So let's take the bus into deepest, darkest Suffolk, or to put it another way - let's have a day trip to Beccles.
When I told people many years ago that I worked on the Beccles and Bungay Journal, many burst out laughing. They found the title amusing.
The paper still exists but not in the thrusting format it once existed in. Ok maybe it was never that thrusting but for a number of years I was very proud to work on it in the heyday of local weekly newspapers.
A few weeks ago I went with a couple of friends to Beccles for the evening to see a play. Made a mental note at that point to spend a day there and so we did.
I wanted to take some photos, have a look at some old haunts and see how much the place has changed. There certainly haven't been massive changes although there are a few more hairdressers. Going round the country I have noted how many have sprung up. Is there really that amount of hair to cut?
I have included some of the photos I took with this blog. Quite a few are of places I remember rather than for their photographic quality. So forgive me for that bit of introspection.
I have only good memories of living and working in the Waveney Valley. I had two sets of lodgings before we got married and moved into a flat at the side of the newspaper office. My commute to work was approximately 10 seconds so I never had an excuse for being late, although we didn't have set starting times as such as there was a lot of evening work. We then bought our first home at Kirby Cane which was on the Norfolk side of the river.
But enough of that. This is about our day this week. There are four buses an hour from Norwich to Lowestoft which stop in Beccles. So it didn't take long to get there. Nevertheless we were in grave need of coffee. We went to Bailey's tea rooms and I tried without success to remember what the building was back in the 1970s. I failed miserably.
It was a sobering thought that somebody who was born on my last working day in the town would now be 45. I kept looking at the elderly people and thinking "if that person has lived all their life in this town I might have known them 45 years ago." That's how my mind works. Does it make me a bad person?
The very friendly waitress in Bailey's had time to chat and told us she got married last year in Las Vegas.
"I hope the ceremony wasn't conducted by Elvis," I said. You all know how I hate Presley interpreters. Thankfully an Elvis impersonator wasn't involved.
After coffee and a bacon roll, we walked down Blyburgate, stopping to shed a tear at the fact the former Press office is now a charity shop. "That used to be my window where I had my desk," I said pointing at the upper floor.
Then walked down the road, noting that the former Crown Public House is now called Half Crown House and is flats. I suppose that's what they call deflation. I thought I saw the ghost of Len the Landlord, but then it might have been the shedding of a tear.
The Crown was the scene of one of the best putdown lines I have ever heard and I'm going to digress to tell you the story here. It's a bit coarse for which I apologise but the 1970s were coarse times.
Our office always had a drink on Thursday lunchtimes. The paper was complete and there was little we could do during the afternoon. So we either went to the Fox at Shadingfield which was about six miles away or we went to the Crown. On this occasion we had with us one of our freelance photographers who had previously been a DJ on pirate Radio Caroline (that is absolutely true). I was carrying out a series of interviews with him with the idea of transcribing them and turning them into some kind of leaflet.
I eventually did achieve this and those interviews are on my website and also on a national website for pirate radio. If anyone is interested I can publish them as part of a coming blog. Just let me know.
On this day I was talking to the guy about his time on the pirates. One of the local female regulars was a touch drunk.
"I'm fed up listening to you going on and on about bloody pirate radio. It's no big deal I've been up the Eiffel Tower," she said.
My friend looked her straight in the face. "There's only one difference between you and the Eiffel Tower. Not everyone's been up the Eiffel Tower," he said.
She hit him and got thrown out. I told you it was rather coarse but it is an exchange I have remembered for decades.
But enough of that. There are some historic parts of Beccles I was never aware of which in many ways sums me up. When I worked in Beccles or Belper in Derbyshire I was never aware of the rich heritage of either place. When I lived in Lowestoft and Cromer I never went on the beach. I never took much interest in the various "Scores" at Beccles which lead down to the river.
But back to our trip. We reminisced about the petrol station that is now flats and the industrial area where Anne worked for a while for a chicken company. That's a company that dealt with chickens and not a company that was afraid. She did accounts' work.
We walked down Station Road where the Methodist Church once was before it merged with the Baptist Church. David Frost's mother lived in Beccles and I believe his father was a Methodist Minister there. David was often seen in the town and at one point turned up at a local jumble sale we were at. I don't remember talking to him.
The Methodist minister we remember with great affection is The Rev A Al Loades. He was a lovely man and a friend of the newspaper. In 1982 our first son was born in the Norfolk and Norwich Hospital. By this time we were living in Hethersett and it was over four years after we left Beccles. Al turned up for a visit at the hospital. It was quite amusing because two other Methodist Ministers turned up to see Anne as well. The nursing staff were getting quite concerned at the regular appearance of men wearing dog collars.
"You know the baby is well," one said.
"Only we have noticed a number of vicars turning up."
Anne explained that they were all family friends.
I have spoken in the past about how the most trivial thing sticks in the memory. Al Loades was involved with the local Air Cadets' group. One day I was at the drill hall covering some event or other. Unbeknown to me Al quietly came up behind me.
"Get your haircut you scruffy man," he shouted, scaring me. At this he broke out into one of his lovely laughs. People like Al leave their mark on you in such a positive way.
It was only when he died and we attended his funeral that we found out that the first A in A Al Loades stood for Alma - a name he never used.
We continued our wander down to St Michael's Church. Crazy as it might seem I cannot recall ever going in the building despite working there for three years. The Rector whilst I was there was a Rev Malcolm Sutton and that name meant nothing either.
Now here's something that not a lot of people know. There's a very close connection between Admiral Horatio Nelson and Beccles.
Nelson's mother's maiden name was Suckling. She was born in Barsham just outside Beccles. There she met the Rev Edmund Nelson and they were married on 11th May 1749. Rev Edmund was curate of Beccles from 1745 until 1747. Edmund and Catherine Suckling were married in Beccles Church on 11th May, 1749. Horatio Nelson was born in 1758 - nine years later. Any earlier and he could have been a son of Suffolk rather than a son of Norfolk.
From the church we walked to the River Waveney, passing the Waveney House Hotel where I spent many happy hours (literally). We then walked down to Beccles Quay for a sit in the sun and an ice cream before starting off on our return journey.
The visit had brought back a number of memories and I'm sure more will surface over the coming days. I hope you enjoy some of the photos.
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I was interested in the news of exploding cars in a car park at Luton Airport. The same thing happened many years ago on New Year's Eve when we were in Liverpool. There were numerous explosions which we took to be fireworks but which turned out to be vehicles catching fire and exploding.
So many people at Luton were complaining about a lack of communication. This always worries me as someone who took part in many emergency exercises during his working life.
Exercises usually cover communication but when an emergency takes place, all the planning seems to go straight out of the window.