On Yer Bike!

I've noticed this bike parked here occasionally, the owner working nearby I suppose.  This is one of the machines that I lusted after in the days of long ago.  When aged a slender fifteen years (I'm 32 now) I would often stand outside Alexanders Showroom in Lothian Road dreaming of the wealth required to buy a BSA, Triumph or Norton Motorbike.  Earning £5:10 shillings a week, minus Nine shillings for National Insurance,meant this was just a dream.  In those days you had to be sixteen to get a licence, when I became sixteen they raised the age to seventeen!  It made no difference, I was only on something like seven pound a week then.  

Standing in Slateford Road just before then a rich young man on a brand new Royal Enfield with a bright red petrol tank trundled past my jealous eyes.  This was however the last Royal Enfield to be made and within a couple of years the company was dead, the result of much better Japanese bikes, Honda and Suzuki, dominating the market.  Royal Enfield had opened a factory in India where the bikes still sold successfully and that factory bought all the machinery in the West Midlands and still today continues to manufacture Royal Enfield bikes.  I suspect that in the Asian subcontinent the locals can fix these much easier than they could the Japanese versions.  Some are offered on sale in the UK and sell well today.

I did eventually obtain a Suzuki myself in 1976 which did not last as long as it ought, my technical skills were to the fore and I sold it cheap to my neighbour and moved far away.  It was a bit of fun at the time but not as romantic as a BSA Bantam or one of those large monsters that I leered at in the window.  I also found that while 1976 was a record heatwave year, the drought was fearful, rain however when it came was not a comfortable item to drive through on a motorbike.  I can still dream however and pretend I want and can afford and can avoid falling from a 650cc BSA brute!

Scraping the Barrel

In spite of many years of development, fire, redevelopment the Roman wall that once stood around Londinium can still be seen in places, the road called 'London Wall' kind of illustrates it well.  Here, just below the 'Museum of London' is one huge part which has as you can see been built upon many times since the Romans began it in the middle of the first century AD. 

From the tower that was the wall stretched southwards towards the Thames yet lay hidden for many years until those German Heinkel pilots dropped their bombs upon the then buildings standing here revealing the hidden gems for all to see.  Actually there is not much to see at all but the eager archeologists who strove to uncover the foundations and interpret their finds enjoyed greatly what they came upon.

   

Clearly the Victorian churchmen were not going to allow new constructions to steal a foot of their territory as in between what once were built here stood this sign, dated 1860, for all to see and take note off.  The Parish limits must be observed and it is important to ensure the correct people are in charge of appropriate spaces.  Anyway rates must be paid to the right hand innit guv.

I took this simply because I liked it.  This lamppost stands at the rear of the Gresham Centre, once St Anne & St Anne's Church, and now a centre for 'vocal music performance.'  I suppose in days of yore we called that 'singing?

Postman's Park hosts the memorial begun in the 19th century to those who died attempting to save others.  A noble enterprise that has not been continued by the tabloid press which is a pity.  There are numerous such heroic acts these days but these flash by with no permanent memorial to be found.

 

Yet another closed church on a Saturday yet clearly open during the week for the million or so City workers passing each other daily as they run the 'rat race.'  The 'Postman's Park is what once was the church grounds, the name coming from the nearby Royal Mail headquarters and the many post employees who sit in the park I suppose for lunch.  Here the memorial to the dead hero's stands among the remains of the old graveyard.  Now well tended and peaceful a welcome break for the city worker.

A break was indeed required so I made for the 'Lord Raglan' the only hostelry open and for the same price as my earlier Egg and bacon roll and coffee I obtained one pint of Guinness.  For London I suppose it was cheap!  This appeared to be the only pub for miles around, not that I looked, and from the window i watched the passersby pass by.  

Tourists and those connected to the never ending cyclists, people leaving the nearby Museum and a wedding party all in their finery heading for the Postman's Park for photographs.  Later, much later, a young woman in high heels too high for her wobbled past in that direction and I wished I had the video working at the time.  Fashion dictates and the results are not always in the lassies interests.  

  

The Lord Raglan pub stands in St Martins-le-Grand, a continuation of Aldersgate Street.  The name comes from the gate in the wall that once stood here, and the name itself possibly from a later Saxon, one 'Ealdred' after the Romans had long gone.  Aldersgate Street in in fact the beginning, or the end depending on which way you are travelling, of the A1, the Great North Road.  As such this is the gate through which James VI and I arrived in London in 1603 to claim the English throne and rightly place England under Scots control.  

During 1738 John Wesley attended a meeting here and while the preacher spoke on the Letter to the Romans John felt his heart 'strangely warmed' and the Methodists had begun.  Aldersgate was demolished in 1761 probably while rich folks houses were erected but I doubt John Wesley had anything to do with that.

The 'Lord Raglan' has been here for centuries, Shakespeare is supposed to have visited but he is supposed to have visited most pubs in London at one time, and this one was rebuilt in the mid 19th century and and named after the Crimean War General.  The pub retains a welcoming dark wooden Victorian interior.  I found the staff efficient even friendly, the place clean and well looked after and the toilets aged in style in keeping with the building but considerably cleaner than mine!  Upstairs snooker tables await those willing to show off!  I didn't.

  

Had I been young and rich I would of course travel about on one of these.  However I would not park it like this near a narrow road turning in central London!  Actually I would never have one of these, the one bike I got I destroyed by technical incompetence and this modern British 'Triumph' would not survive my skills.  I wanted a bike when I was 15 and stood outside Alexander's shop in Lothian Road hoping they would give me a spare 'BSA,' 'Triumph,' 'Norton' or even a wee 'James.'  They never did and by the time I was 17 they had all been killed off by the Japanese!  The British manufacturers refusal to change their ways led to huge sales of the vastly superiour 'Suzuki' and 'Honda's' killing the industry.  Man management, planning and unwillingness to change their ways killed them long before Maggie Thatcher was able to do so.

A quick last look again at the smell of the Thames and while the sewage bubbles under and the occasional tourist falls in and drifts off towards the open sea I rest my hot lens and seek refuge in the train before my knees give way.

Wimmen on Bikes!

Today the second stage of the 'Women's Tour' set of from our wee town.  Racing against the wind but in warm sunshine the girls would run about Essex, up the hill at Halstead I can hardly walk up and make their way to Clacton on Sea, and good luck to them there.  I managed to get out in time to watch them hurtle down the hill preceded by a vast number of Police Motor Cycles and support vehicles, all 'Skoda' by the way. 

The difficulty with such events as this is that you stand in one place and the bikes rush past.  This is great when they do a roundabout route but in these races they flash past and are gone.  This happened here.  I took this pic when attempting to focus and then just pressed the button.  Quite tolerable I think, but who wishes to cycle around a hundred miles in a race?

When the race began these kids from some organisation or other precede the riders.  Supported by police escort they wended their way ahead down the main road and once they got half way down the hill they parked up.

Being female becoming screaming banshees was something they managed with little difficulty. They were joined by a school filling the area opposite in making much noise as the girls cycled past.

What a great incentive this is for the kids.  A day out of school, learning cycling, one of the great free enjoyments (once you by a bike), a super way to get around, safer for girls of all ages making their way home at night rather than walking on pavements, and sheer fun as well as useful.  I should point out at this point one of the young lassies working on a project at the museum came off her bike and fractured her elbow!  We still make her work, occupational therapy!

Last year the 'Tour de France' on it's foreign week came within two miles of here.  Too far for me to cycle especially when you see more on TV.  Naturally when they riders passed up the road the TV went to an advert break!  I am not sure what channel this lot were on as I was too busy wandering around to look for them.  Then I had to visit the museum for orders.

Motorbikes are made for covering the 'Tour,'  these powerful beasts wend their way between the array of support cars in front and behind, each with a specific purpose.   It was difficult to count them as about twenty raced past at one go, mostly police blocking roads as the race passed by.

Not all had to race around, some just blocked roads and 'controlled' quietly.   For motorcycle police such events must be a great part of their duties, often bringing close contact with the public and this could be enjoyable, usually.

 

Back at the aftermath of the start the crowds thinned and the police there were dealing face to face with the public also.  As I passed several were in discussion re the serious crimes in the town, serious enough to them 'anti-social behaviour from neds' being heard as I passed as well as late night weekend drunkenness.  Now as this area has a very low crime rate it is clear the fear of crime is worse than the crime.  Wary of late night town centre when pubs close is important but not if you are indoors watching telly Missus.  Young neds are indeed a pest but few complaining actually get bothered by them.  It happens and it is not nice, but the fear makes it worse than it is. 

I have never seen so many police in the town.  Events bring thieves with them so it makes sense, crowd control also is required, however I suspect there was little to bother the representatives of the law.  This chap may have filled in the time but does not appear to have caused them much worry.  This in many peoples mind is what policing ought to be about, meeting the public, showing a presence, and deterring as well as catching thieves.  However 'austerity,' the Conservative Parties watchword of the day meant that cuts had to be made therefore more police are in cars and less than ever wandering town centres.  Something wrong somewhere.

This was a good day for the town and I suspect more such events will now be seen passing through here.  It would be beneficial if the next one went straight past my window instead of making me get up out of the house! 

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Nothing Day

Such a nothing day today.  I spent so much time staring into the laptop I missed the sunshine.  By the time I went out for bread it was becoming cloudy as the rain returns once more.  The chap who runs this establishment has left his beast outside to impress folks.  I thought it a great little show and had to grab a picture or two.  When I was 16 these were very popular and I was torn between dreaming of having one of these or a proper motor bike like a BSA or Norton.  Naturally I got neither as there was no money of any sort.  It was ten years before I managed to get my hands on a short lived Suzuki, not nearly as splendid as this beast on show here.  My renown technical achievements soon rendered it useless!
All the bikes I admired, Triumph, James, BSA, Royal Enfield and the like died soon afterwards as the word 'innovation' was a stranger to the companies that made them in the English Midlands.  The Japanese however were very much into 'innovation' and their superiour Suzuki's, Honda's and Yamaha's soon became the thing to buy.  Simple things like a push button start as opposed to kicking the brute helped many enjoy the bike.  Oil not dripping everywhere was another advantage. In every way the Japanese were better and by the 70's there was no more UK bikes.  Occasionally one or other reappears for a while, always producing huge bikes that cost millions, and only Royal Enfield continue as before, this time based in India.  All official bikes in India at the time were Royal Enfield's and they had their own factory there.  They bought up all the machinery from England and shipped it out to their factories and continued to make the bikes, still do!  These are now imported into the UK, indicators and other things added to make them legal and appropriate, and the 350 and 500 are occasionally seen on the roads here.
Ah well, when the rain stops tomorrow afternoon I might blow up the tyres on my bike and pedal around, or not as the case may be...

   

I Want One!

Oh yes I do! What better way to travel around than on a beauty like this? In the sunshine of course, absolutely no good whatsoever in the rain! What a lovely looking motor bike! Doesn't it make your heart beat faster, your desire for the open road increase, your delusion that you are still twenty return and the East Rider theme tune for Steppenwolf crash through the mind? Woohoo!

Naturally there is a downer. For one, there is no money. Buy a motor bike? I canny afford a bus ticket. The running costs, the servicing, the petrol is more than I could imagine, let alone the insurance. Another small problem is the licence, not having one I mean. I did have a provisional licence - I think, in 1976 when I then possessed a Suzuki GT185, which quickly fell apart under my engineering skills. Another one of my many failures is technical ability, there is none! The summer of '76 was of course 'the year of the drought.' A time when some Christians were talking of Gods judgement on us, and others were taking this to heart by stretching themselves all over the parks around us and attempting to develop skin cancer. Being from Edinburgh I stayed in the shade fearful of this new development in my life, three passing days with no rain - wow! The time spent running about London on the bike delivering overpriced photos to a variety of dour staffed companies showed to me that driving was not enjoyable, especially in London. This was made clear when that man knocked me off the bike when turning a corner. It was his fault, he should have seen me overtaking on the inside before he moved! "What? Oh..." For this reason I never took it up, and when the bike fell apart I let it all drop. Most of it is still lying there. However, I obtained another provisional in 1989 as I had a chance of free driving instructions at work, which happily fell through. Having moved out here I really must consider driving, even without cash, as the transport system since the days of Maggie Thatchers money grabbing has collapsed. I actually took some lessons before and gave up in disgust at the result. A mistake I fear, although the driving instructor at the time was keen for me to continue.

Of course as a Spurs fan he was usually found with his hands over his face anyway, as the scores would be heard over the radio and his despair grew as the lesson progressed. Approaching the roundabout on the busy road from Chelmsford I asked "Which lane?" but obtained no reply, Spurs had lost another goal and his head was banging on the dashboard while he agonised loudly.
"Which lane should I be in?" I asked timidly.
'Beep Beeeeep.' 'Beeeeep.'
"No noooo, not agaaiiiiin."
'Squeeeaaaaaaaal.' 'Beeeep' "@*&$:@%."
"It's OK, I got there."
"Four nil, four nilllll."
They have got worse since then, and I am not sure he does that job anymore. Whether it was the money or his team that changed his mind I would not like to say. I can say that as this was coming up to Christmas he was working seven days a week, from seven thirty in the morning till seven thirty at night. His wife, who only worked four days a week, complained he did not do enough around the house, and she had to do all the housework and look after the toddler! She then went into a huff when he indicated the reality of the situation. Women eh? The good book asks "A good wife who can find?" It does not give an answer....

It is a risk in many ways, spending money I really don't have on lessons to attempt something I am not keen on cannot make me feel good. However, maybe I might get a job out of it, although that seems unlikely. Other drivers in my position have struggled. It is useful, but with no cash there is no vehicle anyway. On top of this there will be the travelling to the sanatorium to visit the next instructor which takes a lot of time and trouble, let alone all the forms the police must fill in these days. However we will see. But every so often I see a picture like that, especially when the sun is shining through the frozen air, and think to myself, I want one of those!
One day maybe.