Wealthy Memory...

How lovely to be wealthy!

Emptying the pockets, searching the cash lying around, and I find all this.

This is the result of Covid!

You see, with Covid around nobody wanted to touch cash so the card came out of the wallet.

This meant that when cash was made use off, such as in the club, then change was given.   Though never enough I say.  This meant that gradually the pockets filled up with loose change.  Now much of the small stuff can go into the cider jar and be made use off at Christmas, well next Christmas as there was too little to bother about this year, and all I need carry is a small amount of what may be required in an emergency, which never arises.  Therefore I have cash abounding, but in reality no money.

Having missed the last two trips to the club for the old man's meeting I have the cash that I would make use of there.  Still, it makes me feel rich to hear it jingle in the pocket.

However, I have had an idea.  I will forget using the cider jar contents for next Christmas's Brandy gift to myself, instead I will turn it into one of these.  This way it will fill up very much quicker and I may have the Brandy by Easter at this rate.

My memory always had a hole in it, however, now it is becoming larger and developing into a canyon instead.  Names are always hard to remember, much worse now, working out why I turned to a page on the laptop is becoming a normality, but always managing to pay my bills, sadly, has not yet failed.

Memory at Work

Watching St Mirren score early on against one half of the evil twins brought back to mind a similar goal I saw scored in 1962, long before you and I were born.  Not only did it bring back to mind the goal it brought with it the very essence of the day also.  For a second I could 'feel' the atmosphere, smell the glossy programme and the embrocation cream then used to lubricate players before a game and tasted again the very ambience of the day.  For a second I saw the blue sky and bright green grass, again I was sensing the surroundings, then new to me, again I experienced for a brief moment the exciting experience of that day long a now gone all because of memory.  I remember also the six goals which we went on to score and note St Mirren and also now losing!

It never fails to amaze me just how much we have stored away in memory and also how difficult it is to retrieve it when required.  Just listen to BBC's 'Brain of Britain' and note how often you know the answers to a question but cannot find it in that large brain box of yours.  It takes merely the slightest fragrance from a Hyacinth plant and I am back in Primary School, cross a muddy field and the sweetish grass brings me back to Lying face down in a goalmouth, not always successfully, a song might bring to mind good days or bad and a photograph from times past can fill the mind with memories of a place.
What returns easiest, good memories or bad ones?  
Tiredness can bring to mind the memories of failure and regret that are not wanted, tiredness rarely brings good thoughts let alone good memories.  Looking back people tend to consider life was better in the past, are they deliberately forgetting the bad things or just deluding themselves?  All too often it is age that makes us remember the energy we once had, the hopes and dreams that no longer register in the mind, maybe that is why the past appears better even though at the time we grumbled so often.

      
Repressing memories can be hard on us.  
I recall a lass who had many problems, a young thing with too much arthritis in her bones and no memory of early days.  One thoughtful woman considered she had been a battered baby and possibly this accounted for the problems, and she had many problems.  Closing the mind can keep us sane but there comes a time when we need to be freed from certain memories.  
On the other hand many who lived through war have memories they do not wish to bring to mind.  Guilt for actions taken in stressful times, sights seen and hard to forget, pain and suffering endured all lead to a refusal to face the memories, and who can blame them?  Some memories are hard to face and it is likely we all have them to some degree.

  
Old Photographs.
These are all old photographs taken long ago before digital was available and because I never left the abode once today, rain and appallingly poor football keeping me inside.  Each picture is a memory, of a wander in Kensington Gardens where pigeon dodging is part of walking along the pathways, a stone cat somewhere on the south side of the Thames reminds me of my lost ability to walk for miles in strange places seeking new sights.  The old railway, which one day soon I might get to see if the rain goes away, the sun shines early and I can get the knees to work the bike again, the old railways and the long gone gate that vandals destroyed for a laugh and the Rangers never bothered to repair brings good memories and two Penguins haughtily enduring my camera while stinking of fish when I last visited Edinburgh Zoo a hundred years ago.  All good memories, I keep the bad ones to myself.    

Friday

Another day where clouds cover the earth,  Does winter ever end?  No wonder those living in the far north suffer depression and commit suicide!  Imagine six months of darkness!  A couple of months of cold, rain and cloud depress enough quite how they manage up in Lapland beats me.  They do drink a lot it must be said and that cannot be good for them.  No wonder the Vikings long ago loved to move to Scotland as the weather was more acceptable!  That tells you something! 
Yesterday the sun shone brightly as you can see, cheering everyone and allowing the pigeons to think that Spring was on the way and they began to chase the girls through the trees.  This morning they were sitting in the branches of the same trees digesting their breakfast and looking for woolly hats to wear.
Of course this week has been mild and the gutter press are screaming that next week it will be "warmer than Greece."  This does not say much as Greece gets cold in winter also of course and there is much snow on them thar hills.  Hopefully this will actually happen but the press are never reliable sources.
Interestingly the other day I read that Wiki, the source of all knowledge, has banned the use of the 'Daily Mail' as a source grumbling that the 'Mail' is "..not a reliable source."  How right they are!  Will the 'Daily Express' and the 'Sun' follow I wonder?

You can tell nothing else happened here.  
Trapped indoors by housework, trapped indoors by weather, trapped indoors by stiff knees and trapped indoors by laziness!  Not actually in that order.  
I am not getting out and about at the moment, there is little worth reading in the news, little exciting happens and I am not yet finished any of my books. 
My memory is so poor these days I am unsure if i went out this morning or just imagined it.  I think I need a matron here to look after me.  I am beginning to wonder if I should go to bed or just wait until someone phones and tells me what to do next.
Life can be so exciting....

Mug!

It was when I saw this dingy mug sitting among the bric-a-brac of the house that all the women in my past came to mind.  I don't know why?
It's funny how little things set of the memories is it not?  For instance the fragrance of various flowers brings memories, one takes me back to primary schooldays, another to walking in certain streets.  Such strong fragrance is not easily forgotten, that is why women pay so much for that perfume bottle.  The women I meet appear to prefer motor oil or coal gas but that's another story. Wet grass reminds me of the joy of football when face down in the mud I revealed to the world my fantastic goalkeeping abilities.  Pipe tobacco reminds me of my dad sitting smoking his 'Condor' pipe tobacco with it's distinctive aroma on the box he made into a toolbox come seat in his little garden, my that seems o long ago, a different world.
A photograph is of course always an easy reminder of past events and awful haircuts.  Such things can be used to embarrass people today as well as remind them of people long gone or good times once had.  Memory of my leg break reminds me of God's goodness to me at the time, all those incidents that followed on from that.  Nine, or was it eight, pins in my leg, that is a reminder that is always with me!  
Not all memories are good of course, I avoid the multitude of 'cancer' adverts and reports that appear to fill TV and radio time, since my sister died that time I have never been keen to see these.  Those who endured war often keep memento's of one sort or another, the diary written at the time yet never opened today, the bullet removed from the leg, the dreams that never leave.  
Memory is strange in some ways and we control it by deliberately forgetting certain things which we wish not to heed, occasionally however it slips into the mind.  The good thing is this happens also with good memories, days of sunshine and happiness, days of blue skies, green grass and much enjoyment.  I hope we have lots of those memories.

Talking of blue skies we had one of these above us for much of the day.  Not that I saw it as I spent most of the day slumped over this or lying asleep in my pit.  The real summer is drawing rapidly to a close and the usual suspects are at this moment gathering strength in mid-Atlantic and preparing to drop lots of rain upon us over the weekend. 
I may be asleep for another day or two at this rate...

Memory, Why Doesn't it Work?

RBK

This aged picture of a London Trotters cart was taken around the 50's/60's, I forget exactly.  I came across it sorting through things tonight.  The Trotters were rag & bone men, an early type of recycling that has long gone out of fashion.  'Steptoe & Son'  is a famous TV sitcom based on one family somewhere in Shepherds Bush trying to make a living.  There is a little emblem on the cart, could it be a council one?  I wish I had time to search through the RBK site now.  This site is full of old pictures and tales from the libraries of Kensington & Chelsea.  Well worth a look.

The use of horse and carts is rarely seen today although some breweries still use them occasionally.  My dad used one to deliver milk in the early 50's and Dunfermline Co-op were still using them until the mid sixties.  I rarely saw them in London when I lived there however one horse, bored with waiting for the boss to come out of the pub, straddled the pavement to ensure he got attention from someone on one occasion.  The St Cuthberts Co-op in Edinburgh not only used horse deliveries into the late 60's they also looked after the queens horses when she bothered to use the Scottish Royal Coach.  I suspect some London based civil servant will have sold it now.  

How good memory is in making such sights appear enjoyable, a light relief from the cares of the day. However for the man working them there was no relief until he had got back to the depot, settled the horse in a stall, cleaned up and made his way home.  It's easier to switch off an engine that deal with a horse. The pay then was poor, nothing for being sick, and sacked for anything almost. Still the sun shone more then, maybe.

Memory is useful when retracing your steps as I had to today.  I noticed the battery in the camera was running low and I mused as to whether it would work if I went out then and now.  No time to ponder, I got ready and made my way out before the rain began.  As I crossed the road the rain began.  I walked through the drizzle gardens, replacing a wreath or two blown by the wind from the memorial, and headed into town.  As I left the 'Poundshop' clutching my three for two bottles of cheap bleach, oh how I live in luxury, I noticed the camera was not in my pocket, a pocket usually kept shut by a zip. Oh dear thought I, someone has pinched it or I dropped it when replacing that wreath. How could I live without the camera?  Bad enough waiting to get it repaired let alone lose it.  What if it had been nicked, how, when, oh dear!  I splashed my way, faster somewhat, through the glistening trail, down the road, through the gardens, back home.  No sign, if dropped it was lifted and gone, no chance of that returning. Naturally as I got home I found it on the desk where I had left it after checking the battery.  The stupid old fool had forgotten to put it in the pocket.  Memory you see, I need one!

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Gas

This pretty boring picture I took some years ago through a wire fence.  It shows one of the platforms at Granton Gas Works. These premises opened in 1902 and my aunt claims hr dad was driving the shunting engine there. This is likely as he was named as a Steam Engine Driver in the 1891 census.  By 1901 he was a 'general labourer,' possibly because of his drink habit.  If only we knew more about him!  This platform was a workers only halt into  the works  I wonder if a special train was in operation to bring them in on time? Certainly they booked in nearby and crossed the line via a bridge to enjoy a day shoveling coal.  The red brick used to such good effect was typical of a building of the day.  These days factories are so boring and functional but the Victorians built such quality even into factories.  Progress has led to plastic buildings and lack of character while in days of your the buildings had bags of character, although long hours and low wages were common. 


Gas was made from the coal, about 200,000 tones a year at Granton and this was heated by furnace underneath the 'retorts' with temperatures of around 1500 degrees. Gas was drawn off and cooled, cleaned of impurities such as oil and tar by ammoniacal solution. Afterwards the gas was washed by water leaving an ammoniacal liquor, this was made into sulphate of ammonia and used as fertiliser.  Further treatment removed lots of stuff I cannot spell and the gas completed the journey into the large gasholders from where it traveled to serve the city.  I well remember the gas sometimes containing an 'air pocket' and having to turn it off and starting again.  Gas taps in the science labs at school (science? aye right!) would cause the teachers to cry out when the air pocket was noticed.  An explosion could have destroyed the school, if only!  The coal waste became coke, and the smaller dross was turned into briquettes.  Nothing was wasted by this business.  The sixties however saw an end to coal gas and a massive transformation of cooking and other appliances as 'Natural Gas' was introduced.  The final end of gas at Granton came in 1987 and the buildings were soon headed for destruction. The rail lines possibly used by granddad have long gone and only the station building, now refurbished remains.  Granddad also went in 1917, he collapsed on his way home from the pub, aged 71.  Offices and housing now fill the redeveloped space once the home of rail, coke and coal, and nothing else remains bar the iron standings of the gas holder.  Even that is threatened.  


Progress takes away memories.  From our window, and much of Edinburgh, the gas holders stood out as we looked north. The sounds of the works, there were other works nearby plus the docks, would float through the dark silent evening air. One other factory nearby, 'The United Wire Works,' for whom my father spent several years slaving away, has also gone.  'Google Maps' show just a bricked up 'Works Entrance' and a large despoiled building and surroundings now.  Even the rough 'Anchor Bar' has gone!  Although there are those that claim that indeed is progress!  How strange that a building that stood for almost ninety years, and which was part of my childhood simply by it existing, has now gone, as indeed has sound 'floating on the night air,' the traffic drowns it out. The new developments may indeed be grand in the long term but it is not my Edinburgh any more.  The world moves on and our 'lives are only in our memory, the no longer exist.

Granton History

Memories

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I forgot what I was going to say...........






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I'm not breaking up, I'm not!

At twenty minutes after one this lunchtime I decided I needed to move quickly to get the cheap, end of day, veg from the market stall before they disappear off home. Threfore I made off across the park, struggling against the bitter north east wind, rounded the comer at the top of the street and found myself wondering why there are no stalls out today.  Anyone else of course would realise that the market takes place on Wednesdays as it has done since the year 1200, and that today is in fact Tuesday!  Only I could forget that fact, well actually now I come to think of it  I did forget this not that long ago when one Wednesday I found myself wondering why the market was on that day, I had spent the day thinking it was Tuesday!


There again who can be surprised? Nothing goes right these days. This includes the soup I flung on the floor yesterday while attempting to close the lid on it, the oven I cleaned with that 'Mr Muscle' stuff that has left such a stink I still canny use the oven. Nor the other week when I placed my dinner on the cooker and watched it fall gracefully to the floor. Nor do I foget how it took three weeks to get the padlock of the bike because it had jammed and that I could not get the cutter from my neighbour. Not that I've fixed the bike, it's just too cold to care about just now.


 I read somewhere that after the age of fifty you will spend an hour a day 'just looking for things.' This is rubbish, you will spend so much more time than that! I make the tea and half an hour later realise I have not drunk it, why? because I have forgotten to bring it to where I am sitting! I find the milk in the cupboard and the sugar in the fridge, I decide to do something, get distracted, and forget what it was I was doing until next Thursday when it's to late!


There again, such behaviour does run in the family, so maybe it's not age after all. The more I think about it, the memories of going home from work happy after a long tiring day, and returning in the morning to find the door of my employment open because I had forgotten to shut it, comes to mind! Going on holiday and taking one of the most important keys with me was one episode that made me very popular with some! What happened to all those shiny, sharp instruments that we used on the ward when I worked  in the Royal Infirmary is a question I would rather not consider at the moment. That reminds me.........no, it's gone!  




edit. There was another item I meant to post, but, er....I forgot.......