Swim the Channel? Fat chance of that!

Bill Burgess slathered in lard before his successful attempt at swimming the English Channel in 1911. (This work is from the George Grantham Bain collection at the Library of Congress. According to the library, there are no known copyright restrictions on the use of this image).

My recent mention of goose fat as a home remedy for a bad chest prompted reader Mike Brown from Stokesley to get in touch. It reminded him of TV personality David Walliams: “He smeared it all over his body before swimming across the English Channel to raise money for the BBC charity Sports Relief. The late Queen mentioned this when she presented him with the OBE for his services to charity and the arts. He replied that the application wasn’t as much fun as it looked. Probably smelt awful too. So as well as a remedy for a persistent cough goose grease is a good insulator as well.”

Walliams completed the 21-mile swim in a very impressive 10 hours and 34 minutes in July 2006, despite confessing that he had never done anything remotely sporty in his life before. Later, in 2008, he swam the Strait of Gibraltar, and then in 2011 completed the ridiculous challenge of swimming the length of the River Thames. He covered 140 miles, starting in Lechlade, which is about 45 miles west of Oxford, and finishing eight days later at Westminster Bridge in London.

For the latter two events, Walliams was wearing a wetsuit, but for his Channel swim, he was only permitted to wear a ‘standard swim costume’ as defined by the Channel Swimming Association for it to be classed as an official swim. The rules state that the costume should not aid buoyancy nor offer thermal protection, and it cannot cover the arms or legs. The same rules apply to the swim hat too, and you are not allowed to use anything that will help you stay afloat or swim faster, so no flippers armbands, rubber rings or lifejackets.

Basically, it’s just you and your Speedos against the elements. Oh – and of course, the goose gunk. Some people smear it all over their body to prevent heat loss, while other more hardy individuals cover just the areas that are likely to chafe, such as armpits, necks, shoulders and thighs. That thought makes me squirm (and if you have ever spent too long in the sea, you will understand the fidgety discomfort of saltwater chafing).

Some people choose not to use fat from a dead animal and instead make their own mixture of roughly 50/50 lanolin and petroleum jelly. Lanolin is what makes a sheep’s fleece waterproof, and is extracted from freshly-shorn wool in a centrifugal process involving hot water. It has dozens of uses, but it does harden when cold, so for the cross-Channel fraternity, it is mixed with petroleum jelly to keep it spreadable.

The first person to ever swim the Channel unaided was 28-year-old Captain Matthew Webb in 1875. He smeared himself with porpoise fat to preserve body heat and avoid the chafing. He earned fame and a small fortune from the achievement, and tried to replicate the financial rewards through other water-related endurance challenges, but none matched that first major accomplishment. He died just eight years later while attempting to swim the Niagara Falls Whirlpool Rapids.

It was another 36 years before anyone else managed to cross the Channel and he happened to be a Yorkshireman. Bill Burgess tried and failed 17 times before succeeding on his 18th attempt in September 1911. Although born in Rotherham, he spent most of his adult life in France, and competed for the country at the 1900 Olympics where he won a bronze medal in water polo. He also coached the first woman to swim the Channel, American Olympian Gertrude Ederle, who was only 20 when she completed the feat in August 1926.

Undertaking a Channel swim sounds, quite frankly, awful. Not only do you have to go to the faff of smearing yourself in gunge before plunging into freezing sea water, you also have to contend with wind, currents, tides, sewage and floating rubbish, never mind the constant traffic surging through the busiest shipping lane in the world. Then there’s the seasickness caused by the incessant motion of the waves, the sore and chapped lips, and the raging thirst thanks to the gallons of polluted salt water you’ll inevitably swallow. Why the heck would you?

Of course, I am facing my own swimming challenge later this year when I compete in my first triathlon. Let’s hope goose fat won’t be needed.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 7th March and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 12th March 2025

Friend thrown a life jacket

Stefan’s expensive work jacket was accidentally sold at the school fair

Last year I wrote several columns about things people had lost, things they had found, and about St Anthony to whom the faithful pray if they need help finding a misplaced item.

That subject cropped up again recently when I was on a ramble with my friend Jane and she told me a couple of remarkable stories that I felt I had to share.

Jane and her neighbour Aisling get on with each other very well, attend each other’s parties, exchange birthday gifts and such like. They also swap items of clothing, if they find they are not wearing something but think the other might like it. One such item was a jacket that Aisling gave to Jane several years ago. Although Jane liked the jacket and placed it in her wardrobe, it stayed there unworn for a long time. Finally, a few weeks ago while planning for a night out, Jane remembered the jacket and thought it would go very well with what she wanted to wear. She dug it out and tried it on to see if it suited. Instinctively she put her hands in the pockets and to her surprise, found there was something left inside one of them.

Pulling it out, she discovered it was a pair of beautiful diamond earrings. Astounded, she immediately took them round to show Aisling. Her neighbour was also astounded – and delighted. She revealed that they were the pair of very expensive earrings she had worn on her wedding day and which had been lost for at least 10 years.

Aisling and her family used to live in Singapore, and while there, they employed a cleaner. She explained to Jane that after a while, they began to suspect the cleaner of pilfering things. They had no evidence to prove it, but to be on the safe side Aisling began to hide her most precious pieces of jewellery in the pockets of the clothes hanging in her wardrobe. The problem was, over time she forgot what she had put where, and by the time they moved back to England a few years later, she had completely forgotten that she had hidden her wedding earrings in a jacket pocket. For more than 10 years, she had lived in the belief that her treasured earrings had been taken by the cleaner and that she would never see them again (to be fair, the cleaner had almost certainly stolen other items, so it was not an unreasonable assumption to make). To get them back after so long was an absolute and unexpected joy.

A similar story involved Jane’s husband Stefan. Jane’s and my own children went to the same primary school which held regular fairs and jumble sales. These occasions were good excuses to declutter our wardrobes and pass on any unwanted toys and bric-a-brac.

One year as one such fair was approaching, Jane had a good declutter and filled up the car with jumble, putting a pile of unwanted coats on the back seat before dropping them off at school.

A few days later, her husband was preparing to leave for a business meeting, and asked if she had seen his smart jacket.

“Where did you last have it?’ asked Jane

“I left it on the back seat of the car.”

You can imagine Stefan’s choice response when he discovered that his expensive tailored jacket had been sold for a song at the school fair. Jane had unknowingly scooped it up with the other coats on the back seat and handed it over with the rest of the jumble. They both assumed Stefan would never see his jacket again, and Jane was banished to the dog house.

But the story does not end there. Later that week, tempers having cooled, the couple were out for a walk when they noticed a stranger walking towards them. He was wearing a very familiar item of clothing.

Stefan, being a lot braver than I would have been, stopped the man and asked about the fine jacket he was wearing. The man confirmed he had picked it up from the local school fair for 50p.

With a bit of astute negotiating, and offers of giving the man back the 50p, Stefan and his jacket were happily reunited.

Do you have any stories of unexpected reunions?

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 28th Feb and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 26th Feb 2025

Seeing the bigger picture

Clare Powell has photo books printed at the end of each year as a legacy for future generations.

My column about family photos a couple of weeks ago sparked quite a discussion. I was concerned that most of us have stopped printing pictures stored on mobile devices like phones and tablets. Would these photos be lost to future generations who don’t have the passwords to access them?

Mary Raynar has a solution to that problem: “I get mine printed every month, otherwise they don’t get looked at. It’s my job in the winter months to put them into albums. It is much more pleasurable than scrolling on the phone.”

I’m impressed that Mary diligently does that every month. I had always planned to get back to sorting the photos on my iPad, but then so many years have passed now that the job has turned into a monster. If you don’t keep on top of it like Mary, that is the problem.

Liz Davidson confesses that she has lots of old family photos that have not been put into albums. “My sons will have no idea who all these people are. We keep saying we will sort them out one day.”

And that is at the heart of the issue. If the physical photos do not have names, places and dates written on the back, those who look at them in the future will have no idea who it is, what they were doing, or where they were taken. Recording these small details is so important for our descendants to piece together their family’s roots.

Clare Powell is one of those ‘old school’ people who still has her photos printed: “My first grandbaby is due in April and I will be printing pictures. I have framed photos all over the house.”

I stropped printing out my photos and putting them into albums in about 2012 and I do regret it. But Clare has a great solution: “My friend said she waited to the end of the year, then selected a few from each month to make a photo book for the year. I made my first one in 2012 and have made one every year since. Waiting to the end of the year focuses your mind and you get good at editing…During Covid I re-did all my old photo albums and as I had over 40 it was quite a task. As I did it I was conscious that this was a legacy and a lot of the pictures would mean nothing to my children…I always label them so they will know who’s who.”

Photo books come with your pictures already printed in the book, which is a lot less effort than physically putting individual snaps into albums. Clare’s have evolved into diaries in which she writes a review of the year, with captions and dates.

Lynn Catena admits: “I haven’t printed any photos off my phone for ages, although I really think I should print some of my grandsons.”

She adds: “During the Covid lockdown I wrote a ‘to do’ list and going through photos was somewhere on it. I did cull many photos and negatives when I downsized my house 7+ years ago although lately I’m just trying to label those I have on my phone…there’s a picture of someone’s baby… now I’m wondering who it is!”

Lynn Catena thinks she should at least have some of the photos of her grandsons she keeps on her phone printed out, including this one of Cal, born just a few weeks ago.

Lucien Smith has another suggestion: “I do at least print out my Facebook posts using Pastbook, which pops up at the end of each year. Other than that, I don’t print them out.”

Caroline Newnham no longer prints them either: “I’ve stopped getting them printed as there are so many. My husband would print them all but where would they go? We already have boxes of photos in the loft…I’ve made a start on a regular yearbook…It concentrates the mind on the big moments of the year. The first was in 2023 and is great to look back over. It wasn’t cheap and took quite a bit of time and effort but is the way forward I think.”

Neil McBride says: “We often discuss the idea. That’s as far as it gets. Great idea printing an annual.”

Whichever way we want to preserve our memories, whether in print or digitally, these comments show that it is clear still that we need plenty of time to do it.

And how many of us have enough of that?

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me via the ‘Contact’ tab at the top right of this page.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 21st Feb and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 19th Feb 2025

Coughing up a special brew

Would you be tempted to rub goose fat on to your chest to relieve a cough?

 

Following my recent column discussing weird and wonderful ‘remedies’ for coughs and colds, I have had some interesting messages from readers.

Liz Davidson from Darlington says: “An old neighbour of mine gave me a jar of goose grease to rub on my son’s chest when he was a baby for a persistent cough. I don’t think it did much good but at least I could have a good a fry up with it!”

Nick Whelan from Romanby recommends: “Warmed whisky (can be substituted with lemon juice or similar) and ginger with local honey. It’s best to use local honey as the pathogens have been collected and the astringents will then allow your body to absorb them more easily.” (I’m not sure what that means but it sounds like it should be effective!)

Caroline Newnham from York was not tempted to try the more extreme remedies I mentioned involving fish, mice and ferrets, but offers a similar suggestion to Nick: “I’m a great fan of a fresh ginger brew and paracetamol with a whisky hot toddy at bedtime. I’m not a whisky drinker any other time. I have read this week that fresh pineapple is very good for annoying coughs. Got to be better than a cold fish!”

It so happens that whisky and ginger is what my dad used to recommend whenever I was suffering with a cough or sore throat. I never tried it because I didn’t like whisky, but I can imagine that if it is warmed with a dollop of honey, some lemon and some ginger, it would be soothing to drink.

Clare Proctor says: “At my great age, and on the advice of my doctor, I only take paracetamol when I have a cold. After all, in any over the counter ‘cold remedies’ you buy, the only active ingredient is the paracetamol. All the rest is just window dressing – well that’s what she told me. She also said there was no cough medicine to get rid of a cold, they only soothe your throat, so I guzzle Benylin too. Nothing ‘old wife’ for me!”

And Judith Barber adds: “I never take Lemsip because I now react badly to all medication. Four years ago, my face became lumpy, the skin saggy, after using certain eye drops. My eyelids were so bad I had to have surgery to reduce them. The surgeon was wonderful, but it was a surreal situation, being conscious, him chatting away to me, maybe to distract me from what was happening! Talk turned to Covid, which I had not had – and still haven’t. I put it down to drinking lemon tea, with added honey, apple cider vinegar, and a piece of fresh ginger, once a day. The surgeon said I probably had a strong immune system, but another patient recommended drinking a whole bottle of red wine each day!”

Drinking a daily bottle of red would not be recommended by any medical professional I know, although a glass a day is supposed to bring some health benefits. Judith’s experience with the eye drops is horrific, but by a strange coincidence, I have recently listened to a true crime podcast where the killer had poisoned the victim by spiking her drink with eye drops. I don’t know which ingredient caused Judith’s adverse reaction, but some over-the-counter eye drops in the USA contain tetrahydrozoline which is poisonous if swallowed in sufficient quantities, which the killer obviously knew. I had a good scroll through all the brands of eye drops available in a UK-based online chemist, and to my relief could not find any that contain tetrahydrozoline.

I find it fascinating that some people have still never caught Covid. Are they naturally immune, or just lucky? Maybe Judith’s very own daily ‘special brew’ does boost her immune system and protects her from certain illnesses. Who knows? Having said that, the so-called ‘placebo’ effect can be as successful as medication in making one feel better thanks to the mind having such a powerful influence over how we feel physically. Placebo or not, when you’re under the weather, what matters is whatever works for you.

And finally, referring to my 400th column which appeared a couple of weeks ago, Lynne Wheatley sent me the following kind message: “Congratulations! Your dad would be so proud of you.”

Thank you, Lynne. I really hope he would.

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me via the ‘Contact’ tab at the top right of this page.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 14th Feb and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 12th Feb 2025

Picturing the past

I stopped printing photos and putting them in albums in about 2012. Will my great-great grandchildren know what I looked like if they don’t have access to photos of me?

I’ve had a few more comments about the conundrums we face when making decisions about what to do with all the stuff we accumulate over our lifetimes. Should we leave it for our loved ones to deal with after we’ve gone, or should we get rid of it ourselves before we shuffle off this mortal coil? Are those we leave behind interested in the stories behind the things we treasure, or could they not care less?

Lynn Catena, a Brit who now lives in Canada, says: “I doubt my boys are interested in anything I deem sentimental, but I plan on labelling some items. What they decide to do with them after I’m gone is their decision.”

She does have one item of particular significance though, a silver charm bracelet. “My sister gifted it to me when I was her bridesmaid. I have added to the charms (mix of English & Canadian). I have two sons, and three grandsons, so I’ll be gifting it to my nieces, and their daughters.”

Reader Clare Proctor is a self-confessed maximalist, and her house is packed with furniture, antiques and collectibles. She has two daughters with very different attitudes: “Molly said she would get rid of everything, but Lily said she’ll keep it all!”

For Michael Kilmartin, it’s printed photos that he hopes to pass on and points out that few of us print them out anymore. There are devices, like digital photo frames, where you can upload your pictures, and every so often the display rotates so you get to see a variety of your favourite images. But I wonder, 100 years down the line when your great-great-grandchild asks about you, what will their parents show them? Will your future descendants know what you looked like if printed photos no longer exist? Thanks to the photographs that I have inherited, I can see for myself the family likeness in my great-grandparents’ faces and can visualise their lives and contribution to our unique family history.

I stopped putting my photos into albums in about 2012, not intentionally, I just never got round to it as time and technology moved on. I now look through my recent photos via my phone and tablet and have backed them up in ‘cloud’ storage so they never get lost should my devices conk out. But when I’m gone, will my children be able to access them if I forget to give them all my passwords?

Today we don’t have to remember to take a camera to a special event because, thanks to our mobile phones, we have one with us all the time. And we don’t just take one photo, do we, we take lots, and just keep going until we get one we like. I keep promising myself that I will go through and delete all those ‘extras’ and as I write this, I only have 24,893 pictures to go through on my phone (good grief!).

It was not that long ago that we had to be so much more considered about snapping pictures. Firstly, the camera film was expensive to buy, secondly, you only had a limited number of shots you could take before the film ran out, and lastly, they were costly to get developed. As every parent does, once I started a family, I took lots of pictures of the children and religiously had them printed and put into albums. You had to either physically go to a shop or send the films away in an envelope and wait two weeks to get them back.

Do you remember that feeling of eager anticipation as the bulky envelope dropped through the letter box? And that other feeling of abject disappointment when you opened it to find your fingertip in the corner every picture? How would today’s young people cope with having to wait all that time without even knowing if they had taken a decent picture? Too bad if it was taken just as we blinked or sneezed!

Scrolling through photos on a screen is not quite the same as sitting down with a cuppa and turning the pages of the family albums while reading the captions and dates someone has taken the time to write down.

How will the future generations look back on their families’ past, I wonder?

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me via the ‘Contact’ tab at the top right of this page.


This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 7th Feb and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 5th Feb 2025

Getting it in the neck

Dad wrote more than 2000 Countryman’s Diary columns over 41 years

Will either of these help my cough symptoms?

Would you believe this is my 400th column since I took over from my dad in 2017? I’m pleased that I have made it this far without missing one, despite deaths, illnesses and pandemics trying to throw me off my stride.

Dad was committed to his column-writing duties and made sure he submitted them well before the deadline. Of course, my seven and a bit years pale into insignificance compared to his 41 years of service, which means he compiled more than 2000 of them. If ever I achieve that milestone, I will be 91 years of age, which is quite a thought!

Even then though, I’ll be some way off the record of the man who started this column in the first place, Major Jack Fairfax-Blakeborough. His first ‘Countryman’s Diary’ appeared in the Darlington and Stockton Times in 1922, and his last one at the very end of 1975 when he was aged 93. He died on New Year’s Day 1976, and my dad’s first column (a tribute) appeared on 10th January. That means the Major contributed more than 2750 columns, quite a feat. I’d be interested to know if anyone in this country has (or had) written a weekly column for longer.

We columnists are so attached to our little corners of glory that we are loathe to let anyone else step in, even when we are sick. As I mentioned last week, I was rather below par, and am thankfully much better now, although the nagging cough is hanging on. Everyone I speak to seems to have had it and offer the cheery warning that it will ‘go on for weeks’. I really hope not, and if you’ve been afflicted, then I hope you are not suffering too badly.

The fact it is persisting, even though I can function normally, means that I have ditched the Lemsip. I do not like to take medication for too long if I can help it, but the rattly chest is rather annoying so I have investigated some traditional ‘at home’ remedies that are supposed to help.

I have found plenty, although I am not sure I am going to give all of them a go. I am most tempted to try the first one – drinking hot chocolate. Dark chocolate with a minimum 70% cocoa content contains a good dose of theobromine which is a stimulant similar to caffeine. Recent research suggests it is better at suppressing an annoying cough than codeine, and if you melt it and turn it into hot chocolate by pouring into hot milk, the milk will also help you sleep. But I am a little confused. Does the milk override the stimulating effect of the theobromine? Or is it the other way round? I have yet to find out!

Another tip for a persistent cough is to eat mashed turnip. Not only is the vegetable packed full of vitamins (C, A and B) but it acts as an expectorant, that is, it loosens the mucus that causes you to cough. Spicy foods and curries are also believed to do the same thing, so perhaps if I add chilli powder to my mashed turnip I’ll be on to a winner.

There are some remedies that are more suited to survival experts like Bear Grylls than soft old columnists like me. According to Lady Eveline Camilla Gurdon in a self-help manual published in 1893 by the Folk Lore Society, you must place a large, live, flat fish on your bare chest and keep it there until it dies. It is supposed to help with congestion in the chest and ease coughing. She also advises eating roasted mouse or drinking milk that has already been ‘lapped by a ferret’.

If you are suffering from a sore throat and fever, then you can try basting your throat with lard or chicken fat before wrapping your neck with dirty socks. This is similar to the wartime advice of wrapping your neck with a rope dipped in tar. The fumes from the stinky socks & the toxic tar are supposed to help clear the lungs and a blocked nose. I suppose if you die from inhaling poisonous fumes then you won’t be so bothered about your fever, will you.

I don’t know about you but I will stick to eucalyptus oil soaked into a tissue, thank you!

Do you have any interesting home remedies?

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me via the ‘Contact’ tab at the top right of this page.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 31st Jan and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 29th Jan 2025

A doze of the flew

 

Lemsip is helping me keep on top of my symptoms of the flue flew FLU!

 

When I took over writing this weekly column from my dad in 2017, I was aware that it came with a number of burdens. Firstly, to step into my dad’s shoes, which are substantial, secondly, to do that every single week for 52 weeks a year, and thirdly, to keep coming up with interesting stuff to write about.

 

Fulfilling those requirements becomes even more difficult when you are feeling below par. As I write this, I am laid low with my third fluey bug in as many months. The first was definitely the worst, with me confined to bed for three full days, unable to do much more than make a cup of tea without feeling like I’d just run a marathon. The second was similar, but I was confined to bed for just the one day. This time, I don’t think it is as bad, but I have been full of cold and sneezing for several days now, yet still able to carry on as normal. I went to bed last night thinking that by today (day 4) I would be beginning to get better, only to find I woke up feeling like a limp dishrag. Motivation and inspiration are staying well away, clearly afraid of the germs lingering in the air.

It is at times like these when I am more grateful than usual for readers getting in touch with their own stories and comments because it means I can shamelessly use what they send me to fill column inches.

This week it is Albert Elliot from Castleton who, in my time of need, has come galloping to my rescue. He writes: “I was amused to read (last year!) the comments in your article in December on spelling mistakes. I wondered if you had ever seen this piece of doggerel that I picked up somewhere many years ago (see below)?

“In the early days of computers, before predictive text, spellcheckers were used, or so I understand (I am not particularly computer literate). I think it quite amusing. I still struggle with correct spelling myself and often make blunders, although I don’t like predictive text systems as they ‘jump the gun’ and get in the way! As far as I know the piece is by that famous author called ‘Anon’.”

This is the poem that Albert sent me, and it did make me chuckle because it is very clever and takes me back to the early days of PCs and Microsoft Word. Ahh things were so much simpler then (were they?).

Spell-cheque

I halve a spelling chequer

It came with my pea sea

It plainly marques four my revue

Miss steaks I do knot sea

 

Eye strike a quay and type a word

And weight four it too say

Weather eye I am write or wrong

It shows me strait a weigh

 

As soon as a missed ache is maid

It nose bee fore two long

And eye can putt the error rite

It’s rare lea ever wrong

 

Eye have run this poem threw it

I am shore your pleased two no

The spelling’s perfect awl the weigh

My chequer tolled me sew!

As this poem demonstrates, and as those who have been caught out more recently by Autocorrect understand, it is never a good idea to rely on technology to do work you really ought to do yourself – that is to check your copy and messages before you send them to anyone else. Otherwise it could be very embarrassing indeed.

Albert also recalled a time when he met my dad: “Your father, Peter Walker, kindly came along to my writers’ group (the Egton Bridge Writers Group – still in full vigour and of which I remain a member) and gave us an interesting talk on himself and his writing career…Although this was a long time ago, I remember the talk was fascinating and thoroughly enjoyed by the whole group. He has left a lasting legacy with his Heartbeat stories and other Yorkshire writings.”

I never tire of hearing about tales involving my dad, many of which I would never know if people didn’t get in touch.

So very many thanks to Albert, and on that note, I’m off back to bed with a Lemsip. Normal service will, I hope, resume next week.

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me via the ‘Contact’ tab at the top right of this page.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 24th Jan and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 22nd Jan 2025

Time to make decisions

Horacio Romeo’s beloved antique mirror has to stay in Buenos Aires, Argentina, because it is too big to bring to his current home in Brazil.

Following my column about the Hugh Pannell clock owned by Arkansas-resident Sandra Parkerson, David Severs has been in touch. David is a descendant of the 18th century Northallerton clockmaker and was able to provide some useful historical context about it. If you recall, the grandfather clock has been in Sandra’s family for more than 200 years, but she is looking to find it a home because it will be too big to take to a new apartment.

David is compiling a record of Pannell’s work and explains that it is unusual to find ‘CLOCK & WATCH-MAKER’ engraved on the name boss. “This is very rare indeed and to find yet another Pannell example is exciting,” he says.

He explains that Sandra’s walnut case is not original: “I have found well over a hundred Hugh Pannell clocks and not one is in a walnut case.” Most of Pannell’s clocks were in cases of mahogany, oak or pine. David has found only one pine example due to the wood not being durable, and mahogany is also quite rare because he would have had to transport it by cart from west coast ports such as Liverpool, which was far more costly than a readily available oak case. Mahogany cases were the preserve of the wealthy, and housed Pannell’s finest pieces. They became more common once the rail network reached Northallerton in 1841, well after Hugh Pannell’s time. Oak cases with mahogany veneer were known as ‘typical Yorkshire cases’ in 1774 when Pannell was working.

David says about Sandra’s clock: “The decoration on the pediment is not something I have seen over here and the split trunk door is also new to me. It is possible that the clock mechanism alone was sent to the USA and then placed into Sandra’s mahogany case upon arrival.”

David adds: “I have found that some 30% of Hugh’s surviving clocks are now marriages which is perhaps not surprising given that it is 236 years and more since he was making clocks…I am aware of his clocks in California, Florida, New Orleans and San Francisco as well as this one in Arkansas. Clocks by his son Joshua…have found their way to Iowa and California and one of his watches to Florida.”

This brings me on to the subject of what to do with meaningful objects you have collected in your lifetime.

Regular reader Clare Powell says: “I inherited my dad’s grandfather clock…and decided to sell it later on. You get nothing for them at auction, nobody wants or has the room for them, even old ones. But I discovered it was handmade by a company in Somerset and he had paid £3,500 for it. I couldn’t bring myself to sell it for £150, so I am still stuck with it!”

In a previous column I mentioned a small wooden box my grandad gave me which I hope one of my sons will keep. Clare explains that the thought of what to do with all her family heirlooms keeps her awake at night: “I am not sure we should burden the next generation with all our ‘stuff’. If you tell them why everything means so much to you, will they feel ridden with guilt if they are not able to keep it all? Then again, if you don’t tell them, then they may wish they did know the story of certain items, like you and your box.”

Horacio Romeo from Brazil, who contacted me through my web page (countrymansdaughter.com), has a similar problem to Sandra in that he has a beautiful mirror that is too big for his current abode: “I love it and enjoy looking at it when I go to Buenos Aires (Argentina) but bringing it here is out of the question.”

Leni Ella says: “My nana used to say, ‘If you want it, put your Monica on it’, the only way you could bagsy something in her house.” (I am assuming Nana meant ‘moniker’ and ‘Monica’ is a family joke!).

My aunt, Liz Davidson, revealed that she has a family heirloom: “I have a crocheted white bedspread that came from my dad and one of his aunties I think. It’s very heavy when you put it on the bed.”

There is only so much the following generation will want to keep so what, I wonder, will happen to grandad’s bedspread?

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me via the ‘Contact’ tab at the top right of this page.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 17th Jan and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 15th Jan 2025

Permission to be curmudgeonly

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Reader Deborah Steed went to school with my late sister Tricia, whose anniversary it is this week (8th January)

 

I have received some interesting feedback following my pre-Christmas columns about the annoying misuse of certain words, as well as ‘autocorrect’ changing words into something you don’t mean at all.

A reader I only know as ‘vibrant50770a0070’, who contacted me through my countrymansdaughter.com webpage, stated: “One of my annoyances is the use by weather forecasters (and others) of ‘A month’s worth of rain fell.’ What is a month’s worth of rain? Surely the correct use of the English language would be to say ‘The equivalent of a month’s rain fell’. The spelling and use of words in the English language is now appalling, as can be found in such places as Facebook, etc. I am a retired police officer, now in my nineties, so I think I can be permitted to be a curmudgeonly old codger, but I think that the decline of the English language over the years is very sad.”

Having achieved that significant age milestone ‘vibrant50770a0070’ has the right to be as curmudgeonly as he wants. Having said that, what some see as a ‘decline’ in the English language, others see as ‘evolution’. I’m still not sure upon which side of the fence I fall.

Monica Gantz, a writer and blogger who lives in the USA, also contacted me through my webpage saying: “Autocorrect has gotten out of control. It used to be spot on with its correction. I admit to typing and almost hitting ‘send’ when I decide to re-read my post and in horror, similar to your examples, find that autocorrect substituted a terrible word in my sentence. It’s a great reminder to RE-READ before pressing ‘send’. 

I read my copy countless times before sending it, only to discover that when it is printed, a silly typo has slipped through. It drives me nuts but happens because my brain tricks me into seeing what I want, rather than what is actually on the page. A regular one is ‘their’ when I mean ‘there’. I know which is right of course, but sometimes in the speed of typing, I pop the wrong one in. I will have read over it  lots of times without spotting the error, only to see it once the final version is out in public. It makes me so cross with myself!

You might recall that in my Christmas column I brought up the fact that a common festive ‘autocorrect’ error is spelling ‘Santa’ as ‘Satan’ and it jogged a couple of regular readers’ memories about taking children to see the big man in the red suit.

Clare Proctor, who works at various properties owned by the National Trust, said: “Having observed my colleagues grapple with children (and, even worse, parents) whilst corralling them to visit the Santa’s grotto we used to do at work, Satan might not have always been a mistake!”

And on a similar theme Janet Pearce added that she had a bad experience sitting on an elderly priest’s lap as a child. “I did not want my children sitting on old strangers’ laps! Satan seems quite appropriate.” I can relate to that because as a very young child similar was done to me on a number of occasions by an elderly neighbour. It was only as an adult that I realised that what he had done was wrong. It is such a shame that something that should be a magical experience for our children has been tainted by a few disgusting men taking advantage of innocence.

Before Christmas I also wrote about the fact that on the first anniversary of my friend Ian’s mum’s death, we thought it hilarious when he’d received a message from a close friend. She had been crushed with embarrassment when she realised she’d written ‘Thinking about your dead mum’ instead of ‘dear mum’.

Deborah Steed said the story made her giggle because it reminded her of an occasion where she had met up with some old classmates. Her friend was grieving the recent loss of her pet dog and said to Deborah: “Now I understand why you didn’t feel like coming to the last school reunion after your dog had just died.”

She was mortified when Deborah said: “No, that was my dad. The dog is still alive and kicking.”  

Coincidentally, Deborah went to school with my sister Tricia, who died seven years ago this week, which is a great excuse to use the picture accompanying this column. I’ll leave the closing words to Deborah:

“Thinking of Tricia as I read this. She was a lovely girl.”

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me via the ‘Contact’ tab at the top right of this page.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 10th Jan and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 8th Jan 2025

New year new shoe

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I bought new trainers to start preparing for my triathlon

 

It is the start of a new year and traditionally the time when we make plans and set resolutions, promising ourselves that we are going to get fit, lose weight, see the world, become a hermit or whatever.

For as far back as I can remember, whenever I have made a New Year’s resolution, it has always been the same – to lose weight. Some years I don’t achieve it, some years I do. The times when I am successful are when I have a factor looming that motivates me enough to not reach for second helpings at dinner. It does not happen very often though, because I am not very good at giving up things I enjoy thanks to my mantra: “What is the point of sacrificing things you enjoy when you might get hit by a bus tomorrow?”

Unfortunately, the things I enjoy most involve calories, and at my age calories are far easier to consume than they are to get rid of. We all know that most things in moderation are fine, but I am finding the older I get, the stingier ‘moderation’ becomes. My appetite is as healthy now as it was when I was a slim young thing, but really, I should be eating smaller portions. The problem is, when a plate of really nice grub is in front of me, I will eat the lot. Stopping when I’m full is not a concept my brain understands; it only tells me that once I am lying in a food coma on the sofa.

By far the most successful way I can enjoy delicious treats without piling on the pounds is to do more exercise (I can hear your collective yawn from here). It has worked for me before, and it is a simple equation: if you burn more calories than you consume, you lose weight. If I want a second helping of mashed potato, I can have it as long as I have done enough exercise that day.

For the past year, that simply has not happened because I have been decidedly unmotivated to do much exercise at all and, as I said earlier, I need something to aim towards to be successful. Thankfully, this year, I have that motivating factor; a close friend of mine is getting married in the summer and has asked me to be a bridesmaid. It is lovely to be asked at my age, but at the same time, a bit scary. The last time I was a bridesmaid was about 30 years and two stone ago.

Because I have until the summer to achieve physical perfection, unless I have something else to propel me into immediate action, I am likely to keep putting off the start of my efforts until it is way too late.

So that is why, ladies and gentlemen, I have entered a triathlon. Yes, really. A triathlon.

For those not familiar with this ridiculous athletic challenge, a triathlon is three sporting disciplines performed back-to-back in this order: Swim, cycle, run. There are various distances and mine is a 400-metre swim, followed by a 20-kilometre bike ride and a five-kilometre run. I’m an OK swimmer, so I know I can do that bit. I quite enjoy cycling too, when there are no hills, and the triathlon route is fairly flat, so I hope I will be fine with that bit too. The kicker is the run. I HATE running, and the fact that they chuck it in at the end might very well be the end of me. I have heard seasoned marathon runners say that even they struggle with the run because it comes after the swimming and cycling.

It is that knowledge, that absolute terror of the run, that will give me the motivation to start my training next week. I have even bought new running shoes in readiness.

A temporary lapse in sanity is the only explanation I have as to why I pressed the button to submit my entry form and therefore I keep telling people that I am doing a triathlon, knowing that the more people that know, the more pressure I will feel to follow it through.

And now, thanks to this column, thousands more of you know so there is absolutely no way I can back out.

Wish me luck! 

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me via the ‘Contact’ tab at the top right of this page.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 3rd Jan and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 1st Jan 2025