auntie Doris, without a word, led me through a door into a pale blue tiled cloakroom, indicated I should give my coat to a heavily made up woman behind a desk and there I stood, reflected in what seemed like hundreds of mirrors in my ball gown made of curtaining. I had a pang of uncertainty – did it look like curtain material? No-one seemed to notice. I glanced around to see what ladies dabbing powder on over-flushed cheeks and red necks were wearing. I recognised some materials – satin, crepe, velvet, but none of them looked glamorous – in fact most gowns were too tight and some showed signs of wear, particularly under the arms. At least mine was new. I followed Auntie Doris out into the foyer and a very dark, extremely plump penguin bounced up to us and kissed my aunt heartily on each cheek – and my uncle, who was standing right there,

23 didn’t say a word. This was the Mr Martin I had heard mentioned in hushed tones. He beamed and shook my hand before turning his attention to my aunt again. Uncle Walter didn’t dance but Mr Martin did his duty. He danced with Aunt Doris and with me; his tummy intruding rather uncomfortably into my personal space. My boy-friend, Ron, was tall and slim so I’d never been shoved round by his belly, but perhaps this was what you had to suffer to experience ‘better things’. The dinner was nice, especially the ice cream pudding, and I managed to use the right cutlery too. I saw Auntie Doris watching me. Neither I, nor the curtaining gown could have disgraced ourselves because I was invited again the following year, realising at last that I was being used as a partner for Mr Martin. Not that I minded – I’d been exposed to ‘better things’, and thought it was all a bit of a laugh.

* * *

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(SUE MEREDITH)

Instructions This quiz was in 3 parts. Part 1 – Identify the Classic Children’s TV Programme- questions 1-10 Part 2 – Identify the British Sporting Hero - questions 11-20 Part 3 – Solve the picture clue to identify the Beatles Song – questions 21-30

Here are the answers!

1. 6.

Watch with Mother, Andy Pandy Scooby Do 2. 7.

The Wombles The Magic Roundabout 3. 8.

Trumpton Sponge Bob Square Pants 4. 9.

Pingu Blue Peter 5. 10.

Grange Hill Wacky Races

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11. 16.

Rebecca Adlington Chris Hoy 12. 17.

Torvill & Dean Eric Liddell 13. 18.

Paula Radcliffe Heather Watson 14. 19.

Christine Ohuruogu Tanni Grey-Thompson 15. 20.

Lennox Lewis Gordon Banks

21. 26.

Yellow Submarine Hey Jude 22. 27.

Helter Skelter Back in the USSR 23. 28.

Penny Lane I am the Walrus 24. 29.

Ticket to Ride Nowhere Man 25. 30.

Strawberry Fields Paperback Writer

I hope you did well.

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(SUE MEREDITH)

Instructions This quiz is in 3 parts. Part 1 – Who are they? Identify the famous person as a child- questions 1-10 Part 2 – Do you know your Laundry Washing Symbols 11-20 Part 3 – Name the shop from the cryptic clue – questions 21-30 Answers will be given in the next newsletter. I hope you all give it a try.

ENJOY!

1. 6.

______2. 7.

______3. 8.

______4. 9.

______5. 10.

______

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11. 16.

______12. 17.

______13. 18.

______14. 19.

______15. 20.

______

21. Granny won’t get her apples here ______22. You find chicken’s living here ______23. The one after this ______24. Rescuers of short glasses ______25. A skeleton may come here to buy ______26. acdefgijklmnopqrtuvwxyz ______27. Tell the girl to remain ______28. Trade in white goods ______29. Mixed sugar loses you but gains nothing ______30. Pours over the cobbles to read ______

I hope you did well. Answers in the next newsletter.

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