The Lion City Of Singapore

The Lion City of Singapore

Over the years, Wendy and I have enjoyed several trips to Singapore.  Many of Wendy's visits have not necessarily been very long, as they were in the years after Uncle John had been stopped from visiting us in the summer months, and she started going to see him in Brisbane instead. 

Wendy would rent a two-bedroomed apartment the centre of the city, and hire a car; they both enjoyed a couple of weeks companionable touring around, and Uncle John felt he was still part of a family, with warmth, home-cooked food, and just plain, good old-fashioned happy times. 

On both the outward and homeward bound journeys, Wendy stopped for a few days in Singapore. Unless it is absolutely unavoidable, we will always take the opportunity to stop and rest properly, getting our feet up in a comfortable bed, in between long flights; and so it became a regular occurrence, for Wendy to visit Singapore twice each year. 

We had also been there twice before, back in 2001, when we first visited Uncle John in Brisbane, so we knew we loved it. Singapore Airlines had also won our hearts as our airline of choice!

After Uncle John died, there was no call for us to carry on flying to Australia, but that did not deter us from continuing our "love affair" with Singapore! and learning more about its deeply interesting history.

I was inspired to write a piece about its long association with Britain, and my article was published last year; I hope it will encourage other people to go and explore all the Island has to offer!

 

Apollo - A Christmas Cat

Apollo - A Christmas Cat

Well, here we are, on Christmas Eve! I don't know where the past weeks have flown to, but it has been a busy time - a couple of articles published (more of them later!) and writing letters and Christmas cards, sending off Christmas presents, and all the other preparations for Christmas, have now resulted in us being very happy and relaxed, and ready to celebrate this wonderful time of year. 

We never forget the true meaning of Christmas, and to anyone reading this blog, we wish you all a happy, gentle and peaceful time. 

Have a lovely day, and to sign off, I'll attach a pic of Apollo, in "Christmas Cat" mode, sitting on the little table where we were putting up some Christmas cards. Apollo always makes sure he is involved in everything!

God bless you all.

Bumble - A Personality Pekingese

Bumble - A Personality Pekingese 

When I was little, I was very scared of dogs; I was afraid they would launch themselves at me, jump up and knock me over - and maybe bite, as well! 

But then, when I was seven, my Mum and I visited a lady living in Kampala, and she had a beautiful Pekingese, called Quotoi - the most delightful, perfectly mannered pooch I had ever encountered. After this experience, I realised I was certainly not afraid of every dog in the world; much depended on the owners, and how they encouraged their pets to behave.

Fast forward 4 years; I am now 11, and the happy owner/companion of my own Pekingese, whom I called Bumble. 

Over the years, I had read the delightful books by Magdalen Eldon, starring Bumble the Peke, and it seemed right and fitting that my canine companion should share that name, too; he brought me much joy and happiness. 

We were all living in Dar-es-Salaam, and I was keen to enter Bumble in the dog show that was organised every year. I have such happy memories of that time, and a copy of the picture taken by the East African Standard photographer, that appeared in the paper the next day, is one I will treasure forever.

Fast forward a few decades, and I was inspired to write a poem about the Dar Dog Show, which I submitted it to The Daily Mail, one of our national newspapers. I was thrilled to see it published on Friday, 24th October, complete with a delightful cartoon, showing Bumble as I remember him best: bright eyed, ready for anything, and a dog full of love. He was certainly a personality dog, and we will never forget him.

In case it's a bit difficult to read my poem on the printed page, this is the typewritten version.  I hope anyone reading this blog will enjoy it!

DAR DOG SHOW

The Dar-es-Salaam Dog Show was a splendid affair

With dogs of all shapes and sizes;

As they proudly paraded with heads and tails high

The owners were eyeing the prizes

 

In the shimmering heat, with coats neatly clipped

The poodles pranced daintily round

In obedience trials, the Alsatians went miles

Ahead of any old pet from the pound.

 

There were so many classes with all sorts of breeds

Long hairs and short hairs; and then

The pedigreed Afghans, Chihuahuas and bloodhounds

Were out on the leash from their pen.

 

The East African Standard photographer wandered

through the throng of the Dog Show elite;

With a pic in the paper, a moment to savour

An extracurricular treat.

 

Our Bumble, the Peke, had élan, he had cheek

A personality dog at his best;

Perhaps not quite perfect, but he had a surfeit

Of lion dog pride in his breast.

 

As each section vied for the chance of a prize

At long last the Pekes were called on;

And solemnly wound past the judges around

Hoping a prize would be won.

 

And then the long waiting; the judges debating

We trembled with anticipation

Then in measured pronouncement, we heard the announcement

And heard our names called, with elation!

 

For a third-place rosette, for a wonderful pet!

No wonder our hearts beat so fast;

And on taking our bow, it didn't matter somehow,

There were only three dogs in the class.

A Flying Visit To Germany

A Flying Visit To Germany

It has been such a long time since I saw dear friends in Germany; the days, the weeks, the months - the years! - fly by so swiftly, and although phone calls and letters are all very well, it is so much nicer to have the chance to see lovely people face to face, and catch up properly on each other's news.

I also believe it is important to make the best of everything. If it isn't possible to enjoy a long visit with someone, even an hour or two is better than nothing, so when Wendy suggested we take a flight from London City Airport (LCY) to Frankfurt, hire a car to give us the opportunity of driving to a couple of places to see our friends, I jumped at the chance!

London City Airport is a great departure and arrivals hub; it's small and intimate, their record for punctuality is superb, and getting through security and passport control swift and easy. Another great point is that - unlike the major airports - although there is a charge for collecting passengers on arrival back home, they don't charge "dropping off" fees.

We had to get to LCY very, very early. I am such an owl, and getting up at 4.30 in the morning was a bit of a shock for me! but I managed just fine, and once in the airport, it was buzzing with life and excitement, and Wendy and I had a lovely breakfast before walking to the gate for our flight. 

The aircraft British Airways use at LCY are Embraer 190s, operated by BA City Flyer. The runway isn't long enough to accommodate bigger aircraft; Embraer planes have just one aisle, with two seats either side, and as the pilot pulls away and taxis round, getting lined up for take-off, it is all very slow and gentle. Then there is a pause, as though the plane is holding its breath, until suddenly the engines rev up, the acceleration gathers force and you go charging down the runway, swiftly gaining the speed to get airborne. 

Some people find the quick take-off unnerving, but I always think it feels a bit like a running race for Victorian ladies in long dresses: "Quick, girls, gather your skirts around you, and go faster and faster!" or cyclists pedalling away like mad, to get lift-off! 

Even though it is a short flight to Frankfurt, BA serve you a snack and a hot drink - more tea is always welcome for us! - and in no time at all we were landing at Frankfurt. Because we were on an Embraer plane, we parked some way away from the terminal, and a bus was waiting to take us to the arrivals hall. 

It felt so good to be back in Germany - I always feel it is like home from home! - and everything went brilliantly for Wendy and me. 

We collected the hire car; the gentleman on the desk was interesting, and very chatty; he told us his Mum is from Germany and his Dad is from Southend in Essex, so he comes over to England regularly to see his English family - a truly happy combination!

Wendy is so confident driving on what I call "the wrong side of the road" (oh dear! Wendy was not impressed with me! "No, mother!" she insisted, "it's just the "other side" of the road!") but of course it is right when you have a left-hand drive car. 

What a treat this visit was. We had a wonderful time seeing our lovely friends, catching up with everything we have been doing, and hoping it won't be long before we can meet up again. 

All too soon, we had to drive back to Frankfurt, and take the flight home to London. As we flew over the Thames, we could see the Dartford crossing and the A2 through Bexley; the views are spectacular, and Wendy managed to take a couple of photographs through the window.

We're all hoping it won't be long before we can make a return trip to see everyone again; but in the meantime, we carry home all their love and good wishes, and we have so many happy memories safely stored in our memory bank. 

View from the wingtip inbound over the QE2 Bridge

View of the A2 towards Bexley

 

If These Walls Could Talk ... Long Lost Hotels

If These Walls Could Talk ... Long Lost Hotels

An article about long lost hotels appeared recently in The Daily Telegraph, with information about these magnificent establishments, and the fate that befell them. After enjoying a glamorous heyday, they are now sadly crumbling into decay, their past glory long forgotten.

When I got to the section regarding the Grande Hotel in Beira, I was transported back to the time when I, too, enjoyed the delights of the romantically elegant art deco hotel - a time etched in my memory! - and I was inspired to write to the Editor, putting into words all the joy and delight the place once held for me. 

It may now have sunk to depths undreamt of in 1961 - the year when I first went there - but somehow, I am able to fly over these sad reports and just take a moment to remember how it was so long ago. In my imagination it is as beautiful as it ever was... and I can revisit it whenever I wish.  

My letter to the Editor of The Daily Telegraph:

Sir

It was very sad to be reminded of the fate of the once magnificent Grande Hotel in Beira, Mozambique (If these walls could talk: secrets of the lost hotels).

I used to live in Dar-es-Salaam in the former Tanganyika, now Tanzania, and on our trips back to England by sea, the ships used to call in at Beira, giving us lots of time to get to know it and, of course, The Grande Hotel. Our last visit was in 1961; I was a teenager, and it was such an honour to be invited to a dance in the beautiful ballroom.  

I remember especially the magnificent curving staircase, and ladies in elegant gowns ascending it, in order to pose dramatically at the top, before returning to join the dance. I did that, too, before dancing the last waltz to the melody “Auf Wiedersehen.” 

Whenever I hear that song, I recall the happy times; it’s so sad to know there is no vestige left of the Grande Hotel’s former glory, but I am so glad I was there!

Yours sincerely, Alexandra Wilde

Memories Of Morecambe

MEMORIES OF MORECAMBE

MEMORIES OF MORECAMBE: 

Due to length restrictions in the Journal, I could not include everything I learned from my original research into the 2004 tragedy of the Chinese cocklers, or about the geological development of Morecambe Bay during the last Ice Age. 

The following paragraphs also come with acknowledgements for some of Peter Wade's information, published on Wikipedia.

Morecambe is a seaside town nestling on the edge of Morecambe Bay, where the waters of (the Bay roll to shore. Morecambe Bay was born in the last Ice Age, when retreating glaciers dumped soft sediments, which formed expanses of sand; these are now up to 80m deep. Sea levels rose, and the area was flooded; the Bay is now broad and shallow, but with a tidal range of 10.5m at spring tides, and an ebbing tide that can retreat as far as 12km. This means not much of the Bay stayed the same for very long.  

At low tide, the Morecambe Sands are revealed, stretching for miles away from the shore. It is possible to walk across the sands, but visitors would be wise to arrange help from an experienced guide, who know precisely the safe places and times to cross, on any given day. The sands are dangerous for unwary visitors, or for those who do not know how swiftly the tide can turn. Spring tides can rush in at 10 miles an hour, sweeping away everything in its path. 

Tragedy struck in Morecambe Bay on the evening on 5 February, 2004, when at least 21 Chinese immigrants were drowned by the incoming tide. The group had been hired to harvest cockles, and during the investigation and trial that followed, it was shown that the labourers were inexperienced, spoke little or no English, and were unfamiliar with the area. Only fifteen members of the group managed to get back to shore. The Gangmaster who had organised the trip, and two of his associates, were found guilty of manslaughter, breaking immigration laws, and sentenced to several years in prison.

A folk song composed by folk artist Kevin Littlewood, "On Morecambe Bay," tells the story of the events; the song was later covered by folk musician Christy Moore. 

Morecambe takes its name from the bay which provides a foreground to its famous view of the Lake District hills. 

From the med-nineteenth century onwards, Morecambe grew around the village of Poulton-le-Sands, when a railway line, the Little North Western, was pushing through from Leeds and Bradford, to a new harbour on the shore of Morecambe Bay. The present-day Stone Jetty formed the harbour's western wall.

The railway brought not only goods and passengers for further north and west, but also visitors to the seaside, in need of refreshment, entertainment and accommodation. through the second half of the nineteenth century, Morecambe grew in response to these requirements; as a result, it still has a rich and varied collection of Victorian buildings, including the Winter Gardens, (1897). Schools and churches (several by the Lancaster architects Sharpe, Paley and Austin) indicate the growth of Morecambe's resident population during this era. 

During the 1930s, Morecambe enjoyed a second period of growth; at the end of the decade, and after the Depression, working people were becoming more affluent and seaside holidays became a viable possibility. At the end of the 1930s, paid holidays were enshrined in law, and Morecambe experienced a boom, with the new Midland Hotel built in 1933, the Lido (the Super Swimming Stadium of 1936) and pier pavilions, cinemas, shops and private housing all built in the Art Deco style.   

During the 1950s and 1960s, visitors still flocked to Morecambe, but with the advent of new package holidays being on offer, with guaranteed sunshine abroad, the cracks were beginning to show.  I was living in East Africa at that time, but I remember reading about restrictions on the amount of money holidaymakers were allowed to take abroad. If memory serves me correctly, I think the maximum amount allowed was only £50.00, which meant the option of paying the total cost of travel, hotel accommodation and food before leaving the UK, was very attractive; the chance to sample the delights of Spain encouraged people to travel abroad more than they had ever done before. The traditional British seaside holiday looked second-best, and boarding and guest house owners looked for other ways to attract visitors.  

As a result Morecambe, like many other seaside towns, fell into decline. Day trippers began to replace the week or fortnight long holiday-makers that encouraged Morecambe to flourish; attractions were neglected, seaside shows struggled to find audiences, and were closed and many of the places that were once frequented by visitors, became wastelands as buildings were demolished.

Morecambe still has many things to offer, especially of nature and history, the natural beauty of the bay and its sunsets. It continues to be a regular delight for bird watchers, including the late, inimitable comedian, Eric Morecambe, who was not only a keen "twitcher" himself, but also ensured the name "Morecambe" would resound through future generations of people who watch his shows on t.v., who still love and appreciate his talent, his humour, and his ability to lift people into a happy mood. 

1.      

Blaenau Ffestiniog - The Town That Roofed The World (Part 2)

Blaenau Ffestiniog - The Town That Roofed The World (Part 2)

After the Ffestiniog Railway opened in 1836, following the discovery of the Merrioneth vein in 1846 an incline was completed in 1848, connecting the railway to the quarry. This enabled the transportation of Llechwedd slate from Blaenau Ffestiniog to Porthmadog in wagons, using gravity to travel down the rail lines to the harbour. 

 

In 1840, the first building to be roofed in Welsh slate in Adelaide, South Australia, was the Friends’ Meeting House; remembering John Greaves’s family’s association with Quakers, it was a most appropriate beginning! 

 

From Porthmadog, slate was exported by sea to destinations around the world; production expanded from 2,900 tonnes of finished slate in 1851 to 7,600 tonnes in 1863. A dedicated wharf was built at Porthmadog to accommodate the fleet of sailing boats for this expanding market.

 

The great properties of Llechwedd slate were further advanced by the prizes it won at various exhibitions, including the Great Exhibition at Crystal Palace in 1851, where it was awarded a Class 1 Prize Medal. As its popularity grew, it was also given a contract to supply slate to Kensington Palace. 

 

Further successes were achieved at the London Exhibition in 1862, and the Paris Exhibition in 1867; Welsh slate was also promoted in Australia, at exhibitions in Sydney and Melbourne in 1879 and 1880. In 1910, it won the Gold Medal at the Beunos Aires World Fair in Argentina, which resulted in many more orders from South America. 

 

Although mainly used for roofing, slate proved a versatile and durable material; thicker slabs made excellent flooring and worktop surfaces, and memorial headstones. In 1851, during the gold rush in the State of Victoria in Australia, whole houses were made of Welsh slate slabs; what a wonderful material slate is!   

 

John Greaves’ partner, Edwin Shelton, had died in 1848, but Greaves continued to work the Glynrhonwy quarry until 1862. He continued his close association with the Ffestiniog Railway, acting as Treasurer from 1843-47, and twice holding the position of Chairman, firstly from 1843-47 and again from 1850-57. 

 

Very labour intensive, and at the height of its success the slate industry in Wales employed more than 17,000 men, and by the end of the 19^th century, their hand-split slates were being exported all over the world.  

 

Today, visitors to Llechwedd Slate Caverns in Blaenau Ffestiniog enjoy an interesting and informative time exploring this fascinating underground world and learning how slate was mined and the slabs then split by hand and prepared for use. 

 

Alicia Enston and Phil Jones are both charismatic and highly experienced Historic Tour Guides.

 

Alicia is an archaeologist, and apart from acting as a guide for visitors, she is also involved in the developing the educational aspect of the site, creating a fascinating facility for children. 

The deep mine

 

Phil Jones is a musician and song writer, and the fifth-generation member of his family to work at the mine. His family were farriers, looking after the horses, with their skills handed down from father to son, to their grandchildren and to their great grandchildren. They were also blacksmiths, ensuring the tools were kept sharpened and prepared for re-shoeing the horses. Although horses did not work underground, it was important they were kept in fine fettle. 

 

Horses travelled down the line to Porthmadog in “dandy” wagons and, after the slate wagons had been unloaded, they then hauled the empty wagons back up to the mine, ready to be refilled with more dressed slate. 

Slate wagons on their downhill journey to Porthmadog

 

In the 1800s, sleds were used, and when the carts and wagons were loaded, the miners would wrap their hands in the horse’s manes, so they would not lose contact with the horses.

 

The men were steeped in the life and tradition of the slate mines. Working days were long and hard – the twelve-hour shifts began at 6.00 a.m. and ended at 6.00 p.m., with a half-day on Saturdays. People went to Church or Chapel three times on Sundays; apart from the services, the children also went to Sunday School, where they learned to read and write, so their attendance was not just for faith. 

 

Quarrymen worked in teams of up to 8; first prospecting for the slate, and then agreeing a contract to extract it, they were known as “Bargain Gangs.” “Rockmen” blasted the rock, producing blocks; they worked at an angle of 30 – 40 degrees, and the deeper they went into the mine, the better the quality of slate they extracted, but mining was a very dangerous job.

 

“Splitters” had the task of cleaving the blocks with a hammer and chisel, and “dressers” completed the work of trimming the slate into the sizes required for roofing.

 

Other members of the team included a “Rybelwr” – usually a young worker offering to help the gangs, and in the process learn his trade.. “Bad Rockmen” did not mean they were not good at their job! Their task was to remove the unworkable rock from the face of the mine, and the “Rubbish Men” cleared waste from the galleries; this slate formed the waste tips surrounding the quarry. 

Rugged scenery surrounding the mine at Llechwedd; and flourishing rhododendrons 

 

Apart from the inherent hazards of mining, men splitting and dressing the slate also fell ill with silicosis, a long-term lung disease caused by breathing in the fine crystalline silica dust produced by working the slate. 

 

Phil Jones gives demonstrations of slate splitting by hand, using the old techniques used by the Romans; in his witty and wonderfully informative talks, giving a clear picture of the miners’ arduous and dangerous work, he makes those early miners come to life.

Phil Jones, delivering his talk and demonstrations

 

Phil explains: “If the slate is of poor quality, it is a hard job; but with good slate, it’s a pleasure!” Slate splitting chisels are held against the top edge of the slate, and tapped gently into it with a hammer; if it is a good piece, as the slate is cleaved, it will split cleanly, and open up, “like a book.” Then the slate is dressed, to turn it into a roofing slate; again, a very hard, long and laborious – and very dusty – job.

Phil Jones splitting the slate and, below, 

Dressing a roof slate 

 

In the early days, there was 90% waste of the slate, but now this is reversed, and there is only 10% that is not used.

 

John Greaves took out a patent for a dressing machine, consisting of two rotating blades, which gave the required chamfered edge for the tiles; a great improvement on the original methods. 

 

Sizing sticks used by the miners measured 36” x 4 ½”, and most of the slate sizes were given female names. Some were named after noblewomen, for example, Empress, Princess and Duchess, although whether other names - such as Broad Countess, Broad Lady and Wide Lady - caused offence, could be open to discussion!   

Size names of slate

The miners' slide

 

John Greaves also formed a partnership with Lord Newborough and William Edward Oakeley. William Oakeley was the landowner of Allt-fawr; he inherited the Plas Tan y Bwlch estate in 1868 from the widow of his father’s cousin, who had died childless. 

 

Penrhyn and Dinorwig were the two largest slate quarries in the world, and in 1878, William Oakeley amalgamated them into a single business; the Oakeley mine at Blaenau Ffestiniog was the largest underground slate mine in the world.  

When William Oakeley died on 1^st February 1912, his coffin was taken by rail from his home at Cliffe House to Blaenau Ffestiniog, and finally by lorry to St Twrog’s Church in Maentwrog. Hundreds of miners from the Oakeley quarry followed the lorry, and William Oakeley was interred in the Church cemetery.  His death was reported in The Times, and a report of the funeral procession appeared a few days later. 

For visitors to Blaenau Ffestiniog wishing to immerse themselves in history and some wonderfully detailed murals depicting slate miners at work - painted by talented artists - they could do no better than to visit The Oakeley Arms Hotel, a grade II listed building near Maentwrog. 

Because it belonged to the Tan y Bwlch Estate, the hotel was originally known as the Tan y Bwlch Inn, and the original building dates back to the 17^th century. 

Enjoying a leisurely lunch, or a longer stay at the hotel, surrounded by atmospheric art work, gives people the opportunity to learn and absorb more information about the life of the slate miners of Blaenau Ffestiniog. It has truly earned its title of “The Town that Roofed the World.”