It’s been a quiet year in South Bridlington.
We welcomed it in good heart in customary fashion with “Sing to the great Jehovah praise” with its cheerful quirky tune and the memorable line “His providence hath brought us through another various year”. So it hath.
The big New Year resolution was to sit A Level Classical Greek. This was not entirely sensible, as I am not very good at languages, did not know what the set texts were, and could not find a tutor. Last year I made a similar decision, but discovered that not a single school in E Yorkshire teaches Greek to GCSE, let alone A Level, and that no school would allow me to sit the examination in their institution “for reasons of Child Protection”. They must worry about the influence of 5th Century BC Athens on 21st Century old men. 2 Public = Private Schools in N Yorkshire still teach Greek. St Peters School in York agreed to let me sit the 4 exams in June. The set books were excellent as were the grammar books. It was a challenge. Judy was very compliant in all this, and joined in my daily wrestling bout with irregular verbs without complaining. She is a lesson to us all. I did not cheat, so did not look at any previous A level papers. It was a delight to open the 1st paper and realise “I can have a go at this”. The set books are organized that you select 2 books from one list and 2 from another list. Sadly, I had prepared 3 from one list and only 1 from the other. A mistake anyone could have made. It was quite exciting answering questions about a passage I’d never seen before. In the end I scraped a D grade, but had enjoyed the fight.
Now, fired again with enthusiasm for the difficult birth of democracy, science and philosophy, the wonderful narratives of Homer, and the firm belief that the best way to learn something is to teach it, I am leading a group of amusing elderly students now studying Classical Greek in the Bridlington U3A organisation. It is, of course, a lot of fun. Our class continues to grow.
The Annual Holiday took us back to Totnes. I wrote to Whoever now lives at … 4, North St. explaining that this was the cottage in which I spent my first 12 years and would like to see it again. They did not reply. The weekly rent in 1943 was 2/-6d. The house was lit by gas. We had electricity installed when I was about 5 and the rent went up. Outside was a toilet, a tin bath, a coal shed, and a mangle. All now gone. I hammered on the door and was met by a kindly Professor of Education from Leeds and her Companion. It is rented out as a holiday cottage. They had received my letter, but since they did not actually live there, had not opened it. They let me in. All the old cons have gone. Aunt Ann’s room is now a bathroom, and has lost the reassuring message Thou, God, Seest Me. They probably no longer use chamber pots. Poor People can no longer afford to live there, but He still seeth the replacement rich ones and is almost certainly not as impressed as they imagine. We then made an abortive attempt to visit Ashprington, a village about 2 miles from Totnes, where my grandmother brought up 1 husband and 11 surviving children, living in a 2 up 2 down cottage, with no running water, or gas, or electricity. The Ashprington Estate has been bought up by a well-financed property developer who now owns miles of land bordering the River Dart. We gave up trying to get a wheel chair up a 1 in 7 footpath, though friendly passers-by encouraged us by telling us we could get wine and cheese at Sharpham House – the old manor house of the Ashprington Estate. When we got back to Totnes, I asked a taxi driver how much the fare would be to Ashprington. It would be reasonable, but he said Ashprington has changed beyond recognition. They have got rid of all the poor people. It sounds as though the ones who have moved in are bringing up 11 surviving husbands, if they still use that term, and 1 child called Jocasta or Thor. I left Totnes hating property developers, people who drink wine with cheese, vegetarians, people who do Yoga (there are a lot of them in Totnes), and generally most of the present bunch of impostors who have bought in to an authentic rural lifestyle, displacing real people.
We have continued our Let’s see how many people we can make smile project, welcoming all and sundry as we walk along the Prom smiling benignly. Quite separately, and on different Fridays, 2 groups of beach hut occupants approached us on their last day, and asked whether we were related. “It’s my mum” “No, are you twins?” One of the groups had a bet on this. I warned them of the evils of gambling, and of believing what you are told. However, we have strong opposition from a surprising quarter. Lil is 97, lives on the corner house overlooking the lifeboat ramp, and spends all day waving to people from her front room as they pass. 15 year old paper boys make a point of stopping and waving back, and a number of dog walkers wave and look as pleased as you can imagine. We first thought we were doing Lil a favour by waving, but it’s not like that a bit. The happiness quotient for people in Bridlington is almost Scandinavian.
In October we had a battle with the TV Licencing Authority. We are still much indebted to the BBC – the last bastion of integrity in a wicked world. I tried to pay for our licence, even though we are both over 75. It is illegal. It cannot be done. I filled in an application online, tried to pay, and soon after received an email telling me that they could not accept the money. I rang up. “But we want to pay”. “But you are too old. You are not allowed to”. This must be untrue, and I nearly gave up the fight, being rescued by a subsequent letter sent by someone ignorant of the regulations who gave us the option of submitting a Direct Debit mandate.
A personal message from Judy as I’m about to end this: “How are you?”
“I cannot remember, so presumably there’s nothing wrong with me”
We can therefore look forward to yet another various year.
David & Judy – bewildered maybe, but never wildernessed.
December 2018
jbrip 