COINCIDENCE?
A few years ago the Independent Newspaper published a letter I sent that was in response to an article about Gastro-pubs. The letter is reproduced below:
Letters to the Editor,
The Independent,
E.14.
15th October 2003.
Your feature about Gastro-pubs sparked off a few memories. When `I took my first pub in 1962, I inherited a cook who’d worked there during the war. Kit her name was. If only there were more like her in pubs today.
We only served food lunchtimes, we had an upstairs restaurant but served the same food in the bar. Everything was delivered daily from local tradesmen, butcher, baker, fish,monger, greengrocer all from the sadly missed Angel Lane market in Stratford, E.15. There was no freezers or micro waves in those days. No specialised frozen food companies with their pre-packed ready portioned meals, even the fridge we had was a huge wooden affair that just about kept the food cool.
But Kit made the loveliest pies and puddings, her fish and chips made with skate and plaice fresh from the market was the best I’ve tasted, better even that Whitby’s finest and her scotch eggs made you realise why they were once considered delicacies instead of something to be avoided at all costs.
Although I realised that my beer sales were subsidising the food side I stuck it out for about three years before pulling the plug on the restaurant. Customers then didn’t want to pay for the food, it was so cheap in the shops that they objected to realistic prices. Lots of patrons never looked at the menu just the prices, our most popular seller, especially with the reporters from the Stratford Express opposite the pub, was Shepherds pie which at 8d (eight old pennies) was a bargain so. sadly, I closed and earned a fortune out of the disco that replaced it.
Then, as now, money is all that seemed to count.
It’s sad how we lose that which we most love for the sake of a few pounds.
I generally welcome the Gastro-pubs as pubs, in general, have become unpleasant with their emphasis on events to promote heavy drinking amongst women as well as men, the sooner there’s no pubs the better.
But the food these new bar sell does, at the moment, depend a bit on novelty with the emphasis on fashion rather than flavour and tasteability, it has to be Mediterranean, Pacific rim, Californian, New European or have one of these ‘buzz’ words attached to it, it will soon pall and God forbid that we ever gp back to ‘Pub Grub’ like Scampi in the basket or frozen whitebait, there will be a demand for more ‘old fashioned’ food which will filter down from top restaurants like St Johns of Smithfield and I think the traditional Sunday roast is still everyone's’ favourite.
By the way I used to go into the ‘Crown’ you referred to with my Dad in the fifties. It was ultra respectable then, on the edge of Victoria Park, quite middle class for the area - to use an Americanism ‘what goes around comes around’.
Sincerely,
Eddie Johnson.
The Independent I’m pleased to say published the letter in full. My sister, who still lives in Wanstead, East London, asked me to drop the newspaper in to her, which I did. After I left her house to drive back to Long Melford she had a delivery of Calor Gas, she was chatting to the delivery man about how the area had changed and he mentioned that he used to go into the ‘Two Puddings’ some years previous. He was a man in his forties, ‘as a matter of fact’ he went on to say ‘my Nan worked there during the war. right up till the mid sixties’. Doreen was astonished and so was he when she showed him the letter in the newspaper, Kit was his grandmother! To read about her from 40 years ago. Sadly his Nan, or Kit as I knew her had died some years previous but his Grandfather was still alive and was pleased to see the recognition of Kit as a great cook so many years later.
Remarkable what?
Eddie Johnson.
Saturday 27 October 2007
Thursday 25 October 2007
MEANING(LESS).
Watching birds in the garden you soon come to realise that all their frantic activity, all their comings and goings, to-ing and fro-ing all fits to a pattern. A pattern repeated year in and year out forever, its all nature. The trees have leaves that the caterpillars feed on, the birds catch the caterpillars to feed their young; if the leaves, because of warm weather, come out too early the caterpillars have a feast day because later in the season the leaves develop a protective sheen that makes them unpalatable to allow their blossom to develop so that the fruits, nuts or acorns grow so that the trees will eventually perpetuate themselves, but if the caterpillars cant feed properly they die and the birds don’t have them and their offspring doesn’t get fed and so it goes, watching these creatures and plants there comes the realisation that all is like clockwork preordained.
Humans are the same. We go to work to get money to buy food to feed our offspring, all our fevered activity from the tycoons and businessmen who are forever striving to make more and more money, why? Because like all of us they are programmed. Each and everyone one of us has to engage in activity that, however it seems, painting pictures, writing books, curing people, collecting rubbish, making millions is all part of nature’s programme.
We are all part of Mother Earth, no matter how intelligent or how stupid we are pre conditioned to do what we can.
Take football. Is this part of the system. Do birds or squirrels play? Some would argue that when all beings are young they play, I assume puppies and kittens are playing when they chase after a ball; or a piece of string. Is this to train them to cope with the exigencies of life. Surely football and cricket and boxing is only an extension of the training for living that primitive man did when he had to hunt for food and fight for his life.
If everything is so programmed and we know it why bother? Because if we don't bother we sink into a state known as depression which makes one ill and lack lustre and no fun to be with and eventually so apathetic that there is no point. But that is the reason one gets depressed because there is no point. But knowing there’s no point and knowing you will get depressed it is best to act as if there is a point and to go about daily life with a sense of immense purpose and therefore feel cheerful and good about oneself and make all around you happy.
And so it goes. The eternal question. There isn’t really a question and there is certainly no answer.
Humans are the same. We go to work to get money to buy food to feed our offspring, all our fevered activity from the tycoons and businessmen who are forever striving to make more and more money, why? Because like all of us they are programmed. Each and everyone one of us has to engage in activity that, however it seems, painting pictures, writing books, curing people, collecting rubbish, making millions is all part of nature’s programme.
We are all part of Mother Earth, no matter how intelligent or how stupid we are pre conditioned to do what we can.
Take football. Is this part of the system. Do birds or squirrels play? Some would argue that when all beings are young they play, I assume puppies and kittens are playing when they chase after a ball; or a piece of string. Is this to train them to cope with the exigencies of life. Surely football and cricket and boxing is only an extension of the training for living that primitive man did when he had to hunt for food and fight for his life.
If everything is so programmed and we know it why bother? Because if we don't bother we sink into a state known as depression which makes one ill and lack lustre and no fun to be with and eventually so apathetic that there is no point. But that is the reason one gets depressed because there is no point. But knowing there’s no point and knowing you will get depressed it is best to act as if there is a point and to go about daily life with a sense of immense purpose and therefore feel cheerful and good about oneself and make all around you happy.
And so it goes. The eternal question. There isn’t really a question and there is certainly no answer.
Eddie Johnson
Long Melford. 21.10.2007.I rarely read the colour supplement but as an admirer of Studs Terkel I had to read the Robert Chalmers interview which I enjoyed, however to refer to Paul Robeson as ‘the black opera singer’ is almost dismissive of one of the great Americans of the 20th century. Robeson certainly sang in opera, he also acted in many films but it was his singing of ‘negro spirituals’ that most people remember him for that and his singing of the ‘Showboat’ hit ‘Old man River” whose lyrics he gradually altered over the years so that they reflected the plight of the black man in American society.
Chalmers also writes of James T Farrell’s crime novels. Studs Lonigan was a story of a young Irish American’s upbringing and life in Chicago, it is considered to be a classic of the depression years, the article gives the impression that Lonigan was some private eye from the pen of pulp crime writer.. A bit more care and attention and maybe research please.
Yours faithfully,
Eddie Johnson
Long Melford. 21.10.2007.
Long Melford. 21.10.2007.I rarely read the colour supplement but as an admirer of Studs Terkel I had to read the Robert Chalmers interview which I enjoyed, however to refer to Paul Robeson as ‘the black opera singer’ is almost dismissive of one of the great Americans of the 20th century. Robeson certainly sang in opera, he also acted in many films but it was his singing of ‘negro spirituals’ that most people remember him for that and his singing of the ‘Showboat’ hit ‘Old man River” whose lyrics he gradually altered over the years so that they reflected the plight of the black man in American society.
Chalmers also writes of James T Farrell’s crime novels. Studs Lonigan was a story of a young Irish American’s upbringing and life in Chicago, it is considered to be a classic of the depression years, the article gives the impression that Lonigan was some private eye from the pen of pulp crime writer.. A bit more care and attention and maybe research please.
Yours faithfully,
Eddie Johnson
Long Melford. 21.10.2007.
Wednesday 17 October 2007
A tender farewell to John Davies.
Funerals vary so much. Its odd really; grief one would suppose is a universal feeling. Of course it depends on the age, the circumstances, the closeness of the deceased. If they are very young or struck down in their prime, their parents and siblings, wives and children are overwhelmed with unutterable sadness and a feeling of such desolation and misery that one’s very limbs will not function properly. The grievers gait is slow and they are bent as if in very old age.
There are cultural differences too. The traditional Irish wake where the recently departed is stood upright in his coffin and all around him the mourners celebrate his life with song, dance and drink. West Indians also treat death less reverentially as a celebration of past life; deeply held religious beliefs where death is believed to be a bridge to another world helps mourners stay cheerful.
Forty two years ago I went to the first funeral of my life when I was thirty three years old. I haven’t stopped going to them since.
The early events I went to were sombre, sometimes heart breaking events where the chief mourners were dumb with misery and tears.
As I’ve got older many of my friends have died as have my Mum and Dad and all my Uncles and Aunts. When a friend dies if one hasn’t seem them for some time their is a feeling of detachment. After the usual expressions of regret to the family and children there is acquaintance and friendship to be renewed with fellow mourners who haven’t seen each other for years.
I went recently to the funeral of John Davies, one of my oldest and best friends. He wasn’t particularly old by the standards of today, he was seventy, but he’d been ill and bedridden for some months and though not in great pain he slept most of the day and seemed to gradually waste away and descend into everlasting sleep.
He was a popular man very well known in the East end and there was five or six hundred people at the crematorium to see him off. The reception was at a hotel where his family had seen to it that there was lots of good food and plenty to drink.
It all seemed so unreal to me. I was surrounded by friends and family and we were all laughing, joking, eating and drinking and telling each other what a wonderful send off it was and how John would have loved it; I guess he would have. Apart from tears from some grandchildren and a few muffled sobs in the chapel there seemed no evidence of overwhelming grief. I felt a loss within me. A sadness that I’d lost a great friend but is as if a stoic acceptance has come with age that its a natural and normal process as if only at the last stages of life this awareness becomes fact. All through young and middle age one regards death as unlikely so its not contemplated and is so shocking when it comes; but in the elderly it is embraced not eagerly but with equanimity and a sense of the inevitable.
I decided when I got home from the funeral that I wanted a small one. A muted affair for immediate family and close friends. My life has been a sad one in recent years and I don't want jokes and celebration round my grave..I would like some tears falling on the new turned earth.
The Independent Newspaper,
London.
17 Oct 2007.
Dear Sir,
Vince Cable is right about the ‘cult of youth’; it’s all around us reflected in our awful culture, dumbed down vulgar television. celebration of violence and morbid fascination with pathology on our tvs’; childrern being denied their childhood pitchforked into grown up fashion clothes, make up and adult violent video games before their time; binge drinking and raucous behaviour on the streets, lack of respect for anyone but theirselvess. Old people are shamelessly, unforgiveably treated in all walks of English society. Its sad because we have so much to offer, we don’t want to be in charge but we’d like a voice. If old voices had prevailed in 2003 I doubt if there’d been a war in Iraq.
.
London.
17 Oct 2007.
Dear Sir,
Vince Cable is right about the ‘cult of youth’; it’s all around us reflected in our awful culture, dumbed down vulgar television. celebration of violence and morbid fascination with pathology on our tvs’; childrern being denied their childhood pitchforked into grown up fashion clothes, make up and adult violent video games before their time; binge drinking and raucous behaviour on the streets, lack of respect for anyone but theirselvess. Old people are shamelessly, unforgiveably treated in all walks of English society. Its sad because we have so much to offer, we don’t want to be in charge but we’d like a voice. If old voices had prevailed in 2003 I doubt if there’d been a war in Iraq.
.
Friday 31 August 2007
CHAOS IN THE STREETS
If anyone 30 years ago could fast forward and see what's happening in our towns and cities today they would be horrified and find the state of affairs unbelievable. The drunkenness', the lewd, rude disrespectful behaviour, urinating, screaming, swearing half dressed men and women out of control while clutching tins of strong beer, police over stretched being insulted by yobs only able to warn and caution in political correct language these sub humans who are polluting our streets.
It was nearly 30 years ago that a small group of restaurateurs, headed by the late Bob Payton, an American, of ‘Chicago Pizza Pie factory’ fame, started a campaign for the relaxation of the licensing laws. They had a good and valid case. It was a nonsense that after 3pm one couldn’t order another glass of wine with the meal you were eating. The drinks industry took no time to attach themselves to this campaign. The ‘Beerage’ who with the arms trade are probably the strongest lobbyists, and with the support of most of the press soon bulldozed new laws through, culminating with the ‘Holy Grail’ of the ‘booze’ industry, twenty four hour opening.
As an East end landlord for many years of probably one of the toughest pubs in that area, mainly catering for young people I could see the future problems a mile away. I campaigned long and hard against relaxation. I had numerous letters in the newspapers, articles in the Morning Advertiser, I spoke at Licensed Victualler meetings and was quoted and supported in Parliament by Sir Bernard Braine who said he was heartened by my stance and it made him realise how many ordinary publicans were against the move.
Our licensing laws were the envy of the world. They were the best of any country. Its no coincidence that the standards of our ordinary pubs have gone down so much.
Now there will be fresh debate in the House of Commons where no one from the Government will admit to being so absolutely wrong, they will blame it on to parents, schools, alcopops, everyone but themselves, nothing wrong with being open all day and all night, they’ll say, serving strong drink to everyone, its the odd one or two that misbehave, and, oh yes the police welcome the new laws. Every policeman I’ve spoken to, and I’ve spoken to many, hates them, mind you they are the ordinary coppers on the beat, the ones on the front line.
No one nowadays remembers my one man campaign so there’s no point in me saying ‘I told you so’ but Governments never listen to sensible advice from ordinary people, look at our foreign policy over the years, the Cassandras are, in the end, generally right but its normally too late.
This is a copy of a letter sent to the Independent Aug 16, 07. (not pub.)..
It was nearly 30 years ago that a small group of restaurateurs, headed by the late Bob Payton, an American, of ‘Chicago Pizza Pie factory’ fame, started a campaign for the relaxation of the licensing laws. They had a good and valid case. It was a nonsense that after 3pm one couldn’t order another glass of wine with the meal you were eating. The drinks industry took no time to attach themselves to this campaign. The ‘Beerage’ who with the arms trade are probably the strongest lobbyists, and with the support of most of the press soon bulldozed new laws through, culminating with the ‘Holy Grail’ of the ‘booze’ industry, twenty four hour opening.
As an East end landlord for many years of probably one of the toughest pubs in that area, mainly catering for young people I could see the future problems a mile away. I campaigned long and hard against relaxation. I had numerous letters in the newspapers, articles in the Morning Advertiser, I spoke at Licensed Victualler meetings and was quoted and supported in Parliament by Sir Bernard Braine who said he was heartened by my stance and it made him realise how many ordinary publicans were against the move.
Our licensing laws were the envy of the world. They were the best of any country. Its no coincidence that the standards of our ordinary pubs have gone down so much.
Now there will be fresh debate in the House of Commons where no one from the Government will admit to being so absolutely wrong, they will blame it on to parents, schools, alcopops, everyone but themselves, nothing wrong with being open all day and all night, they’ll say, serving strong drink to everyone, its the odd one or two that misbehave, and, oh yes the police welcome the new laws. Every policeman I’ve spoken to, and I’ve spoken to many, hates them, mind you they are the ordinary coppers on the beat, the ones on the front line.
No one nowadays remembers my one man campaign so there’s no point in me saying ‘I told you so’ but Governments never listen to sensible advice from ordinary people, look at our foreign policy over the years, the Cassandras are, in the end, generally right but its normally too late.
This is a copy of a letter sent to the Independent Aug 16, 07. (not pub.)..
Saturday 25 August 2007
Eduardo’s West Suffolk Gastro Guide
If I was to write a guide book for people interested in eating out in this area I would have a lot of places to go to.
I suppose I'd have to categorise it. There's lots of people, not at all sophisticated in the art of high cuisine who just know what they like and want plenty of it. They are the sort of people who frequent all those pubs with big signs outside that say 'Sunday roast for a fiver' or 'OAPs
half price, Lunchtimes', maybe they do excellent food, I don't know as I tend to avoid that type of establishment, I can almost smell them without going through the door. So I wouldn't be able to cater for these places unless they were so highly recommended by at least two people whom I knew, then, and only then, would I venture through the door.
In this area of Suffolk we have two establishments that are very cutting edge in their cooking and can compete with anywhere in Britain, they are the 'Great House' in Lavenham, a lovely old house in one of the nicest villages in the south of England it is run by Regis a Frenchman who employs all French staff. It is a mixture of provincial France and middle class England, the ambience is superb and the food is always, nearly, perfect.
The other place styles itself a 'Bistro' which h I think is rather misleading. It is called 'Scutchers' and is housed in a former pub, the atmosphere is rather different, brisk and cheerful, fronted by the owners wife Diane. who is a lovely lady, it is a bright, pine furnished eatery with no table cloths and one has to pay for the olives you can have over an aperitif (hence the Bistro in the title) the food here is innovative and excitingly cooked by the proprietor, Nick Barrett, and although the atmosphere is not conducive to lingering I have rarely, if ever, been disappointed with the food.
So the above two would probably get star rating but there are lots of other places that would get honourable mention the White Hart at Great Yeldham a lovely old Tudor pub, the building and interior well worth a look but the food is pretty decent, the 'George' at Cavendish, the first Gastro pub of the area, the Angel at Lavenham which is a pub I always recommend, it is my own personal favourite pub. The beer is good and the food is well prepared and nicely cooked, it is friendly a`and the joint governors are typical middle class, rather quiet unassuming types that nevertheless, always manage to seem pleased to see you, well Roy does anyway and Friday night he plays the piano, mainly classical, for the benefit of his customers. It is now a completely non smoking establishment and when I book I always ask to sit round the pub side, its more atmospheric.
There's also the 'Angel' at Nayland. again its best to eat in the pub. The menu is on a blackboard with lots of exciting choices including plenty of fresh fish, skate, sea bass. sardines. lemon sole and probably the best sirloin steak in the area. At one time it was quite difficult to get a seat unless one arrived just after opening time but now, possibly because there's two new gastro pubs opened in the vicinity, its easier to get served, but well worth a try.
There's the White Hart at Stoke by Nayland, this is run under the auspices of the Roux Bros., at one time the most famous French restaurateurs in London. The food here is superb as one can imagine. Again all French staff, I once had a Lancashire 'Hot Pot' here that was the best I've ever tasted. The flavours were so intense.
Sad news since I wrote this. John, Roy and Ann in complete secrecy at the end of July sold and moved out of the ‘Angel’ Lavenham. This came as a great surprise even shock not only to me but all the staff and the village. So far the changes have only been minor, the staff are still there, James, Amy, Mandy & Lynn but the piano has gone, Roy’s personal property. I’m reserving judgement and keeping my fingers crossed.
I suppose I'd have to categorise it. There's lots of people, not at all sophisticated in the art of high cuisine who just know what they like and want plenty of it. They are the sort of people who frequent all those pubs with big signs outside that say 'Sunday roast for a fiver' or 'OAPs
half price, Lunchtimes', maybe they do excellent food, I don't know as I tend to avoid that type of establishment, I can almost smell them without going through the door. So I wouldn't be able to cater for these places unless they were so highly recommended by at least two people whom I knew, then, and only then, would I venture through the door.
In this area of Suffolk we have two establishments that are very cutting edge in their cooking and can compete with anywhere in Britain, they are the 'Great House' in Lavenham, a lovely old house in one of the nicest villages in the south of England it is run by Regis a Frenchman who employs all French staff. It is a mixture of provincial France and middle class England, the ambience is superb and the food is always, nearly, perfect.
The other place styles itself a 'Bistro' which h I think is rather misleading. It is called 'Scutchers' and is housed in a former pub, the atmosphere is rather different, brisk and cheerful, fronted by the owners wife Diane. who is a lovely lady, it is a bright, pine furnished eatery with no table cloths and one has to pay for the olives you can have over an aperitif (hence the Bistro in the title) the food here is innovative and excitingly cooked by the proprietor, Nick Barrett, and although the atmosphere is not conducive to lingering I have rarely, if ever, been disappointed with the food.
So the above two would probably get star rating but there are lots of other places that would get honourable mention the White Hart at Great Yeldham a lovely old Tudor pub, the building and interior well worth a look but the food is pretty decent, the 'George' at Cavendish, the first Gastro pub of the area, the Angel at Lavenham which is a pub I always recommend, it is my own personal favourite pub. The beer is good and the food is well prepared and nicely cooked, it is friendly a`and the joint governors are typical middle class, rather quiet unassuming types that nevertheless, always manage to seem pleased to see you, well Roy does anyway and Friday night he plays the piano, mainly classical, for the benefit of his customers. It is now a completely non smoking establishment and when I book I always ask to sit round the pub side, its more atmospheric.
There's also the 'Angel' at Nayland. again its best to eat in the pub. The menu is on a blackboard with lots of exciting choices including plenty of fresh fish, skate, sea bass. sardines. lemon sole and probably the best sirloin steak in the area. At one time it was quite difficult to get a seat unless one arrived just after opening time but now, possibly because there's two new gastro pubs opened in the vicinity, its easier to get served, but well worth a try.
There's the White Hart at Stoke by Nayland, this is run under the auspices of the Roux Bros., at one time the most famous French restaurateurs in London. The food here is superb as one can imagine. Again all French staff, I once had a Lancashire 'Hot Pot' here that was the best I've ever tasted. The flavours were so intense.
Sad news since I wrote this. John, Roy and Ann in complete secrecy at the end of July sold and moved out of the ‘Angel’ Lavenham. This came as a great surprise even shock not only to me but all the staff and the village. So far the changes have only been minor, the staff are still there, James, Amy, Mandy & Lynn but the piano has gone, Roy’s personal property. I’m reserving judgement and keeping my fingers crossed.
Friday 24 August 2007
Nothing is the same.
High Summer here again. They come and go the seasons and when one is fairly static and don’t go abroad too much there is always the sense of de ja vu because we, the average, silly human being, as we get older tend to repeat and do the same things over and over.
I go on these long summer evenings most nights to a lovely pub in Lavenham. It’s called the ‘Angel’ and its positioned on one side of one of the most ancient squares in England. The old Guildhall dated 1200 AD or thereabouts, is one of the views to the left of the pub, the Church can be spotted if you look down the hill at the opposite edge of the square, there’s an old bakers shop and a general provision shop all housed in mediaeval buildings on the right hand side. I have a glass of dry white wine and soda, put my own chair out and sit there and watch the Swifts and their joyous patterns in the sky or else be entertained by the variety of people that turn up either to drink or eat here. I thought one warm evening when it was still and quiet, just a dim light from the shop, the occasional car and the odd walker that if I were to die sitting here I would die in Heaven.
I’ve been doing this for about seven or eight years. The pub has very pleasant staff who know me and pour my drink as I walk in the door, the main Governor is Roy, assisted by his wife Ann and another partner called John. Every Friday Roy was in the habit of playing popular classical music on the piano in the bar and I, now and again, eat in there with some of my family and its such an occasion that it makes me nostalgic for a time that I probably never ever knew. A time when there were no drunks or ‘oiks, when all people were polite to each other, when men wore hats and raised them in acknowledgement of acquaintance, again I don’t suppose it was ever like that.
The owners of the pub had been there about 18 years and I imagined they’d be their forever so it was a shock to find out that without saying a word to anyone their staff, friends or families they sold up and moved. I found out from a shocked resident of Lavenham, the local undertakers wife as it happens, who found it hard to believe. The whole weekend, it was on a Friday that I was told, I felt deeply depressed. My life had altered, this was an event that would shake my world. It made me think how we are set in our ways and how delicately balanced our lives are. Like the Swallows and the Swifts who travel each year from the other side of the Globe, like the Salmon who go back to their spawning grounds, like the Caribou who travel north and south looking for their moss, like the bees go to their hives, we are people conditioned to do what we are familiar with and what we like over and over again until something drastic happens to curtail our activity, we cannot help ourselves.
Outwardly nothing has happened. The same staff are there, Jamie and Mandy are joint managers, as they were before, Amy and Lynn are the main barmaids, the cooks are the same. They are watching for a month to see how it all goes and will make improvements where necessary. So it seems the same but it is not, no one realises yet but inevitably it will alter, maybe slowly so that no one notices until a year or two has gone by and someone will mourn it’s passing by saying “I remember when Roy and John was here, this was a marvellous pub”.
I go on these long summer evenings most nights to a lovely pub in Lavenham. It’s called the ‘Angel’ and its positioned on one side of one of the most ancient squares in England. The old Guildhall dated 1200 AD or thereabouts, is one of the views to the left of the pub, the Church can be spotted if you look down the hill at the opposite edge of the square, there’s an old bakers shop and a general provision shop all housed in mediaeval buildings on the right hand side. I have a glass of dry white wine and soda, put my own chair out and sit there and watch the Swifts and their joyous patterns in the sky or else be entertained by the variety of people that turn up either to drink or eat here. I thought one warm evening when it was still and quiet, just a dim light from the shop, the occasional car and the odd walker that if I were to die sitting here I would die in Heaven.
I’ve been doing this for about seven or eight years. The pub has very pleasant staff who know me and pour my drink as I walk in the door, the main Governor is Roy, assisted by his wife Ann and another partner called John. Every Friday Roy was in the habit of playing popular classical music on the piano in the bar and I, now and again, eat in there with some of my family and its such an occasion that it makes me nostalgic for a time that I probably never ever knew. A time when there were no drunks or ‘oiks, when all people were polite to each other, when men wore hats and raised them in acknowledgement of acquaintance, again I don’t suppose it was ever like that.
The owners of the pub had been there about 18 years and I imagined they’d be their forever so it was a shock to find out that without saying a word to anyone their staff, friends or families they sold up and moved. I found out from a shocked resident of Lavenham, the local undertakers wife as it happens, who found it hard to believe. The whole weekend, it was on a Friday that I was told, I felt deeply depressed. My life had altered, this was an event that would shake my world. It made me think how we are set in our ways and how delicately balanced our lives are. Like the Swallows and the Swifts who travel each year from the other side of the Globe, like the Salmon who go back to their spawning grounds, like the Caribou who travel north and south looking for their moss, like the bees go to their hives, we are people conditioned to do what we are familiar with and what we like over and over again until something drastic happens to curtail our activity, we cannot help ourselves.
Outwardly nothing has happened. The same staff are there, Jamie and Mandy are joint managers, as they were before, Amy and Lynn are the main barmaids, the cooks are the same. They are watching for a month to see how it all goes and will make improvements where necessary. So it seems the same but it is not, no one realises yet but inevitably it will alter, maybe slowly so that no one notices until a year or two has gone by and someone will mourn it’s passing by saying “I remember when Roy and John was here, this was a marvellous pub”.
Dreams into Nightmares.
Work is a gift we never appreciate until we retire. I left school at 15 and had one job after another until I was 30 years old when I started a business of my own. I worked every day of my life, apart from holidays. Most of the jobs I had when I was young were pretty boring and during my lunch hour I would walk the streets and vicinity dreaming of running away to sea and going to foreign climes. I had a recurring dream of arriving in New York on a liner like the Queen Mary and being astonished at my luck. Unlike today with cheap flights to everywhere ‘Abroad’ was quite unusual. The romance of dreams when one is young is that we believe they will be fulfilled. My personal dream was that I would be a famous writer, looking out over mountains and sea from a book filled study in a hill side cottage in Scotland.
Dreams in modern times by young people are, I should imagine, somewhat different. Celebrity rules the day and it seems that is what people want or need fed by thousands of articles, tv programmes and films that state that everyone should be beautiful, rich and famous and the readers, viewers and listeners are seduced into believing its all possible.
There isn’t the romance in travel now. Railway stations, Airports and seaports haven’t the appeal. Harassed by security, rushed from one check-in to another, thousands of fellow passengers milling about it is an ordeal to be missed rather than a pleasure. Whereas the journey with all the anticipation of going to a strange place with a warm climate, exotic food and different customs was so exciting it is now so ordinary, the travellers blase and looking bored and rather disdainful trying with their attitude to show they’re not impressed and have done it all before. It is no novelty and when arrival time finally comes the hotel is the same as any hotel round the world, the people watch the same programmes on tv and support football teams that are watched all over the globe and eat food common to all of us, we are all globalised and shaped into a lumpen mass of unexciting inhabitants in an ever shrinking world that is perilously close to disappearing soon and taking many millions of us with it, some would contend deservedly so.
If you’re retired you think about these things and reflect how awful it all is and wish that you had a job that kept you busy all day so that the terror of the world we live in can be swept away from your mind for a little while. The books I like to read reflect the world before the sixties. That was the world I was most comfortable in. There were trouble spots, there was starvation, there was the threat of the bomb and the iron curtain still fixed firmly into place but there was hope.
6.x.006.
Dreams in modern times by young people are, I should imagine, somewhat different. Celebrity rules the day and it seems that is what people want or need fed by thousands of articles, tv programmes and films that state that everyone should be beautiful, rich and famous and the readers, viewers and listeners are seduced into believing its all possible.
There isn’t the romance in travel now. Railway stations, Airports and seaports haven’t the appeal. Harassed by security, rushed from one check-in to another, thousands of fellow passengers milling about it is an ordeal to be missed rather than a pleasure. Whereas the journey with all the anticipation of going to a strange place with a warm climate, exotic food and different customs was so exciting it is now so ordinary, the travellers blase and looking bored and rather disdainful trying with their attitude to show they’re not impressed and have done it all before. It is no novelty and when arrival time finally comes the hotel is the same as any hotel round the world, the people watch the same programmes on tv and support football teams that are watched all over the globe and eat food common to all of us, we are all globalised and shaped into a lumpen mass of unexciting inhabitants in an ever shrinking world that is perilously close to disappearing soon and taking many millions of us with it, some would contend deservedly so.
If you’re retired you think about these things and reflect how awful it all is and wish that you had a job that kept you busy all day so that the terror of the world we live in can be swept away from your mind for a little while. The books I like to read reflect the world before the sixties. That was the world I was most comfortable in. There were trouble spots, there was starvation, there was the threat of the bomb and the iron curtain still fixed firmly into place but there was hope.
6.x.006.
The Evolution of Upton Park
When I was young Upton Park was synonymous with villainy. It was from there that some of the worse gangsters, black marketeers, robbers came from. Billy Hill, supposedly ‘King of the Underworld’ recruited many of his henchman from the area. Their names were legend. ‘Woodbine’ Georgie Woods, Teddy Machin, ‘Porky’ Bennett, Jackie Reynolds, all names bandied about as the ultimate in villainy. They would congregate in the ‘Queens’ a pub they regarded a sort of headquarters, a place where deals were done and ‘meets’ made. But that was 40 years ago.
As Asians started to colonise the area, a shop here, a restaurant there, a few market stalls formerly run by Jewish and cockney costermongers, became Asian, many of the original inhabitants started to move to Wanstead, further East and then, if they were rich enough to Loughton and Chigwell or the poor to Basildon and Harlow. Slowly but inexorably like an unstoppable tide all the old shops went to be replaced by Indian or Pakistani establishments. One or two die hards like the local pie and mash shop hung on catering mainly for the marauding hordes of West Ham United football supporters.
I drove through Green street the other night. Necessarily a slow drive because the crowds were so great, a mass of people and brightly coloured shops, exotic smells and sights only the red buses a reminder that this was London.
Many of the old locals left behind, unable or unwilling to move resent the way the area has been ‘hi jacked’. They find it difficult to comprehend that a neighbourhood they were comfortable with, where they had spent their childhood and their formative years, where they knew everyone, when the market resounded with cockney banter, where they felt safe, unthreatened and could stay with family round them till they died had become so foreign, so alien, so frightening.
The Indians and Pakistanis that live there now have made it their space. They, no doubt, feel as comfortable happy and as ‘at home’ as the previous inhabitants. Who can blame them for making an area into an image of their former homeland.
But it seems to me that these changes take place with no sympathy felt by the world outside for the displaced. There is no obvious answer but surely it would have been better to have gone more slowly, more gradually with the mosque building, surely it would have been better to have insisted that the newcomers kept to the rules of our land, now indisputably their land, to allow everyone to adjust. The legislation up to recently and even now, as far as I know, has all been in favour of the incomers. They build without planning permission, additions to their houses, when they had their little ‘corner shops’ everyone was quick to point out that they fulfilled a need by opening ‘all hours’ conveniently omitting to state that when these corner shops were run by the originals councils were quick to prosecuite them whenever they opened beyond the council and Government stipulated times. The unfairness of it all is only now becoming apparent when these communities ride a cart and horse through every rule that governed us and our behaviour for so many years.
The world is so full of problems, so full of refugees that I sometimes imagine that the United Nations in private just throw their hands in the air and wonder what on earth to do next. I hope they don’t, I’m sure they don’t, but the world is such a daunting place that the example of Upton Park might seem trivial but I believe if governments are firm `and fair and everyone sees them to be fair, these problems can be, if not solved, alleviated thereby easing tensions and help all people and all races like each other a little better.
As Asians started to colonise the area, a shop here, a restaurant there, a few market stalls formerly run by Jewish and cockney costermongers, became Asian, many of the original inhabitants started to move to Wanstead, further East and then, if they were rich enough to Loughton and Chigwell or the poor to Basildon and Harlow. Slowly but inexorably like an unstoppable tide all the old shops went to be replaced by Indian or Pakistani establishments. One or two die hards like the local pie and mash shop hung on catering mainly for the marauding hordes of West Ham United football supporters.
I drove through Green street the other night. Necessarily a slow drive because the crowds were so great, a mass of people and brightly coloured shops, exotic smells and sights only the red buses a reminder that this was London.
Many of the old locals left behind, unable or unwilling to move resent the way the area has been ‘hi jacked’. They find it difficult to comprehend that a neighbourhood they were comfortable with, where they had spent their childhood and their formative years, where they knew everyone, when the market resounded with cockney banter, where they felt safe, unthreatened and could stay with family round them till they died had become so foreign, so alien, so frightening.
The Indians and Pakistanis that live there now have made it their space. They, no doubt, feel as comfortable happy and as ‘at home’ as the previous inhabitants. Who can blame them for making an area into an image of their former homeland.
But it seems to me that these changes take place with no sympathy felt by the world outside for the displaced. There is no obvious answer but surely it would have been better to have gone more slowly, more gradually with the mosque building, surely it would have been better to have insisted that the newcomers kept to the rules of our land, now indisputably their land, to allow everyone to adjust. The legislation up to recently and even now, as far as I know, has all been in favour of the incomers. They build without planning permission, additions to their houses, when they had their little ‘corner shops’ everyone was quick to point out that they fulfilled a need by opening ‘all hours’ conveniently omitting to state that when these corner shops were run by the originals councils were quick to prosecuite them whenever they opened beyond the council and Government stipulated times. The unfairness of it all is only now becoming apparent when these communities ride a cart and horse through every rule that governed us and our behaviour for so many years.
The world is so full of problems, so full of refugees that I sometimes imagine that the United Nations in private just throw their hands in the air and wonder what on earth to do next. I hope they don’t, I’m sure they don’t, but the world is such a daunting place that the example of Upton Park might seem trivial but I believe if governments are firm `and fair and everyone sees them to be fair, these problems can be, if not solved, alleviated thereby easing tensions and help all people and all races like each other a little better.
The Shocking Decline Of England.
Do we live in the worse country in the developed
world?
The shooting of an eleven year old boy for no apparent
reason highlights the appalling way this country has
gone in recent years.
Health. We have one of the worse, run systems in
Europe. Travellers tales tell of the first class
treatment they receive everywhere from France and
Germany to Malta and Portugal, whereas we constantly
hear of overcrowding, dirty wards, hours waiting in
emergency, low morale among employees, assaults by
drunks on nurses, stern notices on every available
ward warning against arguing with staff. Visitors
turning up to see patients when ever they like
sometimes in crowds that are noisy and ill behaved,
decent little hospitals and departments being closed
down, jargon about Primary care and Health Trusts that
no one understands, elderly people spending their
savings on treatment that should be theirs by right,
infection rife, the lowest rates of cancer cured, the
list is endless.
Crime. Shootings in the street fairly commonplace.
Pitched battles between gangs barely wrote about in
local press let alone the Nationals, theft and
muggings reported and the police shrug their
shoulders, rapes, drunkenness, drug taking and dealing
quite blatant in full gaze of anyone interested, town
centres at night where the behaviour by mobs
screaming, swearing, fighting is barely censured
absolute no go areas for the timid or middle aged, but
peaceful demonstrators and protesters are given no
quarter, cameras everywhere recording everything and
yet when a serious crime is committed the film is too
blurry. Hell on earth for older people without the
resources to move from ‘sink’ estates or ‘sink’
streets. Politicians, who, instead of going
anonymously without police escorts to see what’s
happening, seem completely out of touch and can only
suggest punishment and more prisons. What about
cause?
Transport. They want to build more runways for the
airports and more facilities, not to ease the misery
of those that have to use these dirty, scruffy,
crowded termini where rudeness and impatience is the
norm, but to squeeze more and more people into them.
Our streets are densely packed and parking has to be
paid for even in country villages, that’s if a parking
space can be found on the crowded purgatory of our
roads. Our trains are the dearest in the world, and
though some are new, the standards are very low, the
toilets, even in the new trains, are very rarely
working and when they are they seem to be never
cleaned. The stations are poorly lit and badly signed
so that in the dark one is never sure what stop one is
at. Public transport is smelly from the greasy food
that people at peak time seem to be eating in every
seat, replacing the smell of cigarettes with that of
greasy and unappetising food is no improvement. If
there is a buffet, and that is never certain, it is
poor. The buses and tube trains are crowded and
uncomfortable. The buses now have television with
adverts constantly playing to compound the misery of
passengers who sit there anxious not to miss their
stop too nervous, in many cases to ask, because the
driver cum fare taker is very often unfriendly to the
point of hostility.
Defence. Our services are ill equipped and poorly
supported. Over stretched in Afghanistan and Iraq our
much lauded soldiers, praised to the skies by
politicians who’ve never seen a shot fired in anger or
been near a bomb, are according to the Americans, not
very good, one US General even implied they are
‘cowardly’ which was also said about the sailors
captured in Iranian waters travesty.
Is there any correlation between the above and the
fact that this country, England, once fair, brave
and beautiful, is now just a money making machine for
the greedy of the planet who come here and live in
unspeakable and disgusting luxury because they pay no
tax because the country sucks up to them for reasons
that are unfathomable and all the while Gordon Brown
trumpets about how strong the economy is, and seems to
reject the European values for the values of America.
Its a wonder Europe, like Scotland who wants to,
doesn’t chuck us out, we hardly seem worthy of the
European Union that is getting stronger and better.
Eddie Johnson, 23 August 2007.
world?
The shooting of an eleven year old boy for no apparent
reason highlights the appalling way this country has
gone in recent years.
Health. We have one of the worse, run systems in
Europe. Travellers tales tell of the first class
treatment they receive everywhere from France and
Germany to Malta and Portugal, whereas we constantly
hear of overcrowding, dirty wards, hours waiting in
emergency, low morale among employees, assaults by
drunks on nurses, stern notices on every available
ward warning against arguing with staff. Visitors
turning up to see patients when ever they like
sometimes in crowds that are noisy and ill behaved,
decent little hospitals and departments being closed
down, jargon about Primary care and Health Trusts that
no one understands, elderly people spending their
savings on treatment that should be theirs by right,
infection rife, the lowest rates of cancer cured, the
list is endless.
Crime. Shootings in the street fairly commonplace.
Pitched battles between gangs barely wrote about in
local press let alone the Nationals, theft and
muggings reported and the police shrug their
shoulders, rapes, drunkenness, drug taking and dealing
quite blatant in full gaze of anyone interested, town
centres at night where the behaviour by mobs
screaming, swearing, fighting is barely censured
absolute no go areas for the timid or middle aged, but
peaceful demonstrators and protesters are given no
quarter, cameras everywhere recording everything and
yet when a serious crime is committed the film is too
blurry. Hell on earth for older people without the
resources to move from ‘sink’ estates or ‘sink’
streets. Politicians, who, instead of going
anonymously without police escorts to see what’s
happening, seem completely out of touch and can only
suggest punishment and more prisons. What about
cause?
Transport. They want to build more runways for the
airports and more facilities, not to ease the misery
of those that have to use these dirty, scruffy,
crowded termini where rudeness and impatience is the
norm, but to squeeze more and more people into them.
Our streets are densely packed and parking has to be
paid for even in country villages, that’s if a parking
space can be found on the crowded purgatory of our
roads. Our trains are the dearest in the world, and
though some are new, the standards are very low, the
toilets, even in the new trains, are very rarely
working and when they are they seem to be never
cleaned. The stations are poorly lit and badly signed
so that in the dark one is never sure what stop one is
at. Public transport is smelly from the greasy food
that people at peak time seem to be eating in every
seat, replacing the smell of cigarettes with that of
greasy and unappetising food is no improvement. If
there is a buffet, and that is never certain, it is
poor. The buses and tube trains are crowded and
uncomfortable. The buses now have television with
adverts constantly playing to compound the misery of
passengers who sit there anxious not to miss their
stop too nervous, in many cases to ask, because the
driver cum fare taker is very often unfriendly to the
point of hostility.
Defence. Our services are ill equipped and poorly
supported. Over stretched in Afghanistan and Iraq our
much lauded soldiers, praised to the skies by
politicians who’ve never seen a shot fired in anger or
been near a bomb, are according to the Americans, not
very good, one US General even implied they are
‘cowardly’ which was also said about the sailors
captured in Iranian waters travesty.
Is there any correlation between the above and the
fact that this country, England, once fair, brave
and beautiful, is now just a money making machine for
the greedy of the planet who come here and live in
unspeakable and disgusting luxury because they pay no
tax because the country sucks up to them for reasons
that are unfathomable and all the while Gordon Brown
trumpets about how strong the economy is, and seems to
reject the European values for the values of America.
Its a wonder Europe, like Scotland who wants to,
doesn’t chuck us out, we hardly seem worthy of the
European Union that is getting stronger and better.
Eddie Johnson, 23 August 2007.
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