Category: Stories

Mud, Mystery, Murder, Manuscripts and Madness.

I heard this story when I was a lad from my father and grandfather; no mention of it was ever made in school.

The geezer in the muddy boots is Dr. Orville Ward Owen a medical doctor from Detroit, the date is May 1911, the place is close to the low tide mark of the River Wye in the shadow of the walls of Chepstow Castle.

What led the man to this place was never explained to me back then, although what he sought was well known to my relatives, and their view was that he was wasting his time and money. He made several visits, one lasting longer than six months. In all twelve or fourteen shafts were driven into the river bottom, some deeper than twenty feet. All he found were some heavy timbers that were the remains of a Roman landing stage, these were not what he was looking for.

 

 

 

 

Continue reading “Mud, Mystery, Murder, Manuscripts and Madness.”

In the Clouseau v Cato vein

A little diversion for the weekend.

Mrs W was out. While the cat’s away…

It had been ages since my son and I had wrestled. I waited until I could hear him opening the front door. Surprise was on my side and I lunged with a sliding tackle but he used a stiff-arm fend to push me back. And I was taken aback. What godforsaken sport has he been watching in his spare time?

“Too slow, Shirley Crabtree.”

Continue reading “In the Clouseau v Cato vein”

Memories of Greece 1963, pt. 4

By now we were old salts, so we could handle the long voyage from Rhodes to Iraklion in northern Crete with aplomb, almost able to ignore the loukoumia problem; but we were glad to disembark to the frantic accompaniment typical of every busy port we visited.

Our focus was to see the work of a famous alumnus of our college, Sir Arthur Evans, the pionering archaeologist who, from the start of the  20th C. first gave meaning to the ruins of the ‘Minoan’ civilisation; he named it after the mythical King Minos of ‘Minotaur’ fame. The fabled bull was a common feature of the frescoes he excavated and controversially restored in the reconstructed ‘palaces’ – probably a misnoma for rooms and streets occupied by more than just royalty.

Continue reading “Memories of Greece 1963, pt. 4”

Memories of Greece 1963, pt. 3

Rhodes was, and still is, a very pretty island, with wooded hills in the ‘interior’ and well-preserved old towns within ancient fortifications – including of course the two arms of Rhodos harbour where Colossus once bestrode the entrance. The three of us found a quiet corner on top of the city wall to make camp, conveniently situated for a water tap and even public toilets, a rarity in 1963; while below us the narrow streets were teeming with stall-holders and buyers of everything from local produce to car tyres, with fresh fish aplenty. Although it was of little use to us, with no means of cooking it!

A highlight of our visit was a bus-ride across the island which dropped us off at a valley called ‘Petaloudes’. Continue reading “Memories of Greece 1963, pt. 3”

Memories of Greece 1963, pt 2

The thing is, I was totally immersed in Ancient Greek language, literature and history at that time, having done my ‘public exam’ in Classics only a few months before. So to find myself setting foot in old Piræus was like coming home. It was a hot, bright, bustling harbour; vendors and hustlers meeting the ferry, children offering to dive for coins from the dock-side, delapidated vehicles of every kind, even some with engines. And livestock being herded all around, presumably to or from the markets. No exaggeration to say almost nothing had changed in 2,500 years.

The local youth hostel was by no means primitive though. In fact we made reservations for a month later, the night before the ferry left for Brindisi – but for accommodation on the roof this time; no sissy matresses for these lads! Because we already knew from the student grape-vine that spending good money on rooms was out of the question. It was going to be ships’ decks, roof-tops and beaches from now on, with our sleeping bags, no tents. Remember: it was July and August when the nights were warm and rarely wet. And nobody had even heard of a ban on sleeping rough in those days; it was just what less-affluent visitors did and we were made welcome wherever we laid our heads.

And we soon ‘did’ mainland Greece. Continue reading “Memories of Greece 1963, pt 2”

Memories of Greece 1963, pt 1

Is it 50 years ago? Can’t be. Yes, it is.

Steam Train the Flying Scotsman Leaving a Station, January 1963 Photographic Print

Two mates and I won college travel bursaries after our ‘first public exams’ – which in those days counted as ordinary degrees taken after 5 terms. Value: £36 each. So we planned a month away in the summer vacation – destination Greece via everywhere in between. It wasn’t called back-packing in those days; we were just travelling students, advised to sew Union Jacks on our rucksacks so that Johnny Foreigner wouldn’t mistake us for undesirables (!). Such innocent times! Continue reading “Memories of Greece 1963, pt 1”

It’s hard to make a comeback when you haven’t been anywhere

I took the summer off, basically. Well, if you can call doing two jobs, managing the house and garden and going through a family bereavement ‘taking time off’.

It was however time off from blogging.

Anyhoo I’m back. Continue reading “It’s hard to make a comeback when you haven’t been anywhere”

Radio Blah

In this digital age it remains a mystery how the “before its time” digital watch never took over the world. A useful invention for people who didn’t understand the Roman numerals on their dial or the intricacies of hour and minute hands, the digital version had in some versions red neon numbers. A special button also illuminated the watch in the dark. And the stopwatch, wow, this was ground breaking stuff. Now obsolete at least we have digital radio to amuse us. So many stations, so much choice. I like the soap operas on Radio Blah. These everyday gothic soap stories might not be to everyone’s taste as yarns ain’t like they used to be.

    The laptop with the faulty battery

Continue reading “Radio Blah”

Peer without peer (or pier)

It’s fragrant Archer day in the meeja. Hisself is singing the praises of the resort formerly known as Bombay (hardly his eponymous Weston with its new pier), while ‘er indoors is singing his.

Married for 47 years: Mary and Jeffrey Archer

What is he up to this time with this shameless relaunch? Does he think that we have memories as selective as his? Does she still need to justify playing Tammy Wynette to his Walter Mitty?

Or will we have to swallow another round of grease-laden wisdom from his unctuous pen?

Here ‘s the stuff: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/travel/celebritytravel/10261973/Jeffrey-Archers-Mumbai-My-Kind-of-Town.html and http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2401204/Most-men-need-wife-pump-ego-Jeffrey-needed-puncture-A-fascinating-insight-famously-colourful-marriage-MARY-ARCHER.html