Alan Skeoch

Author: terraviva

  • “Morgan, meet me at the Baird .” (a story exaggerated so cut the criticism)

    TWO REASONS TO VISIT THE BAIRD PUB IN MUSWELL HILL

    alan skeoch
    June 2019


    “Grandpa, said to meet him here…I can only imagine why.”

    “Ah, yes, the Baird…”
    “Only pub in  Muswell Hill, unless you count the converted church  on the main street.”




    “Alan, sort of an odd place for us to meet.”
    “Historic place, Marjorie…in TWO WAYS.”
    “Really, how?”



    “Well, Morgan, has just turned 18 so  I thought it would be a good idea  to meet at the Baird.”


    “And have her first glass of beer”
    “Alan, that is  a gross idea…don’t you agree Morgan?”
    “I do.”
    “Just a sip…make it look authentic.”
    “OK, grandpa.”


    “And REASON NUMBER TWO?”
    “Look behind  Morgan and the beer glass…what do you see?”
    “Old TV sets…junk”
    “Right…On this site a young Scot name JOHN LOGIE BAIRD invented the first TV set back in 1922’
    “Are you kidding?”
    “Nope…Baird  was a mechanical genius  but poor as  a church mouse.  He took sick which gave him time
    to tinker with electronics…really primitive…and what he invented  was television.”
    “Why  would  Morgan be interested in that?”
    “She is standing on the edge of adulthood…life takes strange directions…twists and turns…sometimes
    a twist leads  on to great things.   Sometimes a person cannot see where life is going.   Morgan knows all  that but
    I thought this visit to the Baird would just put some icing on the cake…some beer foam on the pint as it were.”


    “And sometimes  pictures are very deceptive…like the picture above.”
    “…and the same applies to words.”










    “Here is the history of John Logie Baird.”
    “I have never seen anyone stop to read it…Morgan is a reader which
    is  wonderful for she will read and  remember this visit.”

  • THE HERTFORDSHIRE FAIR…AND A LUMP OF FUDGE WITH TOOTH MARKS ENGLAND 2019

    DAY AT THE ROYAL HERTFORDSHIRE FAIR    


    alan skeoch
    May 2019




    May 26, 2019

    ‘ Get up, we are travelling to he Herefordshire Fair today!”
    “Ever been there before?”
    “No, but there are horses, sheep dogs, wicker workers, eagles and a beer wagon”
    “Many people?”
    “Do not know…likely lots on this sunny day.”
    “Any big work horses with hairy hooves?”
    “If there’s beer, there will be Clydesdales…”

    (Turned out there were at least 1,000 cars and only 4 big work horses…lots
    of other horses though.   “Did you know there are only 17 Clydesdale stallions
    left?”  … hope that is not true.)



    Big Mouth
    Big lump of fudge…a social thing for we all shared a bite…left tooth
    marks like a bunch of  rats  eating cheese.



    The feature food we shared at the Herts Fair was fudge…big chunks of fudge…we all took a good gnaw…
    I got to like the stuff… my teeth marks…Marjorie’s teeth marks are on the left.

    Why eat fudge?
    Because good  food was too expensive…

    “How much did you pay to get us in here, Kevin?”
    “20 pounds each…that’s $40 Canadian.”
    “You must be joking.”
    “Get over it, Dad.”
    “Pass the fudge….”





    Skills from the past…see if you can find other examples of basketmaking…

    “Is that horse drunk, Morgan?”
    “Grandpa, you say the silliest things.”
    “What do you think, Nolan?”
    “Same as my sister…that horse is trained
    to play dead.’
    ‘I think it is dead…dead drunk.”


    “Is this a tractor?”
    “Apparently.”
    “What statement does such a  huge machine make?”
    “Simple…there are no small farmer left…”
    “Applies to Canada  as well.”


    “Marjorie, look at the guy beside me…he is shoving a whole ice cream cone down
    his throat.”
    “We may have to apply the Heimlich (sp?) in a moment.”
    “Grab him from behind, lock your arms under his rib cage…give a heave…”
    “What if he is  not gagging?”
    “Run like hell.”


    “How much a pint, bud?”
    “4 pounds 50 pence, can I pour?”
    “That’s about $10 Canadian, did  you know that?”
    “You are in England, sir, not Canada…pint of the best beer
    coming …”

    (Reader:  See if you can find this pint in the pictures  below.)




    See?   Not the riders…the beer…I did not think you would find the picture so
    had  to tell you.   Sad thing about my $10 glass of beer is that I asked Martin
    to hold  it for me and never saw it again.  



    Just finding the car was a task…there were four huge fields packed  with cars…I mean more than a thousand.

    “What do you want for supper?”
    “Let’s have a home cooked meal.”
    “Right!!!”


  • What is harder than plastic? Answer: A STONE WALL…WE HIT IT.


    ROCK WALLS ARE CLOSING IN ON US…THEN  BAM!  NO MIRROR!

    alan skeoch
    june 2019 in lake district of England


    Just what I wanted to see…a stone barn…beautiful…can you find another Gabrela?


    LAKE DISTRICT, ENGLAND…JUNE 2019

    A GOOD STORY always has a touch of exaggeration.  Look at Gabriela’s mirror…held on with scotch tape because she
    hit a post some time ago.    We came so damn close that I moved her story to our story…makes a better story don’t you think.

    We came so damn close to those stone walls that I could touch them if I was that stupid.  

    Gabriela’s repair job worked even though a  little tacky.

    alan skeoch
    June 2019


  • SEQUEL..Re: The GRAVE STARTLED ME…WHY WAS private Toghill buried HERE IN 1916?

    My fellow teacher at Parkdale solved the mystery big time.
    Hi Al -hope you’re having a great trip. I have been able to access Pvt. Toghill’s records on line, through the Virtual War Memorial and through Library and Archives Canada. William Thomas Toghill was wounded in action 9-9-16…suffering from a gunshot wound to the head and shell shock. He was treated in various hospitals but died of his wounds at the West life Hospital in Folkestone. The records indicate that he was born in London (1889) and that he was buried in St. Pancreas cemetery. His next of kin was his wife Mary, living in Montreal. There is a photo of him and of the stone on the VWM site. Hope this is of interest -Pvt. Toghill was probably buried near where he lived in London. So many lives lost, so many terrible stories…makes me think of the Irish tune The Green Fields of France. Talk soon! Bon voyage! Jack
    > On Jun 5, 2019, at 12:42 PM, SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com> wrote: > > FORGOTTEN GRAVE > > alan skeoch > June 6, 2019 > > “Strange grave…no, it is a startling grave. What is this grave doing here?” > > > > > Every time I visit London, I take a long walk in Coldfall Wood. The forest has been here for at least 400 years dominated by trees so large > and ancient that the sunshine cannot reach the forest floor. Huge oak trees dominate the skyline with hundreds of Hornebeam trees filling in > the canopy. As a result the forest is delightfully open except where foresters have used chain saws to get a little light to the forest floor. > Coldfall Wood is not my only reason to be here. Besides the Wood is an ancient graveyard with old gravestones all askew because no one seems to care > about this graveyard. No grass is cut. No shrub is pruned. No gravestone is straightened. No strangling tangle of holly is removed. With the > result that this huge graveyard near East Finchley, North London, seems forgotten. Deliberately so. The decision to let the graveyard > become a tangled garden of wild plant and home for small wild creatures was deliberate. > > There are trails that wave randomly through the graveyard. Foot paths taken by a few dog walkers and perhaps a derelict or two looking > for a place to sleep. A hiding place. Some young Lodoners have built a tree fort high high in the branches of one immense bech tree…room > enough for a two storey structure of broken pallets. The fort is as hidden as the graves. > > On this visit, perhaps my tenth, I decided to walk along a very overgrown path. Had to push my way through a dense Holly grove. “What is that? > Looks recent, a grave not festooned with wild plants.” … “Something familiar about the grave…looks like the thousands of similar gravestones > in France. An incised Maple Leaf.” Easy to read the stone… grave of Prvate W. T. > Toghill, 13th battalion, Canadian Infantry, buried here on November 16, 1916. He was 33 ;years old. > > Someone knows that private Toghill is buried here. The stone has been in place for 103 years and yet it has no ivy, no tree roots crossing > the place where Private #132310 lies. But why is he not buried with other Canadians in the special graves of soldiers killed in World War I. > > And I wonder who keeps this grave so clear. > > alan skeoch > June 2019 > > > > > > >

  • The GRAVE STARTLED ME…WHY WAS private Toghill buried HERE IN 1916?

    FORGOTTEN GRAVE


    alan skeoch
    June 6, 2019

    “Strange grave…no, it is a startling grave. What is this grave doing here?”



    Every time I visit London, I take a long walk in Coldfall Wood.   The forest has been here for at least 400 years dominated by trees so large
    and ancient that the sunshine cannot reach the forest floor.  Huge oak trees dominate the skyline with hundreds of Hornebeam trees  filling in 
    the canopy.  As a  result the forest is delightfully open except where foresters have used chain saws to get a little light to the forest floor.
    Coldfall Wood is not my only reason to be here.   Besides the Wood is an ancient graveyard with old gravestones all askew because no one seems to care
    about this graveyard.  No grass  is cut.  No shrub is pruned.  No gravestone is straightened.  No strangling tangle of holly is removed.  With the
    result that this huge graveyard  near East Finchley, North London, seems forgotten.  Deliberately so.  The decision to let the graveyard
    become a tangled garden of wild plant and home for small wild creatures was deliberate.  

    There are trails that wave randomly through the graveyard.  Foot paths taken by a few dog walkers and perhaps a derelict or two looking
    for a place to sleep.   A hiding place.  Some young Lodoners have built a tree fort high high in the branches of one immense bech tree…room
    enough for a two storey structure of broken pallets.   The fort is as hidden as the graves.

    On this visit, perhaps my tenth, I decided to walk along a very overgrown path.  Had to push my way through a dense Holly grove.  “What is that?
    Looks recent, a grave not festooned with wild plants.” … “Something familiar about the grave…looks  like the thousands of similar gravestones
    in France.  An incised Maple Leaf.”   Easy to read the stone… grave of Prvate W. T.
    Toghill, 13th battalion, Canadian Infantry, buried here on November 16, 1916.   He was 33 ;years old.

    Someone knows that private Toghill is buried here.   The stone has been in place for 103 years and yet it has no ivy, no tree roots crossing
    the place where Private #132310 lies.  But why is he not buried with other Canadians in the special graves of soldiers killed in World War I.

    And I wonder who keeps this  grave so clear.

    alan skeoch
    June 2019