I haven't featured five men in a sauna recently and that's because I haven't been in the sauna but have returned to the gym where conversations don't actually flow because people are too busy running, hunting and shooting (well one out of three of those). Tomorrow, however, I will introduce you to one man on a bus.
As I looked out of the bedroom window upon waking yesterday it was blowing a hooley and was very wet after a day of rain. I couldn't help feeling a bit frustrated at not really going anywhere yet this year apart from our New Year visit to Eastbourne to see our new granddaughter.
So my mind wandered as my mind is likely to do to coming visits. Our first trip last year was up to Yorkshire and I remember a cold and wet day in Hawes.
This year I can't wait to get out with the camera and bring you some photos of our travels as I know many of you enjoy looking at them and this year I will endeavour to hold the camera straight and take fewer wonky photos. Some would pass it off as art but I come clean and say they are simply wonky. I know a certain Bloggette will take me to task if I produce photos that are as we say in Norfolk on the hurr.
We have plenty of trips lined up to North Norfolk, Shropshire, the Cotswolds and Madeira to name just a few.
Here comes another Norfolk phrase that my mother used to use. Yesterday I had my first haircut for over two months and I was looking like the wreck of the Hesperus.
I missed the last haircut due to the old farts Christmas lunch. My mother used lots of phrases that she wouldn't have understood. I'm sure she had no idea what the Hesperus was and why the phrase was used to describe something or someone scruffy.
My paternal grandmother was always going on about hobbledyhoys and she would disown me if I became one. I pretended I didn't know what she was talking about. Luckily I didn't ever become one (I think).
But back to the wreck of the Hesperus and I admit I had to look it up. What I found surprised me. It's a fictitious piece of literature, although probably based on fact. Here's what I found.
The Wreck of the Hesperus" is a narrative poem by American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, first published in Ballads and Other Poems in 1842. It is a story that presents the tragic consequences of a skipper's pride. On an ill-fated voyage in winter, he brings his daughter aboard ship for company. The skipper ignores the advice of one of his experienced men, who fears that a hurricane is approaching. When the storm arrives, the skipper ties his daughter to the mast to prevent her from being swept overboard. She calls out to her dying father as she hears the surf beating on the shore, then prays to Christ to calm the seas. The ship crashes onto the reef of Norman's Woe and sinks; the next morning a horrified fisherman finds the daughter's body, still tied to the mast and drifting in the surf. The poem ends with a prayer that all be spared such a fate "on the reef of Norman's Woe."
A sad story. The fact my mother used this phrase interested me. she was a working class woman not interested in art, literature or history. So the phrase must have been handed down to her through the generations. I'm not quite sure how a fictitious poem about a shipwreck could have been handed down to mean something or someone scruffy. Can any one enlighten me.
As for hobbledyhoy. Well the dictionary definition for that is a clumsy or awkward youth. My grandmother used it for something stronger to mean a yob, a criminal or, in her case, someone with long hair.
I don't think I ever fell into that category, although I did at one point have shoulder length hair, not because I particularly wanted shoulder length hair but because virtually everyone had it. That was obviously after I left school because there hair had to be above he collar. Isn't it strange that I have no recollection of how or where I got my hair cut in those days. I remember much earlier going to a Mr Whitlam on Reepham Road in Hellesdon who cut hair in his front room but his was more in the pudding basin style.
I must have had my haircut but just where escapes me although I do seem to remember there being a barbers just down from my maternal grandmothers in Rupert Street in Norwich. I may have gone there. Equally I have no memory of where I went to get my haircut when I lived in Lowestoft or Cromer or Long Eaton. I do remember going to a barbers in Beccles that was very close to the office.
When I worked at County Hall I got my haircut at an Italians named Enzos which was halfway between where I worked and the city. Then when the young boys who ran Enzos got their own shop in Ber Street I moved with them
Ber Street looms large in my family's history and I need to do more research into it. I think some ancestors had shops there as master bakers (careful) and there are a succession of freemen of Norwich on both sides of my family.
I looked into the possibility of inheriting the mantel of being a freeman of the city as the honour could be handed down to male descendants. Unfortunately it had to be in an unbroken chain and neither my grandfather or father took it up. So unless they change the rules I'm stymied as they say.
In an idle moment towards the end of the day on Thursday I fiddled around with my genealogy, trying once again to find out more about Ormond Smith. I have written about this gentleman before as he is intriguing so a little bit of a resume for new readers.
Everything points to Ormond Smith being the illegitimate son of the brother of the Duke of Wellington and a French actress who were subsequently married.
Ormond, who was probably not called Ormond, was adopted by a Mr Smith and a Miss Howard in Great Yarmouth. He became Ormond Howard Smith although his original surname would have been Wellesley. Interestingly there are both Ormond and Howard Streets in Great Yarmouth. I spent quite a lot of my working life in the police station in Howard Street. But I digress.
Ormond grew up and married my 4x great aunt Keziah Edmonds. They had many children amongst whom was a very successful mariner by the name of William Howard Smith who started an entire shipping line in Australia. There is oodles about him on the internet if you are interested and one day I will bore you all with his history.
But I'm more interested in Ormond Smith whom I have been unable to find out much on or confirm the story of how he came to be adopted in Great Yarmouth and how he met my ancestor. Any help on this would be greatly appreciated. Maybe someone out there has some of the answers
Which takes me onto my diary (and I promise I'm almost finished for today). The diary I bought for this year is, as I have mentioned, a massive tome with two full pages for every day. The previous two years have been much smaller and I have had a squeeze to get everything in. No such problem this year, I have space to spare. In fact most days I have a whole page to spare. I'm going to fill these empty pages with writing, photographs and more. Just haven't decided exactly what as yet, but I'm pondering on it and I'm sure something will come to mind.
When I started this blog I had nothing to write about and look what happened. See you tomorrow.