Here are the recordings of Grandma I said I would post - we've had some Internet worries lately (some *bumpkin* smashed into a telephone pole down the road!) and I couldn't post - now it's mended. These recordings are thanks to Noël's amazing patience and perseverance, so hurray to him!! He noticed that the tapes had two tracks, and by listening to the 2nd tracks, unearthed the treasures you'll be privy to in the weeks to come. Anyway, what with getting hold of an operational tape-recorder (they're getting rather rare, I had to ask a colleague at work and taking it to Noël's), playing all these tapes (18, I think, with some lasting several hours), sampling which ones were worth keeping, making sure no noise was heard in the house while they were being recorded, then uploading them on Wetransfer, where I downloaded them, renamed them for this blog, transformed them into mp3 format and trimming them the right size (Eklablog, for all its practicality, accepts only this format, and no more than 10 MO per sample)... all this work was really worth it!

Grandma's religious talk 1

Grandma's religious talk 2 (Download)

While listening to these extracts, where Grandma expounds on the superiority of Mary over Eve, one cannot but be struck by the choice of the subject: I thought it was quite fitting that she had undertaken to speak about Our Lady, and I recognized her deep faith in her dealing with this feminine dimension of the Christian doctrine. No doubt there had been other subjects, but this one seems really adapted to have her speak about it!

These are the recordings from the tapes which Noël had kept from what  mum had probably brought back from England, because the sound is quite good, as you'll hear, whereas we had copies at home whose quality was much lower. You'll hear Mummy (Cath), Monsieur Père here and there, and mostly Tini and myself happily reciting nursery rhymes: Simple Simon, The grand old duke of York, Hush a bye baby and many others. What strikes me is Mum's very low, almost husky voice, I don't know whether she changed her voice as she grew older, or if it's what her voice still sounds like when she speaks English (but I've heard her speak English, some times!):

Children's voices (click)

It's sickening that the last word of the recording, indicating the year, is cut: Grandpa is heard saying "All that was recorded on Monday evening, before you went back to France, on April 8th, nineteen hundred and sixty-" Going back to France: would this departure have been the end of our long stay at 9DR, or an intermediary departure? If it's the first case, then I'd say 1963, but we'll have to ask mummy.

Here's some more of the same, which was found recorded on the same tape, but after what you have already heard. There's a mention of Margaret's and Andrew's birthdays, so if I'm right, this must mean 1963 (Maggie couldn't have had a birthday unless she was at least 1, and I rather think she was born in 1962...)

Anyway, tell us what you think! Noël promises some more, with Grandma this time.

One previous article had dealt with Monsieur Père paraphernalia; this one is going to do the same, but with the specific attention to his work. As we all know, he used to work for Standard Telephones and Cables limited (STC) at its New Southgate plant. There's a website which has been put up with lots of information on the company: see here. Unfortunately, none on our grandfather, as far as I could see. But Mum says he started working there as his first job, and it is where he met his first wife, Ethel, who was working there as a secretary! In the end, when ITT became STC, he apparently had stopped going to the plant, but worked at home, as a company writer and corrector (confirmation for this, anyone?)

I remember him having to go to Antwerp, where the Wikipedia page on STC says that the US company Western Electric had a plant, and mentions the fact that STC started its life in 1883 as an agent for this firm. I still have an adapted copy of his "Handbook for ITT writers", which had been published by the Public Relations Dept of ITT, 67 Broad street, New York 4. When I have time, I'll type it (it isn't computerized), so you can have an idea of what he used to think was important in technical writing! On the STC website, we learn about a number of interesting facts, such as the first ever transatlantic broadcast of speech, which was received there on Jan 14, 1923. Then we can read about the V1 bomb attack on building 8 of the factory on August 24, 1944, which killed 35 people and wounded 200+.

Also the site shows pictures of its company holiday home for employees, Ranch house at Playa de Aro, in Spain. There was a plane that flew them there, which was full of test electronics!

Anyway, back to Monsieur Père. Here are the paraphernalia, with special thanks to Noel's stealthy manoeuvres at Bonnebosq! First, a kind of large wooden box which must have carried some equipment to repair, or something else. My dad used this for a long time in his medical business: he carried a supply of medicines inside, to be of use during visits to clients. The box was in the boot of his car, and he had a handle screwed on the top of the box, so it could be placed flat and not straight, and give access to the boxes of medicines more easily.

then there are some STC documents which mum still had:

some installation plans for telephone machines. Below, one for a "discrimating selector" (check here)

a Crown numbering machine:

and a very large stapler which we were pleased to have inherited at home, because it could staple at the middle of documents, where no other stapler could reach:

Some extra information on the FB page here.

If you've been following this blog a little, you know that Helene and I have been trying to solve the mystery of The little Roundy man (see here for a first version of the story)!! Even before the blog was born, we had exchanged about this long-lost book which we remembered from Auntie Olive, and wondered what could have happened to it. We still don't know, but we have now found the story itself again! First, we had thought it was called the little round man, and so got misled! (link) Ooer, sorry, here. Roundy isn't round! But soon anyway, Helene located the book thanks to Loganberry Books! I wonder why we didn't think of it in the first place! Anyway, she came up with this magazine.

and this book-cover:

So we now knew that it had been an Enid Blyton story all along! A few days later, Helene received the book, and she sent me the pages! here you go:

So, now perhaps you wonder why all the fuss? Why did we want to get our hands on the story once again? Well, perhaps Helene will tell you as far as she's concerned, but for me, this story was one of my first reader's complete pleasures. What I'll say now probably explains also why I used to like Enid Blyton so much (perhaps not very trendy by today's standards, but who cares). The little roundy man contained all the ingredients of suspense, mystery, suggestiveness, adventure, problem solving, you name it. It starts with temptation and sin, so to speak, because the children, playing in a forest, find a mysterious tree containing mysterious shoes. They are warned not to step in the shoes (or they know they shouldn't), and they do it all the same: retribution comes immediately in the shape of the young girl (Joan) being punished for her curiosity, and being forced against her will to go where she wouldn't want to go!

Now this is a strong idea, for such a little story. Enchanted shoes which make you a prisoner of their evil will! I'm sure John Bunyan would have done something of it if he'd had the idea. It reminds me of the ass's skin which was worn by the hero of Balzac's La peau de chagrin; the young man who gets his hand on it and starts wearing it makes his wishes become true, but the skin shrinks after every wish, and he eventually dies from suffocation. In The little roundy man, the shoes are also evil: they're beautiful and alluring (like the fruit of the forbidden tree in Eden), but once they're worn, they bring you down and submit you to a will that was both inside and outside you!

Then Roundy is like another Jesus, because he can fight successfully against the devilish sorcerer! What's striking is that he has the idea of "sinning" only half-way: he puts only one of the shoes, so he can control it and thus trap the tempter! Theologically, this can certainly refer to the mystery of Incarnation and the Saviour's acceptance of humanity's sinfulness (2Corinthians 5,21), in order to redeem it all the better. The little round house could be interpreted in a variety of ways, and I wouldn't want to strain the comparison, but certainly it is his instrument of salvation (as an all-round vehicle, it could refer to the Church whose universality encompasses the world): he manages to trap the sorcerer inside, and makes it roll and roll until its victim cries out for mercy, and gives up the keys of his netherland (Hell? Where the souls expecting deliverance were waiting?), which enables the children to go down into the cave, and unlock the door of their poor sister (ah, Eve, why hadst thou tasted that wretched fruit! But it was for our reading pleasure of course!)...

When we stayed at 9DR, one big activity was to go to the swimming-pool! There were certain stays during which it seems I used to go, I think, almost every day! I must have been quite clean at the end of the holiday! It was a thing we loved with my cousin Mark: he would arrive early enough at Grandma's, say 9 or 9:30 (I remember a day when he actually woke me up) and after a quick Rice Krispies breakfast (he more regularly arrived after the breakfast) we would leave for the 298 bus stand down the road and outside the park:

and let the bus take us to Southgate where we would jump off and walk to the pool:

It's hard to find good photos of the pool on the net, because the space is now a leisure center, and clearly has turned its attention to the other activities and left the pool fend for itself. And strange too, there are many things I have forgotten about this very frequent activity! I don't recall the bus stop very clearly, for example, nor do I remember exactly how much it cost to get in (10p? 20p?). I cannot visualize at all what the changing rooms looked like. But the inside of the pool, yes. Well, some salient points. In fact, the things which are hung to memories of those visits. One such thing is the notice board where little drawings represented what you should not do: no pushing, no jumping, no running, no swimming in the diving area, and the one which of course most caught our attention: no petting! Here it is (or a close version)!

(this guy has had a nice go and is reminiscing about the same thing!) Then there were the diving platforms, with several levels: 3ft, 10ft and 20 ft! Each time I came to the pool, I used to look up at the high platform with envy and dread at the same time, and secretly wish I were able to dive elegantly from up there like some young ones did… But I never dared!

Then one year, I decided I just had to do it. I walked up the ladder, and found myself at the top of this little world… I believe I had already jumped off the 5 m board in France, but I knew my maths, and 20 feet not only was higher, but felt it! It was a large board, with plenty of space. I looked down where the water was, where the little eddies far down below indicated where I would drop, and I dreaded that moment of falling, even though it could not last more than one second. Nothing like the long three or four seconds’ jump which Matthieu and some of his friends performed from that rocky shelf in the Verdon, and which I’m still amazed at having witnessed.

Anyway, my own jump took ages! I mean, I was completely frozen up there, not managing to just “do it”. Mark had come up and shown me, he was waving from down in the water, other children had come up and walked past me, and dived, jumped, shaming me into helplessness; even a swimming instructor noticed me, and encouraged me. I was just too mesmerized by that emptiness between the ledge and the water. But, well, I wanted to do it, and after goodness knows how long (it seemed much longer than it actually was, perhaps), I finally did it, felt the rushing air, the hard surface, and the quick resurfacing – and there it was, the bliss of victory over my fear! Not every one is equal in these matters. I don’t think I did it again a lot though, because it was just too taxing in emotional terms.

One great thing about these swimming sessions was at the exit, the moment in front of the vending machines when we got the chocolate bars (Crunchies were my favourite) or sweets which our sharpened appetites knew were waiting for us! I also used to like the ride back, the freedom of climbing at the top of the double-decker and munch away, with the warm summer air blowing in our drying hair, the great feeling of wet and cold limbs becoming comfortable again, and finally the delight of Grandma’s meal ahead and perhaps an afternoon devoted to a thrilling Enid Blyton story!

I know there were pool outings with other cousins, but the ones I recall are the ones with Mark. With him we also went to other pools, I remember especially Barrowell Green pool (there was also Edmonton Green and Picketts Lock), which was an open-air swimming bath, with grass lawns and lots of people in the summer, but where I felt it was colder (in the water and out), and perhaps without the much-sought after amenities (such as a warm shower and the sweets machine). I’ve looked up this pool and learnt that it closed in the early eighties. (I found this account on the net, and the writer says there was concrete all around the pool, not lawn, and he mentions a sweets machine in one corner! Well, we do concur about the cold water!)

You'll find a discussion about the pool where I borrowed this photo: here

And here's part of a letter from Auntie Olive on swimming!

One year as a birthday present Grandma gave me a toilet-bag with all the necessary items such as comb, tweezers... all these are long lost but I still have in my swimming-pool stuff the old, dirty, and half-broken brush coming from the bag. To say the truth, it's there, and I know it is, but I don't use it any more, I almost superstitiouly keep it there, this way when I go swimming (every week), it gives me an opportunity to think of her! (I'll have to take a picture of it)

The time spent at the pool was no doubt full of fun, jokes, allusions, stories, although I don’t remember any, apart from the play on words which Mark had coined: the “piss-in” as an alternate (French-English) name for swimming pool! I think regularly about those days at Southgate pool, and I think that somehow if I still swim today, part of the incentive goes back to those glorious days in England.