A sad time

It was on this day on September 20th 1980, that Iris went into hospital in a vain attempt to halt the tumour on her brain. There was no need to operate; there was no point.
The doctors told me that Iris had only a very short time to live. Every day I went to the hospital. Sometimes, I stayed there all night, just being there for her; sitting by her bedside holding her close to me. She stayed there for just a few days until her death on October 3rd when she died in my arms.
Every year, I feel a terrible anguish around this time and I re-live the nightmare over and over again. I can’t help it; I have to suffer the pain and heartache that I suffered all those years ago. I have never really got over her death. I still can’t come to terms with the fact that I will never see her again. I keep her memory alive in my poetry and in this blog. When I talk about her, when I write about her, it eases the sorrow. It is my way of keeping her immortal; it is my way of still being there with her. Iris was in love with me for eight years; I have been in love with her for over thirty!
I envy religious people at times like these. They can take comfort in a belief that loved ones will meet again. As an atheist, I am denied that comfort. This is just as well, for if I were a believer, I would curse God for being the bastard who took her away from me!

Back!

I’m back from a few days away in Scotland.
I went to a part of the country I hadn’t seen for almost 30 years. Some of the places brought back happy memories. I by-passed Gretna though, I couldn’t go there again, it would have been too much!
I stayed at a couple of decent pubs, the food was excellent and the local company very friendly. Weather was warm and sunny for the most part and no rain.
On the way up to Girvan, I came across a very interesting place in Creetown. It was an archaeological museum with a collection of various precious and semi-precious stones from around the world.. I got a few souvenirs for a couple of friends, one of whom collects stuff like this. I got some samples of haematite ore, tiger-eye, amethyst, jade and amber.
Amber is a fossilized resin that has been secreted from pine trees. In some pieces, there are the preserved remains of insects and tiny leaves thousands of years old.
Amethyst is reputed to have magical properties and can cure homesickness, evil spirits and drunkenness. The crystals are formed within a hollow rock and look very colourful.
I didn’t forget another old friend. He shares with me an all-consuming passion for good single-malt whisky. I brought some back for both of us!

Off again!

Once more, the call of the haggis and the scent of the heather beckons me to return to Scotland for a few days. It’s only a flying visit but I’m going to an area I haven’t been to since 1978.
There’s a plethora of places to see and to enjoy and I reckon that it will mean another trip in the near future as there won’t be nearly as much time to spend there as I would have preferred.
I’m going to Girvan in south Ayrshire, a place I know absolutely nothing about. I just picked up a map a few days ago and for no reason at all, decided to go there!
There is, I suppose, an ulterior motive for returning to Scotland; I appear to be running low on decent malt whiskies. It’s a good excuse to stock up!
I shall be back next Thursday with a few pics and a yarn or two. Until then, dear readers, t.t.f.n.!

A hiccup in the system...

I went to my blog yesterday to post the latest comment and to my horror found that it had gone!
Disappeared, vanished, vamoosed, sodded off, absquatulated, completely absent, etc!
I wondered what the hell was wrong; I re-booted but no go. I tried a different search engine; again, no luck. I used 'System Restore' to no avail. I cussed and swore but that didn’t do much good either.
I contacted my personal “PC sorter” who offered some advice. She went to my blog and found it without any difficulty. This was, indeed, good news; all was not lost! She suggested I download Mozilla and make that my preferred search engine.
Nope, Mozilla couldn’t find the url. Before today, I thought that Mozilla was a brand of cheese!
Finally, by swapping and changing, I managed to locate the blog but it was in a different format than before. The font size was much smaller. Later, I managed to access the blog from I.E. and got it in its original form. I saved it to ‘Favourites’ and it seems to have worked.
PHEW!!!!!
Thanks anyway S, for your patience with me when I was just about ready for defenestrating the PC!
I owe you a big one!

Her favourite poem

I wrote this poem for Iris a few days after we were ‘married’ in Scotland. I’m so glad that it survived because it was her favourite. It epitomises her as she was then and, in my heart, as she is now and always will be.

To my darling Iris; I love you so very much! July 1974.


If I should chance to live for a thousand years,
No love like yours would ever be so tender sweet.
No other passion would bring forth the tears
Of joy; would make my every waking day complete.

The gentlest rain that falls upon the land
Does not compare with kisses from your angel face.
No zephyr breeze caresses softer than your hand,
Nor radiant sun be warmer than your soft embrace.

No artist’s brush can capture all your charm,
Nor can it paint the magic in your sparkling eyes.
No taste of wine can match those lips so warm,
So warm, my love as they meet mine, ‘tis paradise.

And sleeping, do I dream of you each night,
Such visions of your beauty through my thoughts do run.
But dreams will fade and vanish with the early light,
Not you, my love, you’re there beside me in the morning sun.

"Will you take this woman...?"

I mentioned a couple of times in the past that one day, Iris and I got married. This caused quite a bit of comment and I have had several e-mails and ‘phone-calls about it. I was saving the story for a special occasion and I was going to publish it for my 100th blog posting.
However, I find that I have gone past the hundred mark and this one is no.112. Nevertheless, in order to put readers out of their suspense, I am going to post it without further delay.
Here then, is the story of: .......

The Wishbone Ring

Iris and I spent most of our holidays in Scotland. We would travel up the A1 to Berwick-on-Tweed and from there, we would explore the surrounding Borders Country in southern Scotland.
One year, we decided to stay in Scotland for a couple of days before going to Berwick. We went a different route that time and we had booked in overnight at a pub in Dumfries. Our route took us through Gretna Green. Iris had never been there before but she had heard about the old Blacksmith’s Forge and she wanted to see if it was still there, where eloping couples were married over the anvil. Until 1940, couples could be instantly and legally married without having to wait for banns to be called and by the time that any irate parents caught up with the eloping couple, it was usually too late! In recent years, the old forge has become a tourist attraction and couples can be “married” there in a mock wedding.
As we approached the place, there was a ‘wedding’ taking place and Iris wanted to see it. As she watched, I saw a tiny tear trickle down her cheek. I knew what she was thinking!
Iris wanted to have a look round a couple of gift-shops for presents to take home. While she was busy doing that, I popped into a nearby jewellers and bought a very distinctive wishbone ring. Fortunately I knew her finger size! I picked Iris up about half an hour later and went into a pub for a mid-day meal. After the meal, I asked her if she would ‘marry’ me. She was laughing and weeping at the same time and said she’d been waiting for me to ask her ever since we arrived here!
Yes, we went for it! Iris was given a lace veil to cover her head and I was given a top hat! During the ceremony, I slipped the ring on her finger. Iris was absolutely thrilled to bits by this and we continued our journey that evening to the pub where we were staying, covered in confetti! The people at the pub thought that we had got married for real and they presented us with a free bottle of champagne. Needless to say, we didn’t let on!
Later that evening, she said that it had been the happiest day she could ever remember. Iris wore that ring every day for the rest of her life.
A couple of days later in Berwick, I wrote what was to become her favourite poem.

That chair again...

Regular readers will know of my favourite Derbyshire pub, The Scotsman’s Pack in Hathersage. The village church graveyard is where Little John of Robin Hood fame is reputed to be buried.
In the 'Pack', there is a chair supposedly used by him and over the years, several of my friends have sat in it. Looking through the blog, there are photographs of three friends who have already sat in the chair and the other evening, it was the turn of my granddaughter to grace it! Her mom first sat in the chair nearly 30 years ago when Iris and I took her there one lunchtime. She would have been of a similar age as her daughter is now.
the other day, Wednesday, we held a dinner party there for my wife, Barbara, daughter Frances and granddaughter, Emma. It was to commemorate both Barbara’s and Emma’s birthday (they are only a few days apart) and what better place could we have gone to but the Pack?
Top pic is of Barbara and Frances. Right
is a pic of Fran and Emma. Below is a shot of my ugly mug with Emma and the last two pics are of Emma and Fran sitting in the chair!
I must apologise for showing my battered fizzog on these pics but Emma said I looked very distinguished and she wanted a pic of the two of us!
I'm a lying bugger... I paid Emma £20 to say that! Well, after all, it was her birthday!

Emma on her 15th birthday

Posin' Fran aged xxxxx? (Daren't say!)

A big 'Thank you'!

I was very disappointed in the apparent lack of interest in my blog lately and was in two minds whether to carry on with it.
Although it was a somewhat delayed action, several readers posted comments as requested. Some contacted me via ‘phone and e-mail.
I am greatly indebted to these readers, some of whom are personal friends. All the same, it has been very reassuring to me that some of my efforts are appreciated. One reader pointed out that I would be utterly lost without the blog. A slight exaggeration but I can see what she meant.
Another reader, a good friend, Snow fairy, has sent in a lot of encouragement and one of her comments in particular almost brought me to tears! (see 'Feeling so low today') She was, incidentally, the very first to leave a comment way back in early January shortly after starting the blog.
Thanks to all who posted and to those who sent e-mails as well. The blog will continue and I shall seriously consider writing a full-length biography dedicated to Iris. She will live on!

Time to re-think

It is some days now since I posted a request for advice whether to go ahead with publishing the Iris story...
It would appear from the absence of comments that there is a total lack of interest and I'm seriously thinking of winding this blog up.

Time to expand?

I think I’ve mentioned before that last summer, I was encouraged by a friend to write about Iris. It was coming up to the 25th anniversary of her death and I was feeling so very low. She told me that it would help me to get out of my melancholy so I gave it some thought.
We were meeting quite regularly then and every time we met, I would tell her how far I’d progressed with my writing. I still had about a dozen poems I had written plus a few negatives that had survived the years. With those bare mementos, I cobbled together a thirty-odd page booklet containing the poetry and the pics. I added some text describing briefly how we had met and how devastated I was when she died so tragically. I also added several anecdotes as well.
Another friend suggested I write a blog where I could further develop the contents of the booklet.
She told me that it would be very therapeutic and that she had found her own blog a good medium for airing views and sharing problems. She proved right and since starting this blog last New Year, I expanded on the story and I reckon I must have written the equivalent of about sixty or seventy pages of text about Iris and I’m nowhere near finished relating the first year of our partnership. It was, quite honestly, the best advice I had been given about Iris and how best to come to terms with my recurring sadness. I shall always be grateful to her for the concern she showed me while, at the same time, trying so very hard to deal with her own problems.
I remember my saying that I would never again write another romantic poem but last February, I wrote a Valentine’s Day poem as I always did for her every year. I recently discovered two more that I wrote for her some thirty years ago that weren’t included in the booklet. During the past couple of months, I have written six new ones. I would imagine that I could write a 200 page book quite easily but I’m afraid it would only have a limited interest and would in no way become a best seller.
What it would all boil down to would be just a love story between a man and a woman. (rare these days!) I don’t suppose it would be much different from many stories of that nature, only this story is so very special to me as it is OUR story! Whether or not it would find favour with a publisher, I don’t know. Those of you who read my blog may care to comment on this...

In your view, would such a publication be popular or not?
Would it be appreciated as a biography of Iris or would it be considered just another “Mills & Boon” sloppy?

Your comments are very important as it would probably help me decide whether to go ahead with publication or to leave it in blog form for a limited readership.

Gerremoff!!!

With the end of that first summer, I concentrated on my club bookings. Not only did they provide a cheap night out for us, I was also getting paid into the bargain!
I remember one time, I was asked to compére a series of stag shows that were just beginning to become popular. The venue was at a private club a little way out of the city and the shows consisted of a series of strippers who, after stripping on stage, would walk around the club audience starkers. In between the strippers, I was on stage rattling off gags that would never have been heard in any pub or social club. The fees were very good, the place was only a few miles away and the weekly shows were held on Wednesdays. I very rarely had a booking on those evenings and usually Iris and I would enjoy a night in. When I told her about the bookings, she wasn’t all that happy about my doing them as it meant that I would be away for most of the evening. However, as I said, the pay was very good and I promised her an extra special weekend away somewhere out of the proceeds.
After a couple of weeks, Iris asked me what these shows were like and one evening, I took her with me. I had warned her what to expect before we went and I fully anticipated her either to be embarrassed, disgusted or both! However, she really enjoyed the show and later, I found her sitting with three of the strippers when I came off stage in an interval. She told me later when we got home, that the girls had recounted several incidents that had happened to them in the course of their work. Some of the stories were absolutely hilarious and Iris was still laughing about them in bed later.
Iris accompanied me a number of times to these shows after that and made friends with several of the strippers including one who did a spot with a six-foot long python! One of them asked her if she fancied doing a strip one evening but Iris said that all the stripping she’d ever done was to a wall that needed redecorating! Mind you, one evening, after coming back home from one of these shows, she did actually do a strip routine but that was for my eyes only!
I originally thought that she’d be jealous of the strippers but it never entered her head that I would go off with any of them. Indeed, she was perfectly right; I wouldn’t. I had everything a man could wish for in Iris and nobody else on earth could ever have come between us.

Memories of our first summer

The summer of 1973 was memorable. From two nights a week, with Iris, I was soon spending four! We didn’t go out every night but we got as much pleasure from sitting around watching TV or entertaining friends, than we did in going out. We still went out quite a bit as I had my club bookings to fill. These were very important, as the money paid for the extra expense of helping Iris with the household bills. It is said that two can live as cheaply as one but in reality, it costs twice as much!
Writing these last few blogs about our holidays has been very enjoyable. They were good days; happy days. There is a wealth of stories still to tell, as up to now, I have only covered the first few months of our partnership. We were together for eight years and in that time, we crammed in an awful lot of living! They were years to remember.
I shall be writing about other holidays and other events. About the time we got ‘married’ and the time we got ‘rumbled’! These, and other reminiscences, should keep my blog going for a long time yet!
There will come a time though, when I shall have to recount the final days and I don’t really know how the hell I’m going to do that!
Meanwhile, here’s one of the poems I rediscovered recently; I wrote it for her 40th birthday.


To Iris -Forty years young Jan. 1978

Forty years and young at heart,
You have not changed since first we met
I’m proud to know you love me so,
And you excite me yet!

Six years we’ve been together now,
You’ve given me all your love and more.
Though years pass by, my heart and I
Still love you as before.

Remembering the early days,
When I first saw you all alone,
Right from the start, you stole my heart
And kept it with your own.

You’re there beside me through the night,
My arms around you as you sleep,
And come what may, for every day
Your deepest love I’ll keep.

Later holidays

That holiday was the first of many we had in Berwick.
One year, Andrea, my secretary, and her new beau joined us for one of the weeks and the four of us had a whale of a time. Another year, while up there, we got married. Yes, we did! It was a memorable occasion and I’ll write about it in due course.
I have often been asked why we invariably spent our holidays in the same place. The main reason is that we made a lot of friends in the area and we never tired of it. Another reason was that it was a handy setting-off place for exploring many other parts of Scotland. We would often go from the caravan to stay overnight around Loch Lomond, Stirling and Inverness. Iris, while she loved Berwick, liked to travel all over the place. I suppose it was because she never had the opportunity before. There were occasions, however, when we would go to other places for long weekends.
I once surprised her by dragging her into a photo-kiosk to have her pic taken. This was before the days of digital cameras and it was the easiest way of getting a passport photograph. I shall recount the story of our mini-trip to France in this blog at a later date.

A very welcome break

I had occasion to stay with a very dear friend for a few days this last week. The weather was warm and sunny and she showed me round several interesting places. Some of the scenery was marvellous and the panoramic view from the heights of the South Downs was really spectacular.
I don’t know that part of the country at all, East Sussex, and it was a most refreshing change. We went out for dinner a couple of evenings and one night, she produced a meal that was absolutely first-rate.
I think we must have covered 30 years of nostalgia in our conversations and all in all, it was a very enjoyable break. I’m looking forward to another visit before the end of the summer season.

Memories of yesteryear

I’ve been enjoying the summer air and writing a couple of articles al fresco on a laptop. I couldn’t help but think of Iris as I was sitting in the glorious sunshine.
I wrote this one while sitting outside our favourite pub in Derbyshire. Some readers of this blog will have been there.


Memories August 2006

Deep in the reaches of my heart,
The memories keep flooding through,
For all those years we’ve been apart,
You know I’m still in love with you.

Those far-off times are just as true
As though they happened yesterday.
I’m never all that far from you,
However long you’ve been away.

Those happy days are brought to mind
When you were always close to me.
Those nights we lay, our arms entwined,
While loving you so tenderly.

A million years have passed, it seems
But now, I want you even more.
I want to tell you all those dreams
I wish I’d said to you before.

So why can’t I just let you go?
And tortured thoughts of you erase?
I can’t forget and this you know,
I’ll love you till my dying days.

Another interlude

Recently, I have had quite a bit of spare time on my hands and I have taken advantage of the warm weather to get out and about.
A couple of weeks ago, I was clearing out a spare room at home and I discovered a couple of poems stuck behind a drawer in an old bureau. I published one of them in my blog while writing about our first holiday together; that one was written in 1973. Another was written in 1978 on the occasion of her 40th birthday. I shall, of course, publish them in due course.
As I sat in the glorious sunshine drinking ice-cold beers outside a favourite countryside pub, my thoughts turned once more to Iris. I couldn’t get her out of my mind and remembering those recently discovered verses, I started jotting down the framework of a poem. As I was writing, I thought about her more and more and I finished up writing two more poems in just one week!

Holiday pics

We took a lot of pics of our holidays over the years but this is just about the only survivor of Berwick.



This is the famous chain-link bridge between England and Scotland spaning the River Tweed. Iris was not very happy going over it as it swayed alarmingly!
Historian’s note… Berwick has changed hands between England and Scotland over 16 times since 1147. Even now, Berwick Rangers, an English soccer team, play in the Scottish FA!

Our first real holiday. (Part 6 Further afield)

Even though we were on holiday, my natural curiosity for delving into things didn’t wane. We discovered several old places of interest and Iris was fascinated by many of these. She was quickly amassing a collection of souvenirs to take home for friends and it was a common cry when passing a gift shop for her to say “Hang on; I must get this for so-and-so!”
Iris was keen to visit Edinburgh and one day we set off northwards and arrived there shortly before lunchtime. After parking the car we walked around the centre and up Prince’s Street in time to hear the mid-day gun sound from Edinburgh Castle. We found a place to eat and while we were there, Iris saw a photograph of the Forth Road Bridge; she just had to see it! We drove across it and toured around for the rest of the afternoon and went up as far as Loch Leven. Iris wanted to see a Scottish loch! Loch Leven isn’t the most picturesque of lochs but it was a loch nevertheless. We weren’t much more than a stone’s throw from some close relatives of mine who lived in Glenrothes. I knew they would be very pleased to see me but to explain what I was doing with a strange woman hundreds of miles away from home deterred me from a visit!!!
We went back to Berwick, cutting through the Lammermuir Hills and found a delightful pub at a little village called Chirnside. For its size and for such an out-of-the-way place, the pub had a very impressive menu. It was getting late so we decided to have dinner there. The steaks were melt-in-the-mouth delicious!
We arrived back at the caravan around 9.30 pm and immediately went out again to the Ponderosa pub! That first holiday will always remain in my memory even though we went back there time and time again.
The days passed so very quickly and it was soon time to return home. We arrived back late Saturday night, tired and ready for bed. When I left Iris on Sunday morning, she couldn’t help crying a little. It tore at my guts to see her like that; however, we were back together a couple of days later. We managed several weekends before the summer weather was over and we were getting into a permanent partner relationship. God, how I loved that girl!

Our first real holiday (Pt 5 Exploring the area)

There is a wealth of lore and history in the region around Northumbria and the Scottish Borders. There are dozens of old abbeys, ruined castles and other places of interest. Over the years, we must have visited and photographed just about every one of them.
At the time, I was using a cine-camera quite a lot and I still have several reels of cine-film together with the projector. One day, I’ll transfer the film either to video-tape or DVD. Once again, many of the still photographs were lost.
Sometimes we would drive into Scotland and explore the coastline. We went to Dunbar and North Berwick. North Berwick was quite entertaining but Dunbar, we always found a bit starchy.
St Abb’s Head was a small out-of-the-way place but there was a caravan park and a holiday centre there, with a clubhouse that we discovered one Sunday lunchtime. It was very lively with an on-site entertainer.
Back in Berwick; we got to know one or two places that were to become our favourite haunts in years to come. One of these was the local social club. It was miniscule by normal club standards with a concert room that would seat about thirty at a push!
This was strictly for the locals and I think that we were the only tourists that had set foot in there for at least a month! After the second time there, I got chatting to the steward about entertainment and the lack of it. He said that they saved money by asking local members to entertain during the summer months in order that they could afford decent artistes in the closed season for the benefit of regulars.
Mistake number one… I happened to mention I was a club entertainer back home and the next thing I knew was that someone has stuck a microphone in my hand and was propelling me towards the stage.. Stage? Well, it was more of a single step up to where a pianist was playing in the corner. I could hardly refuse and quite surprisingly, I went down very well indeed! Several freebie pints later, I agreed to return later in the week.
Wednesday evening, the place was packed solid (about 40 all told) and I must confess I enjoyed it just as much as my audience! Iris had bought a couple of raffle tickets and we won a breakfast consisting of six rashers of bacon, four eggs, some black pudding, four sausages and a few mushrooms. Berwick Labour Club was going to be a favourite place from now on! We went there many times over the years and we always got a warm welcome.
Our days consisted of breakfast around 10am and then out to anywhere we fancied. If the weather was warm, we went on the beach and swam in the sea. We were lucky that first holiday, as there was more sunshine that fortnight that there had been for the few previous weeks. Iris and I both tanned that holiday and she went a beautiful bronze colour. She looked absolutely gorgeous!

Our first real holiday. (Part 4 The Traffic Warden)

The following day, Sunday, we went to Eyemouth, a small fishing village over the Scottish border, where we had called at previously on our long weekend. We had lunch at the Lobster Pot Inn. It was a very pleasant place and the food was excellent. All through our stay, the weather still held good and we made the most of it. We swam in the sea; we lazed about on the beach. (This time, Iris made sure she was protected by sun-tan cream!) I remember that there were swans swimming in the sea; it was that calm. In the evenings, we would go back to the ‘Ponderosa’ as the locals called the pub and we would join in games or just natter away to friends we had made. We had also discovered a tiny social club tucked away in a back-street in Berwick but more of that later. We were really enjoying our first holiday together.
A remarkable incident took place when we went to Eyemouth. As we approached the small harbour, we saw the road had double yellow lines freshly painted there. Parking was only available in a handkerchief-sized ‘square’ near the harbour. It was a time when the licensing laws hadn’t changed in Scotland and the pub was only open on Sunday lunchtime if the tide was right for the small fishing fleet of about four or five boats to enter harbour. We stopped near the square but it was choc-full of cars and vans, (about eight, altogether!) As we decided to pull away, a traffic warden knocked on the window and asked if we were staying. It was the last place I thought I’d see a traffic warden. They were a common sight down in Cornwall but up here at the back of beyond??? He was a smallish tubby man of indeterminate years; anything from fifty to seventy. I replied that we wanted to go and have a drink in the pub.
Get this… He said, “That yon van there is going in a couple of minutes, give me your keys and I’ll park the car for you.” I was amazed at this; In a semi-trance, I gave him my keys and we went into the pub. It was very busy and eventually we got served just as the traffic warden was pushing his way towards us with the keys in his hand. I thanked him and asked if there was any charge. He replied “Aye, thanks, I’ll have a wee dram wid ye!” I got him a measure of scotch and the landlord pulled a pint as well.. He told me “Auld Wullie likes a taste o’ beer with his dram, ye know!”.. Auld Wullie was the only traffic warden in my life that I have bought a drink for!!!

Holiday romance

This is a poem I wrote one day in Berwick while Iris was sunbathing on the beach. She looked so wonderfully attractive in her bikini. I just had to capture the scene as a reminder of our very first holiday together. I took lots of photographs of that holiday but alas, they were lost along with a lot more stuff.

To my darling on our holiday July 1973

I saw you barefoot as you walked along the sand,
The rolling wavelets gently lapping round your feet,
And I was there beside you walking hand in hand,
The splendid magic of that moment was complete.

That summer’s day with you was one of heaven sent,
We had no cares, no doubts, no fears to cloud the day.
Sharing our hopes, our dreams, where ere we went,
It seemed as though we were a thousand miles away.

And later, in the stillness of the evening air,
With loving arms around you; how I held you tight,
So closely now, to smell the fragrance of your hair,
And lay beside you there until the morning light.

Our first real holiday (Pt 3 "Don't touch me!")

Although we’d been lazing on the beach most of the afternoon, we were both a little tired from the journey and the early 5 am start.
We had a light dinner and went out to a pub we’d been to on our previous visit. Iris said she was feeling a little hot round her upper arms and shoulders and opted to wear a light sun-top. The pub was called the Meadow House Hotel and was on the English side of the border. Mine host was a jovial character, Peter Elliot, but known to all and sundry as Jock! He was a man who had been around quite a lot and had a fund of yarns to spin. There was a bell on the bar; every week, he would take it down and polish it. Occasionally, the clapper would strike the side of the bell accidentally. That was the only time anyone would ever hear it ring! Over the years we became very good friends and many a time we would walk, sorry, stagger, out of the pub in blazing sunlight early in the morning.
The first night we went in, we sat and had a quiet drink and chatted to some locals who made us feel very welcome. It wasn’t the sort of pub that tourists or holidaymakers went for but we liked the place from the start.
Around midnight, we were just about dropping so we left the pub and walked back. The caravan was within easy walking distance so we could have a decent drink without having to take the car. I remember Iris saying how she enjoyed the cool night air as we walked back.
Iris was ready for bed and I joined her later after a last cigarette. I was feeling quite romantic and I was looking forward to a cosy night of nookie. I slid in between the sheets and reached out for Iris. She gave a wild shriek and cried “Don’t touch me, I’m burning up!” I saw that her shoulders were raw from the sunburn. She had left it too late with the sun-tan oil! I resigned myself to a celibate night; there was no other option! Fortunately, with the aid of calomine lotion, (who still uses that, these days?) her shoulders lost the burning sensation and a couple of days later, she started to develop a gorgeous tan.

A brief interlude

I don't particularly wish to tear myself away from reminiscing about our first holiday, but with the gorgeous Summer we’re having at the moment, it’s a shame to spend a lot of time indoors hunched up over a keyboard.
I’ve decided to get out and about as much as I can while the fine weather holds. Nothing give me greater pleasure that to sit outside a pub in Derbyshire drinking copious pints of cool ale!
I’m off back up to Scotland shortly for another few days and I’m also going down south to visit an old friend in Brighton. I haven’t seen her recently and I’m looking forward to a natter about old times.
A drive to Scotland is always enjoyable; I usually break my journey en route and stop overnight somewhere. A Brighton trip is much more hectic especially in the holiday season when the M25 is snarled up. Why anyone up here would want to spend a holiday there is beyond me! For instance a trip to Scotland means an opportunity to stock up with various rare malts. What does one bring back from Brighton?

Our first real holiday (Pt 2 The first day)

By the time we’d sorted everything out, it was coming up to midday. We drove into the town and found a snug little café where we had lunch. We walked around for half an hour as neither of us had seen much of it before, apart from a brief visit when we had been here earlier just for a couple of days.
Coming back to the caravan, we changed into beach wear and went down to the sea. It was only a very short distance to the beach down the cliff path from the site. The beach at Berwick is mostly shingle but we found a comfortable spot to sit. It was a very hot day and even the sea felt warm when we went for a dip. We came out of the water and lay on a couple of towels we had brought. Iris looked absolutely stunning in her bikini. It had taken me a hell of a lot of persuading for her to wear it but the weather was ideal for lazing about in the sun. She had said that she felt that everybody was looking at her as we walked down from the cliff-top; in actual fact she was right! I was aware of the envious glances she was receiving from even teenage lads. Iris was 34 but looked much younger, I was so very proud of being with her that day.
The sun was blazing down and I was liberally applying sun-tan lotion on my shoulders and Iris was rubbing some on my back. I told Iris to put some on but she said she didn’t fancy being covered in greasy oil. I said she should get some protection as it really was a very hot day but no, she said she was fine. A little later, we had both dozed off; it had been a very early start that morning. Getting up at 4.30 was indeed a novel experience. 4.30am in my book is strictly reserved for stray cats and burglars! I came to when Iris was nudging me; she was asking for the sun-tan lotion. She said she felt a little warm on her shoulders. I looked and she was like a bloody lobster! I doused her in oil and suggested she covered her arms and shoulders for a bit. Later, we went back to the caravan for dinner and to change ready for going out that evening. I had suggested that we ate out but she insisted on preparing a meal for us. She said that she wanted to feel like a real housewife. I saw that it meant such a lot to her and I couldn’t possibly argue with that! Later, she confessed that she thought living in a caravan was a bit like playing ‘House’ as a child, only a more grown-up version. Nevertheless, she was loving every minute of it. I, too, was looking forward to the prospect of a fortnight with just the two of us, away from everyone and everything. We were in a world of our very own.

Historian’s note… Berwick has changed hands between England and Scotland over 16 times since 1147. Even now, Berwick Rangers, an English soccer team, play in the Scottish FA!

Where have you gone?

It was about this time in July 1973 that Iris and I had our first real holiday together. I am currently writing an account of this as you will see. I posted Part 1 a few days ago
I started thinking about it this evening as I was preparing Part 2 and I was feeling very sad at the memories it brought back.
I started doodling around and came up with a poem that illustrated my sadness. You may not like it; you may think it's soppy and over-dramatic.
You may even wonder why I continue torturing myself over someone who has been dead for 25 years?
Sorry, I'm still in love with her and I just can't let go!

Where have you gone? July 2006

The summer days we shared were always warm and bright.
They beckon; faded dreams, like shadows haunting me.
But you are gone away and vanished from my sight,
I stand alone where once we walked in loving harmony.
Where have you gone, my love?

The years passed by, the times we loved together
The many hopes we shared; the days we spent as one,
The happiness we had; we always thought would last forever
Those days have slipped away; now evermore, you’re gone
Where have you gone, my love?

Try as I may, I can’t forget the deepest love I had for you.
Those precious golden years; the years that meant so very much.
The things that we enjoyed; those things bring memories anew
So sad I’ll never feel again your warm caress, your gentle touch.
Where have you gone, my love?

I look into the sky and wish in vain to see your face,
I gaze into the mist but you’re no longer there.
I search my heart but only find a void, an empty space,
I wait in constant hope; I want to see you everywhere.
Where have you gone, my love?

Tiny minds

It would appear that some of the contents of my blog may be used to attempt to discredit me by a tiny group of trouble-makers. I know who they are and why they are doing it.
A blog is a personal diary and is open for all to see. I am perfectly confident that there is no material in here whatsoever that is of a controversial or damaging nature.
Obviously, some people with small minds may choose to think differently. All I can say is that I shall continue writing for the pleasure and enjoyment of those who appreciate it. End of!

Our first real holiday (pt. 1 Arrival)

This will be a rather long account of our first holiday together. I make no apologies for this as it was such a very memorable and happy time.

I have explained previously that Iris had hardly been anywhere at all before we met. She had never been in a close relationship before and had been a rather solitary person. I think that this is why I took such a great delight in taking her places where she had never visited and showing her things of interest she had never seen.
Up to July 1973, I had taken her into Derbyshire for weekends, to Falmouth for a few days, to Felixstowe for a long weekend and to Berwick for another long weekend. She had loved all of these excursions. This holiday, however, was to be so very different and she was looking forward to it with great delight.
We had arranged to use a friend’s eight-berth caravan for two whole weeks in July. It was at Berwick-on-Tweed where we had recently spent a couple of days with some friends in May. This time, we were going on our own and for much longer.
Iris was so very excited about going away; she bustled around for several days before we were due to get off. She wanted to take a load of food with us but I explained that Berwick had shops there and the caravan had a large fridge!
I bought her a couple of summer dresses, some beachwear and a bikini. She’d never worn a bikini before although she had learned to swim at school. She tried it on the evening before we set off and she looked a picture! She had a small but very trim figure; just made for a bikini! I remember her asking the usual questions: “Do I look too skinny?” and “Does anything show that shouldn’t?” I told her she looked bloody gorgeous. She pulled a face and told me I was flattering her. That was Iris all over; she had never believed she could look attractive before we met.
On the Friday evening, I had a booking at a local club and my last spot finished at 10pm so we were home reasonably early around 11.30, after calling in at a pizzeria for supper. Iris was so excited, she wasn’t able to sleep; she kept waking up all through the night. Eventually, I decided on an early start and 5am saw us loading the car and setting off.
The sun was shining and the weather looked very promising. It was more or less a straight run up the A1 and we stopped a couple of times for a break. Once at a Little Chef, just south of Scotch Corner and again at Morpeth to pick the keys up for the caravan. That was where our friends lived. Iris was surprised when we went through the Tyne Tunnel; she’d never seen anything like it before, it was an entirely new sensation for her.
It was a leisurely drive up to Berwick, about 220 miles from home. We got there around 10 am and started to unpack our bags, etc. First job was to make a cup of tea. It’s surprising, isn’t it? A woman can be transported anywhere in the world and the first thing she wants to do is to make a cuppa! She was still very excited and marvelled at the thought of living here for a fortnight.
She wanted to look at the sea; she wanted to stroll on the beach; she was like a youngster on her first seaside holiday! I went over and gave her a great big hug! From that moment on, I knew we were going to have a wonderful time.

Friends

Happiness is easy to share; everyone is happy with you and it’s a great feeling.
Sorrow, however, is so very difficult to share. You need special close friends who will sympathise with you and comfort you.
I am very fortunate in having such close friends and even though I sometimes think I’m boring them with my woes, they always understand.
Those friends I’m speaking about read my blog and I would like them to know I appreciate their compassion. I am indebted to all of them, not forgetting the friend who encouraged me to write this blog in the first place. Another friend who has her own serious worries at the moment, still finds time to listen and advise. Other friends too, have their own problems but a problem shared is a problem halved. Such friendship is truly a wonderful thing.

Wishing

With the warm sunny weather we are having at the moment, my thoughts turn to the summers of yesteryear. I am reminded of all the places we went to and all the friends we made. I wish I could savour some of those days again.

I wish I could walk hand-in-hand with Iris along a country lane in Derbyshire.
I wish I could be with her in one of our favourite pubs together with friends.
I wish I could sit with her on the beach at Berwick, rubbing sun-tan lotion on her shoulders.
I wish I could lie with her and feel her arms around me.
I wish I could make love to her just one more time.
I wish…. I wish!

Am I so very stupid wishing for the impossible? Please leave a comment

Back!

I’m back from my Scottish break and feeling fine.
Spent a bloody fortune on prezzies for folk but then again, I enjoyed chasing round looking for suitable souvenirs. I had some difficulty in getting a cairngorm for a friend but I managed to find one together with a falcon’s claw mounted in silver. These were very popular in Victorian times but I suppose fashions change over the years. Fortunately, there was no difficulty whatsoever in getting hold of some very decent single malt whisky.
We stopped overnight at three places on the way up to visit various areas but we came back in one day. It's a hell of a drive back from where we stay. It's around 400+ miles. We only stopped twice; once for a cuppa and once for a call of nature! Hopefully, we'll be going back up there in a few weeks.

AWAAAAYYYY!!!!

I'm off to Scotland in about five minutes...
For a whole week, I'll be free from other people's problems, petty stress and interruptions. I'm going to enjoy myself and relax!
Try not to miss me too much!!!

Wonderful days

As the Spring of 1973 continued, the weather was remarkably good and during June, it was warm and sunny day after day.
I had taken my family down to Cornwall as usual for a week and, as previously recorded, I had to return there to Falmouth a few days later to sort out a few problems for my company. Iris had gone down with me but it wasn’t much of a holiday for her as I was working most of the time.
On returning home, I found that I had several club bookings which prevented us from going very far. Iris came with me to most of the venues but there wasn’t an awful lot of glamour in places like Heckmondwike, Worksop or Barnsley! However, we did find a couple of weekends free and spent them in the Peak District of Derbyshire.
We both needed to get completely away for more than just a few days and we were looking forward so very much to the fortnight we had booked at the end of July in Berwick. The warm weather and being together as much as we could, prompted me to write more poetry for her. This is one that I penned around this time.

To my darling Iris, just for you.

I know my love. Her love for me does show
In sweet and tender ways. So well I know
That she does love me.

I look at her and gaze into those eyes
Which melt my heart and makes me realize
That she does love me.

We do not have to prove to one another,
Our feelings, which we bear so very much.
The simple things that shows she is my lover;
A look, a kiss, or just a simple touch.

I see my love; I see her every day,
To hold her close and listen to her say
That she does love me.

An old friend returns

I was on MSN last night when I found myself chatting to a close friend from way back.
I hadn’t spoken to her for around two years and it was so delightful to see her again.
Her name is Leslie and she hails from Alabama. She used to send me all sorts of Civil War stuff as she lives close to several historic battlefields.
We had a good old natter and she’s now back home on a more permanent basis. This really made my day! I’ve asked her to send me a couple of Confederate tee-shirts as the previous lot she sent me have worn out! In return, I’m looking out for something of interest to her when I go to Scotland next week.
She really cheered me up no end. Did me the world of good!

Holidays

For several years, our family holidays had been in Cornwall; usually staying near Looe. The kids loved it down there as we stayed in a large guest-house with its own mini-club, ballroom and lido. It was the ideal thing for a family with young children.
We generally had our holidays early June and late August. The only drawback there was parking in nearby towns and villages; it was a nightmare sometimes!
Naturally, in the summer of 1973, I had Iris to consider as well. A friend of mine solved the problem; his sister had an eight-berth caravan in Berwick-on Tweed. It was situated in a holiday village overlooking the sea. It was a modern caravan with plumbed-in water and toilet facilities and ran on mains electricity. I immediately realised that this was just the thing for us; no regular meal-times, no early morning breakfasts and all the time in the world to do what we wanted.
June came and Iris bade me a tearful goodbye before I went to Cornwall for a week. It was the first time I’d left her for so long before since my previous trips to Cornwall when I was working down there earlier in the year. Iris knew I had family commitments and accepted the fact. I promised her I would take her away later in the year. She was overjoyed.
No sooner had I returned from my holidays, Guess what? I had to go down to Falmouth again for a couple of days; this time, it was a working trip! Iris was due some time off from work so I took Iris down to Falmouth with me. She’d never been there before; in fact, she’d hardly been anywhere! She was delighted when she saw the place and although she had to be on her own during the daytime, we had some great times in the evenings with some of the staff from work.
The last two weeks in July were the official holiday weeks in our area. We decided to book the caravan in Berwick. We had already visited Berwick for a long weekend in May as I’ve already described. We were looking forward to two whole weeks of being together; uninterrupted and away from everything.

Bloody hackers!

The up and coming forum that was going great guns has been hacked by a jealous ex. of one of the members.
We’ve had to start again right from scratch. All the posts were deleted and the site trashed!
Fortunately, Gabrielle has come up trumps with a brand new forum and we’re getting it together again.
Please pay us a visit on:
http://www.phpbbserver.com/jealousofme/

Feeling so low today

I’m feeling very low today…
I keep thinking of Iris and it’s making me so very sad. I’m not religious but if I were, then I would say that God was a bastard for taking her away from me!
We had eight years of sheer happiness and since then, I’ve had over 25 years of being without her.
I’m a grown man, ffs, and I sometimes cry like a baby!
Last night, I sat down and wrote a poem to her; one she will never see but it helped me to release some of my sorrow. Those who read my blog may find it silly and maudlin… I don’t give a shit; it’s how I feel!

Iris lives on in my heart!

Not for you, the wrinkled face of age,
No aching limbs; no thinning hair of grey.
The memory I have of you will never fade,
You'll be forever as you were that day.

Those soft grey eyes that looked at me so tenderly,
Those lips that spoke to me of love so true.
I see them now; you're with me constantly,
Though years apart, I'm still in love with you.

I can't forget the happiness we shared,
The many times that we were there together.
You were my love; the one for whom I really cared
I thought those days would always last forever.

Remembering those days when you were by my side,
I see you now as though you're still with me.
You will not change; the years can never hide
My love for you for all eternity.


Please leave a comment; a few words will suffice.

I need a break!

I’m afraid I’m going through a bad patch at the moment. Normally, I take things in my stride but recent events are proving a little worrying.
It’s my own fault, I suppose. I do tend to get involved with other’s problems but I can’t help lending an ear and providing a shoulder to cry on.
I think I need a holiday away from things for a spell with no PC, no phone and no contact with anyone. Solitude used to bore the pants off me but now, it beckons me to give it a whirl.
I know a nice quiet place to go; deep in the wilds of Scotland and I’ve made tentative arrangements to get off sometime next month. I just might get in a bit of haggis hunting while I’m up there!

The new forum

This new forum is going from strength to strength. New sections are being added and more and more members are signing in.
There is indeed, something for everybody here: Literature, Humour, Lore & Legend, Swap 'n' Sell, even a chatroom!
Have a look at us and join in the fun!
http://www.phpbb88.com/justlivinglife/

A delightful weekend

Towards the end of May, Iris and I were invited to a long weekend in Berwick-on-Tweed by the friends who owned the big 8-berth caravan we were going to book later in the year. This came at a very convenient time as my wife was taking the kids to a relative while visiting the Chelsea Flower Show. She is a keen gardener and loves anything like this.
Iris and I left late Friday afternoon after work and arrived in Berwick around 8pm. There were six of us there and it was a very enjoyable few days; Monday was a bank holiday. Neither of us had been to Berwick before so it was equally new to both of us.
Saturday morning was spent going round the town and later in the day we went across the border to Eyemouth, a small Scottish fishing village. There was a very good restaurant there called the Lobster Pot where we had dinner that evening. We called back on the way to the caravan at a pub on the English side of the border called the Meadow House Hotel. It was known locally as “The First and Last.” (First pub in England from Scotland and last pub in England before Scotland.)
Over the years, we went there every time we visited Berwick and we made a lot of friends including mine host, the landlord.
Monday came all too soon and we made our way back home via a small village called Seahouses on the Northumberland coast. The place was famous for its fish and chip restaurants and the quality was absolutely unsurpassable!
We eventually arrived home at 6.30pm tired but so very happy! I couldn’t stay the night as I had to get back home to wait for the family to return later that evening.

A new forum

I am a member of a couple of political forums which I frequent. They are a much of a muchness, so to speak and a close friend suggested that we should open a forum for general light-hearted topics that everyone could enjoy.
This seemed a good idea and Gabrielle (regular readers will know her from previous postings here) got cracking on producing one. A couple of us chipped in and within a very few days, it was up and running.
This forum is 100% fun! No politics, no backstabbing, no unpleasantness…. Makes for a very refreshing change indeed. We need a lot more input so if any of you out there fancy joining a forum that provides humour, entertainment and friendship, come and have a look at us. Go to:
http://www.phpbb88.com/justlivinglife/

This is Gabrielle sitting in the famous Little John's Chair in the Scotsman's Pack, Hathersage, Derbyshire, UK

When my mother met Iris

About a year after I had met Iris, my mother suspected I was seeing someone else and was worried that it may affect my marriage. She loved my wife and treated her like a favourite daughter. As I said before, mother had a very intuitive ‘sixth sense.’ She didn’t confront me with this but she let slip certain innuendos that she was aware of something.
One day, Iris was waiting for me to pick her up from shopping in town one Saturday morning. I suggested that she waited for me in a small coffee-shop in the city centre. It was a popular place to meet, a little up-market and by the time I got there it was pretty crowded.
As I approached the table where Iris was sitting, I saw to my horror that mother was sharing her table! I waited for the floor to open and swallow me but of course, it didn’t!
Mother spoke first; she said to Iris something like, “Excuse me but would you mind awfully if my son joins us?” Unfortunately, Iris had already got to her feet to plant a big kiss on my cheek!
What the hell to do now? I mumbled something about a small world and I had to introduce her to mother. A rather cold comment followed saying “So you’re the woman my son is having an affair with? Iris was very subdued and didn’t know what to say. I told mother that it was more than just an affair. She intimated that this was no place for such a discussion and she would speak to me later! We had finished our shopping and I offered her a lift home which she accepted.
Once home, mother had mellowed a little and did the age-old thing of putting the kettle on! Over a couple of cups of tea, I explained how I felt about Iris. I sat next to her holding her hand as I spoke. Surprisingly enough, mother said that as long as nobody got hurt, she wouldn’t say anything. She never did. However, she did insist that she meet Iris again for a “little chat.” Iris was a bit uncomfortable about this but she went ahead with it and it didn’t take her long to convince mother that we were genuinely in love. After that, they got on quite well together. That was Iris though; nobody could ever dislike her, not even my wife when they eventually met. (And what a day that was!)

My mother

I have recorded before that in my early childhood, I was raised by my grandparents as my mother was attached to the Royal Navy in Suffolk during the war. My father had died tragically six months before I was born. Although she was away a lot, there was always a great affinity between us and was a wonderful caring person.
She left the Admiralty when I was about 14 and set up a consultancy practice treating patients suffering from mental stress and depression. She was fully qualified for this work and she built up a reputation second to none. She came back to live in the family home permanently and she tried to make up for all the time we had not been together. She took me all over the place and we had some wonderful holidays.
Later, we were separated again when I went to university and afterwards, in the army. I was 22 before I ever started earning a penny in civilian life.
My mother always wanted me to read law at university but I thought I knew better and read English literature and modern history. Strange to say, neither of these subjects got me a job; I joined a company in an entirely different field.
I was always in awe of her capabilities in dealing with mentally disturbed and depressive patients. She was a great believer in the power of hypnotherapy. She could ease a troubled mind and trace problems back to a patient’s childhood. Once, I was asked by a friend to help him overcome his fear of flying. I asked my mother to help him and she suggested that I may be able to do this. I actually succeeded in curing him of his fear and I went on to help several friends with their personal problems. I never did this professionally as I wasn’t all that enamoured of poking my nose into other people’s private lives. Nevertheless, I continued to help out over the years as and when the occasion demanded.
Mother had a kind and loving nature and was always ready to offer a shoulder to cry on should it be needed. She could never suffer fools gladly though and I’ve see men turn pale when fixed with her basilisk stare of disapproval!
She had a sort of built-in sixth sense and I could never hide anything from her if I was in trouble or if I had a personal problem. Such was the case when I first met Iris. She could see I was troubled about something and she told me, “When a man is worried, it’s usually over money or a woman!”
She was right, of course. However, it was a good year into our relationship before she discovered my secret love. My wife and mother got on very well together and she was dismayed when she found out about Iris. . By that time, it was too late for her to try and dissuade me and the time-worn phrase of many parents was uttered… “I hope you know what you’re doing!” I did know what I was doing and never regretted it for one second!

Iris the cook

Iris had never been an adventurous cook as she had spent most of her life looking after her semi-invalid mother. She would come home from work and have to start preparing a meal for the two of them. She did that for year after year and consequently, her social life was virtually non-existent. It was only after her mother’s death two years before I met her that she began to venture out in the evenings occasionally with friends from work.
On the evenings we were going out, we would have dinner/supper towards the end of the night at some restaurant or other as quite often, I would be working a club and had to be there for around 7pm. If I didn’t have a booking, she would get great pleasure from preparing a meal for me when we did not have to rush out early.
My mother was, among other things, a wonderful Cordon Bleu trained cook and she taught my wife many of her skills. I once asked mother how to prepare and cook lobster thermidor only to be told that my wife knew how, as she had told her. I had to explain that I wanted to pass on the information to someone else. That, on top of the postcard from Felixstowe, set a few wheels turning in my mother’s mind! I remember her giving me an ‘old-fashioned’ look as if to say, “What’s going on?”
Eventually, I couldn’t keep Iris a secret and later, the two of them became good friends.

To Iris, knowing that you love me. June ‘73

My darling Iris, proud possessor of my heart. I know
So well that you do love me. Yes, my love, You told me so.
Discovering untold delights in every touch and soft caress,
As you whisper of your love for me with gentle tenderness.
Happy am I that I can fill with love, some part
Of that aching void that lay within your lonely heart.
I see the love you have for me in oh, so many different ways;
In every touch, in every smile and in your sparkling eyes always.
And holding you, my dearest heart, is all I need to make me see
So clearly now, that I adore you, and you, my sweetest love, love me!

Iris the gardener

Iris always liked to relax at home when we were not going out anywhere. She wasn’t a keen gardener and this is one of the rare moments that I found her actually doing something there. For the most part, she grew rhubarb and weeds but the rhubarb came in handy as she was an excellent pastry-cook and I enjoyed her rhubarb tarts and crumbles!
At first, she cooked the same things she had done for her mother over the years but she began to be a little more adventurous after she had been out more. Once, in our early days together, we had to put on a dinner party for six at very short notice. Iris was panicking about what to prepare but I saved the day. I went out to the local Chinky and got a huge variety of take-away stuff! With a couple of bottles of decent wine, everybody enjoyed the meal.

Iris once more

May has always been my favourite month as long as I can remember. It holds promises of warm summer days to come and quite often, the weather in May surpasses June.
May 1973 had an unusually warm spell for a couple of weeks and towards the end of that month, Iris was due a week’s holiday. The weather was sunny and rain-free. I managed to get a few days off and one morning, we packed a couple of bags, got in the car and just drove.
I had no clear intention where I wanted to go but just being with Iris on our own was all that mattered; we carried on driving until late afternoon, stopping off here and there along the way.
I remember that we finished up in a little village outside Leicester; a place called Mountsorrel. It was a pretty village and we stayed overnight at a local pub.
The next day, we continued south and cut across country towards Cambridge where we stayed the night before going on to Felixstowe. I remembered Felixstowe from my childhood days when I spent my school holidays down there with my mother. While I was there, I sent my mother a postcard to remind her of the place. Later, I had a bit of a problem explaining what I was doing there and with whom!!!
We went as far as Walton-on-the-Naze and I reminisced about my favourite childhood author, Arthur Ransome, who wrote a novel about a group of children who camped on an island in Pennyhole Bay not far from Walton. The novel was called Secret Water.
Iris loved every minute of our whistle-stop holiday and I loved showing her places she had never seen before. By this time, five months after our meeting, I knew I could never be parted from her even if it cost me my marriage, my family or my job.
We returned home on the Friday evening and I stayed with her back home until Sunday morning. It had been a glorious few days and it was a promise of what the rest of the summer would be like.

Election fever

Local members of the BNP are pulling out all stops this year to make a positive breakthrough in the coming elections.
With the government in trouble over recent gaffes and blunders, there is every chance that regular Labour voters may turn to the BNP this time.
I, although not a current member of the BNP, have given the party my 100% backing and have produced several thousand leaflets for local candidates. I have also helped in other fields and I hope that my small input will reflect in the results of the elections. First and foremost, I am a dedicated nationalist and anything I can possibly do to further the cause of nationalism, I shall do, irrespective of party or group.

A dilemma

I have mentioned before, a young friend of mine whom I have been helping, to come to terms with her problems.
Things are now spiralling out of control so much that she is in danger of going into a world of complete fantasy. She is refusing any help or advice and is fast becoming a semi-recluse and avoiding anyone or everyone who wishes to help her.
After some deep deliberation, very reluctantly, I have recommended that she should be given professional care for her own protection. This may mean a temporary incarceration
It has not been an easy decision, as hitherto, I have always tried to prevent this from happening.
However, I see no other course left open; I sincerely hope I am doing the right thing because, quite frankly, I’ve had enough!

Spring has sprung!

The last few days have been decidedly more Spring-like after the dull cold days of Winter.
The Spring of 1973 saw quite a few warm days; a rarity in some years and we made the most of it.
Iris and I took advantage of the weather and we spent three or four weekends in April out and about all over the place.
We would leave home early Friday evening and check into a pre-booked hotel or pub and spend the whole of the next day exploring the area. Saturday evenings, we would return home until Sunday morning when I would return to my family.
W had our favourite haunts; I always loved the Peak District of Derbyshire and never tired of taking Iris there. She favoured a coastal trip to Scarborough or Whitby. She always said that she had missed out on seaside holidays as a child and just loved walking on the beach licking an ice-cream cornet! Simple pleasures but it made my heart dance to see her so happy.

My political life

I started being interested in nationalist politics when I was in my early twenties. I have held positions in various parties ranging from Area Branch Leader to Party Leader!
From my early days, I took to public speaking like a duck to water and down the years, built a reputation as one of the leading nationalist speakers in the country.
I have spoken in Trafalgar Square at the big rallies of yesteryear and at meetings in every major town and city. I was trained and encouraged by the greatest man I ever knew. He was both friend and mentor to me as well as being a great nationalist leader. He was Sir Oswald Mosley and his followers and I worshipped the very ground he walked on.
There are many stories I could narrate about my political life but it isn’t a subject that is suitable for this blog. Iris was non-political when we first met but she later began to accompany me to meetings occasionally and always attended annual dinners and social functions. She was very popular with other nationalists; one or two even admitted to falling in love with her! I was always proud to have her by my side at these events.
My wife, however, was always a staunch nationalist and her claim to fame is that she was the first woman nationalist to stand in an election after the war and the first woman to stand as a candidate for Mosley. Her greatest moment was when Sir Oswald first dined with us. She must have made a good impression on him with her cuisine because he dined with us again on a future occasion!
I shall not dwell on my nationalist activities but I could literally write a complete book about them!

The writer with Sir Oswald Mosley taken in April 1959 at Islington Corner The man on the left was Frank Hamley, Yorks. Regional Organiser.

A memorable weekend

The weekend of April 12th-14th was one of absolute delight.
Friday evening saw me working a local club and Andrea (my secretary) and colleagues from work came to see me. It was a favourite venue of mine and I always went down pretty well there. During the evening, I was lucky enough to win the ‘Tote.’ This was a ‘Pick your numbers and hope they come up’ sort of thing. I found that I’d won £85! It was a considerable amount of money in 1973 so after the show, we all went to a very up-market Chinese restaurant for a meal on me. Later, back home, Iris was in a very tender mood and we were still in bed at 10am the next morning!
We went out into Derbyshire that Saturday afternoon and stayed out until the evening, getting back about 8pm. It was too late to get changed to go out so we had an early night. I got up the next day, Sunday, feeling tired but so very happy! I remember writing a poem for her later that night and I gave it to her the following day. This was, unfortunately, one of many that disappeared. It was one of my better poems and I’ve tried to remember it but I can only recall a few fragments. That selfish bitch of a sister had a lot to answer for!

Getting stuck into things

Following my production of an election leaflet for the BNP, another candidate asked me if I would design and print one for his area. I was shown a copy of the leaflet issued by their HQ and I was saddened to see such an appalling and slovenly produced document. It was riddled with errors of spelling, punctuation and grammar and this fired me into producing a leaflet that would shame it!
I had to write and express my disapproval to the originator of the first leaflet, pointing out various errors. Naturally, I received no reply. The moron wouldn’t have understood, anyway!
As I said, a publication is the shop window of the Party and as such, should be without fault. Just a little care would have prevented such errors but it didn't surprise me to be totally ignored! Nevertheless, I shall continue to make every effort to help in this election; proscribed or not!

Ps… Anyone out there knows where to get cheap toners for an Oki C3100 printer, please let me know! Colour cartridges at £70 and black at £30 is a bit over the top!

April love

The Winter of 1973 has gone and Spring arrived. It was so very pleasant going out in the warmer weather. Easter was late that year and we went for a long weekend in Derbyshire.
We stayed at a country hotel only 20 miles away from home but we thoroughly enjoyed the change.
I love Derbyshire and I took great delight in telling Iris all about the places we went to. I showed her all over the Peak District; the Rocking Stones at Rowsley, the Nine Ladies at Stanton-in-the-Peak, the Petrifying Well at Matlock Bath, Riber Castle nature reserve and the Peak Cavern in Castleton.
We crammed an awful lot into those three days and Iris was so very happy that weekend. It was the first time she’d been away and stayed in an hotel. It was another world to her at the time. It was one of many weekends we would have like this over the years. There are still places all over the country that I have never returned to. I wouldn’t enjoy them any more.

Why did I bother?

In the last few days, I have been asked to help in a local election campaign.
The BNP is standing in a few areas in my city and I was approached by one of the candidates to produce some election leaflets; I agreed to do this. I edited and amended the draft leaflet accordingly to make it more presentable and printed them.
This was a job that I enjoyed doing. It gave me some satisfaction that I was, in some small way, contributing to the BNP’s prospects in the forthcoming elections.
I was asked by several of my nationalist friends why I bothered to do this for a party that has proscribed me. My answer was a simple but honest one. I said that my nationalist commitments overrode petty disputes with a party that had a good chance of success.
I was a founder member of the BNP and although I am considered these days to be persona non grata by the leadership, old loyalties are hard to dismiss. I wish them well.

Spring '73... Settling down

As the weeks passed, Iris and I were managing to spend more and more time together. I would stay overnight Fridays right through to Sunday mornings.
I always finished work a little earlier on Fridays and I would pick Iris up from work and take her shopping. This was a most novel experience for me as normally I hated and detested shopping at any price. However, I found myself going round the shops and markets with her buying such mundane things as bread, milk, vegetables and all manner of meats and groceries. The surprising thing was that I enjoyed it!
I would help her to prepare meals; something I rarely did at home. I would do my share of washing up and other chores. We were acting just like newly-weds and we were so very much in love!
Although we still went out quite a lot to clubs and dances, we began to appreciate a night in together every so often, just watching TV. Other times I would be reading while Iris did some ironing or something. These simple things that I took for granted at home took on a new life with Iris. We just wanted to be together as much and as often as we could.
It was towards the end of March that I wrote what I always considered my best poem. It epitomised the very essence of Iris and my love for her.

To Iris, just for being you…. March 1973

Iris of the laughing eyes
Smiling at me as by her side I stay,
And I recall ‘twas just the other day
I met my Iris of the laughing eyes.
And she looks at me.

Iris of the laughing eyes,
Fragrant as the bloom that bears her name.
Holding her close by the flickering firelight flame,
I see my Iris of the laughing eyes
And she looks at me.

Iris of the loving eyes,
Lying together whilst our arms entwine.
Soft tender kisses as her lips meet mine,
I hold my Iris of the loving eyes.
And she looks at me.

Iris of the tiger eyes,
Pouring fierce kisses on her eager face.
Much closer now, caressing every place,
As I become the lover of those tiger eyes
And she looks at me

Iris of the tender eyes,
Lying beside me; our passion spent and over.
So gentle now, since I became her lover,
And I adore my Iris of the tender eyes
And we look at each other!


If you liked this little effort, please leave a comment!

Meeting

I was invited to speak at a meeting hosted by the National Front on Sunday. The meeting was well-attended and, as usual, I was warmly received.
I am not a member of the NF but I will normally accept a speaking invitation from any nationalist group. I am considered to be one of the most popular and experienced speakers on the nationalist scene.
It’s a pity that the leadership of the BNP are so bigoted and bloody-minded about my speaking at their meetings, even though I was a founder-member of that party. Probably it's because I don’t share their new-found enthusiasm for multicultural membership!

Dinner at the "Pack"

Regular readers of my blog will no doubt be familiar with my favourite pub/restaurant in Derbyshire, The Scotsman’s Pack. It is situated in the village of Hathersage, and the churchyard is supposed to be the final resting place of Little John of Robin Hood legend. There is a chair in the pub reputed to be that of Little John and over the years, I have taken several friends there to dine and sit in the chair. It is a very special place for me as Iris and I spent many happy hours there. These days, only very special friends are invited to dine. The cuisine is one of the finest in Derbyshire and, although rather expensive, is worth every penny.
My wife and I took a couple of close friends there the other evening and we had a most delightful evening. The fox that used to grace the pub many years ago is long dead but it is still there after being stuffed and mounted on a plinth. It was a vixen called Sandy and Iris loved to stroke her.
The last time I was in the Pack was when I took S**** last summer as I recently recorded in a blog.
This time, another attractive young lady sat in the chair to continue the tradition.
Our companions that evening were the local BNP Branch Leader and his very attractive daughter.
All in all, it was a very enjoyable evening.


I think you will agree that the young lady here who graced Little John's chair is far more attractive than the two ugly blokes pictured above!

Profile of me...

Again, there is a paucity of pics but a couple survived. The one published here was one of Iris’s favourites. She named it “The Playboy of the Western World”!

Some details about me...

Eyes… Hazel
Hair… Darkish (Fair as a child)
Statistics Lumpy!
General description… Bearable!

Favourite place… Rhine valley
Favourite drink… Malt whisky; Calvados
Favourite music… Latin American
Favourite group… Los Paraguayos
Favourite song… Younger than Springtime
Favourite film… To Have And Have Not
Favourite actor… Humphrey Bogart
Favourite actress… Lauren Bacall
Favourite activity… Boating
Favourite pet… Tiffi (A black/white/ginger moggie)
Favourite woman… Iris, of course!



This was taken near the Forth Railway Bridge, Edinburgh July 1978

Profile of Iris

I have been asked why I have never published any photographs of Iris until recently. The simple truth is that most of the pics and poetry were lost shortly after her death when the house was cleared out by her relatives in my absence. I was left with just a few negatives and about a dozen poems that I came across in the debris.
Twenty-five years later, I had the negatives processed but time and bad storage left their mark on the prints. However, I have managed to reproduce a couple for this blog.
Unfortunately, these pics don't do her justice; she was so very attractive!


Some details about Iris…

Eyes… Grey
Hair… Dark, long and curly (later, shorter and curly) Statistics 34 – 24 – 34
Dress size 10
General description… Adorable!

Favourite place… Berwick-on-Tweed
Favourite drink… White wine; Calvados
Favourite music… Latin American
Favourite group… Los Paraguayos
Favourite song… Guantanamera
Favourite film… Singing in the Rain
Favourite actor… Sean Connery
Favourite actress…Ida Lupino (Iris looked very much like her)
Favourite perfume… Ma Griffe
Favourite flowers… Carnations
Favourite activity… Dancing
Favourite pet… Smokie (A pedigree silver tabby)
Favourite man… Me!

The above pics were taken in 1974. Smokie had grown a bit since the last pic of her. Cuddling Smokie was almost as nice as cuddling Iris!

An apology...

For some strange reason, I can’t upload pics to this blog any more.
I have done this recently but I seem to be unable to put any pics on here right now.
Whether this is a fault at my end or at Blogger, I don’t know but it is most frustrating!

Getting there

For some time now, I’ve been trying to help a young friend with her problems. These are not of her making and recently, I have had some small success in relieving a few of them.
I think I gladdened her heart last night with a little surprise for her and I hope she will feel a whole lot better very soon. It was indeed a pleasure to see her happy and enjoying a relaxing and interesting evening.
We held another dinner party this evening for some friends and once again, the discussions proved to be fruitful and promising. I think that the olive branch I held out to certain people may yet be accepted and we can bury the hatchet once and for all.

Together once more

It was the end of the second week in March when I finally finished my work in Falmouth. I would have to go back there later in the year but for the time being, I was back in my own office once again.
Andrea, my secretary, was almost as glad to see me permanently back as Iris was. She fussed over me for days afterwards! I was pleased to be back; not only because I would no longer be separated from Iris but I’d genuinely missed Andrea’s companionship. There was never anything between us other than the fact we were close friends as well as our “Boss/secretary” relationship, but she made life so much easier for me at work anticipating my every need. I often wondered what I would do if she ever decided to marry again. She was a divorcee with two late teenage children, both of whom were engaged.
I was now in a position to spend even more time with Iris and I was soon staying overnight four days per week; Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays This wasn’t so difficult as I had previously always stayed overnight in hotelswhen out of town on company business. Due to my recent promotion and change of job title, it wasn’t necessary to do this any more. However, my family were used to my being away a lot so there was no problem at that end.
I always, however, saved Sundays for the family; the kids were growing up and had other interests through the week and my wife liked to stay in and watch TV a lot of the time. Sunday was a time for visiting either my wife’s parents or my mother. More of my mother later.

Return to Iris

After the end of February, our relationship took on a more permanent bond. I introduced her to a life she had never known before and, no longer a mouse, she blossomed out into a more sophisticated and desirable woman. I was immensely proud of the admiring glances she received. I gave her confidence in herself and she very quickly adapted to this new life. We were so very, very close.
Iris was now moving in a different circle that hitherto she had never experienced. She became popular with all my friends and colleagues. Very soon, I was spending more than half my time with her; living with her, and we were accepted wherever we went as a couple. We went all over the place, including many holidays to places she had never been. I took immense delight in showing her things new and in telling her about the history of the places we visited. Just being together for a week or a fortnight at a time away from home was total bliss. We went all over the place on our holidays; from Cornwall to Scotland and places in between. We also managed a couple of holidays abroad. In all our eight years together, we hardly ever argued or disagreed and we never once strayed from each other.
An interesting meeting took place one evening in early March 1973, when I was working in one of the clubs. Iris was with me and suddenly gasped out, “I know her!” I had been participating in a “Comedians’ evening” and was working with two others that night. They were both old friends, one of whom was Marti Cane, later to have her own show on TV. Iris went up to her and said “Lynne? Is that you?”
Marti was amazed… She cried out, “Iris!” What transpired was that they had known each other in the care home. Marti, (Lynne) was about six years younger than Iris and remembered her from those days. Iris and Lynne kept in contact with each other for years afterwards.
Unfortunately, Lynne died from cancer in November 1995.


This is an early shot of Iris taken in April 1973. I had a friend who bred pedigree cats and I got one for Iris. It was a silver tabby and we called her "Smokie".
Iris had just had her hair set, hence the headscarf.

Shadows of an aching past... Pt. 3

The dinner dates went on for a while and on one occasion, I took her to a meeting where I was speaking. Wherever we went, she always looked attractive for me and I bought her jewellery now and again. She liked jade and it looked well on her. The association, however, didn’t last, as later she left to go back to her native city. I learned later that all she had wanted was a series of expensive dinner dates and lavish attention! According to her diary that she left behind when she moved out, she described me as “Good for a freebie meal and drinks but very boring.” I should have listened to those who tried their best to discourage me from the start. I think it was the description of boring that finally made me wake up! I’ve never been called boring before in my life! Then again her life-style was so vastly different from mine and much more shallow.
I don’t suppose I’m the first man to fall for the flattery of a younger woman and I’m sure I won’t be the last but she was the first woman since Iris who had made even the slightest impression on me.

This is a pic of S**** sitting in the famous "Little John's Chair" in the Scotsman's Pack in Hathersage, Derbyshire.
It was our favourite haunt. Legend says that Little John is buried in the nearby church graveyard.
As a matter of fact, I took a very wonderful and special friend there when she was over here from the U.S. a couple of years ago. She also sat in the chair and I know which one I would prefer to see sitting there again!

This is a chapter of my life that I wish had never happened. There are no fond memories here.
I wrote another poem to S**** but I never showed it to her; I have never shown it to anybody. It was very honest but also very personal. It was something I should never have written.

Shadows of an aching past... Pt. 2

The summer of 2005 was one I will not forget in a hurry. Common sense and reason went out of control and I can’t blame anybody but myself.
Subsequent meetings were the same; the weather was always fine and sunny and we started to call it S**** weather. (Name withheld to prevent any embarrassment) We had some great times and I always looked forward to taking her out to various places.
Somewhere along the line, however, things went astray. I was so very much wrapped up in writing the Iris story that for a brief time, I thought that S**** was so involved with her memory that somehow, for an instant, Iris had come back. The fact that she wore a wishbone ring similar to the one I had given Iris triggered it off. I grew a fondness for her that was so very stupid of me.
As I said, I suppose I spoilt her by ensuring that she always drank champagne when we were out dining and in return, I enjoyed her company immensely. It triggered off a desire for me to write a poem to her; something I thought I would never do again. I wrote the following verses to show the changing of the seasons and the hope for a continued friendship. S**** enjoyed the poem and asked me to sign it and have it framed for her, which I did.


To S**** in gratitude for her help when I needed it. September 2005


The summer days are gone,
No more idyllic dreaming in the sun.
No lazy afternoons along with company so fair,
To ease my aching heart and drive away despair.

And when I needed you,
When all around, my dismal troubles grew,
I found in you some cheer; I found some inner glow
That helped me to forget the pain of long ago.

The days grow shorter now,
As leaves begin to fall from off the bough.
No sun now falls upon us as we go to dine,
But we’ll find a pleasant spot to drink the wine.

The winter chill will come,
Yet there is no need to for us to stay at home,
And taverns snug will surely beckon us to share
A glass of wine, a rendezvous somewhere.

Those days were warm and bright,
To us, they gave some measure of delight.
Will next year see us back again once more
To sit in sunny splendour as we did before?

Those golden days I yearn
To come again and let the memories return.
The happy times; the places where we went to stay,
And where you sat and took my dreary cares away.

Will these days come around?
Will there be simple pleasures to be found?
And will you be there with me to drink champagne?
Will you be there? Will you return again?

(To be concluded)

Shadows of an aching past...Pt 1

I’m taking a break here to set the record straight about a friendship I had with someone in the summer of last year. There have been rumours going round of late that I think I must refute.
I mentioned right at the beginning of writing my blog earlier this year that I had recently been flattered by the attentions of a much younger woman. It was when I was feeling at a low ebb as it was coming up to the 25th anniversary of the death of Iris. This woman came out of the blue and asked me for a date! I had never met her before in my life and we had only chatted over the internet a few times. She was originally from Liverpool and was staying with someone I knew in the city who lived about three miles away from me. We had chatted before when she was in her home town and she was now using her friend’s PC to chat to me now. She said she had been told conflicting stories about me and wanted to see for herself what I was like. I told her I was much older than she was but she still wanted to meet me.
Anyway, I arranged to meet her for what it was worth. I thought it would take my mind off my current problems. What I intended to do was to take her to a local pub, buy her a bar snack and a quick drink and that would have been it. Instead, she came out to me on a beautiful summer’s day looking absolutely stunning. She was wearing a summer outfit consisting of a top and long white flowing skirt and I knew that a local pub was way out of the question. Instead, I took her to one of my favourite haunts in Derbyshire. It was an up-market place noted for its fine cuisine. She had obviously gone to some trouble to look so attractive.
It was only natural that I reciprocated by ordering a first-class meal and a bottle of decent wine and we enjoyed every minute of it. Later, when we went out again, I repeated the performance knowing it gave her so much pleasure. As I said, this was at a time when I was feeling so very low. I began to talk to her about Iris and she seemed to understand my feelings. I said that I was thinking of writing about her and she agreed that it might help to ease the memories a little. I started to write and each time we met, I told her how far I’d got with the tribute I was writing. There I was, in the company of a beautiful girl, feeling sad about someone else and she never once complained! She cheered me up immensely on these occasions and I began to look forward to these meetings.
It was at this stage that I was warned about her by several friends, including her own sister. They urged me to end the association as she always left a trail of disaster in her wake! Of course, I knew better, didn’t I? I carried on meeting the woman to its inevitable conclusion.

(to be continued)

More about me...

In my youth, I had a succession of girl-friends; some serious, some not. I think the longest relationship I had before marriage was one of just over six months. I was moving about a lot in those days and in my late teens and early twenties, I was either at University or in the army. This didn’t give me much of a chance to consolidate a relationship and so I never had an in-depth bond with any of them. I got married at 23 to my dancing partner and settled down to raise a family. Three children in just over four years kept both of us busy looking after them with little chance of a social life. Later, as they grew up, I had a job that took me away for days at a time and I once worked in Germany for a couple of years, only returning home at holiday times. While the salary was good, it did keep me away from home quite a lot but my wife and family were used to my long absences. I must confess here that during my time abroad, there were one or two discreet affairs. They were nothing serious; it was part of the job being away from home!
I returned home in the early part of 1969 and secured a very good position in a nearby town. Once again, I would have to travel around a bit as the company I was working for had several smaller production units scattered about the country.
1970 saw me in a more senior position and my activities were centred mostly around three or four locations from my office. For the first time in years, I was spending more time at home with my family and I rather think we fell into a rut. Not that I didn’t love my wife, I did. However, when I first met Iris in the winter of 1972/3 I realised there was an enormous difference. While I loved my wife, I was in love with Iris and there was a whole wealth of difference there. At 38, I was like a teen-ager again with his first love. I soon discovered it was more than a casual fling; it was a wonderful close relationship that lasted eight years.
Critics may say that I neglected my family; not so. I had never been a pipe and slippers man even before I met Iris so my home life was not really affected so much by our relationship.
I make no excuses for my philandering; it was just the way it happened. I could resist anything but temptation! Then again, after meeting Iris, I never even once dreamt of having an affair with anyone else. That continued for several years even after she had died; nobody else was ever half as appealing.