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We left home as soon as schooling was over, whether we failed or passed exams and started on the long trail of learning the ins and outs of career building. Few of us rose to the top of our chosen profession, most did just well enough and managed to marry and raise children (in that order, too) and eventually to see our grandchildren start up the tree of life all over again. Yes, we made the wrong decision sometimes and seemed to lose out, but only for a while. We suffered aches and pains and some of us had near misses from taking risks, but again we survived, usually with the help of modem medicine. We smoked tobacco, we drank alcohol, to excess in both at times and still we made it through to today. Used to taking chances over the decades that stretch back more than half a century, we find it incredible that children today are going to find it so hard to get through life, that is if we believe what we are told: They must not climb trees, nor go swimming, nor play conkers without protective goggles, nor be out of sight with their friends, not for one instant, unless a 'caring' adult oversees their every move. Their every action has to be vetted by Authority at every turn, they are filled with warnings never to do this or that; certainly not that! They must never think for themselves, but wait to be told the politically correct attitude to take. They must never be exposed to failing a school exam, so instead of learning from experience they are protected at every turn. Every day, it seems. Nanny Government finds something else to ban, just in case. Does this make me a Grumpy Old Man? I suppose so, but I survived happily. I cynically wrote in the October Newsletter that I hoped our speaker at that meeting would play us some tunes on her handbells, as well as tell us of their history. I need not have doubted. Sandra Winter borrowed a six-foot table from the Club and laid out an abbreviated set of bells thereon in the pattern of me black and white notes on a piano and without more than a "hello" laid into the 'Lullaby of Broadway', her arms whizzing from bell to bell, her head down, concentrating. "Strewth!", we thought, "It's harder than we imagined." In Victorian times many churches used them instead of organs and one church, St. Mary's in Beddington, still does. The rules for the ringers remain unchanged, too: No beer or liquor to be consumed and the ringers must lead a 'sober and virtuous life' and no uttering of oaths, either. On breaking a rule they would be fined 6d. Above all, no ladies were allowed to ring. (Could it be that their presence might damage a ringer's virtue? Or cause him to swear? Surely not.) We then heard some of the history of this ancient art. Since me 1400s bells have been made, firstly in Aldboume, Wilts., then from 1521 by the Whitechapel bell foundry in London to the present day. Little has changed in the design, other than the use of modem plastics in place of the older wooden version for the clappers and leather for the handles. The bell metal remains constant, made from 80% copper and 20% tin; no silver at all, despite rumours to the contrary. Handbells travelled to America for use in churches and tile like and now theirs sound less harsh than the English version, since they use rubber clappers. P T Bamum introduced them into his circus and from there it was a short step to their use in pubs and music halls. The TV Muppets mounted them on a frame and struck them with mallets. We were told how to reduce the volume, by turning the bell 45 degrees and how by turning it 90 degrees, a twist of the wrist allowed a selected one of two - or even four in one hand - to be sounded. It was all huge fun, produced by a lady who knew her subject and was generous with her playing.
The outstanding item to report this month is the success of our Ladies' Luncheon two weeks ago at the Coulsdon Manor Hotel. As always, it was good food well served in delightful surroundings: Squire Nobby Byron would have approved, even though he might not have recognised the room where we sat, it having been added to his family mansion since he last knew it in the early part of the twentieth century. What would have astonished him was the organisation that went into it all. We weren't astonished, it was what we expected and what we see every month at our more humble lunches. Had the squire still been around, though, we would be hard pressed to retain the services of Reg Baker as Master of Ceremonies, for he would be snapped up for duties elsewhere in grander company. Seventy-six members and their ladies attended and we all enjoyed the whole affair. Speeches were short and to the point and the smooth distribution of prizes satisfied everyone. It was a delight to welcome Tom Nevin again, he having recently moved to the Sussex Coast, but determined to bring his wife to this date. Reg's system of identifying the food we had ordered is cunning and effective; what's more, it is understood by the serving staff. Reg, you should patent it. Thanks to you from all of us for the hard work you put into running the show, worthy of the applause we gave you on the day. There's an Outing this month that is also worthy of attending: Phil Munson mentioned it at our last meeting and suggests we go to the London Museum on November 22nd, a Tuesday this time just for a change. Meet on the main concourse at London Bridge station at 11 a.m. and we wont get lost finding the Museum. Personally I went there a year or so after it was opened and ever since have read of the new additions they have introduced, so, even if like me you think you know it, come again. Phil Munson again: His Trade and Services Directory is starting to prove its worth and he tells me he will be giving us further details after lunch today. Dennis (spelling: his mother was frightened by a fire engine) Evans will be handing out a notice today about his general knowledge quiz night at the Old Coulsdon Centre for the Retired, Grange Park, Old Coulsdon - just across the road from the shops at the top of the hill on Coulsdon Road. Date: November 18th. Time: 7.00 pm -10 pm. Bring guests with you so we can have, say, eight teams of four, or more if the response is sufficient. A small charge will be levied to pay for renting the Centre and to cover prizes, of which latter there will be many, both for teams after each of eight rounds of questions and for best individual then too. Probus isn't the only local society worth joining. As several of you are aware. The Bourne Society, which publishes the history of this part of the world, is well worth the £10 per annum it costs for membership, especially as that figure includes the cost of up to five magazines each year. lan Scales has membership forms. It was (I think) in 1993 when a colleague and I visited East Africa to investigate opportunities to sell oil products into Kenya and the surrounding area. It had not been a successful trip , yes we had met people and companies involved in the business, but the likelihood of actually doing any business in that area seemed distant. We were booked to come home on a British Airways flight from Nairobi, leaving there at midnight and arriving back in London at about 0600, about a ten hour flight as I recall. Things started OK, we had a few drinks and a meal soon after takeoff, then the cabin lights were switched off so that those who wanted to could sleep. I went off quite quickly. It must have been about 2 to 2.5 hours into the flight when my colleague nudged me awake and having got my attention asked "Have you ever been to Sudan?" "No", I replied, "Well, you are going to now" he said, "the Captain has just announced that a passenger in the back of the plane was dangerously ill." International convention required that he land at the nearest safe airport to seek medical help. The ill man, we were informed, was travelling with a GP and was going to London for heart surgery. The Captain said we had recently passed Khartoum and that we were turning back, at the same time shedding fuel. I saw nothing during the descent, it was pitch black and even upon landing no lights appeared until we were close to stopping, when what looked like a short line of dimly lit lamp posts came into view: Khartoum Airport. I could only assume that we had parked at some isolated part, for I could see no terminal or other lights or buildings. From out of the night a jeep appeared pulling a flight of steps. These were positioned at the front door of the plane and a man in army uniform ascended and went to see the Captain, while a handful of airport workers also entered and started helping themselves to me miniatures from the galley. They left after being told to move the steps to the back door of the plane, nearer the ill man. A few minutes later, however, the Captain informed us that, unfortunately, during the descent the man had died. It was now necessary, he said, to complete formalities, get a death certificate and the like; he also told us he would have to pay some landing and take off fees before we would be allowed to leave Khartoum. He would leave the plane for an hour or so and then, having completed the paperwork we could continue on our way to London. True to his word, upon his return, the Captain said (jokingly) that he had signed over the deeds to his house in Surrey to pay the airport fees and that we could now be on our way. He added that, rather than leave the body in Sudan, it would accompany us to London. Take off procedures were started, completed and so with a feeling of some relief the engines roared and we were back up and on our way. I was now quite awake and unable to sleep, so about twenty minutes later I was able to see a couple of stewards passing my seat, carrying over their shoulders the blanket-wrapped dead body. They managed to manipulate it - seemingly now stiffening - up the spiral staircase to the top deck of the 747, from where, we were told by a friendly stewardess, they could gain access to the lift down to the hold, where the (much) cooler temperature would keep it in a respectable condition. A further hour's flight passed uneventfully before the next twist in this story unfolded — but this will have to keep for me next Newsletter.
Produced and edited monthly by Ian Scales (01737 553704)
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