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Take the 'ough' pronunciation: Plough, American-way, is spelled Plow (but where does that leave Slough? Slow? No, that's wrong). Cough = Cawf, Through = Threw, Enough = Enuff, Hiccough = Hiccup, or even Hicup which might be 'Hycup' in its turn. It's a laffa minute, to introduce a slight variation. One theory put forward is that our pronunciation has changed over me centuries. If this is true, English must have sounded totally different to Shakespeare. But then, it still does, based on where you are in England. We southern-speakers suppress me V sound where it should be and put it in where it isn't. "Have you finished that drawring of the motah cah?" Oh arrrrghh. Which brings us to another spelling problem: is it a double or single letter? "The acoustics in our accommodation." Why two 'c's in me latter? It's not pronounced 'acsomodashun', (he wrote, getting carried away with other ghastlies). One fin professional, two in offal. Why the dif(f)erence? Just to make it difficult, where two 'c's can be justified, e.g. 'accessories', the first c is hard and the second soft. Finally, words that are spelled the same but have totally different meanings: e.g. "I refuse to leave out the refuse for the Council." "He leaves the leaves in a mess." "The sergeant's mess is a mess." Worse still, different pronunciations of the same word: "We had our first row on the lake today", my daughter reported on a postcard from her honeymoon. I suppose it all comes from the etymology of the word, which could be from the Latin, Greek, Celtic, Anglo-Saxon, Norse, Norman, Indian, Chinese, to mention but a few. These in their turn include oddities, such as the Saxons, turning up as invaders, calling the Celtic Britons they found here "Walais", their word for 'foreigners'. The cheek of them. On the morning of our last meeting, as members were arriving at the club house, there was unfolding across London me worst peace time disaster that London and England had ever experienced. During the morning rush-hour four suicide bombers had blown themselves up on the Underground and on a double-decker bus. At the moment of writing the total of dead is 55 with 700 injured, many of them seriously. As me emergency services sprang into their well rehearsed contingency plans for such an event, the transport system of London was shut down. Everyone was stunned by the magnitude of the attack and it is not for us here to comment on the people who perpetrated this evil act; suffice to say that, faced with the grief and suffering of the families of the dead and injured, all other inconveniences caused were trivial. One person who, in a minor way was caught up in the chaos of that morning was John Miley, the intended after-lunch speaker. He was about to start his journey when the explosions took place; even if he had managed to get to us it is doubtful if he would have been able to get back home across London. Within ten minutes of us going into lunch we were informed that we did not have a speaker. At such short notice where on earth would we find someone who, at the drop of a hat, could give a 45-minute unrehearsed and interesting talk? Fortunately we have just such a person in the editor of our Newsletter, lan Scales. lan, a member of the Bourne Society, the local history group, gave us a thoroughly interesting talk on the history ofCoulsdon, including some information that Croydon Council should have known before it gave names to roads on a local housing estate: Lord Byron the poet was not even a close relation to Squire Byron of Coulsdon Manor. I doubt if our Byron could even write a Limerick, he was definitely not in the same league of those that the Council have named roads after, Betjeman Close, Shelley Close, Rossetti Gardens or Larkin Close. lan also gave us a potted history of St. John's church from its humble beginnings as a stopping off point for the tax collecting monks from Chertsey Abbey and through the various extensions to the original chapel that was built on the same spot over a thousand years ago. It takes a brave man to step into a public speaking assignment at such short notice without any prepared notes and I would like to apologise to lan for spoiling his meal and thank him for such an interesting talk. - Jim Mulvey, 2005 Chairman.
Don't forget the Ladies luncheon, October 20th. Give your orders to Reg Baker. I bumped into Tom Nevin the other day and he tells me that his absence from this meeting is because he will be moving house today, having at last sold up here in Coulsdon. He is moving down to the south coast, but intends to visit us as often as family commitments allow; he has even paid his subscription for the coming year, so I guess he means it. Good fortune to you, Tom, and welcome back whenever you can make it. Harry Witham had to rush into hospital a couple of weeks ago, suffering from shortage of breath, something he had last year when it turned out to be a mild heart attack. Taking no chances, in he went again, they looked after him and then sent him home, deafer than he was (I said: "DEAFER THAN HE WAS"), a bit puffed still and not able for much, but happy to be home and getting better. He would be here today, but it's his daughter's birthday and that takes priority. Bryan Chilton is still having to take things easy, too, especially avoiding any chance at all of the chill recurring that has kept him at home for the past several months. My father was a Freemason and when I was little and would ask him where he was going in his dinner jacket, he would reply "I'm going to ride a goat", which kept me quiet and very puzzled. Then I grew up and in my own turn became a mason. We don't ride goats, nor any other of God's creatures. We, in our Lodge, don't even put on Tuxedoes and it's all still (forty years later) thoroughly enjoyable and friendly. I suppose our best raison d'etre is that we raise huge amounts of money for a broad reach of charities. There was a time, up to a hundred years ago, when masonic charities were just that: for the benefit of masons or their families who had fallen on hard times. It is still true, we do look after our brethren, but the list of outside charities supported grows from year to year. In 2005 £500,000 will go to hospice services in England, £300,000 went to aiding children affected by the Asian tsunami plus more than that to the general tsunami appeal. The list of other charities, big and small, that we support is too long to be enumerated here, but in all, several million pounds will be contributed this year alone, with more next year and so on, for as long as Freemasonry exists. It's how we behave at our meetings that fascinates those who are outside the Craft and it is of that you will learn, something of it anyway, if you come to the Surrey Grand Lodge centre in Oakfield Road, Croydon. Free parking, too. Have a word with Dennis Evans about our visit there on September 16th. You will be astonished? Details on the noticeboard. Now, have you booked yourself and partners and friends with Reg Baker, for our Annual Ladies Luncheon on Thursday October 20th. at Coulsdon Manor Hotel? Heaven knows where the time goes, but it will not be long before this always- splendid occasion comes along, so book now. As I stood in the cattery I fett a furry nudge against my ankle. I looked down into the two huge round eyes of a black kitten who gave one tiny squeak. I was hooked; my wife and I immediately claimed him and took him home. Here was a cat who epitomised the joy of living. He would run into the garden and perform little pirouettes of sheer pleasure. He was a lesson in simply appreciating the joy of being alive. Our other, older female cat would have nothing to do with him and was indeed belligerent. This did not deter Chuckie from frequently approaching her for a 'game'. As a neutered male he retained the adventurous spirit and would roam far and wide. If I called him from the kitchen he would come racing down the garden and leap straight into my arms. He loved chasing baubles on the end of a string and particularly enjoyed the 'banisters' game where he would poke his claws at me through the palings. One of his favourite activities was to drape himself across my shoulders whilst I went round the house drawing the curtains, his purring loud in my ear. One Saturday we left him in the kitchen for the afternoon and upon return could find no sign of him. We blamed each other for supposedly letting him out - but still no sign of Chuckie. Later that evening I was in the kitchen and thou^it I heard a tiny squeak. Still baffled, I hunted almost everywhere until I realised that I had not looked on top of the kitchen cabinets. These are seven feet high with the tops about two feet below me ceiling. Behind one of the units was a gap twelve inches long by three inches wide - just enough for a cat to slide down the seven feet to the bottom. Yes, there he was, wedged solid and unable to move. I virtually had to dismantle the unit to release him; he strolled out without so much as a thank you. Recently, he was out all night and failed to return in the morning. We visited friends and returned in the early afternoon, and with no sign of Chuckie. I knew something was wrong. I went out searching and upon passing a neighbour's garden saw a black shape in the fork of a tree. I knew instantly it was Chuckie. He looked as though he were asleep and for a few moments I hoped he was. He must have been hit by a car and some kind passer by had placed him in the tree. It was dreadful carrying him back home. As I dug his grave I could not see for tears. We loved him dearly. We all have home lives where things happen. They may not be earth-shaking, but they round out our existence, the sort of thing we might tell a friend over a glass of wine and they should be shared more widely.
Produced and edited monthly by Ian Scales (01737 553704)
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