To help resolve our ongoing quest for new material to publish in St George’s News, Lynn Winter has been on a mission cajoling our congregation to write an article for us -- perhaps about a hobby, an activity, a holiday, anything really that might be of interest. At the time of printing, we have lined up for future issues an article on Crafting from Dawn Trimby, from our Parish Administrator Helen about her work at the Tower of London, and from Sara Pask on her project researching her family history.
You may have already been “targeted” by Lynn in which case we look forward to receiving your contribution! Or you may yet be approached. Or you may like to just let us have an article for the magazine anyway!
This is a new series, which we hope will provide items for the magazine for a long to to come!
The first article of this series is from David Cavey:
Whilst sitting, quietly enjoying a cup of coffee in the Church Hall after the 10am Sunday Service a few weeks ago, I was approached by a young lady, who, after enquiring after my health, added, do you think that you could write an article for the Parish Magazine. Whatever could I write about? I think, was my response, but it was obviously a weak moment, for I consented, although having returned home I have to try and find a way of solving this problem.
Now, what on earth can I write about?
Well, perhaps, I thought, I could write about my childhood years which were spent living on the Royal Estate at Sandringham. When expecting me, my mother fled from the bombing in the East End of London, to stay with her parents, who were living in a relatively safe area of Norfolk. My Grandfather was a Gamekeeper, located in the small village of Anmer (which is the village where the large house ‘Anmer Hall’ was eventually refurbished for the occupation of Prince William and Princess Catherine during the early years of their marriage).
My Grandparents lived in the Gamekeepers house, where there was also a large barn in which his horse (but possibly it was the King’s horse) and the cart were kept. These were used to take the family on their annual summer outing, which was a day’s trip to the shores of The Wash. My mother never returned to London and after five years, when my Grandfather retired, we all moved to another house which was provided for my Grandfather, upon his retirement, rent free for the rest of his life. But in reality at the age of five could I really remember that much, or are these things that I have just been told? And would people really want to read about those?
Well, perhaps, I thought, I could write about the house which we then moved into, which was located on the road from Kings Lynn to Hunstanton (the A149, if I remember correctly). The house was about a mile from the village and I do remember that the toilet, which had to be emptied by my Grandfather, was located in a separate outbuilding about 20 yards from the back door. Well, perhaps people would find it interesting if I included details of the way in which the washing was done, where a fire had to be lit under the copper, located in another outhouse, in order to heat the water for the clothes to be washed, before passing them through the mangle and eventually hanging them out to dry. Maybe I could also include details of the way in which the weekly bath was taken, in a tin bath which was moved in front of the living room coal fire and into which warm water had to be transported from the previously mentioned copper. Given that there was no electricity, it might also be interesting to explain the way in which rooms were lit, mainly by paraffin lamps and alternatively candles, which was rather different to the modern day lighting which we all take for granted. But who on earth would want to read about those outdated times?
Well perhaps, I thought, I could write about my school days and how I started school at the local primary school and eventually, having passed the eleven plus exam, I was transferred to the Grammar School in Kings Lynn, a ten mile bus ride away. Our house however was located about two miles from the bus stop which meant that before being able to get on the bus either a fairly lengthy walk or bicycle ride had to be undertaken, which then had to be repeated upon returning home. It was at that school that I discovered an enjoyment for sport and fortunately always seemed to have been good enough to play both football and cricket for the school elevens, as I progressed through the school. This did however mean that there was a full six days of school every week for we had Saturday morning lessons, followed by the school team matches in the afternoon, But then everyone attended school at that age, so who on earth would want to read about that?
Well, perhaps, I thought, I could write about how, at the age of 16 I left school having completed the O level exams (todays equivalent of the GCSE’s) and joined Barclays Bank. I could write about my 40 years working for Barclays Bank, initially spent working in several Branches in Norfolk, which involved three house moves, before moving together with Margaret and our two young sons to Chichester. We then lived in Chichester for three years before moving to Jersey for five years, then Guernsey for a further five years. We then moved to the Isle of Wight for eight years and finally to Petersfield until I was offered early retirement. But banks are nowadays very different to those in which I worked, so who on earth would want to read about that?
As an alternative, I thought, I could of course write about many years of camping/caravanning holidays, or the journeys which we were lucky enough to take abroad, including a journey on the Trans-Siberian Railway from Moscow to Beijing and a flight on a small plane around Mount Everest, but I know from experience that stories of holidays taken by others can, to an extent, be boring so I certainly would not try to inflict my own experiences on you.
So at last I seem to have run out of possible ideas for my article, but looking back, at what I have already written, perhaps I have enough for an article after all.
But, the thought has struck me, that instead of being headed ‘A Sunday Morning Surprise’ it really ought to be headed ‘The Musings of an Elderly Man’? But then, who on earth, would ever want to read those?
David Cavey
