Professor Mungleton

The Triffid Bee Garden

2024-10-17T21:34:00.051+01:00

We have a decent garden. It's not big, but it's productive because we cheat totally, adding vast amounts of shop-bought compost, chicken manure, Growmore, blood fish'n'bone, seaweed extract etc. Also there's nothing wrong with taking daffodils and so forth off the cheap shelf at B&Q because they'll come back next year, and we collect seeds from parks'n'gardens across Europe and buy in specialist ones so we have a disorganised profusion of colourful triffids of all nations, especially as we hose during drought conditions.

As gardeners, you collect seeds for next year but as the garden is small, we have an annual production surplus and that rankles, so we identified an unused patch of land off the Botley Road outside Romsey only 2 1/2 miles from where Grandad had his retirement home. So all the Tree Tobacco (Nicotiana glauca) and Solanum laciniatum (Kangaroo apple) and the insanity thistles can go there, as well as all the excess love-in-a-mist, hollyhock, opium poppy, Aquilegia and permanent sweet pea. Hopefully it will be an ongoing food supply for all the bees, as well as an otherworldly (if rather poisonous) surprise for the dog walkers and blackberry pickers of North Baddesley.

Obviously I'll be off in University so I sent my special Compost Attendant to scatter the holy seed, then I will pray over the site from afar to confer fertility. First seed scattering was on 29th August 2024, at "flirts.mice.regal" (what3words) and thereabouts.

There are small plans to scatter the same seeds on the Farlington roundabout (junction of A27 and Eastern Road, Portsmouth). This was completed on the 22nd of December 2024.

***Sadly, a survey of this site the following autumn (2025) revealed no magical garden of flowers. I can only guess that the seeds were scattered at the wrong time of year and eaten by birds and mowed by tractors and out-competed by grasses. Bit of a shame, we'll try again in other locations.

Ancestors: Mungo Paumier (Diary 1856)

2024-05-16T15:11:00.001+01:00

The Autobiography of Mungo Wm. Paumier,

Gentleman, Clerk &tc.

1796

November 4^th: On that day, I was born in the house No. 13 Phibbsborough, Dublin, and am therefore an Irishman.

My Mother, having had a child next before me and who had received the same extraordinary name of Mungo, after my Uncle, Colonel Mungo Paumier, and which had died, she thought in consequence of being too much wrapped up and confined, she resolved to adopt another course with me, and accordingly although it was winter then, I was daily immersed in cold spring water, and became in consequence very hardy and healthy. Those who knew and nursed me whilst I was young said I was a very fine and handsome child, and my Mother always said that she carried me for 11 months before I made my appearance.

1798

The year of the Great Irish Rebellion, but being then only 2 years old of course I can have no recollection of that terrible epoch.

1800

This year, the Act of Union was carried into effect, which proved the ruin of trade in Dublin and generally injurious in its effects to all ports of Ireland. I was then only 4 years old, so that I knew nothing of politics or business then.

1803

This year was distinguished by what was called “the Rising” in Dublin, or attempt at rebellion, under Lord Edward Fitzgerald, son of the Duke of Leinster, when Lord Kilwarden was dragged from his carriage and cruelly butchered in the presence of his own daughter, and many other persons were killed by the rebels. But this “emute” (as the French would call it) was effectually suppressed in one night and the ringleaders afterwards executed as traitors.

Being then 7 years old I have some recollection of those events, and of seeing considerable numbers of troops marching through our neighbourhood with fixed bayonets, canon, etc. All the roads, canal bridges and locks for miles around Dublin were defended by lofty and strong wooden barriers and guarded by soldiers. There was one guardhouse at Blaquier’s Bridge on the circular road, which was a favourite walk and lounge of the respectable inhabitants of Phibbsboro’, to which we youngsters used to resort to see the troops on duty, especially when changing or relieving the guard. By watching these repeatedly, we became acquainted with the manual exercise, and used to play at soldiers with wooden guns and swords; we had not real ones, which some of the elder boys had.

Mungo drew a picture of the house where he was born, #13 Phibbsborough Lane Dublin. The rest are memories from a holiday he took to the lake district

1806

About this time, when 9 years old, I caught the Small Pock “nationally”. The only way we could account for it was that I looked out of my Mother’s bedroom whilst the corpse of a young man, who had died of that terrible disease, was brought out of a house opposite to ours in a narrow street for burial, the wind, most probably bringing the infection to me. At the same time there was a Dancing Bear under our window, which frightened me considerably by its hideous antics and growls, whilst its keeper beat it with a great stick and shook its chains fearfully. I thought and talked of that ferocious Bear all that day, and when I was in bed that night I screamed out in terror that the Bear would have me. My Mother and Father both rushed into the room and found me sitting up in bed in a state of delirium and high fever, and the next day the Pock appeared all over me.

A doctor was called in who gave me medicine, ordered me to be kept cool, and not to have any stimulant whatever. I grew worse rapidly and soon became totally blind. The Pock was of the very worst description, distinguished by the name of “Confluent”, or where the spots unite and run into large clusters or masses. At length, the doctor said my case was utterly hopeless, and that he could do no more for me.

My Mother, who had some experience in the treatment of that disease with her elder children, asked the doctor if she might give me wine, to which he objected but said “It is of but little consequence what you give him, and you may let him have a glass of wine in a pint of cold water”. My Mother afterwards said to my Father “Though the Doctor has given up all hopes of Mun’s living, I do not despair. Get me some of the very best port wine. I have known it effect great cases in the Small Pock”. My Father hastened to do her bidding, went at once to a large Wine Merchants, “Messrs. Sneyd, French & Barton of Sackville Street”, with whom he was well acquainted, and procured from them a dozen of the very finest old port, which he sent home at once.

As soon as it arrived, my Mother opened a bottle and gave me about half a glass of the wine with an equal quantity of hot water, which I drank up with avidity, and said “Give me a glass of all wine”. This she ventured to do, thinking that nature dictated such a desire to me. The effect was wonderful, the spots or blotches on my head, face, body and limbs, which were previously flat, purple and watery, very soon became plump and ruddy, and rapidly filled up with yellow puss or matter.

She therefore continued to give me port wine in moderation, and warm negus with Naples biscuits, which I dipped in the liquid and ate with evident satisfaction, although still totally blind. Under that treatment I soon recovered, and it pleased God to restore my sight, which thousands have lost in that dreadful malady, although my eyes have ever since been weak and tender. All my beauty, however, was lost and gone, a deprivation which I never much felt or seriously regretted. On the contrary, I have been thankful for that loss and owned it “all for the best”, considering that if I had grown up handsome, I should no doubt have been vain and frivolous, perhaps even wild and amorous, whereas the consciousness of my plainness humbled my spirt, caused me to retire within myself like the snail, and to cultivate the little talents I possessed for the amusement of myself and others.

For some years after my recovery from the Small Pock, I was weak and delicate, and likely, my parents thought, to fall into Consumption. I was always my Father’s pet and favourite, but now became more so than ever, owing to which causes I was not sent to school so early as is usual, but learned to read, write and cipher at home, my Father being an excellent scholar, my Mother a kind patient teacher of her children, and my Sister Fanny being so highly gifted and my general companion, I gradually imbibed a taste for drawing, painting, making ornaments and toys, dancing, singing, literature, poetry and various amusing games.

Thus, my early years were spent in intellectual cultivation, in innocent and useful employment. I was always fond of reading, or hearing read, the best authors, particularly Shakespeare, Young and Milton, whose beautiful language and images I much admired. I was also very fond of the Bible and church services and had so decidedly a religious turn and disposition that my Father used to say that I was cut out for a clergyman and should be reared for the church when old and strong enough to have a perfect classical education.

Erratic as he was in many respects, my Father was very regular in religious observance and ceremonies. He generally attended public worship, taking me with him. He frequently received the sacrament, had family prayer and read the psalms and lessons almost every morning and evening in so solemn and emphatic a manner as to impress us all with a deep and lasting reverence for the scriptures and the church. He likewise accustomed us to reading the psalms and lessons or other portions of the Bible alternately, or verse about, from doing which I acquired his manner and tone so fully that those who heard me read used to say I did so like some pious old minister, and that it would be a great pity if I did not become one in reality. We also studied our catechism, the collects, epistles and gospels, and frequently read volumes of sermons and other religious works, not forgetting the “Pilgrim’s Progress” and the whole “Duty of Man”.

With such an early and decided bias in favour of religion it is not surprising that I should have preserved my respect for the same through all the vicissitudes of my changeful life. For, whatever my circumstances may have been – however prosperous or adverse – however settled and domestic or unsettled and wandering – still I have always had a deep respect in my heart for true religion, and have even continued to “pray in secret” for my own salvation and for “the happiness – both temporal and eternal” of all connected with me.

Notwithstanding this early and decided bias for religion, I was naturally of a lively cheerful and happy disposition, fond of fun and jollity, and often practising athletic exercises and games, and of roving through the fields in quest of bird’s nests, blackberries, haws and flowers in their seasons.

I was very fond of reading voyages and travels, natural history and geography, and occasionally amused myself with one of the best stories of chivalry and romance, which gave me a turn for literary composition; and before I was able to write small or running hand, I penned in roman, or printing letters, a romance entitled “The Purple Rocks”, which my Aunt Prudy (a regular ‘Blue Stocking’ or literary lady) got hold of and showed about as a wonderful production for a boy so young as I was.

I could always draw, from nature or art, landscapes, buildings, shells, fruit and flowers, and paint them properly. I could copy correctly any drawing and could likewise draw and design from fancy and my own invention many curious figures and patterns, amongst which birds with minutely finished feathers, fishes, serpents, monsters and even devils of strange forms, covered with a multitude of scales, or angels with extended wings, were frequently portrayed. Some of these productions of my pen and pencil were seen by Mr Thomas Mulvany, an eminent artist who lived next door to us, who said I had a decided talent for drawing which it would be a pity not to cultivate, and he accordingly gave me some lessons in the art and was much pleased with my copies of his trees, etc., but as he removed to a distance about that time, I discontinued my lessons. My Mother adopted a very extravagant notion on that occasion, thinking that he was jealous of my talent and would not continue to teach me, lest in time I should rival and surpass his own productions.

1808

This year, having regained my natural good health and strength after my narrow escape from death by Small Pock, by living chiefly on bread and milk, I went to school for the first time, though then 12 years old. My master’s name was Cockaigne. He was an Englishman and a good scholar, but very excentric in his habits, and extremely formal and precise in his manners.

I soon became his pet scholar, whom he used to hold up as a pattern to the others on account of my diligent attention to my studies and my consequent rapid progress. Under his tuition, I improved much in reading, writing, ciphering, geography and both in English and Latin grammar, and I continued with him until my Father’s death in the year 1812.

1809

The Jubilee was kept in Dublin to commemorate the 50^th year of George the 3^rd’s reign, when there were most splendid illuminations and fireworks, which pleased me greatly.

My Sister Fanny paid a visit to my Uncle, Colonel Paumier, at his little farm, called Ballahick, near Castletown in the Isle of Man, and on her return brought with her my Brother Charles, whom I had never seen before, and whom my Mother had not seen for 16 years previous.

1811

January 13^th: a Sunday. That day is ever memorable to me, being distinguished by my very remarkable and providential escape and preservation from drowning, as I then fell off a high bank into a deep river, foaming with a winter flood. I was completely submerged or engulfed, but rose again like a cork, my hand accidentally grasping a tuft of rushes, by which I was enabled to extricate myself from that dilemma. I scrambled up the steep and slippery bank with the aid of two friends who had seen me fall in and had thought I should be drowned, for at that time I had not learned to swim, as I did soon afterwards.

I have always accustomed myself to reading the psalms for the day when I was settled at home or elsewhere, and I have generally found some verse or verses in the same peculiarly applicable to any circumstances and requirements at that time, affording me either hopeful promises, consolation or reproof. Referring therefore to the psalms appointed for the 13^th day of the month, I find these passages, most remarkably suitable to the event above referred to, viz:

In the “Evening Prayer” (it was in the afternoon that the occasion took place), and in the 69^th psalm:

1^st Verse “Save me O God: for the waters are come in, even unto my Soul”

2^nd Verse “I stick fast in the deep mire, where no ground is: I am come into deep waters, so that the floods run over me”

15^th Verse “Take me out of the mire that I sink not: O let me be delivered from them that hate me, and out of the deep waters”

16^th Verse “Let not the water floods drown me; neither let the deep swallow me up”.

That day, being Sunday, after attending church, I took a country walk with two friends, John Logan and William McHugh, up the Finglas Road to Tolka Bridge, where an honest farmer, an acquaintance of John Logan, lived, whom we visited and who entertained us hospitably. After a plentiful lunch, we went down to walk by the side of the river, which in summer was little more than a brook, but was then, in the depth of winter, and after very heavy and long continued rains, swelled to the dimensions of a broad, deep and turbid stream.

When out in the fields, we were always fond of jumping over walls, hedges and ditches. Not far from the brink of the river ran a very wide and deep ditch, over which John Logan leaped. He was some years older than me and was remarkably active and daring. But I was likewise very nimble, resolved not to be outdone, and in some measure expected and obliged to “follow the leader”, whether I fell into the ditch or not. So, I prepared myself for the feat by taking off my great-coat and hat, then going backwards towards the river in order to get a good run for my jump. I unfortunately retreated too far and stepped backwards over the bank (which was 10 or 12 feet above the level of the water) plump into the deep, foaming and eddying stream.

Falling from such a height, I went “souse to the bottom just like a blind pup”, but soon came up again and got out by the means already narrated above. At the time I made that false step I was humming a tune, and when I rose to the surface I continued the same, and then burst out laughing at one of my shoes that had come off in my fall, and was floating down the river and twisting round and round in the various eddies of the stream like a boat adrift on the ocean.

During that occurrence, I never felt the slightest alarm but was perfectly cool and collected, to which I attribute my preservation. For, had I been terrified, I should most probably have thrown up my arms and struggled with violence to save myself, and thereby increased my danger and sunk myself in the torrent, whereas my quietness and coolness enabled me to avail myself of the means of escape which providentially came to my hand.

On getting out and reaching “terra firma”, I commenced dancing and singing and kicked my remaining shoe into the river to follow its companion. I then took off all my wet clothes, putting on my dry surtout ¹ and hat, and returned with my friends to the farmer’s house we had so lately quitted. There the good wife received and treated me most kindly. She placed me on a great settle before a large kitchen fire and made me drink off a large glass of strong whiskey to neutralise and qualify the cold water I had swallowed. She then supplied me with a complete suit of clothes belonging to one of her sons, which were clean and decent although of coarse materials and unfashionable make, and much too large for me. But I was greatly obliged by such accommodation, and walked home warm and comfortable in that rustic attire.

In the meantime, my Father, Mother and family were waiting dinner for me. My Father was very impatient and passionate and swore he would break every bone in my skin, whilst my Mother was secretly fretting and cussing about me, not knowing whether I was dead or alive, for some one had privately informed her that I had fallen into the river, not stating, and perhaps not knowing, whether I had been got out living or dead. In that uncertainty respecting my fate she dared not to tell my Father what she had heard, hoping that all might still be right, so that when I walked in dressed like a country clown my Father was puzzled what to think until I explained the facts to him. Of course he was overjoyed at my extraordinary escape from a watery grave, and did not therefore break any of my bones.

That evening I was engaged to take tea and supper with some friends a few doors off, a widow Davis, her son and two daughters, the youngest of whom, about my own age, I had just begun to feel a tender attachment towards, which was reciprocated by her. I would not therefore be disappointed, but went for fun in the bumpkin’s clothes as my Sunday suit was not dry, and great amusement I afforded them in my rustic garb, affecting the awkward gait and suitable brogue of an Irish peasant. That was the first time I ever wore a neck-handkerchief or cravat, which I never afterwards went without, though I had previously worn only a black ribbon. I was however then in my 15^th year, obliged to shave, so that I began to consider myself a man or nearly so.

Alicia Davis, my first sweetheart, was a pretty little girl, unremarkably fair and very agreeable and affectionate in her manners. I soon grew very fond of her, and she professed to be equally attached to me. About this time she left Dublin and went to reside with an uncle of hers at Balbriggen, a place famous for good worsted stockings, about 15 miles from Dublin on the north road. Her uncle was a clergyman and kept a large school, and my charmer continued there a long time. Doctor Johnson says: “There is no country where Love has not rendered Lovers Poets”, and it certainly was “the tender passion” which caused my first systematic composition in verse, although from infancy I frequently improvised extempore rymes, generally of a jocular or satirical character and tendency. In fact it might have been said of me as it was said of Pope: “He lisped in numbers/For the numbers came”.

I had not, however, committed those ephemeral verses to paper, but began to do so regularly when I became a declared lover, and many a sonnet I then scribbled in praise of “my mistress’s eyebrow” or some other charm. I also wrote many loveletters to her abounding with declarations of unalterable affection, raving wildly about hearts and darts, “the pangs of love”, breathing sighs and dropping tears, without any reasonable cause or excuse, for she was all tenderness herself. That, however, was merely a schoolboy’s first love, which entirely evaporated when I discovered that my Dulcinea ¹ was a jilt, and gave encouragement to others as well as to me.

My first serious composition was the following acrostic on Christmas-day – which I copied into my Christmas piece that year, 1811:

Could I the praise of Jesus sing

His birth in holy verse I’d chime

Redeemer of the world and King

In earth, as in heaven sublime

Since ever was such a joyous day

That day which ne’er shall be forgot

My Saviour in the manger lay

Ah! think, he chose no better lot

Seek not for riches then but grace

Devoid of care contented live

And when before the Saviour’s face

You will be saved if you believe.

1812

January 30^th: My Sister Prudy married William Peter Birmingham, Esq., who took handsome lodgings and gave a very large and expensive wedding party, with an immense cake and abundance of different sorts of wine.

February 20^th: My Sister Fanny married our first Cousin, Dixie Clement Esq., who took at once to the country and gave no entertainment at all.

August 19^th: My Father died of paralysis, caused by a fall down stairs when he fractured his skull by sticking his forehead against a screw of the door handle. I saw him die and felt his loss very severely. He was buried at Clontarf, near Dublin, on 22^nd August. Soon after his decease, my Mother applied to Colonel Handfield, the Commissary General in whose office my Father had been Secretary for many years, hoping that I might succeed him, or at least be employed there as a clerk, but I was considered too young and not sufficiently advanced in learning to be taken into that Government Department, where the duties required men of experience and good qualifications.

I therefore went to a better school than I had previously attended in order to perfect myself in writing, arithmetic and book-keeping, and to acquire a more thorough knowledge of geography and grammar, and there I continued through the years…..

1813 and 1814

… attending closely to my studies with much credit and advantage, gaining premiums for good conduct, spelling, arithmetic, geography, grammar and book-keeping, in which last branch of education I took especial pleasure. There I became acquainted with Alexander McCaul, my dearest and best friend from that time up to the present time, a period of about 44 years, a long time for a friendship to exist. He was then a handsome and elegant youth, younger than me, an excellent scholar, highly talented and accomplished, and a most agreeable companion.

He sometimes visited me at home with my Mother, who admired and esteemed him greatly, but I much more frequently visited him at his residence, 45 Abbey Street, Dublin, where his mother, a widow, and afterwards his sister, carried on with the aid of a foreman an extensive and profitable business as a ladies’ shoemaker, having amongst their customers many of the nobility and some of the richest gentry in Ireland.

Alexander McCaul had two sisters, and one brother. His eldest sister was married to a Mr Hallawell, a very nice and gentlemanly person, who kept a hosier’s shop in Sackville Street, by whom she had several children, the eldest of whom has been for many years past a very distinguished clergyman at Bantry in the County of Cork in Ireland.

Miss Anne McCaul, the second sister, was a very nice, accomplished and genteel young lady, an excellent singer of sacred music, and an expert performer on the piano. Many were the truly happy evenings I spent in their sweet society, conversing frequently upon religious subjects, and singing loudly psalms, hymns and anthems. That family was so truly pious yet cheerful and happy, so affectionate, kind and united, that it was a peculiar blessing and privilege to enjoy their company and converse “ ’Twas like a little Heaven below”. I cannot but be proud of the friendship of so wise, so learned and so good a man as the Reverend Alexander McCaul, who in one of his letters to me some years ago said “You are one of the two or three friends who I hope to keep thro’ life”, and he has acted consistently with that profession ever since up to the present time, never failing to render me assistance whenever I solicited it.

1815

February 16^th: Became a clerk in the office of Messrs. Armit & Borough ¹, the principal Army Agents in Dublin, which situation I obtained through the recommendation of General Sir William Payne Galway, who had been one of my Father’s most intimate friends.

I commenced at the very low salary of £40 per annum, which was all Mr Armit would allow any young beginner, because he had commenced his fortunate career as a clerk in the General Post Office under his uncle, Sir John Lees, the Secretary of that Department. Mr Armit, however, was a thrifty Scotchman, and continued to live respectably upon that small income until he obtained promotion and augmented wages, going on by degrees in the acquirement of wealth until he ultimately became one of the richest men in Dublin and an Army Agent.

Some years afterwards, one of his clerks, a single man, whose salary was £60 per annum, came to him and said “Sir, I hope you will increase my salary, for I find it impossible to live on £60 a year and to keep up such a respectable appearance as is necessary in such a situation”. Mr Armit smiled sarcastically and replied emphatically “Pray, Sir, how did I live upon £40 a year and save out of it ? At present I cannot increase your salary. If the situation does not suit you, you are quite at liberty to look for another”. This was an acknowledgement of his humble origin, which could hardly have been expected from so rich and so proud a man. To compensate me, however, for the smallness of my salary, at first he gave me a job, to be done in the evenings after office hours, which was to check the castings-up and balances of the Great Fair Cash Book, comparing it, item by item, with the daily cash books. That job occupied my evenings for about 3 months, for which Mr Armit paid me 10 guineas as extra.

I entered that military office just at the time when there was extraordinary bustle and excitement in the army, embarking for the continent previous to the Battle of Waterloo, which took place about 4 months after my commencing business there ¹. At that time too, the army retained in Ireland was very strong, for it was not known how soon another rebellion might break out there, as the Roman Catholics threatened to take advantage of England being again engaged in a foreign war, whereby their military power at home was of course greatly diminished. The militias throughout the United Kingdom were then all embodied, the Irish Regiments were sent to England in case civil war should break out in Ireland, when of course, the national troops could not be fully depended upon, whilst the English, Welch and Scotch regiments were transferred to Ireland as more suitable in case of necessity. These marchings and counter-marchings were, of course, productive of considerable trouble and expense, for there were but few, if any, steam vessels then afloat, and there were no such things as railroads thought of then.

A few months afterwards came the general peace, when the army was considerably reduced and the militias disbanded, which caused the Army Agents immense trouble in paying off the troops and giving marching or travelling allowances to the discharged soldiers and to their wives and children. In that business I was much employed, and became very useful and expert, and found it a continued source of excitement and amusement from the vast variety of characters with whom I had to deal, amongst whom I met with many highly distinguished veterans who had been through all the Peninsular Wars, and many of whom had bravely fought and nobly bled at Waterloo, from whom, as well as from the officers who led them on to victory and shared in all their danger and hardships, I heard many true and striking anecdotes of the war.

If ever there was an office peculiarly calculated to teach a youth gentlemanly manners and deportment, that was the one. Military men are always considered the most polished gentlemen (of course there are some exceptions, but “exceptions prove the rule”). Not only was I in constant and intimate converse with such who treat an Army Agent’s Clerk as if they were perfect gentlemen, but I had likewise frequent intercourse with high official persons in the War Office, Treasury, Bank of Ireland and also with many noble lords and ladies who used to visit Mr Armit on business, some of them being Colonels of Regiments in his agency, others only his private friends.

Mr. Armit himself was a most truly finished gentleman, and so was his nephew, Mr. Edington, who afterwards became a partner in the firm. In such a school of politeness, I acquired that ease of manner in all sorts of society which gives me even now (reduced as I am) the distinctive title of “The Old Gentleman”.

1816

Continued in the same situation, having my salary increased £5 per annum, which was to be done every succeeding year. Living with my Mother and spending my evenings in the society of my young friends and their accomplished sisters, my time passed very happily.

1817

This year my Brother John and I were both laid up with the Typhus Fever, caught from my Mother, who had taken the infection from my Aunt Wetherall. That disease was generally prevalent, and proved fatal to many throughout Ireland that year, and was accompanied by famine amongst the poorer classes, which cut off thousands.

1818

Early this year, my Sister Prudy accompanied her husband, Mr Birmingham, to the East Indies, he having been appointed as Assistant Surgeon to the 87^th Regiment of Foot (the celebrated Connaught Rangers, whose very appropriate Irish motto is “Fauch a Baullah”, the English of which is “Clear the way”). Mr Birmingham was himself a Connaught man, and was therefore quite at home amongst his fellow countrymen. How they comported themselves in India until his death I have fully related above.

This year also was remarkable to me on account of my Brother John quitting Ireland, coming to London, and sailing for South America to join the patriot troops under General Simon Bolivar, the real Liberator of his country, the provinces in South America, then writhing and groaning under the gauling yoke of Spain, who soon, however, shook it off entirely and established their independence. My Brother’s distinguished services in that noble cause I have fully detailed in this little book.

1819

This year Sunday Schools were first introduced into Ireland and commenced operations in Phibbsboro’. I was one of the first to offer, and give my gratuitous services in that good cause as a teacher, and very soon became conspicuous and zealous in that capacity. Being solicited to join the Committee, I was appointed their Secretary, which office I continued to hold with great credit to myself and complete satisfaction to the Committee and subscribers until I finally quitted Ireland in 1825. In that blessed employment of teaching the young and ignorant to read and understand the scriptures, in that holy office of “Feeding the Lambs” with “The Bread of Life”, I spent the happiest and most useful hours of my existence. It is truly said that “He who watereth shall be watered again himself”, for I learned and felt more of real christianity and true religion whilst thus engaged than ever I knew or experienced either before or since then.

Not contented with our labours on Sundays, we very soon established weekday evening schools in order to teach our scholars the more useful and practical branches of secular education, writing and arithmetic, which were not taught in the Sunday School. For want of sufficient funds, we were not able to pay a regular master and mistress to perform that duty, to compensate for which deficiency I undertook that troublesome office myself, and long continued the same with the aid of some pious ladies to attend to the girls.

You, my children, can have no correct idea of the difficulties and obstacles we had to contend with and overcome in carrying on this “labour of love”. All our scholars were poor, ignorant Roman Catholics, who had never had instruction of any sort, religious or otherwise. Although they were generally anxious to learn and their parents willing that we should teach them, their priests forbid them coming to the Protestant schools, harshly reproving and severely punishing their parents for permitting them to do so, and threatening to excommunicate them if they continued the same.

In spite of all this, the children would come to us whenever they could do so, but they were most awfully ignorant and stupid, and at the same time very wild and unmanageable, besides which many of the poor neglected creatures were very ragged and dirty. It therefore was no very easy or enviable task to teach them anything. Still, there were some very pleasing exceptions who received our instructions with avidity and efficacy, and who rapidly improved in learning, manners and appearance, which gave us encouragement to persevere with the others.

1820

This year brought into our neighbourhood the family of the Wades, consisting of 9 individuals, namely:

1^st Mrs. Wade, the widow of a clergyman, possessing a handsome private income and living most respectably. She was a perfect lady in manners and appearance, and a very talented and accomplished person, remarkably cheerful and agreeable in company;

2^nd Miss Wade, her sister-in-law, a truly pious woman, very plain in every respect but always affable and pleasing in her manners;

3^rd William Maxwell Wade, Mrs Wade’s eldest son. A fine, handsome lad then about 17 years old, apprenticed to surgeon Daniel, a cousin of his own and a very clever practitioner. Mr Wade was a lively, high-spirited and frolicksome young fellow, peculiarly cut out for his profession in which he made great progress and at length took out his Diploma in London and became an eminent doctor in Ireland¹;

4^th Jemima Matilda Wade, Mrs Wade’s eldest daughter. A most beautiful, fairy-like creature, adorned with every feminine grace and gifted with extraordinary talents for music, singing, drawing, dancing etc. She was then about 15, and though so young and buoyant in disposition, she was quite a woman in manners and conversation;

5^th Frederick Wade, her brother, a pale and delicate looking boy about 12 or 13 years old, very arch and clever, and an excellent scholar, who afterwards entered the church and held a good living in Staffordshire the last time I saw or heard anything of him, in 1838;

6^th Charles Wade, a handsome, elegant and interesting boy, then about 9 years old and so advanced in classical and scientific knowledge even then as to be fit to enter college had he been old enough. Gentlemanly and accomplished as he was, he would not wait ‘til he should be old enough for college, but taking a strange fancy for sea he resolved to be a sailor.

In order to cure him, if possible, of that propensity, his friends permitted him to indulge it and sent him out on a trial voyage in a merchant ship under a captain whom they knew, directing him to give Master Charles such a dose of hardship as might effectually sicken him of a seafaring life. Accordingly, he was made to scrub the decks and do every menial and dirty office. On the ship’s return to England, he made his escape, made his way to a cousin of his, a Mr Robinson, clerk at a large timber wharf in Pedlar’s Acre, who was much surprised to find that instead of being disgusted with a sailor’s life, he declared his determination to get into the navy.

With that view, he sought out Lord ____ ², captain of the “Valorous” Man of War, then fitting out and preparing to go to sea. He called at Lord ____ ‘s house one evening in his sailor’s clothes and asked to see his Lordship. The servants repulsed him roughly, saying that his Lordship could not see him then as he was at dinner and had a large party. To this Charles replied “Then I’ll wait ‘til his Lordship is at leisure”. The servants, however, wanted to turn him out, but he would not go. An altercation ensued in the hall, which Lord ____ hearing, came out to know what was the matter.

Charles advanced politely, making his best bow and saying “I have taken the liberty of calling upon you my Lord, hearing that your ship the “Valorous” is now fitting out, to know if you can give me a berth on board of her. Lord Huntingdon looked at the boy with astonishment and admiration, and was much struck with his handsome and intelligent features, and still more so with his noble bearing, elegant manners and correct mode of speaking, and said to him “You are a fine lad, but very young. What do you know about navigation ?”. “Why please your Lordship”, said Charles, “I have been out for one voyage to America”. Lord Huntingdon smiled and said “you could have learned but little in one short voyage”. He then asked Charles several questions about different parts of the ship and rigging, as well as about the compass bearings, course and mode of sailing according to the winds, to all of which questions the young sailor replied promptly and correctly, so as to prove that small as his opportunity had been, he had profited by it, and learned much that was useful in a very short time.

“Well my lad”, said his Lordship, “I think you would make a good sailor. I don’t know exactly whether my ship has completed her complement, if not I will give you a berth on board of her”. In order to apologise properly to his company and to account for his protracted absence from table, he took Charles in with him, introduced him to his friends, explained his object and qualifications, and seating him beside himself made him partake liberally of all the luxuries which abounded no doubt at the table of a nobleman when entertaining a large party.

True to his promises, the sailor Lord found a berth in his ship for Charles Wade, who was soon appointed as a Master’s Mate, eligible to an appointment as a Midshipman, which he speedily attained to, and having distinguished himself greatly in Portugal, leading the marines in some signal actions under Lord Hay, he was promoted again to a Lieutenantcy and at the same time was made a Captain in the Portugese service. His brilliant career was cut short in a desperate engagement with pirates on the coast of ____ in which poor Charles was killed, being then 1^st Lieutenant on board the “Samarang” ¹;

7^th Annie Wade was a nice pretty little girl about 7 years old;

8^th Betsy Wade, her sister, was a wild, rackety child a year or two younger;

9^th Thomas Wade was then a mere baby, 3 or 4 years old. He afterwards became a surgeon in the navy. I do not know whether he is living or dead now.

With this delightful family² I spent much of my time for the next 3 years. They were all remarkably fond of me, especially the lovely Jemima of whom, being so young, I had no tender or serious thoughts until she herself commenced a courtship by squeezing my hand under the table and pushing her elegant little foot expressively upon mine. Under such circumstances, I must have been more or less than man to have repulsed her innocent advances, or withheld my fond attachment from so truly charming and captivating a female as she was then. I accordingly became passionately fond of her. Her youth and apparent innocence rendered her attentions to me little worthy of notice by her mother, aunt or brothers, so that she would actually sit on my knee and play with me with as much childishness and simplicity outwardly, as either of her little sisters.

She possessed a most angelic voice and was taught singing and the piano by a very eminent musician, a Mr Walsh, who was extremely proud of his pupil and said she would make an exquisite singer. But her performances, both vocal and instrumental, were almost exclusively devoted to sacred compositions. Like Miss McCaul, she seldom sang or played anything but psalms, hymns or anthems, in which I and all her family used to join with heart and soul, to the great delight of her mother and aunt. We often went to church or chapel together, where her splendid voice was admired by all who heard it.

She used also to accompany me and her aunt to the Sunday School where it was really delightful to see so refined, so lovely and so accomplished a creature condescending to teach the poor, ragged and ignorant girls around her to read and comprehend the meaning of the scriptures. On such occasions she seemed like some guardian angel come from Heaven to impart “glad tidings” to sinners.

1821

George the 4^th visited Dublin, where he was most affectionately received by his Irish subjects. On the occasion of his public entry into that city, I paid £1 for a garret window in Sackville Street, the grand scene upon that day, and thought less of that pound then than I do now of one penny, so different are my circumstances now from what they were at that time. I likewise witnessed His Majesty’s embarkation at Kingstown, which was a most splendid sight indeed.

During the royal visit, my Aunt, Mrs Colonel Paumier, and her son, my Cousin Mun Noble, were in Dublin. I drew up a memorial from her to the King, claiming a pension as an officer’s widow, which I dropped into His Majesty’s carriage whilst waiting for him at the Viceregal Lodge in the Castle, Dublin, which I was enabled to do, as I had always then the “Privilege of Entré” there in my demi-official capacity of an Army Agent’s clerk.

To that memorial, she received a reply from the King stating that His Majesty regretted to find that she was not entitled to a pension as her late husband, Lt. Col. Paumier, had sold out entirely. Had he retired upon half-pay, she would have been eligible to receive the pension. All that she knew very well beforehand, but hoped to catch the monarch in a generous mood, when he might have ordered her some handsome gratuity, but George the 4^th was not in the habit of exercising his royal liberality in that way.

My Cousin was then a boy only 9 years old and appeared to be warmly attached to me.

Continuing still in the office of Armit & Borough, I was this year promoted to the situation of Deputy Cashier in consequence of the death of young Bagot, the previous clerk, who was a sort of relation of mine, through one of my aunts marrying an uncle of his. It was rather curious that there was another clerk in that office, a Mr McKenzie, who was also related to me, he having married a Miss Bagot, one of my cousins.

In that Situation of Deputy Cashier, the whole of the money passed through my hands, to the amount of at least £100,000 per month (or above one million annually)! And so, as I occupied that post for about 3 years, the sum which passed through my hands within that period was at least £3,600,000 and most probably four million pounds. This may appear extravagant and false in your estimation, but I assure you most solemnly that it is perfectly true.

About the 24^th of every month, my employers received from the Treasury, drafts on the Bank of Ireland for the monthly payment of the troops in that Country, amounting on the average to one hundred thousand pounds. Those drafts I took to the Bank, in payment whereof I received a certain quantity of £1 and 30s. bank notes, a certain portion of £5 and £10 notes, some £20, £30, £50 and £100 notes, with Bank Post Bills made payable to particular parties, and the balance in £500 notes, 40 or 50 of which I have had loose in my breeches pocket at a time.

The small notes we used to have in whole books of £100 each. These we used to pile up, one book across the other, in heaps 2 or 3 feet high. I then took as many notes as were required for one particular remittance whither to the headquarters of a regiment or to any of the outposts or detachments, which I cut across with a large, strong and sharp knife made for the purpose. The first halves of each parcel I made up in a large cover of cartridge paper, together with a printed form of a remittance letter to be returned with an acknowledgement by the officer to whom it was sent when the second halves were sent on. Those parcels, when so made up and directed, I took to the War Office, where they were franked by E Connor, the 1^st and principal clerk there. I then took them in a large blue bag to the Post Office, having a servant to carry the same. In case the Mail Coach was robbed, no uncommon occurrence in Ireland in those days, we could always recover the amount from the Bank on handing them over the other halves of the notes stolen, and this we often had to do.

1822

This year, I was accused by one of the clerks in the Bank of Ireland, a Mr Palmer, of receiving from him on one of those occasions a £10 note too much, which I certainly never did. But, he obstinately persisted in his assertion publicly in the bank, when I called him a liar and a coward openly, and afterwards wrote him a most intemperate letter, calling upon him for an apology for his false charge against me or otherwise to give me the satisfaction of a gentleman, else I should post him as a liar, a scoundrel and a coward. He took no notice of that letter, but the Bank of Ireland then entered an action against me on a Civil Bill Process for the £10.

My employers, fully convinced of my integrity, employed their own solicitors to defend me. The trial came on in the County Court before Serjeant (afterwards Judge) Torrens, who, to please the bank directors, charged the jury so unfairly that they found a verdict against me, my counsel, Mr Dunne, being a regular noodle. I immediately appealed to the Court of King’s Bench against that decision. Mr Philip Crampton, then a young counseller (now Chief Justice of Ireland), came forward and offered to plead my cause gratuitously, thinking I had been very unfairly dealt with. This he accordingly did, and gave the Bank of Ireland a pretty severe dressing for bringing such an action against me. The judges there, however, confirmed the decision of the inferior court, but the bank was ashamed to take any steps to enforce payment from me.

They, however, instigated Mr Palmer to file a Criminal Information against me for “Provoking him to fight a Duel”. Of that action I took little heed, thinking it would not be proceeded with, which it was to a certain extent. But I suffered judgement to go by default, not having pleaded, in consequence of which a Writ of Capias was issued against me, and I was arrested by a Sheriff’s Officer one evening on my way to the Post Office with the remittances. They were, however, very civil and allowed me to proceed and deposit my parcels in the Post Office. I then accompanied them to the Sheriff’s Prison, where I was locked up for the first and only time in Ireland, sending word to Mr Armit by the servant of what had occurred. My confinement, however, was but temporary and brief (only two days), until I could provide security that I should appear in the Court of King’s Bench to receive judgement when called upon to do so. So soon then as I got our landlord, Mr Birch and another party, Mr Murphy, to become my sureties, I was liberated, and glad enough I was to get out of that dismal and uncomfortable place.

Whilst I was in prison, I was greatly surprised and flattered by a visit from Mr Armit himself, for it was a mark of great favor and regard in so rich and proud a man as he was to condescend to visit one of his clerks in a prison. In coming through the dark dirty back streets which led to my place of confinement, the old gentleman had unfortunately fallen down. His white waistcoat, trousers and coat were poluted with mud, which I wiped off with a clean towel, and he bore the misfortune with true philosophy and without one angry word or reproof towards me, the cause of his mishap. He came to console me in my trouble and to offer me any assistance I might require, but the next day I was at large and attending to my duties as usual. Mr Palmer, or rather the bank directors never pressed for judgement against me, but agreed to drop all proceedings on my paying part of their costs, which my employers did for me.

That unpleasant affair, however, annoyed and unsettled me greatly, and first suggested the idea of a long journey to amuse me, which was still further rendered advisable by the manner in which I was treated by Mrs Wade, and by her lovely daughter, Jemima, at her mother’s instigation.

The fact was that Mrs Wade had become warmly attached to me herself, and wanted me to marry her, saying that Jemima was too young and would not suit me so well as herself, but to such arguments I turned a deaf ear. Therefore, to get her daughter out of the way, the mother gave encouragement to the attachment for Jemima professed by a young man, William Carlisle, a fellow apprentice of William Wade. He was an East Indian by birth, possessed of some property, a very great fop and fool, as his subsequent conduct proved. He was very dark in complexion with a meagre face and figure, his only recommendation being that he was fashionable and extravagant in dress and manners, and was very gallant and a good dancer.

At first, he was an object of absolute ridicule to Jemima, but by degrees she became more reconciled towards him, at the suggestion of her subtil parent who at length persuaded that lovely and gifted little fairy to marry that mere wooden doll, for whom she had no affection. Although her mother said she was too young for me, she did not think her too young for him. The loss of Jemima’s friendship and affections (for I know she loved me) grieved me deeply, though I would not show it, and instead of transferring my attentions from the daughter to the mother, I took an actual dislike to her and refrained from visiting the family as I had long been accustomed to do.¹

Miss Wade, the aunt, was also, I believe, tenderly attached to me and would willingly have married me, but, although I esteemed her greatly for her excellent qualities, I could feel no warmer sentiments towards her than a very sincere friendship, always considering her rather in the light and character of a nun (so sanctified and demure was she) rather than as an eligible wife.

1823

Influenced by the foregoing events, I resolved to try the effect of travelling to divert my mind from dwelling too much upon those disagreeable subjects, which I was the more disposed to do in consequence of my Cousin, Susan Clement, having made me a present of £100 which I did not know what to do with, being a single man living with his mother and having settled employment, a good salary and excellent prospects. For had I continued quietly where I was then, and lived in that employment until now, there can be no manner of doubt but that I should now have been a wealthy man, and perhaps even a partner in that house where I should now have been engaged for above 40 years.

Knowing how much I was esteemed by my employers, and how very useful I was to them, and at the same time thinking it unlikely that they would spare me and grant me leave of absence even for a week, I very foolishly ventured to start off without asking leave, sending a note to Mr Armit stating that “important family business rendered it necessary for me to go over to England for a few days, and hoping he would kindly excuse my short absence”. Supposing that excuse would make all things right, off I set with a light heart to pay a visit to my Cousin, Mun Noble, at his residence in Egremont, Cumberland. I went by steam packet from Dublin to Liverpool, never having been at sea before and being perfectly free from sea-sickness on my first voyage, of course as a cabin passenger in those days.

I enjoyed it greatly, and when I landed at Liverpool I was equally astonished and gratified on seeing the many capacious and splendid docks and warehouses even then in existence in that large and prosperous town (and what must they be now after 33 years of improvement and increased commercial intercourse), crowded with a multitude of large ships and valuable goods from all ports of the habitable globe. The large, commodious and well regulated markets likewise excited my warm admiration, and I was particularly struck and pleased with the neatness and cleanliness of the Lancashire Witches, in their nice little white jackets and black petticoats, who attended the stalls there, so very different from the dirty, slovenly females I was accustomed to see in the Dublin markets. Everything was new and agreeable to me, and gave me a favourable impression in favor of the English habits, customs and people, which was increased and confirmed the more I saw and the further I went.

Putting up at the Head Inn, the Saracen’s Head in Dale St., because from thence started the coach I was to proceed by, being hungry after my voyage, I called for bread and cheese and ale, which the waiter brought directly. When I said “Where’s the butter please”, “Butter, Sir! Butter Sir!” said the waiter, in astonishment. “Yes, butter, to be sure” said I. “Do you suppose I am going to eat cheese with dry bread ?” Of course he brought the butter immediately, and stood staring with wonder, whilst I spread it thickly on my bread, as is the invariable practice in Ireland.

In my journey from Liverpool to Whitehaven, I passed through Westmorland and the whole of the Lake District of Cumberland, and, it being then the height of summer, I was highly delighted with the splendid scenery, particularly Windermere Lake, which is very extensive and beautiful indeed, especially near the picturesque little village of Ambleside. The stage coach travelled for miles along the margin of that Lake, in whose placid waters the verdant hills, the leafy trees, the bold rocks and the sweet little islands were faithfully reflected together with the splendid “blue, etherial sky”, and the fairy-like little boats gliding over the smooth surface.

In Cumberland, the character of the scenery was more varied. Some of the lakes were soft and gentle in their aspect, whilst others were wildly grand and imposing in their features, surrounded with lofty and rugged mountains, and craggy rocks, whilst others were embosomed in soft hills covered with trees. No wonder that such scenes should inspire a talent for poetry in those who dwell amidst them.

On reaching Egremont, I was most joyfully received and most warmly welcomed by my Cousin and his truly hospitable mother, who did all in their power to make me happy and comfortable, taking me to see all the most admired scenery around them, especially the celebrated Lake of Buttermere and its neighbour Crummock Lake, on which we had a boat to take us to the stupendous waterfall of Scale Force where the stream comes down in one broad sheet from a rock about 100 feet in height.

My Aunt, Mrs Colonel Paumier, was always an excellent cook, and taxed her ingenuity in that line to pamper me with some of her delicious home-made dishes, every day varying the same and adding her exquisite pies and puddings. This luxurious diet, to which I had not been accustomed, together with an unusual quantity of wine and spirits, which she and my Cousin insisted on my drinking, brought on an attack of rheumatic gout (the only one I ever had in my life) which settled in my leg and foot and totally disabled me from walking for several days.

In this dilemma, I wrote to my employer, Mr Armit, in Dublin telling him I was unable to travel and sending him a doctor’s certificate to prove that fact, and hoping to be soon better and return to my duty. I received an answer telling me that my situation was filled up and that I need not hurry myself home. This was a thunder stroke to me, but still, I flattered myself that on my arrival in Dublin I should soon be able to put all to right again and to resume my post and occupation.

In that expectation I was unfortunately disappointed, for Mr Armit would not reinstate me because I had been “absent without leave”, a very serious offence in a military establishment which could not be overlooked or excused, least a bad example might be followed by others. This necessity he much regretted as he liked me much and would have put me forward advantageously. But, having once dismissed me for such a fault, nothing could induce him to take me back again. This he declared, almost with tears, to a gentleman of rank and property, a friend of my Father’s who waited upon him and endeavoured to obtain a reversal of that harsh sentence, as did also my kind friend, Counsellor Crampton.

“There is a tide in the affairs of men

Which taken at the flood leads on to fortune”

Had I steadily continued my employment in that excellent office, there can be no doubt but that my fortune would have been made.

Having thus foolishly sacrificed such advantages, and being unable to get another situation in Dublin to suit me, I began to think of coming to London, to cut out fresh fortunes in some other line, or to follow up the same in a better sphere of action.

With this view, I set about preparing myself for other occupations by the diligent study of other branches of education. I therefore placed myself under the tuition of a distinguished scholar of Trinity College Dublin, a Mr Jephson, who afterwards became a Doctor of Divinity, a Fellow of that University, and I believe even Provost of the same. Under his auspices, I re-commenced my study of the Latin language, in which I made rapid progress and was soon engaged in translating into English the “Bello Gallico”, or Gallic War, of Julius Caesar. At the same time, I followed up my study of the French language, without the assistance of any tutor, and translated into English several books of “Telemache” (or Telemachou), a most beautiful and interesting work. I likewise resolved to perfect myself in the critical knowledge of English grammar and studied deeply the larger edition of Muny’s excellent work on that subject, and his English exercises, aided by the key to the publication.

Not content with these branches, I applied myself most seriously to the acquirement of scientific knowledge under the able tuition of a most celebrated Professor of Mathematics, Mr William McMinany, who had been the Mathematical Master of the Royal Hibernian School for many years, with whom I commenced the study of algebra, Euclids’ elements, comprising geometry, trigonometry, plane and spherical, conic sections, etc. I likewise applied myself to acquiring a knowledge of geography, the use of the globes, the construction of maps, astronomy, navigation, mensuration or surveying, and fortification and gunnery, all which I found to be quite easy and agreeable instead of difficult and irksome, as most persons consider them, and my rapid progress in those studies afforded the Old Gentleman, my tutor, the greatest pleasure and pride. My reasons and object in acquiring a knowledge of these useful branches of education were my intentions of trying for employment in different lines should I fail in one or more when I should get to London.

Those objects were: first, to become a missionary to the Jews, and to join my dear friend, the Reverend Alexander McCaul, in that pious work at Warsaw in Poland, where he had been stationed for some years with his family, and had been very successful in converting many Jews to Christianity. I kept up my correspondence with him whilst there and he was very desirous that I should go out and aid him in so doing.

Secondly, in case I should not succeed in my first object, I meant to “memorial” the King, George the 4^th, for an appointment in some government office or department in London, Dublin or any other part of the United Kingdom, or even in any of the most distant colonies, on the grounds of my strong claims to consideration and remuneration for the long and faithful services of my Father in government employ, my Uncle, Lt. Col. Paumier, in active foreign and home service, and of my other uncle, General Twentyman, and the fact of his having expended 5000 Guineas in the purchase of his commission. For all which, I should not claim any pecuniary recompense or equivalent (though justly entitled thereto) but only some office under government where my zealous services would merit and repay the salary I might receive.

Thirdly, in case I should likewise fail in that object, I meant to call upon Sir Richard Borough, Mr Armit’s partner, for his recommendation, and also on General Sir William Payne Galway, who had procured for me my former employment, to use his influence with Messrs. Cox & Greenwood, the great Army Agents in London, to give me employment in their extensive establishment.

Fourthly, supposing I might not succeed in any of the foregoing objects, it was my intention to enlist in the East India Company’s Service, or obtain a berth in some East India ship, for the purpose of getting out to that country where the Marquis of Hastings (an intimate friend of my Father’s) was then Governor General, under whose patronage I expected to obtain some good appointment, civil or military, and to make my fortune there.

1824

With such encouraging hopes as I have explained above, I continued my studies steadily and made very satisfactory progress therein.

I also visited my Sister Fanny and her family at Cromartin in the County of Louth, where I had been before on several occasions, and afterwards accompanied my Cousin, Susan Clement, in a voyage to the Isle of Man, where her mother, my aunt, resided. There I enjoyed myself greatly in making a tour round the whole Island and visiting every town and lane worthy of notice, mounted on a rough little Manx pony which carried me safely “up hill and down dale”, over wild heaths and mountains. The town and castle of Peel I had seen and visited on my way to Douglas. Castletown and Ramsay I found my way to, with Kirk-Michel and other small places, besides the Point of Age (where I entered and inspected the Light House), and many other striking objects, and felt greatly interested in examining the ruins of castles, churches, etc., and other relics of antiquity.

Having stopped about a week in the Isle of Man, we proceeded by a steam packet to Whitehaven, and thence to Egremont, where we received a hearty welcome from my Aunt and Cousin, and where we spent another week. We then started for Dublin on board a collier ship as we could not get a direct passage by steam. My Cousin, Miss Clement, had the Captain’s cabin for her sole use, and I slept in a sailor’s berth.

I well remember the evening we sailed. The weather was calm, the sky splendidly streaked with crimson and purple clouds at sunset, and the sea gently undulating and reflecting the glorious skies. Our ship was one amongst a fleet of about 50 sail of colliers which had been detained at Whitehaven, Workington and Maryport for some time by contrary winds, but, the wind having now shifted to a better point, they had all taken advantage of it and were coming down the channel in full sail, for it was almost a calm. Before we had been long at sea, however, matters were altered. The wind commenced blowing in fierce and frequent squalls, and the sea became very turbulent. The symptoms of foul weather were rapidly aggravated until it blew a perfect hurricane, and the sea ran mountains high.

The wind drove us towards the rocky shores where we distinctly heard the fearful roaring of the waves and saw the white mountains of surf. In this way we were tossed about all night, but in the morning we were enabled to run into Holyhead, then a very dangerous harbour, as was evident by the wrecks of 3 vessels in different parts, which I saw by mounting the ladders, and which were soon broken up by the destructive power of the waves.

Many other ships, as well as ours, availed themselves of the precarious shelter which Holyhead afforded, but, the wind continuing strong and right against our course to Dublin, we were windbound there for about 3 weeks, hoping every tide for a favorable change to enable us to prosecute our voyage. That tedious delay was very irksome.

In the daytime I went ashore into the little town to market, and there procured, at very low prices, fine fat geese and other poultry, as well as the small but delicious legs of real Welch mutton. I likewise made an excursion across the long and narrow bridge, or dam, which at that time united the islands of Holyhead and Anglesea, through which the ebbing tide rushed with frightful violence, threatening every moment to demolish the strong barrier which partially confined and separated “the waters from the waters”. I also made a toilsome ascent of the very highest rocky mountain in the neighbourhood, on the summit of which I built up an obelisk with loose fragments of rock, on which I placed a stick with a handkerchief as a flag to mark where I had been.

At length, the wind changed and we proceeded without any other interruption to Dublin, where I spent the remainder of that my last year in Ireland, 1824, in alternate study and pleasure. Our landlady, Mrs Birch, who was exceedingly fond of me owing to my zealous and fearless efforts to sustain the existence, extend the influence, and promote the usefulness and prosperity of our Sunday and daily schools, that lady gave large and frequent parties, at which she would always have me.

In the meantime, the beautiful Jemima, then Mrs Carlisle, had disgraced herself and her family by eloping with a Captain Veitch (an intimate friend of her late Father’s, who had actually nursed him when an infant), leaving her silly cuckold of a husband to his fate. He blustered a good deal about it at first, and set off in pursuit of the fugitives with loaded pistols, vowing vengeance. But, when he overtook them and found his wife actually sitting on her seducer’s knee, he began to blubber like a child, saying “Come home with me Jemima and I will forgive and forget what you have done”. “Never, fool”, she replied. “I never loved you, but now I despise and hate you. There is my ring, take it away. I consider myself now as no longer your wife, but place myself under the protection of Captain Veitch”. After this rebuff, the dastardly husband sneaked out of the room with his loaded pistols still in his hand, and without attempting to molest the man who had debauched his wife, or that wife herself, instead of shooting both, in which case he could only have been found guilty of manslaughter and punished by a brief imprisonment. He afterwards enlisted in the East India Company’s service, instead of following up his profession as a surgeon, went abroad and died not long after that.

She, the fair but frail Jemima, after living for some years with Captain Veitch, by whom, I believe, she had several children, she left him (for what cause I know not), became sincerely penitent for her errors, and went to reside with her brother, the Reverend Frederick Wade, in Staffordshire, where she still remained the last time I heard of her.

When she behaved so ill, I naturally ceased to have any regard for her and transferred my attachment to a really lovely, amiable and virtuous young lady, a Miss Russell, who was then on a visit to our landlady, Mrs. Birch, next door to my own residence. She was really worthy of the love, esteem and friendship of the best men that ever lived. Indeed, she was a perfect pattern of true modesty, steadiness, good sense and religion, as well as just admirable for her feminine beauty and grace. She was the heiress to considerable property, whilst I was then without any employment, dependent upon the generosity of my friends, and very uncertain as to my future prospects and line of conduct, and as to whether there would be a necessity for my going abroad or not. Under such circumstances, of course I could not make any suitable proposals to a young lady of such extraordinary pretensions. I therefore endeavoured to conceal my regard towards her, but it was impossible that she or any one of experience who saw us together in company could be long blind to my attachment, which was one of rather deep respect and reverence than anything like obtruding or presumptuous. We used to meet frequently at the Sunday school, she being a most truly zealous and exemplary teacher, as well as a member of the committee, whose meetings I always attended as Secretary, and whose objects and resolutions I, in a great measure, influenced and regulated. We likewise attended the same chapel generally, where her correct deportment and sincere piety were noticed and admired by the wisest and best.

We had but little conversation, seldom touched each other, and rarely even exchanged glances, yet I flattered myself that she was partial towards me, and that if I had been in a position to declare my sentiments openly and to claim the honor of her hand she would not have refused me. In fact, I was given to understand as much by Mrs. Birch and others, but was so unhappily situated that I could not make an avowal of my attachment or expect any marked encouragement from her. Thus matters continued to the end of that year when we had the annual public meeting of the subscribers and friends of the Phibbsboro’ Sunday and daily school, at which my report and speech obtained me great commendation.

1825

I now began seriously to prepare for my departure for England by resigning my office as Secretary to the schools, on which occasion I read a letter from my successor “pro tem”, Mr Johnston, containing a Resolution of the Committee to the following effect:

“Resolved unanimously that we (the Committee of the Phibbsborough Sunday and Daily Schools) have received with deep regret the resignation of our zealous and talented Secretary, Mr M W Paumier, who for several years, and under trying circumstances and obstacles has so ably and satisfactorily fulfilled the duties of his office. We therefore beg to express towards him our sincere approbation for the same, our warmest esteem and our very best wishes for his health, happiness and prosperity, wherever it may be with will of providence to fix his future lot”.

In acknowledgement as so flattering a testimonial, I wrote a farewell address in poetry to the committee, teachers and scholars of that school, together with a profile of myself (a facsimile of the one you have often seen), which was both framed and glazed and hung up in the school room for some years afterwards.

As to Miss Russell, I sent her a little present, or keepsake, through Mrs Birch, being an elegant edition of “Doctor Gregory’s Legacy to his Daughters”, beautifully bound with marginal notes and observations of mine, and a respectful dedication to my lovely and amiable young friend whom I never saw more, but who, my Mother informed me, seemed to grieve for my absence and did not live long.

I collected all the best testimonials I could obtain to establish my character for industry, integrity, experience, ability and correctness of conduct:–

1^st from my late employers, Messrs Armit & Borough, after above 8 years faithful service in their office as a clerk;

2^nd from my landlord, Mr Birch (a most highly respectable man), as having known me from my infancy as steady, diligent and religious;

3^rd from the excellent and truly pious minister, the Reverend B. W. Mathias, whose chapel (the Bethesda) I had attended for many years, as to my regular attendance, devout behaviour and Christian conduct;

4^th from the Reverend A. McCaul, recommending me most strongly to the London Society for Promoting Christianity amongst the Jews;

5^th from the Committee of our School, as given above; and

6^th from Mr. William McMenemy, Professor of Mathematics, as to the branches of science I had studied under him, and the satisfactory progress I had made therein.

Furnished with such documents, provided with abundance of good clothes, books and other requisites, as well as about £50 in money, I quitted my native home and country, and bid adieu to my Mother and friends on the 25^th January 1825. I sailed from Dublin to Liverpool, where I made no material stoppage, but proceeded across the Mersey to Birkenhead, thence on to Chester, etc., until I reached Bridgenorth, where I spent a few days with my Aunt King and her husband, Major King, and on the 30^th January 1825, I arrived for the first time in London, having come through Oxford, etc., when my heart seemed to expand with joyfulness and hope.

I was greatly struck with the crowds in the streets, in comparison with Dublin, the great number, variety and neatness of the vehicles, and the profusion and splendour of the goods which appeared in the elegant and well lighted shops, as we passed through Oxford St. and Holborn on our way to the Saracen’s Head on Snow Hill, where I stopped that night about 10 o’clock and, hearing the Clock of St. Sepulchre’s close by strike, I guessed it to be St. Paul’s.

Before going to bed, I walked out for a while and found my way to St. Paul’s, Temple Bar, the Strand, Fleet St., Ludgate Hill, the Old Baily, Newgate, the Compter, and Smithfield Market, etc. Then, having had my supper, I went to rest and slept very soundly after my long journey to London.

January 31^st: After breakfast, I sallied out on a voyage of discovery without compass, chart or pilot, and made my way to St. Paul’s again, which I entered and went entirely through from the crypt or vaults below up to and into the very ball itself, and closely inspected the monuments.

I then proceeded down Ludgate Hill and through “Fleet Market”, which was then in existence, the narrowness and dirtiness of which gave me rather an unfavourable opinion of the London Markets. Seeing a bridge (Blackfriars) at a little distance, I visited it and there and then for the first time saw the noble River Thames. Passing over the bridge into Surrey, and seeing a large stone building right before me in the distance, I imagined it was one of the royal palaces and made my way to it, but found to my disappointment that it was only Bedlam Hospital.

Knowing no better, I returned up the Blackfriars Road and back over the bridge to Fleet St., along which I went to and through Temple Bar, after visiting the Temple outside and inside, and old St. Dunstan’s Church, where the curious figures used to strike the hours on a bell.

I then passed along the Strand to Charing Cross and on past the Admiralty, Horseguards, and Whitehall to Westminster Hall, Abbey and bridge, which latter was then furnished and adorned with its alcoves or niches, where the wonderful echo was said to exist. I entered Westminster Hall and visited the House of Commons and the House of Lords, where I would have sat upon the Throne and the Woolsack if I had been allowed to do so.

I then went all through Westminster Abbey and inspected the various monuments of the good, the wise and the brave. On my return, I went into St. James’s Park where I saw St. James’s Palace and old Buckingham House, the scite (sic) of new Buckingham Palace which was then a dull heavy brick building, more like some old manor house than a Palace for Royalty to dwell in ¹. Thus, I passed my first day in London and found out all these things without asking anyone for a direction all the time. Next day I bought a map of London (“The Stranger’s Guide”) at Wallis’s on Snow Hill, which I examined minutely and by which I was enabled to make out a regular route for every following day, so that I soon made myself acquainted with the main features of the town and could readily find my way to every public place of importance. Within one month after my arrival here I knew London better than most persons who have been born and lived all their lives in this vast metropolis.

Not wishing to continue at the Saracen’s Head, I sought out my friend, John Moore, with whom I had become acquainted at Wades’, to whom he was a sort of tutor. He was preparing to go out as a missionary and teacher under the celebrated traveller and missionary in China, Reverend Doctor Morrisson, who was about to found an Anglo-Chinese College at Canton. It was a very curious fact that John Moore was actually born in China, his father being an Englishman, and his mother a native of Portugal. His features were very outlandish and his complexion almost as dark as a mulatto’s. He was, however, an excellent scholar, had passed through Trinity College, Dublin and was a truly pious, humble, zealous and amiable dispositioned Christian, well fitted for the situation and employment to which he was going.

I found him lodging at a Mrs Doroman’s, No. 3 Charlotte Street, Bloomsbury, (which has since been altered to Bloomsbury Street) a highly respectable house and street. There, however, I stopped but a very short time, finding the charges too heavy for the accommodation, viz. half a guinea per week for the use of a little bed (a second bed being in the same room in which Moore slept) in a mean little back garrett, with a privilege of breakfasting only in the parlour, and seeing any friends or visitors there on business, which I had no occasion ever to do. Yet my Landlady charged 2/- [two shillings] per week extra for coals, wood and candles, 1/- per week for my boots being cleaned and for bread, milk, butter, etc. for my breakfast; I found that I was charged most exorbitantly. “This” thinks I to myself “will never do. I must get some quiet and cheap lodging a little way out of town and purchase my own provisions”. This I accordingly did without delay, and pitched my tent with Miss Syers at No. 14 Hercules Buildings, Lambeth, where I paid 5/- a week for a very nice, respectably furnished front parlour, entirely to myself, where I found my own fuel and bought whatever I required at its proper price.

The situation was respectable, quiet, open and airy (for at that time there was on the opposite side of the road a large garden and extensive playground, etc. attached to a large boarding school surrounded by a low wall and high trees) and the distance from many parts of town was very moderate. There I consequently felt myself at home and comfortable, and there I continued for several months.

According to the resolutions and plans which I had formed before quitting Ireland, as explained above, I made my first application to “The London Society for Promoting Christianity amongst the Jews”, enclosing those very creditable testimonials, as described above, and in consequence was directed to attend, with many other candidates, for examination at a general meeting of the committee at their offices, then in Wardrobe Place, Doctors Commons, which of course I did, but failed to be elected because I was so backward in learning. There were just then many young men, students from Oxford and Cambridge colleges, thoroughly qualified for immediate employment as missionaries, coming forward to offer their services, to whom, of course, the preference was given.

My next application was made by memorial to the Duke of York, then Commander in Chief at the Horseguards, fully stating my claim to compensation or an appointment on account of the public and military services of my family and the expenditure of 5000 guineas by my Uncle, the late General Samuel Twentyman, in the purchase of his commissions, etc. To that memorial I had a speedy answer from the Duke of York, not questioning or disputing the correctness of my claim, but referring me to His Majesty, the King. To him, George the 4^th, I then immediately applied by another memorial, stating that I had been referred to His Majesty by the Duke of York, and, had I, at that time, possessed any court or parliamentary interest in my behalf, there can be no doubt but that I should have succeeded and attained my object.

I was soon, however, favored with an acknowledgement of the receipt of my memorial by the King, stating that I would receive an answer “through the Lord of the Treasury”, which I understood to signify that my claim would be granted, either by a pecuniary recompense, a pension or an official appointment. But, after waiting a reasonable time for the same, I applied to Lord Liverpool, then First Lord of the Treasury and Premier, on the subject, from whom I at length received the ultimatum, saying that “there were no funds from which they could advise His Majesty to grant me the required compensation”. This I followed up by a second memorial to the King, most respectfully stating that it was not so much a pecuniary recompense or equivalent for the loss our family had sustained by the expenditure of so large a sum by my Uncle, General Twentyman, as an official appointment, which I consequently required and expected. To that application I had soon a final answer, saying that “the claim was then obsolete and inadmissible, as it ought to have been proferred many years previously”.

Having failed in these, my two first and favourite objects, I applied myself to my third, trying to get a situation in the office of Messrs. Cox & Greenwood, the Army Agents for which my 8 years experience in Armit & Borough’s office, similar to theirs, proved me to be properly qualified. I therefore got from them the then present address of General Sir William Payne Galway, which was “Bure Homage”, near Christchurch, Hampshire, to which I did not write but made a journey, passing through and stopping awhile in Portsmouth, whence I proceeded by a small sailing vessel to Christchurch. During that pleasant trip, we passed a large fleet of war[ships] then exercising off the coast, where the weather, being calm, they had every ray of canvas set, and presented a most splendid sight of at least 20 sail of the line following each other, and all in full sail. We also passed near to the beautiful Isle of Wight and saw the celebrated and dangerous rocks, the Needles, at no great distance.

I readily found my way to “Bure Homage” and had an interview with Sir William Payne Galway, who received me very politely, as the son of his old and esteemed friend “Paumier”, and who at once furnished me with his strongest recommendation to his agents, Cox & Greenwood, which was no slight thing, as he was then Colonel of a Dragoon Regiment, and Army Agents will do all they can to oblige such parties, so that I flattered myself with hopes of complete success there.

Being highly delighted with Christchurch and its environs, I stopped there a few days, and amused myself with excursions along the coast and towards the interior parts of Hampshire, as well as in frequent visits to the very ancient and picturesque old church, in which I found many interesting monuments, and in the churchyard of which I stumbled over others, many of which I copied into a little book like this which I preserved for many years, and in which were many interesting sketches of tombs, crosses, ruins, churches, castles, bridges, etc. One curious epitaph which I found in Christchurch Burial Ground I have ever since preserved in my memory, and it was this:

“We were not slain, but raised

Raised not to life

But to be buried thrice

By men of strife

What use could the living have

When the dead had none

Agree among you

Here we three are one”

I never obtained any explanation of this strange inscription, but I understood it to mean that the bodies or remains of 3 persons, most probably remarkable for their extreme religious or political opinions and conduct, perhaps on the side of royalty, had been exhumed or disinterred by parties of opposite tenents, followers most likely of Oliver Cromwell, as an indignity offered to their memory, which 3 bodies or remains had been re-interred in one heap and grave by their friends.

The first day I stopped at the Head Inn in Christchurch, being then in garb and purse a gentleman at large. The landlady came into the parlour to me with a very low curtsey, saying: “Please, Sir, what would you like for dinner?”. “Well”, said I “I am not very particular, but this fine country air gives me a good appetite, and I think I could not fancy anything better than a very nice rump steak, with any little addition you may think proper”. Accordingly, on my return I was served with an abundant supply of some of the finest rump steak cooked in the most exquisite manner, after which the landlady herself brought me a large dish of what she called “flitters”, but more properly “fritters” or small fried cakes of flour, eggs, milk and currants, covered with powdered lump sugar and rendered still more palatable, if possible, by having a little lemon juice squeezed over them. I don’t think I ever ate so hearty a dinner before, or one I so much enjoyed, for I had come in very hungry, was in rude health after my long journies, voyage and sea air, and was likewise in excellent spirits and full of the highest hopes for the future. That good dinner, I diluted with plenty of fine old country ale and qualified afterwards with several tumblers of very nice rum punch. My tea was also excellent and accompanied with plenty of nice cakes, toast and shrimps, etc., and my supper I made of cold roast turkey, etc., and I retired to a luxurious bed at a reasonable hour.

Next morning at breakfast, I was supplied with an abundance and variety of cold meat, game, poultry, pies, eggs, toast and with superb coffee, tea, cream, etc. In that style I enjoyed myself at Christchurch for two or three days, and to the great astonishment of the landlady invariably ordered the same dinner of rump steak and currant “flitters”, etc.

On my return towards town, I stopped 2 or 3 days more at Portsmouth, being provided with a letter of introduction from my brother-in-law and first Cousin, Dixie Clement, to Lieutenant Tiphook of the Royal Navy, who was then Secretary to the Port Admiral at Portsmouth, requesting him to give me, should I require it, a letter of recommendation to his brother, Mr Tiphook, who had been many years Chief Clerk in the immense establishment of “Lackington – the great Bookseller” at the corner of Finsbury Square, soliciting him to obtain for me employment in that grand concern.

Lieutenant Tiphook received me with much politeness and informed me that his brother was dead, and that Lackington had retired from business some years previously. He then presented me with a note to the 1^st Lieutenant on board the “Victory”, Nelsons last ship, a first rate Man of War mounting 120 guns, then lying in Portsmouth Harbour, fully manned and equipped, and also a pass or order to inspect every part of the dockyard, and of these I very gladly availed myself, as they were things I had long anxiously wished to see. Therefore, taking a boat, I went on board the “Victory”, where I was received with great attention in consequence of the note I brought from the Secretary of the Port Admiral, an Officer of very great importance there. I was most politely shewn over every part of that noble ship, the cabins, gun room, armoury, and touched the brass plate let into the deck, on the very spot where Nelson received his mortal wound and fell, to rise no more on earth, on which circular plate or ring are inscribed the words of that immortal hero on that occasion (the Battle of Trafalgar) so well known and soften repeated:

“England expects every man to do his duty”

I also visited the cockpit, and saw the very spot where he expired, from which I brought a piece of sea biscuit, which I kept as a sacred relic for many years.

I was then hospitably entertained by the officers in the state cabin and, being warmly excited by the thoughts of the truly gallant admiral and the evidence of his heroism which surrounded me, and encouraged by the frankness and attention of the “Hearts of Oak”, whose guest I then was, I volunteered to sing “The Death of Nelson” where he actually died. I either acquitted myself with peculiar expression and emphasis on that occasion, or got credit for doing so as a compliment, for the officers and men absolutely cheered me loudly and drank my health with all the honors, etc.

My next visit was to the dockyard, every part of which I minutely examined, and was highly gratified by the sight of large ships of war on the stocks, the foundry for shot, shells, etc., the huge anchor forges, and the beautiful machinery for sawing, planing and cutting out the block, pullies, sheaths, etc.

My last trip was across the harbour to Gosport, when I went to Haslar Hospital to see my Uncle, Lieutenant Childers Twentyman of the Royal Marines, as stated above.

I had almost forgotten to tell with what interest and admiration I examined the fortifications of Portsmouth (the best and most powerful in England), especially as I had some little knowledge of the science of fortification, and could therefore understand the names, objects and uses of all the different parts, such as the ramparts, the bastions, the curtains, the scarp, counterscarp, glacis, covered way, redouts, bonnets, lunettes, etc., etc. Having followed up the same style of living at Porstmouth as at Christchurch, but probably drinking more of stimulant liquors, as I made acquaintance with a very agreeable person, a German named Ecobard, or some such name, a pianoforte maker from London, who put up at the same Inn as I did, the Black Swan, with whom I sat chattering and drinking much later than usual.

On my return to London, I was attacked with a serious complaint, a general tendency to fever and inflammation and a breaking out of large pimples or boils in several parts of my body, which however I soon subdued and recovered from by copious doses of salts and moderate diet, etc.

Returning to my old quarters in Hercules Buildings, the rent of which I paid for the time I had been absent, I soon became acquainted with your Mother, then Phoebe Gargrave, a lively, healthy, hearty girl about 16 years of age, to whom I speedily grew much attached, and who became the frequent companion and solace of my otherwise solitary hours, as she lived in the same house with me. This attachment was mutual and gradually ripened and increased until we became united.

In the meantime, I made my intended application to Messrs. Cox & Greenwood, backed by the very strong recommendations of my kind friend and patron, General Sir William Payne Galway, and Sir Richard Borough, Mr Armit’s partner. But all in vain, Cox & Greenwoods answer being that “on the necessary reduction of this establishment at the peace, they had parted with many of their experienced clerks whom they were bound to take back as opportunities occurred, and of course they could not make room for a stranger” however well qualified or strongly recommended he might be. This was a settler for me, the justice and propriety of which nobody could reasonably dispute.

I now therefore again turned my attention to my fourth object, that of getting out to India, although I found that the Marquis of Hastings, who had been Governor General there, had resigned that appointment and was then in London, rather in difficulty and disgrace with the Government, owing to some mismanagement or misunderstanding about “the Deccan Prize Money”, although no one suspected or accused him of any selfish, secret or mercenary object in his conduct. I therefore resolved to solicit his interest with and recommendation to influential parties in India in case I should go there, that I might, through such means, obtain some appointment, civil or military, as a stepping-stone whereby I might be enabled to proceed to ultimate rank, riches and happiness.

I accordingly wrote most respectfully to the Marquis of Hastings, reminding him of the close intimacy and friendship which had subsisted between him and my Father, as well as with my Uncle, General Twentyman, in proof whereof I enclosed to him several letters of his own to my Father professing the warmest friendship, and others from my Uncle to my Father mentioning Lord Moira (as he then was) as their mutual friend and companion, and on which account I earnestly solicited his interest in my behalf here or in India. But, courtier-like, he never even favored me with an answer, although I wrote again requesting him to return those letters, but he never thought proper to do so, and I much regretted having parted with them in that way.

Now that all my hopes and plans were frustrated, I hardly knew what to do, but, resolved to persevere in efforts to procure employment, I advertised in the Times newspaper for a situation as clerk and book-keeper, offering as a ‘douceur’ one quarter of the first year’s salary to any lady or gentleman who would procure me such an appointment.

To that advertisement I soon had an answer, which speedily led to my procuring the desired post in the counting-house of Davy, Son & Drew, wholesale drug merchants and importers, of Gould Square, Crutched Friars, which I held for about 2 years, and then quitted, not for any fault of mine but because we had a serious disagreement in consequence of their not fulfilling their promise and engagement to me as to the increase of my salary, and as to their allowance to me as commission on realised and paid orders to a considerable amount which I had obtained for them in Dublin.

My salary with them was £80 per annum, the £20 douceur I paid by two bills for £10 each at 3 and 6 months date, which rendered it very easy. It was in the month of December 1825 I obtained that appointment, having spent nearly the whole year in active and anxious pursuit of the different objects I have so lately detailed. My expenses (and those not trifling) being defrayed out of money which I received from time to time from my affectionate Mother and from my Cousin, Miss Clement, who continued to assist me until after she found out that I was married.

1826

This year, I continued in the employ of Davy, Son & Drew, and took so much interest in the drug trade, that I made myself acquainted with the appearance, nature and properties as well as with the names of all the drugs and chemicals most generally used, by spending many hours, after my official duties were concluded in the warehouse and laboratory, picking up information from the men working there and from the use of various tests and experiments. Besides which, I studied with attention the Pharmacopea.

In this way, I qualified myself to become a traveller in the drug trade, and with that object, with the consent of my employers, made two or three journies to Dublin for them, where I obtained several good orders and recovered money long due to them, which they never would have got but for me.

In fact, I could and would have extended their business considerably there and in other parts of Ireland had they permitted me to do so. But they tied my hands and stopped my mouth so as to confine my operations to a very limited extent indeed, lest I should interfere with any of the customers of Messrs. Boileau & Co.¹, wholesale druggists in Dublin, who were considered by them as their best connexion.

For the purpose of carrying and shewing to the best advantage samples of the most important drugs and chemicals, I designed and had made by your Grandfather, Mr Gargrave, (who himself had a good knowledge of medicines) a very handsome Spanish mahogany box or case, with several lift outs, divided into small compartments to contain choice specimens of the several articles. Another part was filled with stoppered bottles, wherein were samples of the most important liquids and the most approved scents and essences, and in a drawer at bottom were a number of small gallipots filled with the extracts, gums, etc. This part, as well as the inside of the top or lid, was lined with crimson velvet, ornamented with gold-coloured silk cord, the bottles having handsome gold labels and the gallipots the same, upon rich crimson glazed paper. Altogether it was a very neat, compact and elegant concern.

That was my first visit to Ireland after settling in London, when I was most affectionately received by my Mother, Sister, Cousin and friends. During my absence, your Mother had been living at her Fathers in Thogues St., Hackney Road, but soon after my return we went to lodge with Mrs. Torns in King St., at the opposite side of the Hackney Road.

1827

Having made another journey to Ireland to receive payment for the goods sold and forwarded last year, and to get fresh orders, I did still more business than before, but on my return parted from my employers for the reason stated above.

June: I therefore quitted them and, having some money of my own in hand, subsisted upon it until I procured another situation, which I did within 3 months by advertising as before and offering the same consideration, one quarter of the first year’s salary. In consequence, I received an answer from Messrs. Bardon & Gray, Wine Merchants, of 35 Crutched Friars, who at the same time had themselves advertised for an experienced clerk and book-keeper, and although they received at least 20 written applications for that appointment (which I afterwards saw and read), they gave me the preference over all those, and agreed to employ me at a salary of £80 per annum, without making any deduction for the allowance I was willing to make.

Messrs. Bardon & Gray had not very long commenced business at that time. I was their first clerk and had therefore to open their books according to my own form and fancy, which I did by first forming a Day Book out of the rough materials given me, then transforming the same into a journal, and finally posting those various items into a Ledger. The Bill Book I likewise kept as well as the Petty Cash and several smaller tributary books. The principal Cash Book was kept by Mr.Gray himself (as Mr Bardon was gone to live at Cadiz, there to carry on the business of buying, barrelling, fining and shipping the Sherry Wines thence to London). Besides keeping all those accounts, I had likewise to make out all the invoices, draw the bills, pay the duties at the Custom House, attend to the landing, coopering, housing, sampling, delivery, dock charges and shipping of the various parcels of wine, etc., and on Saturdays had to collect the various amounts of sales from the customers in all parts of the metropolis, which occupied me ‘til 6 or 7 o’clock every evening, having all the Letters to copy and post.

But, as [if] all that was not enough, I had to stop in the counting-house with Mr. Gray on foreign post nights twice every week (Tuesdays and Fridays), often until 12 o’clock at night, copying his fearfully long letters to his partner, Mr. Bardon, at Cadiz, which I had afterwards to deposit in the post office on my way home, which sometimes I did not reach before 1 o’clock in the morning.

My situation was therefore no sinecure, yet I cheerfully and regularly discharged all those duties for about 7 years. During that time my salary was augmented to £100 per annum, with a promise of further increase. With such an income I was able to maintain myself, my wife and children in real comfort and no man could be more domestic, steady or attentive to the peace and happiness of his family than I was, whilst ever I had the means of providing all their requirements.

1828 & 1829

I continued in the same circumstances, having by that time two children, viz:

William George, born 21^st March 1826, and

Susanna Phoebe, born 5^th April1828.

These 2 years, in consequence of my having kept and balanced the books satisfactorily, Mr.Gray made me a present each Christmas of £5 extra.

1830

The same Arrangements continued. About this time, Mr Gray got married to Miss Amelia Sheen, when he left me for about a week the entire management of the business and, had I been then ill disposed, I might have clandestinely sold off a large portion of their valuable stock of wines, especially as several very considerable parcels thereof were bonded in my name and would only be delivered, sampled or tested upon orders signed by me alone.

An instance of such fraud occurred with one of our customers, Mr Henry Capel, in whose absence his clerk, Mr Odell, forged his master’s signature to several London dock warrants, sold the wines for cash and filled up several blank banker’s checks which were left in his care with Mr Capel’s own signature, in case they might be wanted whilst he was away for various amounts, and decamped with about £500. The same thing I could have done if so inclined, but on the contrary, I had done my duty with integrity to the perfect satisfaction and advantage of my employers.

The morning Mr Gray was married he received from me at Hanwell, where his nuptials took place, an epithalamium, or ode in poetry, upon that happy occasion, which he very handsomely acknowledged by letter a day or two after, saying: “Dear Sir, I received your very clear and flattering verses just as Mrs Gray and I were about to start for Hastings, which afforded us much pleasure during our journey. We are both much obliged for the same, and believe me I shall not forget your kindness upon this occasion. Yours, etc. John Gray”.

Having long since lost the copy (or rather I should say the original composition) of that epithalamium, the only portion thereof which I now recollect is one stanza which ran thus:–

“The time may come - and that ere long

When he who dedicates this song

To those now far above him

May to his proper rank ascend,

When ye’ll not blush to call him friend

But even esteem and love him”

In the month of June 1830 was held the first Public meeting of “The British and Foreign Temperance Society”, which was then instituted and established by a very few philanthropic gentlemen.

I did not hear of that meeting until it had taken place or I should most probably have attended it and enrolled my name as one of the first to adopt the principles and practice of that excellent Society, formed after the example of those, then recently commenced in America whose object was then only “To abstain entirely from the use of ardent spirits, except for medicinal purposes, and to discountenance the causes and practice of intemperance in all stimulant or intoxicating liquors”. But, seeing that an association upon the same principles was about to be formed in Spitalfields, I attended its first meeting and proferred my adhesion to the same, signing the pledge at once.

There was something in the earnestness of my manner or in my apparent qualifications which attracted the particular attention and interest of the committee then formed, of which they insisted upon making me a member. In that capacity I attended all their subsequent meetings, and was very useful to them in framing their rules and regulations, having been for many years accustomed to similar duties and proceedings as Secretary to the Phibbsboro’ Schools.

Not contented with the promulgation of our temperance doctrines in the wide and fruitful district of Spitalfields and Bethnal Green (abounding with public houses and drunken weavers, etc.), we made frequent excursions to other parts of town, to assist in the formation of fresh branches or associations similar to our own, at which we had then to encounter the most strenuous and ridiculous opposition, not only from the publicans and distillers, but from crowds of the lowest characters and confirmed drunkards whom they absolutely bribed with money and drink to enter our meetings and interrupt our proceedings, from whom we often experienced much insult, scoffing, slander and violence, being often obliged to call in the aid of the police for our protection and to expel those refractory parties.

In all our meetings and speeches, we not only authorised but absolutely solicited fair and orderly discussion by those who conscienciously opposed us, against the subtil (sic) arguments of whom we successfully contended and conquered by the force of truth, reason, expediency and justice, gaining many sincere converts to our opinions on every occasion.

At first we had arranged against us, as respectable and obstinate antagonists, the whole force of the clerical, the legal and the medical professions, whom we gradually convinced of the correctness of our reasons, motives and objects ‘til we won them over, one after another, to acknowledge that we were right, and to give us their countenance and support. Being anxious to have an association of the same kind near my home, then in the Hackney Road, we held public meetings for that purpose in the large school room of Middlesex Chapel there, and accordingly formed “The Hackney Road Auxiliary Temperance Association”, of which I became the Secretary and chief manager, which office I continued to hold nearly 3 years when I resigned it upon my removal to Wapping.

There (Hackney Road) as elsewhere, we met with powerful opposition, but soon triumphed over it and rapidly augmented the ranks of temperance. At one of our meetings it was urged against us that although we wished to deprive the poor and the miserable portion of society of the comfort and solace for their woes which they found in the occasional use of ardent spirits, we still preserved for ourselves the privilege and advantage of drinking as much wine, ale and beer as we thought proper to consume. Our answer was that ardent spirits was the monster evil, the very Belzebub of drunkenness, whom we must combat and conquer in the first instance as the arch enemy of mankind; that we only used or allowed the use of other strong drinks in moderation. But, rather than by so doing we should be thought to countenance or encourage intemperance in any shape, we were willing one and all to abandon the use of wine, ale and beer entirely, so soon as we should have succeeded in putting down the abuse of ardent spirits.

Such was the first intimation of a tendency towards teetotalism, which was afterwards advocated by many, nay most, of the original propounders of the moderation principle. I shall even count it as an honor and privilege to have been one of the earliest, most zealous and persevering advocates of that primary movement, carried on against suck systematic and violent opposition as would have sickened, alarmed and deterred many from striving against such winds and tides.

This year (1830), the Spasmodic or Indian Cholera made its first appearance in England. Long before its arrival I had diligently marked its progress, slow but sure, from the East across the Continent of Europe, with the remarkable fact recorded of it everywhere that the drunkard and the profligate were its first and most numerous victims. Therefore, as soon as it actually broke out at Sunderland, I called a public meeting of our association and volunteered giving a lecture upon the Indian Cholera, which I accordingly delivered to a highly respectable and crowded audience. When I had done, my statements, arguments and deductions were denied and controverted by a gentleman present who said it was false to say that the Cholera had broken out at Sunderland as he had just come from there and knew that there had been no cases of it at that place. It was all a foolish and groundless panic, he said, and as to drunkards being the first victims, he rather supposed that spirits would prove one of the best preventatives and remedies for the malady should it ever arrive here.

Those assertions and positions I positively contradicted, referring to the Official Report of the Board of Health for the fact of several fatal cases of Cholera having occurred at Sunderland. As to drunkards, I proved the correctness of my inference from the concurrent testimony of several distinct commissions and medical men, who had been sent by Government to various parts of the Continent where the Cholera was raging before it reached us, who all agreed in asserting positively that those addicted to intemperance and debauchery were in every instance the first to be attacked by that fearful pestilence, and the least likely to recover from it.

On that occasion, I was left almost alone in consequence of another (an inaugural) meeting being held that same evening in a remote district, at which the attendance of the most efficient advocates of the cause was imperatively required. Besides, as mine was only a lecture and not a regular meeting, no material opposition was anticipated. I had therefore no fellow labourer at hand to follow up my observations. But suddenly a gentleman rose and addressed the meeting fully agreeing with my views and arguments, although he had on previous occasions rather opposed us, and he now very pointedly said “No doubt the gentleman from Sunderland, who denies the existence of Cholera there, has a direct and personal interest in doing so, and is probably intimately connected with the coal trade or the shipping houses in that port, and therefore wishes it to be kept from suspicion of contagion and the delays of quantine (sic) as long as that is practicable. So we must not pay much attention to his statements or evidence”. That excellent and timely speech of Mr Palmer settled the business, and on putting the resolution in concordance with my lecture and admonitions as warning to prepare for the visitation, I had an immense show of hands in my favor, and many signed the pledge that evening, amongst whom was Mr Palmer, a very sensible and influential man.

1831 & 1832

Matters continued much in the same state as before, except that instead of continuing in lodgings, I took a house of 6 Rooms (no. 8) in Hackney Road Crescent at a Rent of £30 per annum which I paid, together with all the rates and taxes thereof, for a year and a half from ___ 1831 to ____ 1833, upon which my claim to parochial relief, when necessary, in the Parish of Bethnal Green is indisputably founded.

During the great agitation caused by the Reform Bill, I became a member of three distinct Societies, namely “The National Political Union”, “The Bethnal Green Political Union” and “The Shoreditch Political Union”, in which capacity I attended various meetings and took a very warm interest in the progress of reform.

When the Bill had passed and came to be acted upon, and the new Borough of the Tower Hamlets was formed and endowed with the franchise, I strove to qualify myself to vote by paying up all my rates and taxes within the stipulated period, but was not placed on the register, because I had not then been sufficiently long a housekeeper.

Amongst the new candidates for the office of Member of Parliament for the Tower Hamlets was one Mr. George Offor, who appeared to be well qualified for that post, whose pretensions I therefore most warmly advocated until I heard stories about his previous misconduct, which I felt bound to see either cleared up and removed by him or established by his opponents. I therefore wrote him a letter on the subject fully stating the charges made against him, and sincerely hoping that he would be able very speedily not only to contradict, but entirely to disprove the same. That letter of mine he very unwisely submitted to “the Bethnal Green Political Union”, denying the truth of those accusations by writing to that effect, instead of by his personal attendance. The consequence was that several persons came forward and proved beyond doubt the truth of those charges, which produced a positive Resolution of that Union whereby the Members bound themselves collectively and individually to oppose the election of Mr Offor, as they could not consider him to be “a fit and proper person to represent them in Parliament”. Thus, in thinking and striving to do him good service, I was the unintentional cause of his defeat, as he could not venture to contend against such opposition and therefore withdrew from the contest.

About this time my Aunt, Miss Susan Paumier of Gloucester St., Dublin, died, leaving her property to one of my Cousins, Ball or Bagot, I am not certain which, when I was much disappointed, for I had long indulged the hope that she would leave me something very handsome. All I obtained however was £45 remitted to me by Mr Ellis who was her solicitor, only stating that he had been directed by a person to pay me that sum.

Previous to this, Mr Gray had brought into the office a very nice young lad, William Harrison, the son of another wine merchant who, keeping his counting-house and cellars where he and his family lived, could not get this lad, who was wild and playful, to attend properly to business. He therefore resolved to put him under Mr Gray to be trained to the business and thoroughly initiated in the whole routine of counting-house, Custom House, dock and shipping concerns, all which I taught him by Mr Gray’s orders, little suspecting that he was so prepared in order when competent to supercede me.

The business of Burdon & Gray having increased considerably until they became the chief shippers of sherry wines from Cadiz, or rather Port St. Mary’s, they also required the assistance of another clerk, and accordingly took into their employment a Mr Draper, a most gentlemanly and agreeable companion, but likewise a very sly and artful fellow who undermined me. By his persuasion and example, I was led into more extravagance and dissipation than I had ever before practised.

Every day after office hours, and when Mr Gray was gone home to Clerkenwell, we used to sit down in his office with two or three other clerks whom Draper introduced, to drink port, sherry and other wines, and to eat biscuits, cheese, cakes, celery, etc., etc., and often afterwards he would prevail upon me to accompany them to some tavern or public house to hear singing, etc.

1833

Still living in the Hackney Road.

April 14^th: Mun Noble born. My Cousin Mun Noble came of age, and bamboozled Charles in Dublin who came to me about the month of May, and when he got the situation at Wapping under Mr Barlow we removed to live there rent free, which we continued to do for several months until …

September: Paid a visit to my Mother and friends in Dublin, Charles having given me £50. On my return we quarrelled and parted, when we went to live in Princes Road, Lambeth, where we had a grand jollification at Christmas.

1834

Continued at Bardon & Gray’s until August, when I left them in consequence of a serious disagreement. Charles also resigned his situation and went into the London Hospital, and afterwards to Scotland. The remainder of this year we were in very reduced circumstances, living in Earl St., Lambeth Walk, and in Dimond Buildings, Whitehart Street, Kennington Lane, where our dear little Emma was born.

1835

On the 9^th of February, about which time (having been 6 months out of employment) I obtained a situation in the office of Messrs. Egan, Waterman & Wright, Solicitors, through the interest of the Reverend Mr. Crossman of Brixton Road, whose truly Christian ministry we used to attend in St Mary’s Episcopal Chapel in Kennington Lane, with whom I got acquainted in consequence of a letter which I wrote to him respecting his sermons. Mrs Crossman was remarkably kind to my wife in her confinement, and her very excellent husband, being a friend of Sir Frederick Foroke, Baronet, whose Solicitors Egan, Waterman & Wright were, he recommended me to them, and they engaged me as a copying clerk at the very low salary of 15/- per week. But, in less than a month afterwards finding me qualified to act as assistant book-keeper, they employed me in that capacity also and raised my salary to a guinea per week. With them I continued for above 2 years, keeping all their agency accounts, but did not like the legal profession in which I saw so much unfairness and extortion as to disgust me with it, although Mr Waterman was very civil and kind to me.

In order to eke out a comfortable subsistence for my family, I took a small house in Barret St., Princes Road, Lambeth, where I fitted up the front parlour and opened it as a shop for the sale of sweets, cakes, fruit, toys, stationery, etc., but failed therein for want of sufficient means to carry it on, and had my furniture, etc., seized upon and sold to pay a very small arrear of rent. Just at that time, in the midst of our trouble, my unfortunate Brother Charles paid us his last visit, for we never saw him afterwards. (Emma died in November, aged 8 months)

1836

I still continued with Egan & Co. During this and the next year I became a member of the London Mechanics Institution, then in much repute and use by lawyers clerks, and also of “the Herald Literary Society” who held their meetings at the Herald Coffee House in Catherine Street in the Strand, who made me Secretary thereof and likewise editor of their monthly manuscript magazine containing original essays and poems, etc., by the members who used in rotation to compose and read the same, on which a discussion followed, often adjourned and continued at several successive meetings. My first essay was upon the subject of temperance which, as usual, met with strong and spirited opposition, for, observe and learn if you knew it not before, that lawyer’s clerks are generally remarkable for in-temperance. Nevertheless, after a very long debate, the majority decided in my favor.

We were solicited by another Society such as our to unite with them, which we did under the title of “The Ethical Society”, whose meetings were held close to the Mechanic’s Institution of which most of us were members likewise. Of that new Ethical Society I was unanimously elected the very First President, and also as Secretary after the retirement of J. E. Carpenter (the well known and much admired lyrical poet, author of many popular songs and of a beautiful little collection of his poems entitled “Lays for light hearts”. Latterly he has given in London and elsewhere a very clever entertainment of adventures and observations upon “The Rail, the River and the Road”). He was a most witty and amusing companion and a serious loss to that Society, who also numbered amongst its members that pleasing author Leigh Hunt ¹, and Charles Solomon, the celebrated improvisitore or extempore poet, who favored us on several occasions with specimens of his abilities in that way, bringing in with great cleverness and humour the peculiarities of each person present. After our discussion was over and business ended, those who chose to stop became a sort of Sing Song Club, and had whatever refreshment they thought proper.

1837

Still employed by Egan & Co.

May 1^st: a Total Eclipse of the Sun remarkably distinct & visible. This day, Sunday, my Cousin Mun Noble came to town to make his first appearance at Drury Lane Theatre, the full particulars whereof I have already detailed above.

Not long afterwards, my employers, Egan, Waterman & Wright, said that although they were quite satisfied with my services and had no fault to find with me, they were obliged to dispense with my services owing to fresh arrangements in their office and in consequence of having to make room and find employment for the sons of some of their country clients, which I knew to be actual facts, the “fresh arrangements” being the alteration and increase of the firm by taking into partnership Mr Henry Wright, cousin to the original partner, Mr William Harding Wright, and young Mr John Egan, son of the head partner “of that ilk”, which would necessitate the division of the profits amongst five instead of amongst three partners.

They therefore resolved to reduce their expenses by all possible means, and actually turned off not only me, a new, junior clerk, but likewise several other old clerks who had been many years in their office, meaning to do the chief part of the business themselves, and employing those “sons of their country clients” as articled clerks without any salaries.

The remainder of this year we suffered considerably from want, and should have been quite destitute but for the assistance kindly afforded us by my Mother and the industry of my excellent Wife, who was indefatigable in her labours at brace making, by which she contributed very materially towards the support of our family, now consisting of 6 children. (Henry Charles, born 7^th April)

1838

Early in this year I was employed by Mr Smee, brace manufacturers to “the London Catchanc Company”, living in York St., Hackney Road, where I pasted coloured leathers and cut out fittings, etc., and acted for some time as warehouseman, often working there ‘till very late at nights, for which he only allowed me a very small pittance. My son William, then 12 years old, worked at the same business there also.

April: my Aunt King died.

May: my Uncle Childers died, whose little property my Mother employed me to recover for her. I accordingly obtained a Certificate of his Death from Haslar Hospital and an account of the balance still in the hands of Claypon & Co., his bankers at Boston, which enabled me to take out Letters of Administration for my Mother, who then sent me a Power of Attorney to act for her in the recovery of that money and the arrears of pay, etc., due to my late Uncle at the Admiralty.

Having by that time removed into respectable lodgings in the Goswell Road and having got assistance from my Mother, we were pretty comfortable.

August 1^st: a remarkable storm of thunder and lightening, wind, rain and hail, which destroyed many thousand pounds worth of glass in and around London, soon after which we removed to other lodgings in Maria St., Hackney Road.

September: Having now completed all my arrangements, I started for Boston, where I received from Claypon & Co. the balance due to my late Uncle Childers, amounting to about £300, his Commission as Lieutenant in the Royal Marines, and a Bond for £216 in his favor given by my other uncle, his Brother, General Twentyman, considered by all as worth nothing. However, on examining it I was of a different opinion, and having then a copy of my Uncle General Twentyman’s Will, by which I found that Mr Johnston of Darlington had been his acting executor and administrator. Finding that Mr Johnston had been some years dead, I knew that his will would be registered and deposited at York, to which city I resolved to proceed to inspect that will. I therefore took the coach from Boston to Lincoln and thence to Barton on the Humber, which fine river I crossed over to Hull, proceeding thence through Beverley to York, where I made the requisite examination of Mr Johnston’s will, whereby I discovered who were his executors and administrators, the chief of whom was the Reverend Mr Robinson of Beverley.

With the City of York I was much pleased, and stopped there two or three days when I went all round the walls. I visited all the old castles and towers (of which I made sketches), saw Dick Turpin’s grave, and I likewise went all over that immense and splendid structure, York Minster, where I saw the evidences of three different ages and religions.

1^st the heathen or pagan in the great altar found in the vaults below;

2^nd the Roman Catholic chapels, confessionals, altars, tombs, etc.; and

3^rd the more modern additions of the Protestant religion.

They also showed me the two splendid circular windows of stained glass, one made by the master and the other by his apprentice out of the fragments left by him, which latter being the most beautiful, the master became jealous and envious of his apprentices superior ingenuity and threw himself down from that immense height into the aisle of the church and was killed, of course. I likewise examined closely the stupendous new organ, the great pipes of which were sounded for me, and I also saw the small window through which the fanatic and insane incendiary, Martin (brother of the sublime artist, the illustrator of Milton and the Bible), found his entry and exit when he set fire to York Minster in 18__ ¹.

I next examined the picturesque ruins of St Mary’s Abbey and also the very elegant Museum of York near to the same, where I felt great admiration for the beautiful and scientific classification and arrangements of the skeletons of human beings, beasts, birds, reptiles, fishes and so very superior to everything of that kind in the British Museum.

Returning to Beverley, I there wrote a letter to the Reverend Mr Robinson, Mr Johnston’s executor (who had refused to enter into any conference with me), respecting the Bond, claiming from him or the heirs of Mr Johnston the amount of that Bond, £216, with interest thereon for about 30 years, which letter I left at his residence, which remained a “dead letter” for nearly 8 years longer, but “stuck in their gizzards” all that time and ultimately led to the payment of that Bond.

Coming back to Lincoln, I spent two days there in visiting many parts familiar to my mind from descriptions thereof which I had frequently heard from my Mother, who was a native of that fine city. I inspected all parts of Lincoln Minster, the chancel, the choir, the nave, the aisles, the Chapter House, the cloisters and the Broad Tower and the Clock and Belfry, where I stood under Old Tom, once and long considered the largest bell in the world.

I likewise visited the grave of my Grandfather, the Reverend Doctor Childers Twentyman, and the house he used to inhabit in which my Mother was born, in Vicar’s Court near the Minster, of which I made a drawing. I then inspected the Roman Gate, the Stone Bow or chief Gate of the City, the market, the ruins of the Castle, the steep Castle Hill, the Grecian Steps, cemetery, etc., in all which I took a melancholy interest, not expecting ever to see them again, but I did so notwithstanding in 1846. I now returned to London in order to recover the balance due to my Uncle Childers at the Admiralty amounting to about £177, which, having received, I started again for Dublin via Liverpool, where I arrived safe with the whole gleaning £477 in gold, for had I taken that sum in Bank of England notes my Mother would have sustained a considerable loss by exchanging them for Irish Bank notes or gold in Dublin. I found her living with my Sister, who received me more kindly than I expected.

My Mother, of course, was very glad to see me, especially as I brought her so much money, out of which she most generously gave me £100. Having spent a few days in Dublin visiting old friends and the happy scenes of my youth, not forgetting the schools, etc., I returned to London thinking what I had best do with my £100.

Having previously frequented small Coffee Houses much and thinking it a good and profitable business, I advertised for a shop in that line, and accordingly purchased the business, fixtures, etc. of the Sun Coffee House in Sun Street, Long Acre, at the corner of Queen Street, Seven Dials, which I hoped to make answer. Although I was fully aware that it had then no business worth mentioning, many purchase even shut up shops and I thought I should be able with my connexions to draw or make a good trade there.

I therefore paid £20 to go in, and expended about £20 more in alterations, improvements and fittings-up and furniture, etc. The shop had an extensive frontage with one large window in King St. and another equally large in Queen St. The first, I fitted up with a large hot water apparatus, having 3 hot dishes, etc. to keep meat, puddings, etc., hot. The other window I set out with tea and coffee pots, cups, dishes. I likewise put up rods and scarlet stuff curtains between the boxes, bought a handsome new clock and put new blinds in the windows. I altered the name from the Sun to “The Economical Breakfast, Tea, Coffee, Dining & Supper Rooms”, which blinds were painted by our friend Francis Carr and cost me at least £3.

Besides the shop, we occupied the parlour, kitchen and drawing room, which latter I fitted up as a select, genteel and private coffee room, furnished with a handsome carpet, hearth rug, fender, fire-brasses, several large mahogany tables, 3 dozen handsome caned chairs, pictures, etc., intending and expecting to institute and establish there weekly meetings of various literary and scientific, discussional, temperance, political and trade societies, so as to occupy every evening in the week with one or another of them, and thus form a good connexion and business. But, unfortunately, I was quite disappointed in those expectations, for the neighbourhood was not sufficiently respectable for such purposes, whilst it was too remote from Chancery Lane, the grand focus of such societies.

The kitchen we used for cooking large joints of meat, vegetables and soup, puddings, etc. For all that accomodation I paid 19/- per week, besides the expense of the gas in the shop and all the newspapers, etc. We had plenty of custom for our meat, soup and puddings, for they were better and cheaper with better weight than at other shops. But, I soon discovered that meat loses a great deal in weight in the cooking, especially baking. The bones likewise cause a loss, so that selling the meat only in small quantities with good weight and a draught against me in every case, I found I was doing so with little or no profit.

The coffee business was inconsiderable. At that time coffee was 1/10 or 2/- a pound and sugar 8 or 9d. Bread and butter were also dear. All these things, combined with the expenses of a large family (for one or two of my Wife’s sisters came there to assist us) I soon ran through the little money I commenced with for want of some separate means or income to keep the business free. After striving therefore for many months, I was compelled to give it up and sold the much improved business, etc., for £28, with which I fitted up myself a front parlour in Hart Street, Covent Garden, as a small coffee room which I called the Victoria.

I likewise established a coffee stall in Covent Garden market, close to Evans’s Grand Hotel, which I used to take out every morning at 4 or 5 o’clock, and at which I did a good share of business, for my coffee was very superior to what was sold at other stalls. It was also sweeter and had more milk, and I gave good slices of bread and butter. But the best part of my business was in the summer, during the pea season, on Sunday morning, when the pea-shellers came up into the stables in Hart Street, to whom I have served above 100 cups of coffee before 9 in the morning, with bread and butter, eggs, etc., and on other mornings I used to take many cups to them in the market. Thus, I was forming a good connexion and business when “an envious man” (Mr Way, who kept a coffee house absolutely in the market), seeing how I was getting on, resolved to oppose and ruin me. With this view he fitted up another coffee house in a superior manner to me, in the very same street, within a few doors of me, and nearer to the market …

1839

… wherein he placed or set up a man who had long been a porter in the market and was well known by all parties there, and to whom of course they soon gave the preference to my total ruin. Under such circumstances, I unavoidably got in arrears for rent and was obliged to give it all up.

1840

Having no employment, I took to selling braces, garters, etc.

1841 & 1842

Continued the same, but got employed by Mr Ernsley for several months.

1843

Became acquainted with the Reverend John Prendergast Walsh, then officiating at St. Barnabas’ Church, King Square, Goswell Road (the incumbent, Mr Thompson, being ill) as his (Mr Walsh’s) father had been intimate with my Uncle, Col. Paumier, my Father and General Sir Brent Spencer, the friend of all those parties, after whom one of Mr Walsh’s sons was called Spencer Walsh. Mr Walsh professed to take great interest in me and my family, and had me much at his residence, where he employed me in copying his sermons, letters, etc., for which he paid me a very trifling consideration. But, as he often gave me meat and other things useful to my family, I felt quite satisfied, especially as he expected himself much to secure me some situation in the Metropolitan or City Police, in the General Post Office, as a keeper of lunatics in Bedlam or St. Lukes Hospital, as warder in any of the prisons or as a clerk in “the Pastoral Aid Society”, but all to no purpose. About this time, likewise I became a candidate for the situation of Master to the Tredegar School at Mile End and had the strongest recommendations from the Reverend Dr McCaul, Mr Walsh and others, but did not succeed.

When the Reverend Mr Thompson, incumbent of St Barnabas, died, I got up a strong petition from the congregation in favor of my friend Mr Walsh as his successor, addressed to the Bishop of London, to which I obtained the signatures of many respectable parties. But the appointment was given to Mr _____ , one of the curates of St Lukes Church and chaplain to St Luke’s Hospital. At this time my son Mun Noble got into Worralls Free Grammar School, commonly known as the Red Coat School.

During this and the following year we were greatly assisted by a rich and very benevolent lady, Miss Holl, who took a warm interest in our situation.

1844

Recommended by Miss Holl, I got a temporary engagement with Mr Betts, stationer, a friend of hers and of the City Road Bridge, who were quakers, like Mr Betts. He employed me to superintend the execution of some very large and elaborate maps and plans of Beer Ferris in Wales and other estates in Linograph which he was getting done for Shaw & Son of Fetter Lane, in which capacity I was engaged for several weeks in Hatton Garden and for which he paid me regularly. I afterwards travelled with Mr Betts’s Family Atlas and his very large Map of England, but could not do much with them. My friend Doctor McCaul, at my instance, became a subscriber to the Family Atlas.

1845

I still continued at intervals selling braces, garters, etc., and worked for a while in Mr Cameron’s factory in that line, where my son William was employed for about 7 years.

1846

Early this year my mother received a letter from Mr William Grayburn, Solicitor, of Barton, on behalf of Mr Johnston’s executors and respecting the old Bond for £216, stating that although it was null and void and of no value whatever, yet, as they wanted to wind up the affairs of Mr Johnston’s estate, they would voluntarily give her £50 if she would give up that Bond. On her writing to me about it, I strongly advised her not to do so, as I felt assured she would recover the whole amount if she persevered and held out. I then wrote to Mr Greyburn stating that unless the full amount of that Bond with the interest accruing on the same were not paid within a certain period, a bill would be filed in Chancery for the recovery thereof. In his answer he denied the responsibility of his clients and almost dared us to proceed.

Having by other means found out Mr Johnston’s daughter, who inherited his property, and her husband, Capt. Robertson of Cheltenham, I wrote to them charging Mr Greyburn with deceiving them, and urging them to withhold a settlement in order that we might take proceedings and he reap the costs of a Chancery suit. At this, the lawyer was much offended, probably because it was the unpalatable truth, in consequence of which the matter was at a stand still for several months. At length, he wrote again to my mother saying that the executors were then willing to pay the full amount of the Bond, but no interest thereon, and that if she would depute her son-in- law Mr Clement to meet him (Mr Grayburn) at Liverpool or elsewhere to give him up the Bond, he would pay it, but he wished to have no further dealings with me. To that my Mother replied that Mr Clement was ill and unable to go, and that as she had given me a Power of Attorney to receive all property or effects of her late brother, I was the most fit and proper person to do so, and would accordingly wait upon him at Barton for that purpose.

That was late in December, and the winter was then very severe, in spite of all which I started and passing through Lincoln again, to which city the railroad was by that time extended, I took the road from thence to Barton, a distance of 16 miles, to walk it through intense frost and deep snow which prevented the coaches from travelling. But I was anxious to get forward, and would not be detained by anything, as Mr Grayburn had made a special appointment for a particular day (the very next to that on which I set out to walk from Lincoln to Barton) and I was determined to be punctual.

I therefore stepped on briskly, wrapped in a large travelling cloak with my carpet-bag in my hand, and although I never saw so rigorous or severe a winter, I kept myself warm by exercise. The whole country round as far as the eye could reach (and there is not a flatter county in all England) was one immense field of snow, the drifts of which in many places were 10 or 12 feet deep. The roads were sheets of ice, so very slippery that it was very difficult to keep one’s feet or to make any rapid progress.

On reaching Spittal, about 6 miles beyond Lincoln, it began to grow dusk and I was very glad to avail myself of a broad-wheeled wagon which was going on to Brigg, about 4 miles further, where I must stop for the night. In the wagon, I found myself much colder than when on foot. Still, it was far preferable to walking alone on a wild and strange country road covered with snow and ice, at night too, when I might have missed my way and lost in some ditch or snow drift.

I accordingly stopped for that night at a comfortable little inn in Brigg, and after breakfast the next morning set off again upon foot to walk the other 6 miles into Barton. The frost was very severe, but the sun shone brightly and I was happy and blithesome as a lark. In toiling up one steep hill I got so warm that I was obliged to take off my cloak and carry it over one arm, whilst I carried my large carpet-bag on the other side. Near the summit of the hill I met 3 agricultural labourers, one of whom in passing me said “Whoy, thee swets, Measter!” “Yes”, said I, “and so would you if you had my load to carry up this hill just now”.

At length I reached Barton, much fatigued, and chosing my quarters at a neat little inn had some refreshment, then put on my best clothes, and sent a note to Mr Grayburn, whose son soon after came to conduct me to his office. That gentleman received me with formal politeness. Our business was very soon done. I gave him up the Bond and he paid me £220, £81 of which was a Bill payable in London which had about 3 months to run.

This obliged me to return to town to get it discounted, which I did on good terms, and then again started for Liverpool on my last trip to Dublin, for I never expect to see it more. Again I carried in my pocket above £200 in gold, for the reason previously stated when, in 1838, I took my mother £477 in gold.

I had lost so much time by these unforeseen delays, etc., that Christmas was now so very close at hand, that my wife said “It is impossible for you now to go to Dublin and back again before Christmas. Besides, your mother and sister will persuade you to spend this Christmas with them, as it is many years since you were amongst them at this season, and what is worse, I shall be confined during your absence”. “Fear not, my dear”, I replied. “I can and will be back here before Christmas day, unless prevented by some obstacle or accident over which I can have no control. Believe me, I would much rather spend my Christmas with you and our dear children than even with my Mother and Sister, who cannot persuade me to do so. I hope you will keep up ‘till my return, which you may depend will be before Christmas day”.

Off I went therefore by a fast train for Liverpool, where I arrived just in time to catch the steam packet about to start for Dublin, to which we made a quick passage. Immediately on landing there I took a jaunting car and posted on to Phibbsboro’, where I very soon settled accounts with my Mother. I then proceeded to the Bank of Ireland and got her bank notes for the gold, out of which she gave me again £100, saying “you well deserve it, for I should never have got one penny for that Bond had it not been for your boldness and cleverness in managing that business. And when they offered me £50 for it, I would gladly have accepted that compromise had it not been for your persuasion and good conduct”.

My Mother, Sister and Nieces wished me much to stop over Christmas with them, but when I told them exactly how matters stood at home, and how positively I had promised to be back there before Christmas day, they gave up their efforts to keep me in Dublin.

That I might not come back empty handed, I bought a fine large turkey, a pair of ducks and a bottle of whiskey, and my Mother gave me an Irish Ham. With these and some nice clothes, which my Mother and Sister sent as presents to my Wife, I set off again from Dublin, the second day after my arrival, for Liverpool, whence I took the rail direct for London. That winter was excessively severe, and I found it desperate cold even in a second class carriage. When we had proceeded about half way towards town a very heavy fall of snow took place, which impeded the progress of the train considerably, until at length the road was stopped up and we came to a standstill in a bleak miserable part of the country where we expected to be detained for a day or two. There was a very agreeable and amusing gentleman in the same carriage with me (an actor of some celebrity I imagine) who kept us alive with his wit and anecdotes, keeping up a frequent interchange of puns and jokes with me. He knew what provisions I had in my baskets, and said as we were likely to spend our Christmas day there we should not starve whilst we had my stock to make use of.

Many men being sent out to clear the road, we began to move again slowly after several hours delay, for the rails were so slippery with the frost and snow that the wheels of the engine and train could get no firm hold. But, as we gradually drew near to town we found the snow less deep, when, by putting on another engine behind, we got better and at length reached Euston Square, whence I made the best of my way home. I found all right and well, it being then Christmas Eve, so that I had fulfilled my promise faithfully, and accordingly I spent that Christmas more happily at home with all my family around me than I ever did either before or since. Fortunately, your Mother kept up comfortably for 3 days more, and on the 28^th of December 1846 my seventh Son, Francis William Was born in City Garden Place, City Road.

1847

My Son William, being anxious to change his occupation and learn some other trade than brace making, I advertised accordingly for him offering £10 as a bonus to any person who would get him a respectable engagement. To that advertisement we had several answers, upon one of which we acted most unfortunably. That was from a most plausible fellow (a Jew, I believe) whose name was Grosvenor Solimey, who undertook to teach him the French silk hat making for £6, but never fulfilled his engagement, and I paid £2 more to another rogue to perfect him in the same who likewise left us in the lurch.

Being fearful of again sinking my money in business as I did in 1839, I now advertised for an official situation in any railroad, office, wharf or warehouse, offering as a douceur from £20 to £50. As usual I had several answers, one from a new cab company then about to be started, another from Mr Fox who said he had taken the Strand Theatre and was going to open it. He offered to make me box-keeper, with a salary of £2 per week, if I would lend him £50 upon security of the lease of a handsome house he then held in Walcott Place, Lambeth, which £50 he said he would repay me by instalments of £2 per week at least, as soon as he got properly to work. But, knowing how uncertain all theatrical speculations are and how many are ruined by them, I declined that concern altogether.

Another answer (and that which I thought was best) was from Mr Henry Harrild, an engineer in Princes St., Lambeth, who said he wanted a clerk and book-keeper, and requested me to call upon him, which I did when I found him hard at work in a large factory with a large steam engine at work, surrounded by several men engaged in the manufacture of steam engines, lathes, tools, etc. He was a very plain but plausible man and said that as his last clerk had defrauded him and decamped. Although he had brought him excellent written characters, he should require me merely to deposit £20 in his hands as security, which I could have back again whenever I thought proper to give up the situation. He agreed to pay me 30/- a week as salary for the first 6 months, to be then increased to £2 a week with a prospect of becoming his partner should I be enabled to bring in £100 or so.

All this looked and sounded very well, and as engineering was a business I very much wished to learn and one which generally pays very well, I was quite pleased with my prospects, and accordingly drew up two copies of an agreement to the above effect, upon stamps, and handed him over the £20 at his lodgings one evening, in the presence of my brother-in-law, Mr George Gargrave, who regularly witnessed the execution thereof. Mr Harrild appeared quite indifferent about the money, and to show his liberal spirit he treated us to a bottle of port wine, and said he hoped it would be very long before I should have occasion to withdraw that money from his hands, as he trusted I should find it advantageous to remain many years in his employment.

All this took place early in February, and I went to work animated with the most lively hopes of future prosperity. In order to be near my place of business, I took a small house in William St., East St., Lambeth Walk, where I had a splendid show of crocuses.

March 21^st: This being the day on which my eldest Son William came of age, we gave a large party to our friends and relations, in honor of that event, at which Louisa Avery, now my Son William’s Wife was present, whom I liked greatly, and wished secretly that he might be married to. She appeared so very agreeable and so very fond of him.

Mr Harrild paid me my salary of 30s/- very regularly for a few weeks (probably out of my own £20), but soon became irregular in his payments, and even borrowed money from me upon the strength of large country orders which I knew him to have obtained, and which would, had he executed them, have yielded him a very considerable profit. But he was unable to procure the money or credit necessary for such extensive business, and could not benefit by so favourable an opportunity.

As the accommodation for a counting house was small and uncomfortable at the factory, he took a house in ____ Street, Princes Road, and fitted up the back parlour as a counting house for my accommodation, he said, but most probably for the purpose of preventing me seeing how things went on at the factory.

As to the accounts, he never would furnish me with the materials necessary to make them up or form a regular set of books which, with other parts of his conduct, began to excite my suspicions that he was a very different character from what I at first supposed him to be. Yet, I still indulged hopes that all would go well, because I knew that he was a son of Mr Harrild, the head of the highly respectable firm of “Harrild & Sons”, steam press and printer’s machine makers, then of St. Pancras Lane in the City, now of Farringdon St., who, I thought it likely, would assist their son and brother. Again, Mr Staley, the builder of Islington, who owned many houses and did much business there, was the uncle of Mr Harrild (for he had a very nice wife and child), and this Mr Staley used to visit his niece and her husband sometimes.

I forgot to state that although he had no partner, Mr Harrild used the title of “Henry Harrild & Co” in order, as he said, to give a more respectable idea of the business, and as I was much more respectable in appearance dress and manners than himself, he used to send me to the best parties on the most important business, saying they would take me for his partner, which he hoped I might be before long, and this I believe was often the case.

At length, one day in the month of April (when I had been about 2 months in his employ) he sent me out early with several different matters to attend to in various and remote parts of town which occupied me until the evening. On returning to the house he occupied, I found it empty and shut up, and found that in my absence he had called in a broker to whom he had sold the furniture, which was at once removed. When he quitted the place with his wife and child, but where they were gone to nobody knew, it being holiday time (Easter), he had likewise closed the factory, owing all the men he employed several weeks wages. Thus, was I cheated out of £33.5.10, including the £20 lodged with him only as security, he said, and not only so, but depending upon the advantage and stability of that situation, I had gone to much greater expense for furniture, clothes, etc., for myself and family than I should otherwise have done. And now all my hopes and prospects were at once completely blighted.

I applied to Mr Harrild’s father at his residence in Sydenham, where he has a beautiful villa and grounds, like those of some wealthy noblemen, but he would do nothing for me, saying that his son was a complete reprobate and outcast of his family, and that unless he sincerely repented and amended his life, he should never have another shilling of his money either whilst he lived or when he was dead.

I afterwards applied to his brothers, with no better success, and also to his sister, Mrs Baxter of Northampton Square, who likewise declined to do anything in my favor. Thus I was utterly ruined and driven nearly mad by the heartless villainy of that base fellow who knew very well that I had no other dependence and had a family of 7 children.

Our little funds were soon exhausted and we were then obliged to part with furniture, clothes, etc. to procure the necessaries of life. That terrible misfortune was the first cause of my quitting home for I could not bear to see my dear Wife and children in want of subsistence which I was totally unable to procure for them.

1848

In the early part of this year we were living in a small house in Cardigan St., Kennington Lane.

All my Sons and my Daughter, Susan, were then living at home, each contributing something towards the general support. But my Son William was persuaded to leave home by Harry Latham, with whom he went to live and of course he ceased to give us any assistance. We soon after removed to William St., Gt. Suffolk St., Borough.

April 10^th: Attended the great Chartist meeting on Kennington Common as a Special Constable, having been duly sworn in as such at Lambeth vestry room some days previous, when I gave my address, Cardigan St., in order that I might have to act in that neighbourhood which was very near Kennington Common, where I was appointed to patrol on that very important day. ¹

We, the Special Constables for that District of Lambeth Parish, assembled that morning in the School Room at Kennington Oval where we received our instructions, which were: not to interfere with or molest the Chartists, unless we saw them bent on mischief and committing some breach of the peace; we were to act in consort with the police if necessary, and under the order of their Superintendants. Each of us had his staff or truncheon concealed, and we were supplied with white bands with buckles, to be worn on the left arm, to distinguish us if any serious riot should take place.

My post was to parade directly in front of the Common from Kennington Church to the Horns Tavern, where I marched up and down for several hours, and had a perfect view of the whole procession and arrangements. I even went on the Common through the very midst of the Chartists and close to the Hastings Platform or wagon where the leaders were stationed, and from which their speeches were delivered, but saw no tendency to riot or disorder. Going back to our rendevous, I gave a favourable report when a very fine gentleman, who was one amongst us, came in with his white band round his arm and his staff exposed in his hand, and who turning to me particularly said “Why do you not all act like me and shew (sic) what you are openly ?” “Because”, said I, “our object is to keep the peace and avoid riot and disorder while it is prudent and proper to do so, and not to provoke and produce them”. “Pshaw!” said this fop. “You are all afraid to shew what you are”. “Perhaps, Sir” said I with indignation, “I and others are no more afraid than you are, and should necessity require our shewing open resistance, we may be quite as courageous as you”.

I then appealed to our Inspector or officer, who said I was perfectly right, and he reprimanded that very fast gentleman for his impudence and rashness, and ordered him to take off his white band and to conceal his staff from view. Just then, the Chartist meeting was peaceably dispersing and, as several of its members came through the Oval with some of their banners furled or rolled-up, this fast gentleman proposed that we should sally out and seize upon those banners. “Certainly not, Sir” said our Inspector. They are breaking up and going home quietly, but any attack upon them now would produce a serious disturbance and lead to real mischief, to we know not what extent”. All went off quietly, and the Chartists sunk into their native insignificance.

If on that day they had any plan or intention of making a row (which I very much doubt), they were confounded and overawed by the effectual preparations made by Government to put them down at once, had they been so silly as to have attempted it.

November 2^nd: Phoebe Elizabeth born. Absent from home again, owing to the complaints of my Daughter Susan, etc., at my idleness and dependence.

1849

Susan had quitted home, and John also, because I was living upon their earnings. This year I was much from home, and suffered very great hardships, being once for 6 weeks together without once lying down in a bed, but spent my time sleeping in the parks in summer, or dozing in coffee houses in cold or wet weather.

I was absent when poor Francis died of Cholera, when his mother was thought to be dead of the same terrible malady.

That Christmas I spent in the East London Model Lodging House in Glasshouse Yard, Dock Street, near the London Docks, where we slept in bunks, or wooden berths like horse boxes on leather beds, our covering being a worsted rug and one or two skins of leather.

1850

Much the same as last year, “bobbing around” from one lodging house to another, but still earning a subsistence, or rather an existence, for myself by making and selling garters. Still, preferable to living “dependent on my Wife and children”.

1851

At home the greater part of this year¹. Engaged for several months selling pictures, books, etc., in front of the Great Exhibition, whose progress I watched almost daily from the time the first pillar was erected until it was opened. During this time, I did pretty well by buying views of the building plain and colouring them myself, until suddenly, one Sunday morning, when I and many others had strained every nerve to get up a good stock, on going to Hyde Park we found large bills posted at every gate, strictly prohibiting the exposure or sale of any sort of goods in any part of that park, not only then, but at any future time, although we had no notice of this from the police the evening before.

This was a terrible blow and disappointment to many. One young lad, who was the best and most fortunate salesman of all, had laid out above £2 in the purchase of medals, all which he expected to sell that day, but which were now in a measure useless, for although you might suppose that persons going into Hyde Park to see the exhibition, or coming out from it, would be as ready to buy pictures or medals thereof outside as well as inside the park, the fact was otherwise. Not one could be sold outside for 50 which had been sold inside.

In this extremity, we were glad to dispose of our stock to the small shops about Knightsbridge at the wholesale cash price that we might not go home without any money. Our case being one of great hardship, I drew up a petition to Prince Albert, President of the Royal Commission for the building, etc., of the exhibition, praying for an alteration in our favor, which I got signed by many of the picture, book and medal sellers and forwarded to His Royal Highness, but never received any answer thereto. So our misfortune proved to be complete and irremediable.

May 1^st: Took George to see the opening of the Great Exhibition by the Queen, Prince Albert, etc., etc., which was a very splendid sight and the day was bright and beautiful.

I omitted in its proper place that on March 25^th Lavinia was born.

As Mun and Henry were still living at home, had employment and brought in something to the common stock, they now became dissatisfied and complained as the others had done before that I was idle and in some measure dependent upon their earnings. Stung by this accusation, I again fled from home to the hardships incident to the life of a common lodger spending my days at work in a cold, comfortless back garrett, and my nights trudging through the streets, striving hard to earn a scanty pittance, exposed to wet, cold and insult, rather than be a burden or trouble to others.

1852

Having still occasionally had assistance from my Mother and being always willing and ready to do the best I could towards maintaining my family, I ought not to have been driven away by the charge of subsisting upon the labours and earnings of others.

May 26^th: Received a letter from my Mother enclosing me £1, for which I had not asked her. That letter was much as follows –

“Phibbsboro’ – Dublin

22^nd May 1852

“My poor Dear Mun,

This is the last letter you will ever receive from me, for I feel that I am dying, and although Dixie Clement is despaired of and they do not know the hour he may die, I somehow think I shall go before he does. I enclose you £1 and wish I could do more, but the trifle I have left will only be sufficient to bury me decently. With best prayers and blessings for you and your family, I remain Dear Mun

Your affectionate Mother

Susanna Paumier”

That letter alarmed me seriously, although my Mother had often before thought she was dying, and I felt half inclined to start off for Dublin, ill-furnished as I was for such a purpose. However, I answered it directly, saying that if she still felt in any danger I begged her to write to me immediately if she was able, or to get my Sister Fanny to do so for her, and that I would find some means of getting over to Dublin as soon as possible. I received no answer, but was much shocked a few days after on that letter being returned with the awful word “Dead” in large red letters. I then wrote to my Sister to know when my Mother died and whether she had thought or spoken about me before her departure, to which she replied very briefly that my Mother died on the 28^th of May, but had not mentioned me, that she had not left any money behind her, but that there were two boxes of her clothes which might be useful to my Wife and daughters, if I could find any means of getting them over.

A few days afterwards she informed me that on June 8^th her husband Dixie Clement had died. This was in accordance with my Mother’s prediction. Having now lost her husband and all her children, except her eldest son Dixie who was living in the country, she was going to sell off her furniture and to go and live with him, and as my Mother had left a few articles of furniture they were sold at the same time and my Sister remitted me the amount they sold for. The two boxes of clothes I had brought over in a sailing vessel from Dublin. Necessity compelled us to part with them, so that they proved of but little use.

1853

Almost all this year I was absent from home, living at lodgings in Queen St., Seven Dials, where I met with a very extraordinary person and character, Mr James Wells, who had been a boatswain in the navy. He was handsome, tall and of herculean frame and proportions, and possessed the voice of a stentor. He was an excellent scholar, remarkably witty, and full of amusing anecdotes of persons and things both on land and sea. He was likewise highly talented and was perfect master of a very elegant art called Pyrography, or drawing upon wood with hot irons. Some of his performances in this line were really beautiful, especially his portraits of the Queen, the Duke of Wellington and a picture of a Spanish monk at his devotions with a crucifix and a skull before him.

With all these mental endowments and physical powers he was remarkably kind hearted and gentle in his manners, and had a sweet and smiling expression in his large and handsome eyes. It was impossible to see and hear him without feeling warm admiration and regard towards him, which I evinced so plainly by looks, words, actions and writing as to convince him of my sincerity, and he professed an equally warm friendship towards me.

In all my long and wide experience I never met so agreeable a companion. To amuse him, I composed about 20 little songs or poems all upon persons or occurrences in the lodging house where we were living, with which he was greatly delighted for he was himself a poet and a good singer of sea and other songs. But, as a counterpoise to all those pleasing qualities, he had one gigantic fault, a terrible propensity for drink, which had often reduced him to the lowest ebb of poverty and misery, although his family and friends were all highly respectable and independent.

It was really melancholy and painful to see so great a genius give way to so degrading a vice. I often kindly reasoned with him upon it, and twice succeeded in prevailing upon him to join the “Total Abstinence Society”, which he did, and on each occasion persevered for several weeks in the strict observance of the pledge.

It was then really delightful to mark the change in his appearance manners and conduct, as he could now dress well, look well, eat and live well, and act well. He did not however persevere long in that good cause, and ultimately his friends sent him and his brother (much like himself) out to America, from whence they meant to make their way to Australia, and I hence never since heard how they got on, but mean to make enquiry.

1854

This year, as last, I was much from home, and continued to live at the same lodging house.

July 31^st: Our lovely little Daughter Phoebe, then in her 6^th year, died of a sun-stroke whilst I was absent, but hearing of it the next day, I went home at once to see my darling child before she was consigned to the grave and to console her mother who was almost distracted. I could not, however, see my child who was already screwed down in her coffin, but I was comforted by anecdotes of her which my Wife told me, and by the full conviction that our lovely one was then an angel in Heaven, for did not Our Saviour Himself say “of such is the Kingdom of Heaven”, and she was an angel even on earth. The remainder of this year we suffered much adversity, and I was almost mad to see my dear Wife and children so much in want of necessaries which it was out of my power to obtain for them.

1855

January 29^th: Mr George Gargrave, my Wife’s father, died, being then about ___ years old. The same day I quitted home unable to endure any longer the sight of my family’s distresses.

February 5^th: Met with a serious accident by falling down the kitchen stairs in the dark at a strange lodging house, when I was so severely hurt as to be obliged to keep my bed next day, and growing much worse, and being seized with excruciating pain in my inside so that I thought I was actually dying, I begged to be taken to St Giles’ Workhouse. When I got there I was at once sent up into the infirmary, where I continued for 3 or 4 weeks, having very comfortable quarters there all that time, but occasionally shocked by seeing poor creatures dying around me.

On getting better I was removed into the body of the house, where the food was so scanty and the society so disagreeable that I applied for my discharge after one weeks’ experience there, and came out accordingly.

I was then but thinly clad and lately out of a sick bed in very severe winter weather, without a penny in my possession. To raise two or three pence, I sold a pocket handkerchief, etc., which enabled me to go to a coffee house and write a note to my excellent friend Doctor McCaul, which I took to his residence, but as he was then out I had to walk about in the cold for an hour or two. When going down to Billingsgate Market, I found on the wharf there a piece of tin with the word “Prosper” upon it, which I took as a good omen for the future, and so it turned out to be, for I had good luck for a long time after and whilst ever I kept it. On returning to Dr McCaul’s, I received from him 2/-, which set me up with a little stock of garters and enabled me to provide myself with a comfortable lodging, food, etc.

The remainder of this year I spent in voluntary banishment from my home and family, and in constant efforts to maintain myself by honest industry. This Christmas, having been assisted by Dr McCaul with a trifle, I was resolved to have Christmas fare, and accordingly purchased a small quantity of roast beef, baked potatoes, greens and plum pudding at a cookshop for the very moderate sum of 6½d., which made me a comfortable dinner. But, I thought much about my poor family at home and considered whether they had even so good a meal as the poor wandering outcast.

1856

Feeling increased anxiety about my Wife and children, of whom I had seen or heard nothing for above twelve months, I resolved to make enquiry about them and to return home if I should find matters suitable for my doing so. Accordingly, on March 21^st, being Good Friday and the anniversary of my Son William’s birth (he being now 30 years old), I wrote an affectionate letter to my Wife, which I took over in the evening to Bermondsey, and sent by a strange boy to the house where I had left her living, whilst I waited the result in a coffee house nearby. The messenger soon returned saying that she had left that residence some time ago, and that the people there did not know where she was then living. This was sad news for me, and for some time I was at a loss how to proceed. But still anxious to see my dear Wife and children, I at last resolved to enclose a letter for her to my Son Mun, which I did, and took it to where he was working when I last left home. But, I was there informed that he had quitted that employment and was engaged in another concern in the Borough, to which place I took it and left it for him as he was out.

In that letter to my Wife, I appointed to meet her at a certain coffee house in the Borough, which I accordingly, did when I found her as usual very melancholy but still forgiving and affectionate as she has ever been towards me, notwithstanding all the trouble and grief I have caused her by my frequent and long sojournings from home. I was deeply affected by the involuntary fondness of our dear little Daughter Lavinia, who seemed delighted to see me once more and who squeezed and actually kissed my hand several times. Moved by these natural evidences of being still an object of regard to my beloved Wife and children, I agreed to return home, which I did on Sunday, April 27^th, when I met with an affectionate welcome. But, as my peculiar business obliged me to travel about the West End of town until very late every night, and I had then to “plod my weary way” to Bermondsey, I used to get home so dreadfully fatigued as to be scarcely able to crawl, having to go a long way for my materials every morning. This, together with bad trade and the misery of still seeing the distress of my family, obliged me to quit home once more on the 19^th July, Since which I have struggled on alone.

London 17^th November 1856

My Dear Sons,

Contrary to my expectations, I have been enabled to bring this little volume to a close, and to furnish it will all the most important particulars which I wished to place on record for your information and amusement. On revising these pages, I find I have omitted many things which I meant then to include, but nothing much of consequence.

If I should be spared a little longer and be permitted to do so, I may and will yet add the Appendix, which will contain all or most of those omitted particulars. But, should I not find time and opportunity to do so, I shall rest satisfied with what I have already done, and therefore now commend this little work to your particular care and attention. You may implicitly rely on the general correctness, although I may possibly in some few instances have mistaken dates. Still, it is rather surprising that I should so well remember so many things at such various and now remote periods. The duty of compiling this little volume for you has laid heavy on my mind for years, and now that it is completed I feel relieved from a great oppression.

Having been now nearly 4 months absent from home, I again begin to experience those natural yearnings after the society and [….] of the Wife of my bosom, the partner of my joys and sorrows, and those dear children with whom God has graciously blessed us. For, although they, as well as other frail and mortal creatures, may each have some peculiar fault or defect (and who is without such), yet upon the whole we have very great reason to thank God that they are free from any serious defect either mental, bodily or in their lives and conduct. None of them have ever (to the best of my knowledge and belief) been guilty of any fault or action which need call a blush into the cheeks of their parents, or cause us any serious trouble or regret. On the contrary, you have all done your duty diligently, faithfully and honestly. May you ever continue to do so, and to be a credit not only to yourselves but to us likewise.

It is my present intention to communicate with your mother soon and to make arrangements for spending this Christmas in the sanctuary of home and in the sweet company of my family. Possibly I may be disappointed in this object and expectation. If so, and that I should then be still living, though absent in person, I shall be with you in spirit, and shall then, as always, fervently pray that God may bless you each and all with His Mercy and Goodness, and endow you with health, happiness and Prosperity.

And now to conclude, I offer the following observations as an extermination at least of any errors, although they may not be considered by you or others as affording a sufficient excuse for the same. My faults have been those of omission, rather than commission. I have indeed “left undone those things which I ought to have done” in my great neglect of your education, in not taking better care of my employments, and the means placed at my disposal from time to time, and especially in leaving my Wife and children to struggle with adversity. Whilst I had the means of providing properly for them, and of making them comfortable and happy, I did so faithfully and cheerfully. When at home, I never was an unkind husband or harsh Father, but loved my Wife and children dearly, and did all in my power to promote their peace and welfare.

When my means were exhausted and I could no longer do anything material towards their support, I could not bear to continue in any degree to be dependent upon them or to witness the misery and want which my own improvidence, not vices, had brought upon them, and had I not fled and remained away I should either have gone mad or put an end to my existence. Such were and still are my feelings. But, I will yet strive and hope to bring about a better state of things. Adieu my Sons. May God bless you all, pray, your affectionate Father

M. W. Paumier

Ancestors: Mungo Paumier (b1797) - Pedigree

2024-05-16T15:11:00.000+01:00

Mungo William Paumier (for who I am named) was born in Dublin in 1797, descended from a French Huguenot family and local Irish Nobles. He had......an expressive personality, and was prone to exaggeration, and fell into relative poverty in London when too many of his ambitious schemes failed to bear fruit.

Convinced he should have been far richer than he was, he wrote a diary/life history of over 50,000 words with a pedigree (some of it inaccurate) for his descendants. The original hand-illustrated book (1856) itself resides with one of those descendants, who has added 'editor's notes'.

Due to length, this is now split into two parts, the Pedigree and the Diary.

Family Records

of the

Paumiers & Twentymans

Collected & Arranged

by Mr. M. W. Paumier

with

an Autobiography of himself

and an Appendix Containing

Many Interesting, Familiar

& Amusing Facts & Anecdotes

Affectionately Dedicated to

His Children, Grand-children

& their Descendants, & lib.

London, A.D. 1856

Crest A Stork with a stone in his claw

Arms A Field Azure with a Chevron Or in chief bearing 2 Palm branches – 2 Roses and a Pomegranate

Motto “Vigilantia” – Watchfulness

Explanation of the Crest

The Stork is a very wary bird. When a flock of these birds goes to sleep on the shore they appoint one to sit as sentinel; who stands on one leg, holding a stone in the other claw, which he throws down violently amongst the rocks, the noise of which alarms the whole flock when any danger is apprehended. Therefore the Stork is celebrated as an emblem of “Watchfulness”. It is very remarkable that on my quitting Ireland to settle here in 1825 - on looking for a text I pitched upon this “You have a Watch, make it as sure as you can”.

Dedications, etc.

To you, my dear children, all, but more especially to you my fine surviving sons – William George, John Peter, Mun Noble, Henry Charles, and George – to your children and their descendants, henceforth, I most affectionately address and dedicate this little volume for your information and amusement. It contains the only authentic “Family Records” of the two originally most respectable and opulent (although latterly very unfortunate) families of the “Paumiers” and the “Twentymans” of whom we are now the only true, lineal, legitimate and legal personal descendants, representatives and heirs.

It is not that I now have any expectation of ever recovering any part or portion of the very considerable family property, on both sides, to which I am legally entitled; and which I ought now to be in possession of – for, alas! I fear, we shall never recover a penny thereof, having lost all the requisite proofs and documents necessary to establish my just and legal claim. But it is because I feel and own it to be my duty to leave you all the information I can upon these, to you, very interesting subjects, that I now, for the third time, commence the task of detailing to you the whole particulars of our Family connections and circumstances, because you naturally wish and ought to know them, and because there is still a faint and remote possibility that even after my death, you may be wanted and sought for as the heirs-at-law of the Paumiers, and even of the Twentymans.

It is not, therefore, with any empty pride of birth or ancestry that I am about to inform you who and what my progenitors were. It affords but little satisfaction and no present advantage to me that I have not only gentle but noble blood in my veins, that all my relations on both sides were independent and opulent Gentlemen and Ladies, whilst I (a solitary exception to the general rule), have been, and am still, the only individual of my Family ever engaged in business, devoid of property and power.

Could I live my life over again and choose my circumstances, I would willingly resign the honour of noble and gentle origin and prefer being the son of a humble and industrious tradesman or mechanic; that I might be brought up to some useful, respectable and profitable trade, rather than to any official employment which, although it may be considered suitable for a Gentlemen, is still so very precarious and unstable. It was my intention to have reared you all as Clerks, and had I continued in that line myself, I should probably have done so, but under existing circumstances, I am glad to see you all engaged in humble but respectable situations where I trust you will all gradually advance until you finally attain to an honest independence, the fruit of your own good conduct and industry.

In official employments the opportunities are frequent and the temptations great for making use of other’s property. Even amongst the highest and wealthiest it is the same, as witness Mr. Fontleroy, Sir John Dean Paul ¹ and Partners, and still more recently Mr. Sadlier M.P., who lost their character, liberty and lives through a blind and infatuating avarice. Not a week elapses without bringing to light some fresh and glaring case of embezzlement, vide Messrs. Robson–Redpath, etc., so that you are really surer and better off in your present humble situations than in better paid, more respectable but more dangerous circumstances.

And, should it ever be the will of providence to raise you in the scale of society, to endow you with independent incomes and render you rich in comparison with the past, you will feel that you have deserved that favour by your patient “perseverance in well doing”.

You will enjoy your advantages tenfold more than if you had been “born with a gold spoon in your mouths”, and I trust that in such case you will fulfil all your duties in accordance with your improved means.

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The Paumiers

No. 1 Monsieur Jean Paumier: (my Great Grandfather) was a French Gentleman of good family possessed of considerable property in the neighbourhood of Bordeaux. I believe he was the Proprietor of Chateau Clarac¹, famous for its wines and imperial plums. He was a strict Roman Catholic.

No. 2 Madame Paumier: wife of the above (and of course my Great Grandmother) was a Lady of good family and fortune. She was likewise a Roman Catholic but not so bigoted as her husband.

No. 3 Monsieur Jean (or John) Paumier: (my Grandfather) was the eldest son of the two preceding persons. At 18 years of age he became a Protestant, which subjected him to much persecution.

No. 4 Pierre (or Peter) Paumier: his brother, younger than himself, followed his example ².

Both of them were so terribly annoyed and harassed on that account, and so much in danger of losing their lives, that they were ultimately advised and compelled to quit their native country forever and to emigrate with many others under similar circumstances. They accordingly made their way to, and settled in, Ireland about 1740.

My Grandfather, John Paumier, must have been a person of strong mind and good sense, for instead of devoting himself to pleasure and extravagance, as many at his age would have done, he very wisely began at once to prepare himself for a future course of industry and independence by placing himself and his brother at a public Grammar School in Drogheda (a large town or city about 23 miles from Dublin) for the express purpose of acquiring a perfect knowledge of the English language and the most approved methods of accounts and book-keeping. There they continued for two or three years, in which time my Grandfather made himself so completely master of the English tongue that he never afterwards spoke with the slightest foreign accent.

He likewise acquired such remarkable proficiency in writing, arithmetic and book-keeping that, when he afterwards became a merchant and kept his own books they were the admiration of all who ever saw them – I never did. Nor do I know what became of them, although doubtless they are still in existence, preserved by some member of our family, for no one would wilfully destroy such venerable documents and evidences of my Grandfather’s great talents and extensive business. The case of his brother Peter was totally different, for he never could speak good English nor imbibe any turn for business.

Having thus qualified himself for mercantile pursuits, my Grandfather decided upon commencing operations in the Sugar Refining department, for which purpose he had the large dwelling house and extensive warehouses erected at a cost of Fifteen Thousand Pounds, in the first instance, which were afterwards enlarged and increased as occasion required. Those large premises and property were called Mullinahack ¹, by which name the remains of them are still known to every intelligent inhabitant of Dublin.

I visited them when there in 1838 and shall never forget the melancholy interest with which I wandered through those remnants and monuments of the Paumiers’ prosperous days, when riches and happiness enlivened those scenes – so lonely, so dreary, neglected and sad when I inspected them then. There stood the large mansion, still in good presentation, but empty, except a room or two on the ground floor, occupied by a poor family in care of the premises once and long no doubt filled with costly furniture, the happy and numerous family and the joyous and wealthy friends and relations of the Paumiers.

There was the countinghouse where my Grandfather transacted his extensive and thriving business, now silent and untenanted like some dismal prison. And there were the extensive and lofty warehouses (huge as some of those now used in the same line, Sugar Refining, situated in the neighbourhood of Whitechapel) once filled with costly merchandise and busy workmen, now forsaken and fallen into ruins. There were even the fragments of various utensils pertaining to the business and the places where the sugar grinding mills and the boiling vats were once so diligently employed, looking like the vestiges of some doomed city buried by an earthquake, deserted by its inhabitants in the midst of their occupations, and left a sad memorial of former prosperity.

Those great premises were erected by my Grandfather above a century ago at a very considerable cost, and you will very naturally wonder and enquire how that cost could be defrayed by an expatriated emigrant and refugee who had fled from persecution in France and settled in Ireland so very recently ? The fact is that my Grandfather John and his brother Peter had sold property which they possessed in France. Their mother had likewise disposed of her valuable jewels to assist them, and it is very probable that even their Father and other relations, although obliged ostensibly to cast them off and forsake them because they had become Protestants, might have contributed secretly to provide the funds necessary to set them up in business. Besides, they had many wealthy friends, refugees like themselves (especially the Latouches and the Villebois ² who accompanied them in their flight) who might have leant them money.

And perhaps also they, like most other persons commencing business, begun with large credit. Be that as it may, it is quite certain that Mullinahack was built, fitted up, stocked and set to work, as the first and largest Sugar Refining establishment ever opened in Dublin under the firm of Messrs. John and Peter Paumier, for although my Grand-Uncle Peter had no knowledge of, or talent for, business his brother generously gave him an equal share in the same, of which he was only a sleeping partner, whilst my Grandfather was the active one, having all the trouble and responsibility resting upon him.

The Sugar Refining business answered remarkably well, and my Grandfather gradually added other articles and speculations, until he became a General Merchant – having ships of his own, trading to various nations with freight to and fro.

Until lately I had in my possession for many years my Grandfather’s Freedom of the Guild of Merchants in Dublin – dated April 1747¹. It was a piece of parchment about the size of this book when opened, consisting of a copperplate form with the City arms and a neat border. On the back were endorsed the fees paid on registry and which amounted to £ 13 odd. That document I lost, together with many others of great importance to me, during a serious illness in February 1855.

Thus, my Grandfather was proceeding successfully in his mercantile career, and would no doubt have realised an immense fortune had he lived to continue his operations for many years longer. But, alas! He was suddenly cut off by a fever in the prime of his life (about 40) and the height of prosperity, leaving a widow and 8 children of whom my Father, the oldest I believe, was only 14 years old, and at that time young men went to school until they were 20 years of age.

As my Grandfather died Intestate (or without having made any Will) his property, which was all personal, had to be equally divided between his children and must have amounted to at least £ 120,000 as my Father’s share was at least £15,000².

About the years 1748 or 1749 my Grandfather married Miss Susanna Noble ³, a young lady of excellent family in the County Fermanagh and Province of Ulster in Ireland, who of course thereby became

No. 5 Mrs Susanna Paumier: of Mullinahack, by whom he had 8 children as follows:-

No. 6 John Paumier Esq.: my Father, born 1750 who married my mother Miss Susanna Twentyman in 1785 at Lincoln, died at Phibbsborough, Dublin 19^th August 1812 and was buried at Clontarf, County Dublin 22^nd August 1812.

No. 7 Mungo Paumier Esq.: my Uncle, who became a Lieutenant Colonel in the army, served in the first American War⁴ and was wounded at Bunker Hill⁵. Retired upon Half-Pay. Married Miss Maria Faulkner in the Isle of Man in 18-- ⁶ by whom he had 3 children (2 Sons and 1 Daughter). He inherited the property of his Uncle Peter Paumier (producing about £500 or £600 per annum) and died at Egremont in Cumberland in 1820.⁷

No. 8 Miss Frances Paumier: my Aunt, married Thomas Clement Esq., by whom she had 4 children (3 Sons and 1 Daughter). She was left a widow and died at Douglas, Isle of Man 18--.⁸

No. 9 Miss Penelope Paumier: my Aunt, who married the Reverend John Ball, by whom she had many children, and after his death she married Milo Bagot Esq., by whom likewise she had several children. She died in Dublin in 18--⁹.

No. 10 Miss Susan Paumier: of No. 3 Gloucester Street, Dublin, my Aunt, who never married, a lady of large property, most highly respected by all, the great depository of all the family annals, memorials and anecdotes. She died in Gloucester Street, in 183[1]¹⁰.

No. 11 Miss Prudence Paumier: my Aunt, who never married, but having spent her fortune in fashionable society (Lady Kinsale was one of her most intimate friends, as was also General Sir John Moore, the noted Hero of Corunna, Lord Aylmer and many other noble and exalted persons) she sold the last part of her property for an Annuity of £60 per annum, which she received regularly until her death which took place in Dublin in 18--^.1

No. 12 Miss Elizabeth Paumier: my Aunt, who never married but died many years before any of her sisters ².

No. 13 Miss Mary Paumier: my Aunt, who never married. She was rather weak in her intellects, through grief at losing more of her property, as I shall state by and by. She lived with Mrs. Paumier, widow of my Uncle Lt. Col. Paumier, until her death, which happened at Egremont, Cumberland in 18[42]³.

My Grandmother, Mrs Susanna Paumier, had a relation (whether brother or cousin I am not certain, but the latter I believe) Brabazon Noble Esq., a Gentleman who holds a very conspicuous place in the history of our Family, and but for whom we might now have been amongst the most wealthy and respectable citizens of Dublin.

This Brab Noble was a Gentleman of handsome fortune and most insinuating manners. He was universally considered as a man of the strictest probity, judgment and generosity, and was selected by many distinguished and opulent families as the most eligible person to be appointed as executor, trustee and guardian to many young persons inheriting very considerable property. So high indeed was his reputation and character that he was actually called by many “The God-like Brab”.⁴

Amongst others, my Grandfather was one of his great admirers and, although he died intestate, he had often expressed his wishes that Brab Noble should be the Guardian and Trustee to his children in case of his death – then little expected. Therefore, when that sad event suddenly occurred, Brab Noble stood forward as the especial friend and protector of the orphan family. Had he fulfilled his duty properly as such, he should have had the great business of Mullinahack continued and carried on for the benefit of the orphans and minors until they were able to take it in hand themselves, which would not have been very long as my Father was then 14 years old and his brother Mun only a little younger. But, instead of doing that, Brab Noble discontinued the business and broke up the establishment at Mullinahack, called in the debts, sold off the stock and shut up the premises.

This of course could not have been done without the knowledge and consent of my Grandfather’s brother and partner, Peter Paumier. But he, as I have already stated, had no turn for business, and probably left it all at the disposal of this talented gentleman and friend of the family – Brab Noble. My Grand-uncle Peter ought of course to have had his half, or proper share, whatever it might be of the proceeds. But I rather imagine that he as well as others was victimised, as it appears that all the property which remained in his possession until his death, which he left to his Widow Mrs Paumier of Bath, and at her death to my Uncle Col. Paumier, consisted of a certain share in the freehold premises of Mullinahack, some adjoining houses and some other houses in Lower Dominick St. (one of which was tenanted by Lord Howth) producing an income of about £500 or £600 per annum.

My Grandmother complained that she had no jointure, no marriage settlement having been made, and she married again, a Mr. Macquay¹, Uncle I believe to the very Gentleman, Mr Hamilton, who now holds possession of that part of the Mullinahack property which belonged to my Grand-Uncle Peter, and which my Cousin Mun Noble Paumier sold to him, having by a Deed of Consent, surreptitiously obtained from my brother Charles (then his Heir at Law), cut off the entail of that property from me and you.

Brab Noble had therefore the complete management and control of all the property belonging to our family, my Father, his Brother and Sisters, my Uncle and Aunts, and of other families likewise, which he made use of for his own objects and advantage.

In the first place, as soon as he had suppressed and discontinued the Sugar Refining business at Mullinahack, he commenced the same on his own account in other premises I believe, but failed in his undertaking, whether from incapacity or inattention I am not sure, but most probably from a combination of both those great obstacles to success. This was the just reward of his cruelty and selfishness in breaking up the business at Mullinahack instead of continuing the same for the benefit of the orphans.

Another unlucky speculation of Brab Noble, was opening and working a Copper Mine called the “Crone Bane”² Copper Mine from which he coined money, halfpence and penny pieces, which circulated freely for many years in Ireland. I can well remember having some of them in my possession when I was very young. On the obverse was the head of an aged woman, I suppose with a large cowl or hood on (much resembling the Welsh coins I have seen with the Druid’s head upon them). On the reverse was a cipher of two or three letters, and the inscription contained the name of the mine, “Crone Bane”. But that attempt to amass riches likewise failed with our great speculator.

The way, however, in which he chiefly squandered immense sums of money was the indulgence of a very peculiar fancy he had for purchasing forsaken and dilapidated mansions and neglected estates, repairing, enlarging and furnishing the same, living there for a while and then abandoning that when he had renovated another.

When to these extravagant habits, was added the excessive hospitality then so frequently practised in Ireland in “Keeping Open House”, where every decent stranger was welcome to bed and board free of expense for weeks and months together, which absolutely ruined many Gentlemen of good property, and which silly extravagances Brab Noble used to excess.

All these things combined shattered his fortune and involved him in difficulties, especially as some of his wards were coming of age and demanding their property, demands which he could not meet. He suddenly disappeared and went off to America with the poor remains of his own and many other person’s property, where he lived and died in obscurity ³.

After my Grandfather’s death, my Father continued at school for some years, then entered Trinity College, Dublin¹ and afterwards came to London to study the Law, or “eat his terms as a bencher in the Temple”, meaning to become a Barrister, and no man was ever better qualified to rise and shine in the legal profession as he was. For no man was gifted with brighter talents, possessed of a handsome face and elegant figure, graceful in all his movements, of highly polished manners and most engaging address, learned, witty and glamorous, he would have been a star of eloquence, and would doubtless have filled some of the very highest judicial office, such as Lord Chief Justice or Lord Chancellor, and would in that way have acquired a noble title and considerable property.

But my father was too gay and fond of travelling about to sit down to the dry and musty study of the Law, and therefore never was called to the Bar. He entered the Army however as an Ensign [in the infantry, in today’s army a Second Lieutenant], but continued in that line only a short time as his proud and ungovernable spirit and temper would not suffer him to submit long to military subordination and restraint. Still, he spent most of his time with military men and was particularly intimate with many general officers, colonels and amongst whom I recollect a few, viz. Lord Moira (afterwards Marquis of Hastings) and his brother Colonel George Rawdon², General Sir Brent Spencer³, Sir William Payne Galway, Sir J. C. Hippesley ⁴, Sir John Moore³, Vereker ⁵, Desondass, etc, etc.

My Father spent the greater part of his time in England – in the most fashionable society and in the vanities and vices of that highest class he squandered the whole of his property. I have stated that his share of the Mullinahack property amounted to £ 15,000, but instead of taking it into his own possession when of age, he suffered it to remain in the hands of Brab Noble, from whom he drew large sums as his occasions required, without keeping any regular account of the same, until at length he was thunderstruck when his noble guardian suddenly informed him that he had no more money of his left. This was about the time of Brab Noble’s break up, and his sudden flight to America. Thus was my Father at once cut down from affluence and headless extravagance to absolute poverty and serious embarassment. He had, however, numerous wealthy friends who liberally supplied his wants until he obtained an appointment in the Irish Ordnance Department, after which he became secretary to the Irish Commissary General with a liberal salary, which situation he filled to the day of his death, 19^th August 1812.

He was a most accomplished Gentleman and an exquisitely elegant dancer, equal I believe to many opera dancers. This naturally led him into society and thus he became acquainted with my Mother

No. 14 Miss Susanna Twentyman: daughter of the Reverend Dr. Childers Twentyman, one of the Vicars Choral at Lincoln Minster, and sister to Brigadier General Samuel Twentyman, whom my Father married in the year 1785. She was a very handsome and elegant young lady, the most fashionable belle of Lincoln, likewise a most accomplished dancer, a very pleasing singer, and a good player on the English guitar, strung with wire. She had no fortune except £100 left her by an Uncle, a Mr Twentyman who was a Banker at Newark on Trent. By her, my Father had 13 children, namely:-

No. 15 Henry Paumier: my eldest Brother who died young;

No 16. Charles Paumier: my second Brother, who left home when about 6 years old, who was adopted by my Uncle, Colonel Paumier, and was sent by him to a large public boarding school at Barnard’s Castle, Northumberland, where he continued several years and then entered the Navy as a Midshipman under the kind auspices of Captain Inglefield, who treated him as if he were his own son and who would have adopted him as such had his conduct proved satisfactory. But, unfortunately, Charles had several vicious propensities, was terribly extravagant in his habits, too fond of women, drinking and low company and thus lost the favour of his Captain and patron; was guilty of many breaches of discipline and finally deserted from the service in the West Indies, thereby forfeiting his right to promotion and having the King’s Broad Arrow ( ) placed against his name, by which he was dismissed from the Service.¹

He wandered about for years sometimes in England, sometimes in America, in various capacities but generally in abject distress through the vice of drunkenness. In the summer of 1808, when my sister Fanny was on a visit to my Uncle Colonel Paumier, then living in the Isle of Man, Charles made his appearance there, in his usual wretched plight. He was first put to rights by my Uncle and came over to Dublin with my sister and stopped a short time with us at Phibbsboro’.

My Mother had not seen him for 16 years, and could never be persuaded that he was the same person who had left home a fine handsome spirited boy, for he now appeared really ugly, ill conditioned and degraded in every respect almost to the level of the brute creation so that we commonly spoke of him as the chimpanzee or the oranutang (sic).

My Father rigged him out in new sailor’s clothes and made interest with some of his noble friends connected with the admiralty so effectually as to procure Charles’s pardon for desertion, to have the Broad Arrow removed from his name, and to allow him to resume his standing in the Navy as a Midshipman, eligible to be soon promoted to a Lieutenancy provided his conduct gave satisfaction.

What an unlooked for and undeserved advantage and opportunity was thus afforded to Charles of redeeming his lost character and of regaining his proper position in society as a Gentleman, and his proper rank in the noblest of all professions as an Officer in the British Navy ! What an almost miraculous chance of emerging suddenly from the most abject and degraded state of a miserable vagrant, pauper and mendicant to the high level of respectability !

Would to God, I had now or ever might have such a chance ! But, alas ! I fear I never shall. My future lot, I calculate, is only penury and wretchedness, poverty, obscurity and the Workhouse, for I have no friends left to interest themselves for me

“I have no Rich Relation To get me a situation”

and I am too old now to hope for or expect any such favourable opportunity of re-establishing my proper place in society.

And how did the wretched Charles use the means thus afforded him. Instead of returning with alacrity to his noble profession as an Officer (all his past errors blotted out), he declined that advantage and voluntarily preferred going “before the mast” as a common sailor, until he could find another opportunity of deserting from the Service entirely. This, of course, we were all shocked to learn in the course of events. He therefore returned to all his old vicious and depraved habits, “like a sow that is washed to her wallowing in the mire”, and chose rather to continue the life of a vagrant than to be an Officer and a Gentleman.

After my Father’s death, when I held a highly respectable situation in Dublin, I twice fitted him out for Sea. But whether he then went to sea in the Merchant Service or not I am not certain; for amongst all his other faults, Charles was so terrible a liar that we could not believe one word he said, on his authority, unless his statements were supported and confirmed by other and more satisfactory evidence. He said he had been to sea for years, had served in the American Navy and was therefore entitled to a considerable grant of land there. He likewise said that he was at the storming of Algiers under Lord Exmouth¹, but I do not believe any part of those statements.

When my Cousin, Mun Noble Paumier, came of age in 1833 and took possession of his property he, somehow or other, found out Charles, who was then in his usual state of poverty and wretchedness, and appointed to meet him in Dublin to purchase from him his title to some houses adjoining Mullinahack, bringing in about £60 per annum, which had devolved to Charles as Heir at Law to my Aunt, Miss Susan Paumier of Gloucester St. Being freehold property, it required three witnesses to her will, and it had but two. My Cousin made this a pretext for getting Charles to enter into a Deed of Assignment, which no doubt was so framed as to surrender his legal right and title, not only to that small portion of property, but likewise his Revertion of Rights and Heirs at Law to the whole of the property which my Cousin was then in possession of.

Whether Charles was aware of what he was doing at the time he did it I am not certain. But I rather imagine he was not, and think it most likely that when he signed that Deed he was either actually drunk or nearly mad from the effects of his usual habits of intemperance, and he probably never read the Deed at all.

It is certain, however, that he had no legal adviser to act for or direct him, and he was therefore entirely at the mercy of my Cousin and his attorney. For that job my Cousin paid Charles just £500, a tempting bait and a grand prize to a reprobate like him so lately sunk in the abyss of misery, profligacy and degradation. Thus he “sold his Birthright for a mess of Pottage”, and in doing so likewise sold mine and yours, my sons, as it must have devolved to me at Charles’s death, and to you at my decease.

I am still certainly Heir-at-Law to my Cousin Mun Noble. But unfortunately he has sold that property (the entail being cut off) to a Mr Hamilton of Dublin. I had a good legal opinion upon this subject, which was to the effect, that if I could prove that my brother Charles was “non compos mentis” or of unsound mind (either through intoxication or consequent stupor) at the time he signed that Deed, or that he was just ignorant of its purport and had no legal advisor, I could break or annul that Deed, and thereby distroy (sic) the Title to that Property and recover my proper possession as Heir-at-law to my Cousin. But it is quite useless thinking of this now, as I have no proof to that effect and all Charles’s papers and documents were lost by him, much in the same way as mine were lost, by his leaving them where he lodged and their being sold or made away with as waste paper by those with whom he left them.

Although Charles pleaded ignorance of the real purport and extent of that Deed, my Mother warned him of it, and when it was executed she actually went down on her knees and cursed him, because he had thereby not only surrendered and sold his own right and title to the property in case of my Cousin’s death, but had likewise destroyed mine and my children’s, should I or any of you survive him. And what good did that ill-gotten £500 do Charles ? The first thing he did was to lend my brother-in-law £200 of it, for which he, Dixie Clement, agreed to allow Charles interest at 5 percent per annum. But the only security for principal and interest was a receipt on a bit of unstamped paper, Dixie Clement at the same time promising to execute a regular Bond for the same, which he never did. Certainly he paid Charles the Interest up to the time of his death in 1835.

I cannot but blame my Sister Fanny (the wife of Dixie Clement) for being any party or partaker in that concern. She who was really a sensible and prudent woman and who had great influence over Charles ought to have advised him not to sell his birthright, were it even the small but certain property and income of £60 per annum which should have been ample provision and maintenance for him, a bachelor. It was very certain that he would waste and squander the whole of the ready money he received had it been thousands instead of hundreds, and that was the only excuse for this loan of £200 to Dixie Clement which would preserve so much of the principal and would yield him £10 per annum interest.

Charles, not knowing what to do with the remaining £300, by my mother’s advice came over to me in London that I might put him in the way of making some good use of it. This was “shutting the stable door after the horse was gone”. Had Charles come to me or even written to me for my advice previous to meeting my Cousin Mun Noble in Dublin, I should have gone there and either entirely prevented the occurrence of those fatal bargains, or at least have seen that ample justice had been done to Charles under proper legal advice and authority. But I was purposely kept in the dark during those negotiations and until it was too late to remedy the mischief which had been perpetrated. Charles offered my Mother money, to the extent of £100, but she would not accept a single penny from him out of the price of my just rights consequent upon his demise.

When he came to me here in the summer of 1833, I was in a good situation, as clerk and book-keeper to Messrs. Bardon and Gray, Importing and Shipping Wine Merchants, at a salary of £100 per annum, and was then a regular householder and rate payer at No. 8 Hackney Road Crescent, in the Parish of Bethnal Green, which gives me a legal settlement there as I never paid rates and taxes anywhere else since then.

When Charles sought my counsel, I advised him to advertise for employment, offering £100 as a “douceur” ¹, by which means he got a situation as clerk at Lime Wharf in Wapping under Mr. Barlow, the proprietor, who agreed to hold £100 of Charles’s as security for which he was to allow him £5 per annum interest and to repay him the principal by instalments. The salary was £80 per annum, and it was almost a sinecure as the actual business was done by an experienced man who lived on the premises, so that Charles had only to enter the particulars in the books and to make out the invoices. Besides which, he had several rooms in the large dwelling house rent free, some of which I and my family occupied as company for Charles and to provide his meals, washing, etc.

For getting him that engagement, for his board and lodging while living with me in the Hackney Road and other services I had done and had to do for him, he insisted on my accepting of £50, which was all I ever received from him.

Charles held that situation for several months, and then voluntarily resigned it. Not that his employer found any fault with him, but because he said he was receiving the salary without rendering any adequate service in return. The fact was, he got tired of sedentary employment and wished to be at liberty to indulge day and night in his old depraved habits of drinking, base women and other low company.

With the same view, he picked a quarrel with me after my return from Dublin, the consequence of which was as he wished, that I and my family quitted Wapping and left him “alone in his glory”. Soon afterwards, he threw up his situation, although his employer, Mr Barlow, wished him to retain it. He gave himself up to all his vile habits, spending most of his time at a low pot house in Wapping, squandering the remains of his little fortune in continual drunkenness and the very worst of company, and actually thought of marrying a tap room wench of the vilest character, for, of course, no decent female would have received his addresses. He lodged at a low house near Ratcliff Highway and became such a loathsome object of disease that he was compelled to go into the London Hospital where I saw him in bed after undergoing a filthy operation and where the very nurse who attended him, accustomed as she was to everything disgusting, was shocked to see an old man like him in such a condition. For although he was then only about 50, he looked above 10 years older, much older indeed than I do now, although I shall very soon be 60. He left that hospital incurable.

After that he went to Scotland, where he had some friend, an old Admiral who had known him in the days of prosperity when he was an Officer in the Navy, and I lost sight and knowledge of him for nearly two years, when he suddenly made his appearance, early in 1835, when I was living in Barret Street, Lambeth as a small Confectioner, having no settled employment.

That was the last I saw of my unfortunate Brother Charles. But I know he returned to Newcastle and went into the Infirmary there with his old and disgusting complaint, where I believe he died, in March or June 1835. Previous to that, he wrote to my Mother and to Dixie Clement about the interest of his £200, who then remitted him £5 or £10, the receipt of which he never acknowledged, and we never heard any more of him, except that he had left his papers with a Jeweller, named Cohen, in North Shields, as security for some money he had lent him. I forgot to mention that soon after he gave up his employment at Wapping, his Master Mr Barlow went to rack himself. Although he held a good situation as Secretary to the great Gas Works there and passed for a religious man, he became insolvent and Charles never received above £20 out of the £100 deposited in his hands merely as security.

No. 17 Frances Maria Paumier: my eldest Sister, born in Lincoln 14^th January 1786 and consequently now, if still living, above 70 years old. She was adopted by my Aunt Wetherall, my Mother’s Sister, in Dublin, (she having no child of her own living) with whom she resided for many years. She was gifted with extraordinary talents, sufficient to have made her a bright ornament in the most polished society. She had a voice like an angel and sung with such exquisite pathos and expression as often to move to tears even men. She could run up the gamut to extraordinary high notes, with a sweetness and clearness of intonation really astonishing.

Had her talent for music been cultivated there can be no doubt she would have equalled at least, if she had not surpassed, the most noted public songstresses, even Catalani, Miss Stephens or Jenny Lind herself. She could likewise play the guitar and piano-forte, but all by ear, as she never had the slightest instruction in vocal or instrumental music.

Her talents for drawing and painting were likewise most remarkable. She was an excellent copyist, but could draw equally well from nature and from fancy. Mr Mulvany, a distinguished artist and drawing master who lived next door to us in Phibbsborough, and who gained many prizes at the annual exhibitions of the Royal Dublin Society’s pictures, would have given anything to have my sister Fanny as a pupil, not, as he said, that he could teach her much, but for the honor and credit of his name.

Her compositions, both in prose and verse were elegant and her taste in literature most judicious and refined. Some years ago she gave me a little book containing some of her prayers and reflections upon domestic calamities and which were replete with the most truly christian piety, the loss of which I deeply lament.

She was equally skilful at needlework, making all her own dresses and milinery in the most tasteful and substantial manner. Her taste in dress was chaste and elegant, no gaudy colours, no incongruous mixtures, but the very best materials of the plainest colours, made according to the most approved patterns, but never in the extremes of the fashion, except in this respect - her dress resembled the most genteel Quakeress. Her mind was truly religious yet she was genuinely very cheerful and lively. It was impossible to be dull in her society, for she abounded with wit, humour and satire although always innocent and harmless. Her company was therefore much valued and sought. But although calculated to shine so brightly in society, she rather shunned than courted it, and exquisite as her singing was, she could very rarely be persuaded to sing in strange company. Indeed, modesty and reserve are generally the accompaniments of real genius, whilst those who are flimsy in talent and superficial in knowledge are ever ready to exhibit their limited powers.

As to personal appearance, my sister Fanny had no pretensions to beauty, but she had an intellectual intelligence in her countenance much more fascinating than the most regular features devoid of soul and mind. Her figure was symmetrical, movements dignified and graceful. Thus richly endowed by nature and fitted to mate with the most accomplished of men, she was destined to become the partner of a rude and savage husband, her own first Cousin, Dixie Clement Esq., who courted her for many years whilst her property was embezzled. Their union afforded an apt exemplification of Shakespear’s beautiful lines commencing:

“Forever Fortune wilt thou pierce”

especially where he says:

“To bind the gentle to the rude”.

Respecting them we might justly reverse the position in the well known and much admired song:

“Ah ! sure a pair were never seen” less “justly formed to meet by nature”.

And yet she continued to “sub on” somehow or other with him for 40 years.

His income ought to have been about £700 per annum, but unfortunately he was much addicted to gambling and other extravagant habits and had involved his property to a very great extent before he married my sister Fanny, and never, up to the hour of his death in 1852, cleared off the incumbrances, so that instead of living in comfort and even elegance upon such a fortune, he was always in difficulties and had not half the enjoyment of life he ought to have had with such ample means if properly applied.

My Sister Fanny had, by her husband Dixie Clement Esq., six children as follows¹:-

1^st Dixie Clement, born 12^th March 1814, now the only survivor and heir to his Father’s property, who has unfortunately lost the use of his legs many years ago;

2^nd Frances, a very amiable girl who lived until upwards of 20 and died of Cholera;

3^rd Jane, a lively and innocent girl who shared the same fate and died about the same time as her elder sister;

4^th Susan, who died young;

5^th Thomas, a fine intelligent boy who died when about [12] years old;

6^th Maria, a sweet and lovely girl, who lived to grow up and was suddenly removed.

Soon after her marriage in January or February 1812², my Sister Fanny accompanied her husband Dixie Clement to Carrickmacross in the County Monaghan where they lived many years. They afterwards removed to Comartin [Crowmartin ?], a small estate of his in the County of Louth, half way between Ardee and Carrickmacross³, where they inhabited the small mansion in the midst of their tenants for many years more, and where I visited them several times and spent some of the happiest days of my life in peace and comfort and in the delightful company of my beloved and favourite sister.

When my brother-in-law was thrown into the prison of Kilmainham near Dublin, my Sister removed with her family to Phibbsborough, where my Mother continued to reside, that she might be near her husband to minister to his necessities and comfort, and there she resided for several years until after the death of her husband on 8^th June 1852, my Mother lodging with her for many years previous and dying about the same time. After those sad events, my sister Fanny left Dublin and went to join her son Dixie Clement Esq. at Rathdrum⁴, where he had been living some years with a particular friend and where I suppose they both reside at the present time.

No. 18 Prudence Paumier: my youngest sister, called after my Aunt Prudy, who adopted her and had her brought from Lincoln to Kinsale ⁵ in Ireland when a mere infant. At that time my aunt Prudy had some considerable property left, which she promised to settle upon my sister, but which she afterwards squandered in fashionable follies excepting an annuity of £60 per annum only for her life for which she sold the residue of her property very prudently, or else she would have gone on spending until she had left herself totally penniless. But she frequently received very liberal assistance from many of her noble and wealthy friends by whom she was very much liked, for although she was really ugly, she was very agreeable in her manners very witty and satirical and of a very literary turn, so much so as to be considered quite a “Blue Stocking”. She was likewise a perfect lady of the old school in her manners, and altogether was a most agreeable companion but very extravagant in her habits.

My Sister Prudy was really handsome, and was the only one of our family who could have any claim to beauty. Under such an indulgent patroness as my aunt Prudy, it was not surprising that she inherited and copied the extravagance she shared in. She was really fascinating in her manners, although in a very different way from my sister Fanny, whose influence over others had its origins in her intellectual powers and developments, her sacred sense, her refined judgment, her religious and virtuous disposition combined with her wit and humour properly regulated, whilst my sister Prudy was all vivacity and fun without strict regard to propriety of expression. It was almost impossible to see her bewitching smile or hear her hearty laugh without joining in the demonstrations of mirth.

In January 1812¹ she married William Peter Birmingham Esq., a very tall and rather ugly Gentleman from the County Mayo, where he had spent the greater part of his fortune in very extravagant habits having been an Officer in the Mayo Militia. He had then apprenticed or articled himself to Mr. Hallahan, I think, a most eminent Surgeon in Dublin in which profession he attained very considerable proficiency, being a good scholar and a man possessed of excellent abilities. My aunt Prudy continued to live with my sister after her marriage until her death which happened in 18[46].

My brother-in-law, Mr Birmingham, soon afterwards got appointed assistant Surgeon to the 87^th or Connaught Rangers, one of the most distinguished Regiments in the service which was then in India, whither he and my sister proceeded to join that celebrated corps and there they remained several years.

Mr. Birmingham accompanied his regiment to Ceylon and went through the whole of the Burmese War leaving my sister, his wife, and children (they had several) awaiting his return in Calcutta.

Although the duties of a Surgeon should always keep him in the rear of a fighting army to attend to the wounded as they are brought in, his courage and rashness induced him to take an active part in the engagements, by which he unfortunately lost his life. For in storming and scaling one of the stockades he received so severe a blow of a musket butt on the chest that he never recovered the effects of the injury, although he lived and lingered in pain for a considerable time after².

The climate of India agreed uncommonly well with the health of my sister Prudy, who was always fond of warm weather when residing in Europe. The luxury and extravagance of India were equally agreeable to her and her husband, who besides his Regimental Commission as assistant Surgeon of the 87^th Foot held another appointment, or at least did duty, on the medical staff and private practice, so that their means were very liberal. But instead of saving any portion of their income for a rainy day, in case of death, ill health or other cause of recall to Europe, and as a future provision for themselves and their children, they spent all they received in the most fashionable enjoyments, keeping an elegant house with a multitude of servants or slaves, a handsome phaeton and a pair of ponies, etc.

Consequently, when my brother-in-law, Dr. Birmingham, died, my sister was left without any means or provision until she could obtain the pension to which she was entitled as an Officer’s widow. She therefore sold off all her furniture, carriage, horses, etc. and came to London with two sons, her only surviving children, to prefer her claim for the pension, which she of course readily obtained.

She then returned to Ireland where there was some little property, about £600, I think, settled upon the children at her marriage, the interest whereof she was to receive during their minority, which was about £30 per annum in addition to her pension of £50 a year, I believe. That income ought to have been sufficient for her, and she should have given her sons a good education, but that she neglected and squandered her small means in a very improvident manner being always in want and in debt.

Finding Dublin too expensive she retired to a remote part of Ireland, Bere Island off the coast of the County of Cork where she lived some years and died about 10 years ago leaving her two sons, my nephews, then surviving viz:

1^st. Mr William Peter Birmingham, the eldest then of age who had received and spent his small fortune, and

2^nd. Matthew Birmingham, the youngest, who soon after followed his brother’s example.¹

Whether those two young men are still living or not I am totally ignorant, or if living how they are circumstanced, as I have heard nothing respecting them for some years. The last I did hear of them was from the Reverend Abraham Hallowell of Bantry, County Cork, nephew of the Reverend Dr. McCaul who knew my sister Mrs. Birmingham and her sons. He informed me that they were both confirmed drunkards and dissipated characters and had squandered the little property they had received. As they were both tall and fine young men I had advised them to enlist in the East India Service or in some Dragoon Regiment.

No. 19 John Paumier: my brother, above 3 years older than myself. He had no occupation or profession until he was above 24 years of age when he came to London and was accepted as an Officer for the Patriots in South America (February 1819) by General English who was then recruiting here for that Service. My brother John was at once appointed as Cornet [cavalry rank, in today’s army a Second Lieutenant], in the 1^st Venezuelan Hussars and immediately upon his arrival at Bogota was promoted to the rank of Lieutenant and was attached of General Bolivar’s Guard of Honor. These favours were shown him through the kind interest of his Colonel, who had been personally acquainted with my Uncle, General Twentyman, and was pleased to show attention to his nephew.

A very remarkable coincidence occurred on this occasion. In the same service, and on board the same ship as my brother John sailed in, was a young man named Byrne, Grandson of the celebrated Byrne of Mullinahack, the great distiller who succeeded my Grandfather there, and my brother was the Grandson of the original proprietor, founder and builder of Mullinahack.

Of course, a close intimacy and friendship sprung up between these two Soldiers of Fortune, although I never heard anything more about Byrne or his career in South America. My brother and all the other Officers swore allegiance to the President and Republic of Venezuela and were re-baptised in Bogota with Spanish names when my Brother took the additional name of Peter and became Don Juan Pedro Paumier.

My Mother only had the one letter from him, but I had an authentic account of his subsequent life and death from Colonel Mackintosh of the “Battalion of Albion” in which my brother John was a Captain “most esteemed and beloved by all his fellow officers as a perfect Gentleman, a brave Soldier and a most agreeable companion” and never had any troops greater hardships to endure or harder battles to fight than they had.

After securing the Independence of Venezuela they crossed the Cordilera Mountains of immense height and extent into New Grenada¹, toiling on for above four months without any other food than the flesh of the wild buffalo, without bread, vegetables or salt. When passing over the summits and sides of those stupendous mountains, they were up to their hips in snow, and soon afterwards in crossing the valleys they waded through hot marshes to be again speedily succeeded by the perpetual snow on the mountains. Thus they proceeded and many sunk and died beneath those hardships before they reached the western side of those mountains, where a numerous, well trained and well provided army of Spaniards awaited them.

Nevertheless, harassed and weak and weary as the Patriots were, they at once boldly attacked the Spanish forces and beat them in several engagements, but especially in the celebrated Battles of Boyaca, Pasto and Popeyan ², for all of which my brother John was entitled to Grand Crosses besides a “Habu Militar”, some distinguished military honor and distinction for his bravery. He died of dysentry at Popeyan in November 1820, having then 2 years arrears of pay and allowances due to him. I applied on behalf of my Mother to Senor Machu, the Colombian Ambassador in London, and sent out two Powers of Attorney, the first to Colonel Campbell the British Charge d’Affairs at Bogota who declined acting on account of his official situation, and secondly to Messrs. Powels, Illingworth and Co., merchants in Bogota, connected with Messrs. Powles Brothers of London. Besides which, I forwarded a memorial from my Mother to the great Bolivar himself, claiming the arrears due to my brother and the Grand Crosses, etc., to which he was entitled, but we never succeeded in obtaining any of those things.

No. 20 Mungo William Paumier: the unfortunate author of these “Family Records”, the youngest child and son of John Paumier (No. 6) and his wife Susanna Twentyman (No. 14); was born in Phibbsborough, Dublin on the 4^th of November, 1796. I am therefore now (29^th September, 1856) within a very few days of 60 years old. The particulars of my life will be found in my “Autobiography” which follows these “Family Records” and need not therefore be given here.

No. 21 Mrs. Phoebe Elizabeth Paumier: wife of the foregoing Mungo William Paumier. Her maiden name was Gargrave. Her Father was a Cabinet and Plate Case Maker, a very respectable tradesman, who had seen much of life and was a very intelligent, well informed, sensible and prudent man who lived to considerably above 70 years of age and died on 29^th January, 1855. He was of course your Grandfather. His wife, your Grandmother, was a Miss Pritchard of Bristol, whose family was highly respectable¹. By him she had 6 children who lived to maturity, namely your 3 Uncles George, Francis and Joseph Gargrave, your Mother Phoebe, and your aunts Effy and Sophy (Mrs. Davis).

After his first wife’s death, your Grandfather George Gargrave married Jane Atkinson, a Quakeress by whom he had a second family, of whom 4 lived to maturity, namely your Uncle William Gargrave and your 3 aunts Susan, Betsy (Mrs Bull) and Jane, who died when about 20.

Since the death of her (Jane’s) mother, your Grandfather married his third wife Mary by whom he has left 2 children, Mary and James. Thus he was the Father of three distinct Families, several members of which have married and had children and even grandchildren so that if we calculate the number of his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, all born whilst he was living, we shall find that your Grandfather was the progenitor of considerably above 50 individuals.

When I married your mother² she was a buxom, blooming girl about 16 years old³ whilst I was about 29, yet there never appeared any remarkable disparity in our ages, and I am now as young in constitution and almost as young in appearance as your Mother. This is by no means extraordinary, for she has been the Mother of 11 living Children, besides several miscarriages, which it is well known, rack the constitution far more than a regular confinement. Besides which she has suffered severely from our reverse of fortune and for the last few years she has been subjected to much unhappiness in consequence of my frequent and long absence from home, the causes of which are elsewhere finally explained.

As this little Book may fall into the hands of strangers as well as yours, my sons, and as I promised and mean to give a full and complete record of all our Family up to the present period, I shall now proceed to subjoin a list of all your names and ages in regular order as your births occurred, with a few observations upon your several characters, dispositions and prospects. The following were the eleven Children of me, Mungo William Paumier, and Phoebe Elizabeth, my lawful wife, viz:-

No. 22 William George Paumier: Born 21^st March 1826, at No. 1 Cumberland St., Hackney Road in the Parish of Shoreditch. His infancy and early boyhood were spent in the enjoyment of plenty, comfort, peace and happiness, for I had then and for many years afterwards a good situation in the City. He had likewise the advantage of attending good Schools under the Reverend W. Morren of Hackney Road, Mr. Cooper of Holywell Lane, Shoreditch and the Public School in Middlesex Chapel, Hackney Road. In fact he attended school pretty constantly from the time he was 12 months old until he began to get into employment, which he did at a very early age indeed – when he was about 10 years old – since when he has never been long without an engagement. I don’t think he was ever discharged from a situation but always left of his own accord and to better himself, being much liked by all under whom he has served. In one situation, Mr Cameron’s, he continued above 7 years and then left voluntarily and against the wishes and persuasions of his Master when he went to Mr. Grosvenor Slimey (a very slippery Gentleman) to learn the French Silk Hat making, which he never was properly taught, although I was cheated out of £8 as premium for him to learn that business. He is very industrious and persevering, steady and domestic in his habits, which is evidenced by his having married twice.

By his first wife, Harriet Avery, who of course became Mrs. Paumier No. 23, he had one child, a daughter still living, whose name is Rose Paumier No. 24, who has resided with her grandmother, Mrs. Shepherd, ever since her mother’s death, after which event my son William George was united to Louisa Avery ¹, to whom he had been attached long before his first marriage, and who consequently in her turn became Mrs. Paumier No. 25, by whom he has already had two children, viz:

No. 26 [Emily Frances] Paumier

No. 27 [William George] Paumier ²

I prophecy that my son William will either go into business for himself, or will be taken into partnership by some future employer, and that he will, if he lives for many years, ultimately attain to a comfortable independence as honesty and industry are almost certain to meet with their just reward at last.

My eldest Daughter, Susanna Phoebe Paumier No. 28, was born in Bennet’s Buildings, Kennington Lane in the Parish of Lambeth on the 5^th of April 1828, and is consequently now 28 years old. Her early childhood was passed in plenty and contentment, but from the age of 10, she had to suffer her share of adversity and privation along with us, her parents. Fortunately she, like her brother William, was endowed with an industrious disposition and proved of material use to her Mother in needlework as well as in domestic affairs. She soon however asserted her independence, left home and maintained herself respectfully by needlework ever since.

She is genteel in person, deportment and manners, but is rather prudish in carriage, hauty in look and selfish in disposition. She is too proud for her station in life and has no proper sense of her duty as a daughter, treating her Mother and me as if we were her inferiors or servants. She pretends to be very religiously disposed, but is deficient in all the leading features of the true christian character, having neither meekness, humility, patience or charity which is love. Should sickness or accident incapacitate her for work she would suffer most surely from her proud and stubborn nature, and unless she should have the good fortune to get married to some respectable man, I fear that great degradation and sorrow will be her portion, for as Solomon says:

“Pride goeth before distinction And a haughty spirit before a fall” ³

No. 29 John Peter Paumier: my second son was born in King St., Hackney Road in the Parish of Bethnal Green on the 1^st of August 1830 and is therefore now, if living, 26 years of age. His early years were spent in happiness until he was 9 or 10 years old when I fell into adversity. He, like his brother William, was naturally industrious and soon sought for and obtained employment and was very rarely without it whilst he remained in England. He married Lavinia who thereby became Mrs. Paumier No. 30 ¹, by whom he had one Child, a Son who was named [John Frederick] Paumier No. 31 ² with whom he (my Son John) emigrated to America in the latter end of 1854, since when I have had no authentic information about him or his Family. His object and purpose was to settle in New York where he expected settled employment at good wages, and, should he live many years, I calculate that he will acquire Property and become a highly respectable and independent citizen of the United States.³

No. 32 Mun Noble Paumier: my third son, was born at No. 8 Hackney Road Crescent in the Parish of Bethnal Green, on the 14^th of April 1833, and is consequently now above 23 years old. He had but little experience of our prosperous days, and was early accustomed to necessity and privations. From a child he displayed very amiable dispositions being remarkable for his honesty, veracity and independent spirit, as he would rarely accept money from anyone, and was so distinguished for his love of truth that we could always depend upon the correctness of his statements and evidence.

He always shunned low company and idle habits and was naturally serious and correct in his habits and never disposed to gamble or swear like most boys. He had always and still retains a natural antipathy to all strong drinks, being born a teetotaller, which he remains to the present day and will continue so, I am certain, all his life.

No one could ever persuade him to taste any alcoholic liquor, not even wine which we had in abundance during his infancy, and I have seen him provoked to absolute rage whilst quite a child by persons trying to prevail on him to drink spirit, beer or wine. Even Ginger Beer he would not taste for many years, nor would he even drink water (his favourite beverage) out of a jug or vessel which he thought had contained beer. Yet he never railed against drinking, nor objected to his Mother or anyone else having those liquors in moderation. He was naturally fond of reading, painting and stencilling theatrical prints, was very attentive to his tasks and writing when at school, and had he been under a proper master there can be no doubt but that he would have become a distinguished scholar.

He was for some years in Worrall’s Red Lamb School, Battie Street, Saint Luke’s where he was remarkable for his correct and orderly conduct, cleanliness and regularity, being the chief favourite of his master, Mr. Sevaine, who was very sorry when he left the school. He like his elder brothers always showed a disposition to industry and has seldom been out of employment during many years past.

He is of a generous, confiding and affectionate disposition, although in temper he is rather hot and hasty, but by no means vindictive or implacable. In his manners he is kind and affable, his address is genteel and agreeable and he is universally esteemed. His talent for music is considerable, as he plays very well upon the concertina and accordion and has a very soft and pleasing voice.

I used to think that he would become the brightest adornment of our family, either in a military or civil capacity, but as to the first his short stature precludes all prospects in that line, and his fickleness of purpose and change of occupation render his attainment of independence very precarious. Had he continued with Mr. ____, the blind maker, or with Mr. Fuller in the same line, I have no doubt but that he would ultimately have become a most respectable and opulent tradesman. As it is, I fear he has got into a very wrong track and may never now rise above mediocrity and a mere competence.

No. 33 Henry Charles Paumier: my fourth son, was born in Duke St., Westminster Road, on the 7^th April 1837, and is now of course above 19 years old. He was the child of misfortune and then drank deeply of the bitter cup of adversity, with occasional although short gleams of prosperity’s sunshine. He was always of a wild and mischievous disposition and an ungovernable temper, although he has a good heart and will often do a generous action in a very ungracious manner. He has always been industrious in his habits and is likely I think to get on in the world by perseverance, bustling and activity in business.¹

No. 34 George Paumier: my fifth son was born on the 28^th of June 1841 (the anniversary of the Queen’s coronation) in the City Road Lying-In Hospital, where he was baptised and where the Register of the same can be found if necessary. Unlike his elder brothers and sister, this poor fellow was born in adversity and reared in the same for several years, until 1846, when he experienced a brief favourable change of fortune which lasted for only a few months, when we were again subjected to the miseries of necessity from which we have never since been freed.

When very young poor George caught the measles, which turned to the Croup², for which he was attended by Dr. ____ who administered strong doses of mercury without giving us the very necessary caution not to give the child cold drink, and to be careful to keep him from catching cold. Some will say give a sick person whatever they ask for, it is nature which dictates to them and it will do them no harm but most probably good. Now here is an instance directly to the contrary.

For the child was constantly craving for “water, cold water, white water out of the butt” to cool his poor mouth and throat, and he would not take medicine nor tea, nor coffee, nor even barley water, least there should be medicine disguised in any of them. The poor child was evidently in a high state of salivation and my wife, convinced that he had taken strong doses of mercury, asked the Doctor if it was not so and if it would not be wrong and dangerous to let him drink cold water.

The Doctor positively denied having administered mercury, and said “you may give him as much cold water as he will drink it will do him no harm”. On such authority we suffered the child to have it, and the consequence was that his teeth gums and cheeks became so dreadfully swelled inflamed and lacerated that he could not speak, eat or almost breathe, and if he was to live to an hundred years of age he will always be a sufferer from the effects of that unskilful medical treatment. He has indeed suffered a martyrdom already with his mouth, as all his teeth have decayed and ligatures found connecting his gums and cheeks so that at times he could scarcely get any food into his mouth. In fact, he was in a measure lock-jawed for some time.

We have not neglected him, but have had him under the care of several eminent physicians and surgeons who have done the best they could for him. Dr. Golder Bird gave him some powerful medicine (caustic, I think) in honey, to anoint his gums and cheek with a feather to destroy the ligatures, I suspect, but it caused such pain that he could not bear it. And at the same time, he had to wash his mouth with a strong solution of Vitriol. Dr. West sent him to the dentist at the Waterloo Road Dispensary, who put him to excruciating torture by digging several stumps and fragments of teeth from his gums, and very recently when I took him to Guy’s Hospital the Doctors there strove in vain to extract some of his teeth which they could not get at on account of the ligatures which unite his cheek and gums, an impediment which, I fear will continue through his life.

I cannot help thinking that the Mercury, which so sadly affected his mouth, had also an injurious effect upon his brain and intellect. For, ever since that unskilful usage by the Doctor, George has been rather stupid dull and timid. He is very deficient in learning and I never urged him much in that respect either at home or by forcing him to attend school. But I still have hopes that when I come to settle at home I may be able to coax and encourage him to learn, so that perhaps he may yet prove a better scholar than any of his brothers.

No. 35 Lavinia Paumier: my fourth and youngest Daughter, was born on Lady Day, the 25^th of March 1851 in America Street, Union St., Southwark, and was duly registered accordingly. A very amusing incident occurred at her birth. My wife was attended by a young medical student at Guy’s Hospital, who after all was over reported to me that it was a fine little boy, which was rather a disappointment to me as I wished it to be a girl as a companion to my dear little Phoebe, and as we had boys enough already. But, as the Doctor and the nurse said it was a boy, of course, I believed it and said that his name shall be Peter, after my Grand Uncle. Next morning however, when nurse came to dress the child, she discovered that it was a girl instead of a boy, which I was glad to find.

This dear child was always very fond of me when at home and I was much struck with the proofs of her affection when, after a long absence, she and her Mother met me by appointment, when she not only kissed me cheerfully but of her own accord warmly squeezed and kissed my hand.

She is an animated, lively little creature, with a warm temper and an affectionate heart and will I trust be spared to prove a real comfort and consolation to her Mother, for all her disappointment and vexation with our eldest Daughter.

Having thus heard of all the Paumiers yet living, and most of those dead also, I now proceed to mention four more of my own children who have departed this life and are, no doubt, angels in heaven.

No. 35 ½ A Boy: born between Susan and John in Bennet’s Buildings, Kennington Lane, who only lived a few minutes and of course was not christened. This was a premature birth, his mother having carried between 6 and 7 months, yet we both grieved for the loss of this child as much as if it had lived for years. I buried it myself in the side of a new made grave in the churchyard of Newington, Surrey enclosed in a small box or coffin and with some verses about it, which I wish I had a copy of.

No. 36 Emma Paumier: my second daughter, born on the 9^th February 1835, in Dimond Buildings, White Hart Street, Kennington Lane. She was indeed a lovely little creature, but only lived about 9 months when she died in the Cottage, Lambeth Walk, of inflamation on the lungs and brain. She was an angel in looks and temper, and I never suffered so much misery as in seeing her expire.

No. 37 Francis William Paumier: my seventh Son was born on the 28^th December 1846, and lived to the age of 5 years, and died of Cholera in William Street, Great Suffolk St, Borough about July 1849¹whilst his mother lay ill of the same fearful complaint and was actually supposed to be dead and whilst I was absent from home.

This dear child, Frank, was a most interesting and engaging little fellow, always a good boy and fond of school, having a heavenly expression in his features, often serious and fond of hymns and verses, although at times very humorous and amusing in his ways. We both regretted his loss severely.

No. 38 Phoebe Elizabeth Paumier: my third Daughter was born on the 2^nd November 1848 in William St., Gt. Suffolk St., Borough, and like her brother Frank only lived a little beyond 5 years and died of a Coup de Soleil, or sun-stroke, in 11 John Street, Webb St., Bermondsey on the 31^st July 1854. She was another angelic visitor, only permitted to sojourn with us upon earth for a very brief period and then recalled to rejoin the heavenly host “for such is the Kingdom of Heaven – there angels do always behold the face of our Father”.

This lovely and amiable child was the admiration of all who saw her fairy like form and movements, or heard her sweet voice. She was indeed her mothers hope and darling, and her sudden loss proved a deep and lasting affliction to us both. She had a heavenly mind and spirit, was fond of attending the Infant and Sunday School in Maze Pond Chapel, and was a great favourite with her teacher. Her chief delight was in singing the little school hymns, which she did in a most pleasing manner and melodious voice, accompanied frequently by her little sister “Tiny” (as we called Louisa), of whom our dear Phoebe was remarkably fond.

The very day before her death she stood gazing up towards heaven and quite startled her mother by saying “Mother, if I were to die, do you think I should go to Heaven?”. “Of course you would my dear”, said her mother. She then asked several questions about God and heaven and sang a hymn of which she was very fond:

“Death has been here and stolen away a Scholar from our side”

little thinking, perhaps, that the very next day Death would come and steal her away and that very hymn be sung in the school, on account of her death, by her schoolfellows.

The next morning she appeared rather unwell and unwilling to go to school (a most uncommon thing with her) and begged of her mother not to send her. But her mother thought it was merely a whim, and that she would be better there than at home, and therefore sent her giving her something for dinner as she very frequently did.

When Phoebe returned home in the evening she appeared lazy and feverish, complained of headache and wished to lie down. Alas! That was her death bed, and in a few short hours she had ceased to exist. She had told her mother the evening before that when at school, during dinner hour or play time, she had been playing in the burial ground at Maze Pond Chapel without a bonnet and felt the sun very hot upon her head. The moment the Doctor saw her he said she had got a sun-stroke and that he could give no hope of her recovery. I was from home at that time and was shocked beyond expression when I was informed of her death. Accordingly, I went home at once but was too late to see the remains of my dear child, which were screwed down in her coffin, and I was so circumstanced that I could not even attend her funeral, which took place in the Victoria Cemetery in Bethnal Green.

On reviewing this History of the Paumier Family, I find that I have omitted to mention several members in their proper order, whom I must therefore introduce here by additional numbers in order to complete the list. Where I mention my Uncle Colonel Paumier, his marriage and progeny, I should have particularised his wife and children as so many members of the Paumier Family.

No. 39 must therefore represent my aunt, Mrs. Colonel Paumier, widow of my Uncle Mun, who is still living at Egremont in Cumberland and must be very old. The three children she had by my Uncle were:

No. 40 John Peter Paumier: who lived to the age of about 13 and then died of consumption during the lifetime of his father.¹

No. 41 Susanna Jane Paumier, adopted by my Aunt Susan, with whom she lived for many years, but ultimately died of consumption. Had she survived my Aunt, she would have inherited all her property.²

No. 42 Mun Noble Paumier: my Uncle’s youngest child, was born at Egremont in 1812 ³. He was so delicate in his early years that no one ever expected he would live to maturity, and had he not done so it is almost certain that I should now and long since have been in possession of the Family Property which he has squandered and sold, not only unimpaired but improved and augmented. For, had it been my fortune to become possessed of that property many years ago, I should have employed it in some safe and lucrative business and thereby not only have preserved it undiminished for my children, but have increased it considerably for their benefit, and possibly even have restored old Mullinahack by degrees to something like its original uses and prosperity.

When I visited him, my Cousin Mun Noble, at Egremont in 1823, he evinced a warm attachment to me which continued for several years, and I always considered him as a brother until he did me the injustice of cutting off the entail of his property, which would have devolved to me in case of his death without a lawful heir. His mother was the daughter of an actress, by whom she was reared in all the extravagant habits of fashionable life which prevailed about the middle of last century, and in which my Father, my Mother, uncles and aunts all participated to the loss of their property and the injury of their descendants and relatives.

My Uncle Colonel Paumier was far advanced in life when he married, and his constitution was broken by the hardships of long and active military service and by the effect of dissipation. It was not, therefore, likely that any of his children would live to grow up. Out of the three, his son John Peter died young before his Father, and his daughter Susan Jane followed at about 15 or 16 years old ¹, and it was never expected, even by his own mother, that Mun Noble would live to attain manhood. He was therefore petted and indulged in all his fancies.

My Uncle Mun did not live long in the enjoyment of the property he inherited from my Grand Uncle Peter after the death of his widow, the celebrated Mrs Paumier of Bath. As he was not in possession of that property at the time of his marriage, he could not make any settlement upon his wife, nor could he legally do so afterwards. But he left his children Wards of Chancery, and he made a Will appointing his widow executrix and guardian to the children, with an allowance of £300 per annum for their maintenance and education until they should be of age. Although such a devise was not strictly legal yet, the Lord Chancellor of Ireland permitted it to stand good and be acted upon, so that my Aunt, Mrs. Colonel Paumier, had actually the very liberal jointure of £300 a year to spend, with the care and maintenance of one child only, for his daughter Susan lived entirely with my Aunt Susan and did not cost her mother a single penny, unless she chose to make her some little presents.

My Aunt, Mrs. Colonel Paumier, was very extravagant in all her habits, in dress, in living, in furniture, in travelling and in parties when at home, so that she lived fully up to her income. My Cousin Mun Noble was equally extravagant. Whilst quite a boy he dressed in a scarlet coat, and followed the hounds, and his mother had to pay an innkeepers bill for £45 for the hire of horses which he used to hunt with, whilst she thought he only borrowed the horses from Gentlemen of the Hunt with whom he was acquainted.

Being very young when his Father died he had a very long minority, during which the surplus of his property (beyond the allowance to his Mother) was considerable, although the Chancery costs of a Receiver of the Estate and many legal formalities considerably diminished the annual savings. Still, there must have been a considerable sum in hand for him to receive on his majority. Out of that he paid Charles the £500 for his birthright and no doubt squandered much in vanities and follies. Amongst other items there one very foolish and ridiculous one, namely £30 paid for a place in Mr Green’s Balloon on its ascension from Whitehaven ².

My Cousin Mun Noble’s passion for the stage had its origin in a very kind and charitable feeling. There was a poor widow with a large family left in great distress in Whitehaven, for whom a benefit was got up at the Theatre there. The Play fixed upon was Shakespeare’s “Othello”. But when the time drew nigh, the party who was to play Othello was either really taken ill, or more probably feigned illness not having nerve or courage enough to appear in such a charactic before an audience in Whitehaven ³. Whitehaven, like Ireland, is remarkable for the dramatic taste of its inhabitants, owing most probably to the fact that it was there Mr. Macready made his first appearance, when his father was manager there, which place he often afterwards visited in the course of his distinguished career and favoured the townspeople of Whitehaven with representations of some of his finest characters, amongst which Othello was one of the most remarkable.⁴

The poor widow’s benefit was close at hand, and no one to perform the principal part. We often hear of the Play of “Hamlet”, with the part of Hamlet left out, but no one ever heard of the Tragedy of “Othello” being represented, with the character of Othello omitted. The thing was therefore likely to prove a failure and the poor widow and orphans to lose the chance of obtaining a few pounds.

In this emergency my Cousin stepped forward and, although totally inexperienced in theatrical affairs, offered his services to dress and read the part on the stage rather than the benevolent object of the performance should be defeated. Fresh bills were therefore printed and widely distributed, setting forth in large letters that the part of Othello would be taken by Mun Paumier Esq. of Ulcoats, near Egremont (well known to all around as the son and heir of Colonel Paumier, highly respected by all his neighbours). The prices of admission were doubled, and the theatre was crammed almost to suffocation by a most respectable audience.

My Cousin had not only read but deeply studied the part of Othello and had got the most splendid and expensive dress for the character, and instead of merely reading the part on the stage he performed it with such judgement, force and eloquence as not only to astonish and gratify but absolutely to electrify his audience, who all agreed that even the great Macready himself could not possibly surpass if he could even equal the splendid acting of my Cousin.

He certainly had much the advantage of Macready or other actors in the elegance of his figure, the expression of his features, the gracefulness and ease of his movements, the correctness of his enunciation and the majority of his deportment. His stature was commanding, his face handsome and sensible with rather a melancholy cast and his limbs were beautifully moulded without being heavy. With such qualifications for the stage it is not surprising that his success was complete. The whole County round rang with his praises, all the provincial papers were unanimous in their admiration of him, and he was entreated to repeat his performance of Othello and to play other characters afterwards, and on all occasions he “won golden opinions” and greatly augmented his fame.

Having once begun, and so successfully, he resolved to follow up the stage as a regular profession. His next essay in the histrionic art was in Dublin, where it is very well known that nothing but the most distinguished abilities can obtain favor or applause, as the Dublin audience have always been considered the very best judges of dramatic merit, the most just and yet severe critics there are.

Our very proud Family felt highly indignant at the disgrace, as they considered it, of one of its leading members becoming an actor, and more especially so at his intention of performing in Dublin, where his family and connexions were so well known and so highly respected and where his own property was situated. There was therefore an absolute conspiracy formed to oppose and defeat him, and the night of his first appearance on the Dublin stage, the Theatre was absolutely packed with persons engaged and even paid to put him down, to defeat and to damn him with the object, view and hope of them sickening and disgusting him with the profession altogether.

The part he sustained was “Tanya” in “The Revenge”, and splendidly he would no doubt have sustained that character. But all his merits and talents, all his energy and perseverance, all his courage and patience were exercised in vain. From the very beginning to the end of the play he was greeted only with hissing, hooting, the most discordant noises and cries of “off, off”, and he was actually pelted with oranges, apples and halfpence to compel him to retire. In spite of all this he went boldly through the whole of his part well knowing the cause and object of this most unfair and unreasonable opposition. But still he was absolutely damned. He therefore left Dublin and turned his attention to the provinces in Ireland, Scotland and England, where he met with the most decided success and the most enthusiastic applause.

Having thus completely established his fame, he had the courage to return to Dublin, where he was suffered to stand alone upon his own real merits, as our Family found it was useless to oppose him any longer, and there he achieved as complete success and victory as he had formerly experienced defeat and offence. And there he has even since been, and still is, one of the greatest favourites seen upon the Dublin stage. He has been equally successful in Belfast, Waterford and Cork, of which latter Theatre he was Manager some years ago when it was burnt and he lost all his splendid wardrobe, worth above £1000.

In Edinboro’, Glasgow and other cities in Scotland, as well as in Liverpool, Bristol, Bath, Cheltenham, Brighton and many other towns in England, his theatrical career has been one continued round of complete success and rapturous commendation which I have read in many County Newspapers published where and when he was then performing. Under such encouragement, it is not surprising that he should have wished to try his fortune in London. He therefore resolved on making his debut at Drury Lane Theatre in the character of Hamlet. He wrote to me, appraising me of that intention. I was then a Clerk in the office of “Egan, Waterman and Wright” Solicitors, 23 Essex Street, Strand, being at the same time a member of the London Mechanics Institution as well as Secretary and Editor of “The Ecclectic Mutual Instruction Society”, and had therefore a very considerable circle of friends and acquaintances.

My Cousin arrived in London with his wife¹ and Mr. Graham, whom he had patronised, on Sunday the 1^st May, 1837, being then 24 years of age. He occupied very elegant lodgings in Norfolk St., Strand. That day there was a very great and remarkable eclipse of the sun. I accompanied my Cousin to Drury Lane Theatre, where we saw and went on the stage with Mr. Cooper, Stage Manager, to whom my Cousin handed a Bankers Cheque for £200, which Mr. Cooper received with a low bow saying “I shall have to trouble you for £10 more Mr Paumier, as the price of the house for one night is 200 Guineas, not Pounds”. “Oh !” said my Cousin “I was not aware of that, but here is a £10 note to make up the difference”. This was on the Sunday, and he was to make his first appearance as Hamlet on Tuesday evening, when he ought to have been in town at least a week before.

On going home to his lodging he was waited upon by Mr. Palmer, the property-man and dresser of Drury Lane Theatre, for whom he had sent to show him his dress for Hamlet which was made of the very richest black Genoa Velvet and elegantly ornamented with bugles, and which dress he had worn on several occasions when he had played the part of Hamlet.

He thought, however, that it was not fit to appear in at Drury Lane, and wished to have an entirely new one much more costly made. But there was not sufficient time to have that done, and Mr. Palmer said he could alter and improve that dress so as to suit very well. He did so accordingly and charged only 15 guineas for the trifling alteration. The sword, having a polished steel hilt, was most proper, he said, as it ought to be ensanguined or blue. So my Cousin bought a new one of the required description. The cap and feathers and the jewelled ornaments were also objectionable and had to be altered likewise. Bills and tickets were printed, large numbers of which I distributed amongst my friends gratuitously, for my Cousin said to me on no account take money for them.

He likewise said most positively and emphatically “Do not you suppose, nor let your friends suppose, that I wish to buy their applause or influence their judgement by a free admission. All I require is a fair hearing and seeing. Beg of them not to applaud me where they see no reason for it, but only to do so when they think I really merit it. In fact, to treat me as they would any total stranger on his first appearance, to see whom they had regularly paid”. To his theatrical friends he spoke to the same effect when giving them large numbers of tickets to distribute free amongst their friends.

On the Monday, the only day which intervened between his arrival in town and his appearance at Drury Lane, he gave a sumptuous dinner to most of the actors of Drury Lane Theatre at the Piazza Coffee House and Tavern in Covent Garden at which I was present, and when, in the evening, my Cousin left us for an hour or two to attend to some private business, he put me in his chair at the head of the table, to represent him during his absence. When, on his health being drank with the usual honors, I had to make a speech and return thanks on his account, in which they said I requited myself to perfection, bringing down rounds of applause.

Being then a Clerk in Egan, Waterman and Wright’s Office, I gave hugely of the tickets to my employers and to all the clerks, as well as to many members of the London Mechanics Institution to which I then belonged. So confidant was my Cousin in his own prowess, and so perfectly up in the part of Hamlet, that he did not even attend the rehearsal, which must therefore really have been “The Play of Hamlet with the part of Hamlet left out”. But he dressed at home, went to the Theatre in a carriage and went at once on the stage.

The House was very full, the audience highly respectable. My cousin had been used to play in small provincial theatres to audiences in general but little qualified to judge of fine acting. He was therefore somewhat abashed and nervous when he came to look from the stage through a loophole in the curtain at so large a house as Drury Lane, crowded with well educated persons used to seeing the finest actors frequently and very difficult to please. He soon, however, overcame his momentary timidity and came on the Stage with all the easy confidence and grace of the most accomplished and experienced actor, and was hailed with great applause.

His performance of Hamlet was most beautiful, classic and finished. His tall, light and elegant figure, his fine expressive and saddened features, his mellow and pathetic voice and distinct pronunciation seemed all peculiarly suited to the character he represented, and in every part of the play he received the most decided enthusiastic and well merited applause, astonishing and highly gratifying Mr Burn, who was then the Manager of Drury Lane, and Mr Cooper the Stage Manager likewise.

He was well supported in the play by Miss Romer as Ophelia, Mr Graham as Laertes and Mr Baker as the Ghost of Hamlet’s father. I sat with Mrs Paumier in one of the side boxes and was greatly delighted as well as surprised by my Cousin’s complete success.

He had made one very great, important and fatal omission in not propitiating the favor of the press. He should have invited the leading editors, members and reporters of the best papers to his inaugural dinner the day previous to his first appearance, along with the actors whom he feasted. He should have made them some handsome presents and have supplied them and their friends with abundance of free tickets. Thus he would have secured their favor and approbation. But on the contrary by not doing so he slighted and offended them, and the consequence was that several of the papers spoke as unfavourably of him as they could do consistently with his real and indisputable merits and advantages.

The only real defect, however, which they could establish was that he wanted power of voice to fill the Theatre. His person, his action, his delivery they could not possibly object to, and they admitted that his deportment was easy and gentlemanly and that he was the best reader they had seen on the stage since John Kemble. They endeavoured, however, to sneer at his pretensions saying “This young man is the son of a Colonel. He is possessed of a handsome property. He keeps his vehicle and servant and glories in the name of Paumier. What business has he, a gentleman of independent means, to take the stage as a profession to the injury of them who have no other resource?” Another paper then in circulation, “The Radical”, took up the cudgels in defence of my Cousin and replied to the preceding remarks to this effect: “We welcome Mr Paumier’s appearance most cordially, especially because he is a gentleman. We are much in want of real gentlemen in the profession, which is made a mere trade of for mercenary purposes by most, whilst he who is independent acts from the genuine impulse of his genius for the gratification of the public”.

The chief objection against him was his want of voice to fill so large a Theatre as Drury Lane, and it was prophecied that when he had some years more practice and experience in the provinces, he would no doubt improve considerably and ultimately become an eminent actor.

The next character he played free and for Mr Burn’s advantage was “Richard the 3^rd”, but in the meantime a systematic opposition had been organised by Mr Macready’s friends (who were jealous of my Cousin’s merits) and the offended members of the London newspapers. This was evident even before the curtain rose, for hisses and other discordant noises signifying disapprobation proceeded from certain parts of the boxes, pits and galley where persons were posted for the express purpose of crying down my Cousin if they could possibly do so. And the moment he came on the stage, hisses and yells greeted his appearance. This was so evidently an unfair set made against him, that the generosity of the unprejudiced audience opposed it vehemently and soon drowned the few sounds of disapprobation in thunders of applause, whilst some gentlemen in boxes pointed to 3 or 4 others in a side box, who seemed to be the ring leaders of the party opposing my Cousin by their gestures and shouts, and general cries were raised against their conduct of “Shame ! Shame ! Dispatch, Dispatch, Out – Out – turn them out” ‘till at length they were found to beat a retreat and disappear entirely. When the play proceeded, with the most decided success and applause of my Cousin, whose personification of the crookbacked tyrant was a most splendid piece of acting.

He made a capital hit in that part of the play where Richard is in his camp, teased and abused by his mother, the widowed Queen of Lady Anne, and he strode to the front of the stage with his truncheon in his hand and, looking up boldly to the boxes and galley, he exclaimed with a loud voice and peculiar emphasis and point

“Either be patient and entreat me fair

Or with the clamorous ~~aspect of arms~~ [Mungo misquotes, should be “report of war”]

~~There will I draw~~ your accusations [Mungo misquotes, should be “Thus I will drown”]”

at the same time throwing backwards from him his truncheon with considerable force which struck the shin of one of the supernumeries, a soldier standing at the back of the stage who jumped (not for joy) and rubbed his leg for some time.

The applicability of that passage to the unfair opposition raised against my Cousin struck every one in the Theatre (especially Mr. Shin-bone) drawing forth a spontaneous burst of applause, long continued and repeated rounds of which acknowledged how admirably he had applied it.

The next day’s papers admitted that he improved upon acquaintance and spoke against the unfair set evidently made against him.

His third character was Rolla in Pizzaro, wherein his tall and elegant figure, stern and handsome countenance, and truly graceful actions were fully developed. His dress was beautiful, costly and appropriate. On his shoulder he wore a large and real Leopard’s skin, fastened in front with gold claws. On his head he displayed a richly gilt tiara, studded with jewels, in which he wore 3 splendid and valuable Birds of Paradise, one over each ear and one in the centre of his forehead, which gave him a most commanding appearance and was peculiarly suitable as head-gear for an Indian chief, as they generally decorate their heads with feathers.

In the scene where Rolla escapes with Cora’s child when about to cross the wooden bridge, the man behind the scenes was ready to thrust a stuffed effigy into my Cousin’s arms when he exclaimed “Damn your Dolly” and, snatching up the real child, he dashed onto the bridge, which was so badly secured that it nearly gave way with him, and he had no difficulty cutting it loose with his sword. When the Spaniards fired at him and he was supposed to be mortally wounded, the property man was ready and gave him a smudge of red paint on the temple, where he had some leech bites festered (for, having caught a severe cold from the draughts on the stage when he was heated by exertion in the character of Richard, his eyes became inflamed and he was obliged to have leeches applied to both his temples) and this daub of red paint made the sore places worse. The newspapers approved much of his performance of Rolla, and Mr Burn was very anxious that he should play “William Tell” next, which was announced in the Bills accordingly.

I called on him next day and found him really ill and stretched upon a sofa like the Grand Sultan himself. He soon, however, started up and pacing the room with hurried strides, exclaimed vehemently against the unfairness of the London Press and the London critics, who would not give a man any fair chance of success. “Look here”, said he to me, handing me several anonymous letters he had received, which all concurred in stating that if he presumed to play William Tell, which was Macready’s greatest part, let his acting or merits be what they might, he would be damned to all eternity. For, let him or Mr Burn pack the Theatre as they would, Mr Macready’s friends would outnumber them and would not suffer him to proceed, but would put him down at once, and the newspapers should complete his condemnation. Notwithstanding all this, Mr Burn wished him to go on and play William Tell, but his best friends and his own prudence were opposed to his doing so under such circumstances.

He therefore resolved to quit town for a few days on the ground of illness, and he was really ill, and not to venture upon the prohibited character. The fact was that his success in the Provincial Theatres in that part had been so great and remarkable, even where Macready had often played it, that he feared my Cousin might succeed in it equally in London. It was therefore resolved not to permit him to have the chance of doing so. He accordingly left town, but returned in a few days, when he played for the fourth time at Drury Lane his last part of Brutus in “Julius Caesar”, in which he was as successful at last, as in any of his other performances there. Or rather more so perhaps, for the opposition against him appeared to be abandoned or suspended, at least since he had abandoned his intention of playing William Tell.

His Brutus was indeed a most finished, chaste and truly classical performance, and the Roman dress became him remarkably well. It seems there is a great art in wearing the toga properly, in which but very few succeed, and this was evident amongst the Senators, many of whom resembled a boy in armour or a pig in a blanket, whilst my Cousin wore his toga with ease and grace. Mr Ward played Cassius to his Brutus, and the quarrel scene was really fine between them, as Ward’s inherent envy and spleen had a suitable opportunity of displaying itself, whilst my Cousin’s natural dignity of manner suited the occasion admirably.

I had almost forgotten to state that immediately after my Cousin made his first appearance at Drury Lane Theatre in the character of Hamlet, he wished to have his portrait lithographed and published. I therefore found out and introduced to him a very talented young artist, whose name was Picken, to whom he sat, or rather stood, dressed as Hamlet in the grave scene with the skull of Yorick in his hand, as John Kemble is usually represented. The artist was assisted in his work by a handsome miniature of my Cousin which he had had done in Liverpool. The drawing was made on stone, beautifully finished and was printed by Hay and Co., lithographers to the Queen. It was a faithful likeness both in features and figure, wherein the contemplative and melancholy expression of the face and the graceful elegance of the form were both admirably presented. Underneath was written in a fair-simile of my Cousin’s handwriting, “M. N. Paumier of Drury Lane”. He gave me several copies of that picture which I gave away amongst your Uncles, except two, one of which got worn out, the other I preserved for years but lost at last along with many other papers invaluable to me. No doubt Hay and Co. have a copy of it amongst their specimens for 1837.

After playing Brutus, my Cousin quitted London, which he has never visited since, but once, to my knowledge, and then I did not see him, but was afterwards told by his friend Mr Baker of Drury Lane Theatre (long since dead) that he had played for one night in London, but in what theatre or character I was not informed.

On coming first to town, my Cousin gave me £10 to purchase a new suit of clothes and appear as respectable as possible amongst his friends. That, he said, was a mere trifle for present purposes, but before his departure he promised that he would do something handsome for me. That promise he never fulfilled, although I exerted myself so strenuously and usefully in his behalf, all I ever had from him was that £10. His excuse was that he had spent so much more in London than he had calculated or expected to do (I was told he spent £500 in the two or three weeks he was here) that he could not then afford to do more for me, but that he would soon recount his means and send me something worthwhile, but that he never did.

The last time I had a letter from him was in 1849. He was then in Glasgow, playing together with Miss Fawcett to crowded houses with immense applause, as proved by newspapers which he sent me: Claude Melnotte in “The Lady of Lyons”, Master Walter in “The Hunchback”, and Sir Giles Over-reach in “A new way to pay old debts” were some of his favourite characters. In that letter he told me that he was about to take a benefit, and if it answered his expectations he would make me a handsome remittance. This was a voluntary offer on his part, but like all his other promises came to nothing as I never heard from him since.

Not having seen or heard of any mention of his name in the papers for several years past, I began to think that he must be dead, or else that he had retired from the stage altogether, and in order to ascertain these facts I lately wrote a long letter to him which I enclosed to the Postmaster, Egremont, Cumberland (where my Cousin was born, reared and resided when not on circuit) requesting him to forward the same to my Cousin, should he not be there, if he knew or could find out his then present address, or, if my Cousin were dead, to inform me if he could when and where he died. Also begging him to let me know how he had disposed of the letter and how long my Aunt, Mrs Colonel Paumier, had been dead.

To those enquiries the Postmaster very promptly and politely replied, stating that he had forwarded my letter to my Cousin at Belfast in Ireland, and (to my astonishment) that Mrs Colonel Paumier was still living and in good health. I accordingly wrote to her for information respecting her son, my Cousin, Mun Noble, as I feared I should not hear from him, and she soon favoured me with an answer in which she stated that “He and his Wife enjoy excellent health, to which their hard work and frequent journies have contributed. At present they have no children”.

From this I infer that he has been performing in all the Provincial Theatres in England, Ireland and Scotland ever since he made such a successful appearance in London. His Mother adds in her letter to me: “On the 29^th of last January I completed my 80^th year, and enjoy excellent health, with memory and intellect as clear as ever. I keep a good heart, still hoping to see my beloved son repaid for all his labours. He is a great favourite wherever he goes and, I am happy to say, highly respected” ¹. She alludes to my numerous enquiries about him and his property, suspecting me of building “Castles in the Air” and very probably imagines that I wish his death, which God knows I do not, and by which it is pretty certain I should not gain one penny, as he has made away and irrevocably sold his Property in Dublin, which must have come to me, and you, if we survived him, had it not been for my Brother Charles selling his birthright and mine. But that is past and gone and is now perfectly irremediable, so that I have now no ground for hope, nor any reasonable foundation whereon to build “Castles in the Air”.

On looking back I have omitted to mention the names of my several Brothers and Sisters who died in their infancy; they were as follows:

No. 43 - George Paumier

No. 44 – Georgiana Paumier

No. 45 – Another Georgiana Paumier

No. 46 – Mungo born 2 years before me

No. 47 – Susan Paumier

No. 48 – Dixie Paumier

No. 49 – A Boy still born

This completes the Paumier Family.

The Twentymans

No. 1 Reverend Childers Twentyman: Doctor of Divinity, one of the Vicars Choral of Lincoln Minster, my Grandfather, possessing a plurality of benefices or several livings in and about Lincoln, which together with his private property, amounted to at least £2000 per annum, an income which he fully lived up to, instead of laying by something considerable every year to provide for his children. But, amongst his other christian virtues, he was “given to hospitality”, was fond of society, gave frequent routs and parties, and was blessed with a very fashionable and extravagant wife and family¹.

He was actual lineal heir to the Title and Estates of Lord Ravensworth, and was absolutely preparing to prefer his claim to that Peerage in the House of Lords when he met with a sudden and violent death by a fall from his horse. How he came to be the rightful Heir to that noble title and estates was thus: The original family name was Liddell, the name still retained by the present Lord Ravensworth. One of our ancestors, Sir Liddell, a knight of great valour and fame in those days, was by some chance left alone to defend a bridge or pass, which was attacked by his enemies, who he defeated single handed, and of whom he killed twenty. His name was therefore altered from Liddell to Twentyman, and he was likewise made a Baronet, the family arms being:

Crest

A Bloody hand & Battle-axe

Armorial bearings

A field Azure with 3 Battle-axes in Chief & the Baronet’s Red Right Hand

Motto

“Manu tuenti finis”

With my hand I finished twenty

But, besides all this, my Mother said there was a second crest and a second motto (probably those of the original Liddell family), which motto I believe was “Omni quod exit in [orn]”, the English of which I forget.

This alteration of the family name from Liddell to Twentyman could not, of course, invalidate the just claim of succession to the property of the Liddells or to the title of Ravensworth which they had acquired, and it was thus that my Grandfather, the Reverend Doctor Twentyman, became the right heir to both that title and the estates which belonged to it. But, after his death, nothing was done by my Uncle, General Twentyman, to establish the claim which, had he recovered and other affairs gone on as they have done, the title and estates of Ravensworth would have descended to my Mother, as the eldest surviving sister of the last possessor thereof, he having no legitimate child or children, and next to me at my Mother’s death, as her only surviving son and the only male descendant, heir and representative of the last Lord Ravensworth and that branch of the Liddell and the Twentyman families. Thus, instead of being the poor, obscene individual that I now am, I should have been now Lord Ravensworth, or peer of the realm and the possessor of large and valuable estates in Cumberland. That, however, is now no more than a mere shadow of past greatness, an empty boast, a vain glory, and an unsubstantial visionary dream more painful from present contrasts.

Some years ago, I saw a picture of “Ravensworth Castle”, a large and goodly edifice which no doubt had its appropriate events in the feudal times. I wish I could meet with that picture again to illustrate this little volume for you my sons, or I should much rather visit that castle myself & make a drawing of it. Possibly I may be enabled to do so yet.¹

But, you will naturally enquire, “How is it that the title of Ravensworth (if not the actually Property thereof) is now and has been for many years possessed and enjoyed by the present Lord Ravensworth ? The fact is that, when I was young, he who is now Lord Ravensworth was only Sir Thos. Liddell, a Baronet. The title of Baron Ravensworth was re-created and bestowed on him by George the Fourth, and was not recovered by that family through the House of Lords. But, I have read of many cases wherein noble Lords were dispossessed and deprived of their titles and estates by other claimants who proved to be the right heirs. We shall not, however, dispute the title with the present Lord Ravensworth or his heirs, because we have not the requisite proofs, evidences of lineal descent from the first Lord of that title to found our claim on.

It must therefore rest with us a mere naked, barren and unprofitable fact, and there is but little if any satisfaction in knowing or saying that “We have Noble Blood in our Veins”. That noble blood will not render us proof against hunger, cold or want.

In Ireland, I knew of an instance where a poor, ignorant butcher’s boy proved to be the rightful heir to a noble title and large estates which were duly recovered for him, and which he possessed and enjoyed for the remainder of his life. Your Mother had once a nurse, a Mrs Gilham, who was intimately acquainted with that noble Lord (whose title I forget) and with his family.

Soon after my first arrival in London in 1825, I wrote to Lord Ravensworth upon the foregoing subject, requesting to know if there were not some account and evidences amongst the archives of the Liddell family respecting the achievement of my ancestor who had thereby acquired the name of Twentyman.

His Lordship (my Cousin no doubt, but by how many removes I am utterly unable to say) favored me with a very polite answer stating that there were no such evidences amongst the family records of the Liddells. This did not surprise me, as it was hardly to be expected that he would acknowledge the existence of such evidences. But, if I am spared a little longer and can find the means and opportunity to make the necessary enquiries and search in the Office of Arms or in old books of the peerage, I have no doubt I shall be able to prove the facts above stated merely for the purpose of convincing my ‘cousin’ of Ravensworth that my claim to relationship with him was correct and true ¹.

My Grandfather, the Reverend Doctor Twentyman, married a Miss Lloyd, a Welch heiress of good family who consequently thereby became

No. 2 Mrs Twentyman: my Grandmother, by whom he had five children, namely:

No. 3 Samuel Twentyman Esq.: my Uncle, who entered the army very young and purchased all his commissions, from his Ensigncy to his Lieutenant Colonelcy, both inclusive, at a cost of 5000 Guineas! for which his family never received any remuneration, although justly entitled thereto. He was employed much on active service in Holland, America and the East & West Indies, and ultimately attained the rank of Brigadier General, and was likewise Commandant of the Island of Martinique in the West Indies at the time of his death in the year 1800.²

His chief object and ambition was promotion in the army, to which object he sacrificed every other consideration, selling the greater part of his own private property, and even some of his Brother Childers’, and which he had no right to touch, in order to raise the funds necessary for the purchase of his several commissions. However, he voluntarily executed a Bond in favour of his Brother for £ 216, as a partial recompense to him, binding himself, his heirs, executors and administrators to pay the same with lawful interest. But, my Uncle Childers never would forgive his Brother’s injustice towards him, and he never would consent to accept that Bond or receive the interest thereon to the time of his death in 1838. On my taking out Letters of Administration to his effects in my Mother’s name, we received that Bond from my Uncle Childers’s bankers Messrs. Claypon & Co. of Boston in Lincolnshire, together with several years interest thereon, which had been paid into their hands by Mr. Johnston, the executor of my Uncle, General Twentyman, many years previous, upon which additional interest had consequently accumulated. With the sum obtained by the sale of books and other property, left at his lodgings by my Uncle Childers when he was removed from Boston to Haslar Hospital, Gosport, having become childish and incapable of managing his affairs, the total amount which I received from those bankers for my Mother, together with the balance of my Uncle’s half-pay at the Admiralty, as a First Lieutenant of Marines, was £477 odd, and in 1846 I received for my Mother from Mr Johnston’s executors, on account of that Bond for £ 216, the sum of £220 in cash, after allowing about £20 towards the law costs and the large sum paid us as interest upon that Bond.

My Uncle, General Twentyman, never married, but formed an illicit connection with Susan Harmston, who was originally his servant, by whom he had one illegitimate daughter, Charlotte Harmston, to whom he bequeathed all his Property in Lincoln (although it is a question whether it was not entailed and justly revertible to his Brother and sisters at his death) with an express proviso that, in case she (his natural daughter, Charlotte Harmston) should die under age, or without leaving lawful issue to inherit the same, that property should in such case revert to his own right heirs, who were of course first his Brother, my Uncle Childers, at whose death, without children it must have descended to my Mother, their only surviving sister, and at her death to me, her only surviving son and the only real and legitimate and lineal heir and representative of that branch of the Twentyman family. But, whether that Charlotte Harmston lived to inherit that property, or, if so, whether she ever married, or left lawful heirs to take that property after her, I have never been able to ascertain, because it is the interest of the heirs and executors of Mr. Johnston, who was the acting executor of my Uncle, General Twentyman, to keep us in the dark as to what constituted that property, what became of it, and how it is now circumstanced. ¹

Here again we are at fault and, possessing no materials or criterion whereby to shape or whereon to ground a just claim (supposing that this Charlotte Harmston may have died without lawful issue, or that such issue may have lapsed and failed since her death), we may be unjustly deprived of and kept out of that property. But unfortunately we have no remedy for this evil and must only “grin & abide it”.

No. 4 Childers Twentyman Esq.: my Uncle, was always excentric in his ways. When a boy he had a favourite tom-cat which killed some birds and rabbits belonging to his Brother, Sam, who destroyed the cat in consequence, and for that his Brother Childers never forgave him. Early in life he became a Lieutenant in the Royal Marines.² Until lately I had his commission as such signed by King George the Third, and am very sorry I have lost it, although it was of no real value. After the long war with France, which ended with the Battle of Waterloo in 1815, my Uncle Childers retired upon half-pay and took lodgings in Boston, where he lived alone until 1823, when he was removed on the orders of Government to Haslar Hospital on account of his having become quite imbecile. Early in 1825, I visited him there and found him a very plain looking little man, very simple, though somewhat sly and suspicious in his manners. He looked old but healthy. It was difficult to get him to speak, and when he did so it was but little he would say, and that rather incoherent. His attendant informed me that he was harmless and innocent, that even in summer, when there was no fire in the ward, he would sit close to the fire-grate spreading out his hands as if he were warming them by a good fire.

He had taken his watch to pieces, but could not put it together again. When I told him I was his nephew, and spoke to him about my Mother and my aunts King and Wetherall, he seemed hardly to comprehend me, evincing no anxiety or care respecting them, his 3 sisters. There he continued in the same state until his death in 1838, 13 years after I saw him.³ Then, I collated and recovered the little property he had left for my Mother, as already stated above, as his other sisters were then dead, my Aunt Wetherall having died several years before, my Aunt King only a month or two previous to his decease, just as if it had be so ordained that my mother should have the whole of it herself, and that I might receive a great part thereof from her then and by degrees afterwards, until her death, to keep me and my family from utter destitution and the workhouse.

No. 5 Catherine Twentyman: my Aunt, my Mother’s elder sister, married Mr. Henry King, an Irishman, who was then a Subaltern Officer in the army and who afterwards attained the rank of Major. He spent many years on Foreign Service, in America and elsewhere, in all which my Aunt accompanied him, sharing his hardships and dangers. For several years they occupied the then most remote outpost of the English settlements in Canada, very near to the Falls of Niagara, so near indeed that they could always hear its thundering sound. Often did they visit it, and collect in a cave or hollow immediately behind the vast sheet of water constantly descending there, the feathers of parrots and other birds of splendid plumage, which had been caught in and brought down by the rapids. There they saw the poor Indian in his canoe, conscious that he could not escape, wrapping himself up in his cloak or blanket and lying down in his boat, resigned to his inevitable fate, and hurried the next minute over the awful verge and down the steep descent of the cataract into the terrible watery abyss below, where rarely even a fragment rises as evidence of the destruction accomplished.

As my Aunt and Uncle occupied the very furthest block-house of the British possessions, they were frequently visited by the real native, wild Indians, many of whose Chiefs were on very friendly terms with them, and used to sit with them for hours together talking (for many of them could speak tolerable English) drinking whatever liquor was given to them, and smoking the Calumet or Pipe of Peace. They gave my Uncle some of those pipes, the Wampum belt, worked with many coloured beads, some mockasins and snow shoes, and a large quilt made of a buffalo’s hide, ornamented with porcupine’s quills and beautiful coloured feathers, in exchange or acknowledgement of various small presents he had made to them and the kindness he treated them with.

Major King and my Aunt were always very regular and frugal in their habits, and when he retired on half-pay he left a considerable balance in the hands of his agent, who afterwards decamped, leaving my Uncle the loser of a large sum which, had he possessed and left to his widow, she would most probably have bequeathed it to my Mother and me as she had no other relations living, they never having had any children. They went to live in Bridgenorth, in Shropshire, where I paid them a short visit on my way to London in January 1825, where they treated me very kindly, wished me to stop longer and hoped to see me again, but I never saw them after that. Major King died some years before my Aunt. She died in April or May 1838, leaving no property behind her except a few articles of furniture, etc., which she gave to the lady where she lodged, who had paid her great attention for some years.

No. 6 Susanna Twentyman: my Mother, married my Father, John Paumier Esq., as stated above where I have given some particulars respecting her. She was always the favourite daughter of her parents. Her mother died when she was entering into womanhood and, as her elder sister Catherine was soon afterwards married to Mr King, my mother became housekeeper and sole manager to her father, who, although a clergyman, encouraged and indulged her in all sorts of fashionable gaities, extravagances in dress and living, so that she spent her youth in a constant round of pleasure and amusement, at assemblies, balls, concerts, plays, races, routs and private parties, being (as I have before stated) a sweet singer and player on the guitar and a most splendid and elegant dancer. She was also handsome and possessed a very elegant and graceful figure. No wonder that she was much admired and followed by many suitors, to none of whom she gave any encouragement until she met with my Father, whose person, manner and accomplishments suited her taste exactly, and to whom she therefore gave her heart and hand. He proved, however, too gay for domestic life or happiness, was but rarely at home, drank hard and treated her harshly, being often absent for weeks and months together, visiting some of his noble friends. On one occasion, I recollect spending about a week with my Father on a visit to Lord Audley¹, when I was stuffed with all sorts of luxuries. At another time, my Father quitted home and took private lodgings, taking me with him, where we lived for several weeks. You will therefore perhaps say that I inherit his roving disposition, though I can swear I do not resemble him in fondness for drink and women, in extravagant habits or unkindness, or severity towards my wife and children when at home.

The effect of such conduct on the part of my Father rendered my Mother’s life very unhappy whilst he lived, but, after his death in 1812, she enjoyed peace, comfort and contentment with me until I left her and came to reside in London in 1825. After that she lived a solitary life for some years in the house where I was born, but when my sister Fanny and her Family came to live in the same street, they soon persuaded my Mother to give up her old abode and to live in the same house with them.

My Sister, however, charged £30 per annum for my Mother’s board and lodging, although she had her own furniture and found herself in many little necessaries which she would not ask or accept from them. Even there, she generally kept in her own room having her meals sent up to her, except when I was there and she sat at the same table to enjoy my company. And there she continued until her death, which took place on the 28^th of May 1852.

No. 7 Frances Twentyman: my Aunt, was married to Mr William Wetherall, an Irishman, who visited Lincoln as agent to a large house in the china trade and represented himself as the nephew and heir of the principal partner, sure to inherit considerable property. But afterwards, he turned out to be only a staymaker, related to the head partner in the firm of “Wetherall Medission & Co.” of Bond St., staymakers to the Queen (Charlotte the wife of George the 3^rd).

He soon took my Aunt over to Dublin, where he opened a handsome shop as a staymaker and secured the business and patronage of the then Lady Lieutenant, and thereby established a first rate connexion amongst the Irish nobility and gentry, and did business which brought him in at least £700 per annum. At that time, ladies wore the long, full-boned stays, which were chiefly made and fitted on by men, and they were very expensive.

Of course they had frequent orders from the gay ladies, and as my Uncle Wetherall was a very amorous and rakish chap, he often had too much to say to such sort of customers. He was likewise terribly addicted to drunkenness and extravagance, and proved a very bad husband to my Aunt, whom he often treated with brutal violence without the slightest cause or provocation, for she was kindness, gentleness and patience personified, and she bore all his ill-treatment without resistance and almost without complaint. He spent his money as fast as he got it and would no doubt have come to ruin soon if he had lived longer, but his career was cut short by death, the consequence of intemperance. After his decease, my Aunt carried on the business by herself for many years on Capel Street, Dublin, and afterwards in Sackville Street, the widest and most fashionable thoroughfare in Dublin. She had only one child, which died when young. She therefore wished to adopt my Sister Fanny, who was named after her, and who accordingly lived with her, indulged in everything until her marriage with our first Cousin, Dixie Clement, in 1812.

After that, my Aunt took a fancy to keep the orphan daughter of one of her work-women The name of that girl was Fanny Proudfoot, who gradually worked herself into my Aunt’s affections by artfulness and hypocrisy, and obtained a most extraordinary and paramount influence over her, until she became almost her mistress in everything, to the injury and exclusion of my Aunt’s nearest relations. That girl ultimately married a Mr Pemberton, agent to a Scotch Bottle & Glass Company, but she still stuck by my Aunt until her death and then succeeded her in the business. Whatever property my Aunt had disappeared, except one debenture for £100, which was given up to my Mother; all else was kept and appropriated to her own use by Mrs Pemberton.

Thus has our branch of the Twentyman Family become extinct, my Mother being the last, and at the same time the only one leaving any legitimate heir in me. For it is somewhat remarkable that neither of my Uncles Twentyman married, and that although both my aunts, their and my Mother’s sisters married, neither of them left any child behind them. The whole family of the Twentymans for three generations is therefore comprised in and represented by 8 individuals, unless we include my Mother’s 13 children. But, there were only 7 persons of the name of Twentyman, whilst in the 3 generations of the Paumiers there were 28 individuals of that name, including my Father’s and my Uncle, Colonel Paumier’s, children only. But, by adding the fourth and fifth generations, being my children and grandchildren, we have a total of the Paumiers family to the present time of 50 in number, with every probability of their extending by degrees to double that number, although another remarkable fact is that neither of my 2 Brothers ever married or had any children to the best of my knowledge and belief. Neither have either of my 2 sisters any children living likely to increase the descendants of the Paumiers, as far as I know.

If their children, your first cousins, living and dead, be included in our Family, though not of our name, we shall have a grand total of about 62 persons. With such descent and connexions, and considering how much property there was in the family on both sides, it is melancholy and painful to think of our present circumstances, when, if justice had been done, we should all be rich and independent now instead of being poor and in obscurity.

Ancestors: Trip to Timbuktu 1957

2024-05-03T08:08:00.000+01:00

Notes on a journey to Timbuctoo, the lakes of Gormaa and the Dogon country, an account by 2 authors, Grandad and Pugh

From: 19th to 30 December 1957

Volkswagen (pink)

Mike Messenger, 28, radio engineering lecturer, short. Bill Burberry of Broadcasting Engineering dept, 37, cheerful, reliable, excellent French.

Volkswagen (blue)

Warren Marsh, a quantity surveyor, 25. Large, boyish over-enthusiastic motorist.

John Pugh; "something in the ministry of health", 37, small, witty, competent organiser.

Opel caravan (grey)

Brandon-Jones (BJ); civil engineer, 52, could mend anything, steady as a rock.

Harry Ebbs. Engineer, 35 also very handy and willing to help.

George Reynolds, Headmaster, 47, overkeen photographer, French less good than he thinks, apt to stand and watch work in progress.

Itinerary: Accra-Kumasi-Tamale-Navrongo-Ouagadougou-Niamey-Gao-Bourem-Timbuctoo-Gormaa Rharous-Douentza-Mopti-Ouahigouya-Ouagadougou-Navrongo-Tamale-Kumasi-Accra

Total distance: 3050 miles. Several meetings were held to arrange supplies and so on, originally trip was based on 2 cars and 4 people. Many others wished to come but could not raise a reliable car. My VW had its back seats removed and a wooden floor and ledge added giving a very large boot for food, water flagons and a tank, tins of kerosene and motor oil and vast quantities of oranges in all the gaps. A roof-rack held another spare wheel, our 2 beds and a sand mat. Clothes in the front of the car and also a portable radio.

**Written in 1957, this was an honest traveller's account of what they saw and experienced. But, as borders, rivers and political landscapes have changed in the decades since, values and observations may differ greatly to what is accurate or culturally acceptable today.**

Thursday 19 Dec 1957

5pm, 0 miles. Away, having been slightly delayed by a neighbour who said there was "a native sitting in her bungalow: what should she do". The obvious answers were apparently inappropriate as her husband Colonel Brown who was watching outside thought he was a Teefman (thief). Informed Cantonments police.

Weight of VW with Marsh, myself and kit (including food for 8 days, cooking gear, campbeds, mosquito nets, blankets, sand mats, shovels, beach umbrella, jerricans, spares, cameras, binoculars and Bannerman) = 22 cwt which was maximum.

Passed a newly burnt out VW bus before Aburi. Fireflies came through open roof and alighted on the back of my hand. In the light they were like pieces of soot.

3 stops to adjust spotlights. No noticeable differences but Marsh, who exuded an obsessive pride in the massive bumper bar and grill protected spotlights declared himself satisfied each time.

Passed herds of cattle on their 800 mile walk from the north to the slaughter houses of Accra: driven by Fulanis. Long curved horns, ice green eyes in the headlights.

930 pm, 177 miles. Kumasi resthouse, after filling with 14 gallons of petrol at 4 shillings and thruppence. Dinner at club, (bacon, sausage and eggs and beer). Messenger and Burberry had arrived first and claimed the booking of "Marsh of Survey Dept", hogged 2 best beds so rest used safaris in Mrs Gunn's bungalow.

Friday 20 Dec 1957

Not a very restful night. Few mosquitos, but many moths, cockroaches, fireflies. Up at 430 am. Indifferent breakfast of boiled egg (1 of 4 bad) bread and butter, marmalade, glucose, Paludrine and salt tablet - thus providing all the requirements for nausea. Met BJ, Ebbs and Reynolds at club having an early breakfast. They had arrived 1130 pm.

535am, 0 miles. Away from Kumasi. Twisty roads wet and heavy mist on Mampong scarp. The high forest dark green and wet. Stopped on the hour at 7am - the rule followed through trek on the good roads. Temperature 74 degrees.

Early morning activity at Pioneer Tobacco Company, Ejura. 8am heavy mist required windscreen wipers. More like north Wales. Cool. Bateleur eagle and Bell Shrikes on road straight as a die.

Marsh pursued and ultimately killed a gentle ground squirrel. Heavy forest giving way to orchard savannah.

855 am, Yeji. Ferry across the Volta. One ferry was out of order so long line of overnight mammy lorries ("why worry" and "still why worry"). Signed book as government officers and took priority. 40 minutes delay - one lorry, stuck, blocked exit from and entry to ferry: BJ gave authoritative and useful instructions.

Herds of cattle swimming the 400 yards wide river - noses and horns high - on their way to the South. A few of independent turn of mind swam downstream or tried to return. Fulanis pursued them in canoes or swimming.

Red breasted swallows nesting under pontoons.

218 miles, 1115 Lunch: early to avoid intense heat. Temperature 94 degrees. Away in 25 minutes. Marsh complained of insufficiency of food: revealed he had brought a private supply.

247 miles, 1210 pm. Tamale. 8 1/2 gallons at 4 shillings and 8. Delivered false teeth adhesive to Dr Turnbull at PMO's office. Received good wishes from Hingston, Sappor, Ladeji - and Rene Clapton. Beer at the club and took on 5 gallons of drinking water. Modern buildings springing up at Tamale.

1250 pm away. Northern Territories landscape now - flat, dried up, burnt out under a pale blistering sky. Relieved only by occasional Bombax trees, gaunt and leafless but decorated by clusters of waxen pink flowers, brilliant against the blue sky. Uneventful.

351 miles, 310 pm at Bolgatanga. 2 1/2 gallons of petrol at 4 shillings and 11, in fear of French prices. Market day (always an even chance, since it is held every other day, yet the small boys anxious to guide and earn a dash announce it as if master were indeed a favoured man). Most famous market of Northern Territories and noted for its coloured baskets and hats. Reynolds tried to barter a guinea fowl (domestic - BJ thought it was wild) for a hat - but in the end only got 2 shillings. The wily Muslims said they were in the middle of Ramadan and therefore a fowl was valueless to them. Away at 325 pm.

388 miles. Crossed border between Navrongo and Po and cleared customs at Po. The African guard said that photographs were interdit. Validity of Burberry's laisser passer queried by incomprehensible French Douanes. Told to get it endorsed in Ouaga (but did not suppose he would).

Banana bushes. In the dusk saw 2 duikers on atrocious roads.

458 miles: 7pm Kombisiri. Campement sommaire. New concrete building but badly maintained. No doors to 3 rooms, but amazingly it had electric light. Cooked supper of sausage and potatoes heavily flavoured by kerosene which Messenger had liberally distributed in filling the primus.

Mileage to date: 635. Average mph for day 33.8.

Saturday 21 Dec 1957

545 am away, Kombisiri. Early morning travellers on road - cold Africans swathed in robes and dirty clothes, pale donkeys, clearly revealing the mark of the cross; overloaded donkeys and overloaded bicycles - the latter in the majority.

Road travels along 3 lakes. One lazy crocodile.

Ouagadougou. A rose city in the rose light of dawn. A wonderful sight, my first viewing of French colonial architecture of simplicity and space. Broad avenues, ferroconcrete new buildings, square and cube native houses; all rose pink - even the self conscious Palais de Justice. Saw a small stadium and an impressive market building. No petrol pump open until 7 - so pressed on to Fada along a dual carriageway and we were soon into open country. Not many hills but often the road descended to cross one of the many dried-up river beds. The occasional village now looked more picturesque and less squalid than in our own northern territories and we decided it was "Real Africa" more like Kenya and Rhodesia. The map shows it as lion country.

745 am, warming up. Temperature 68 degrees. Clean and fresh in the early morning air. Terrain: barren, dull black rocks, greatly burnt out areas, stunted bushes, occasional wisps of tinder dry grass. Baobab trees. We stopped to take photograph of the rocky outcrops. Marsh said "unless we're careful the cars will get into every photograph". Messenger pulled up in a swirl of dust as we moved away. He shouted "wait; we must get a photograph of the cars".

117 miles, 845 am, Koupela. Junction for Bawku, which would have saved us 100 miles but roads were reportedly bad. Average 39 mph.

1015 am; Continuing on the wide and very good laterite road (main east-west communication in French west Africa), reached Fada N'Gourma along the tree-lined avenue by the lake (didn't expect so much water here). 35 litres at 36 Francs per litre at the Total fill-up station. Spacious town of many roads and wide scattered round huts in a flat yellow plain. Not market day. Well fed sleek donkeys. Due to lack of time, we passed reluctantly large new hotel run by Italian. This new and unexpected amenity on the trans Saharan road does well because Fada is in the centre of good hunting country.

11am, after lingering in Fada for photographs catch up Messenger's VW. They had changed a wheel after a puncture on the "track difficult or dangerous" brown dotted line on the map. Temperature 94 degrees. Plain antelope. Marsh led convoy by driving fast but at cost of higher petrol consumption.

198 miles: 1120 am. 40 minutes stop for lunch with dirty hands from the wheel change. Realised if we were to catch last Niamey ferry (430 Niger time) we must steam.

1230pm. Passed BJ's Opel with puncture. Road laterite, slightly loose surface, sometimes ridged; one long patch of thick sand. 45-55 mph, easy speeds. Bateleur eagle on wing. Flocks of emerald starlings. Very few Africans.

155pm, 95 degrees. Kantchari. 38.3 mph. Noticeable here as elsewhere that women almost invariably wore something red: usually a cheap print, red scarf square.

335 pm puncture. 340pm away, having changed wheel and replenished petrol tank from jerrican. Chances of catching last ferry receded; but Marsh fairly threw the VW about the rough road to avoid losing speed. 403pm an electric short in the fuse box sent a stream of acrid smoke through the car. A tin of Johnson's Prickly Heat powder had provided the short circuit.

Masses of doum palms standing in clumps like cypresses in an English churchyard.

410pm (440 Niger time) arrived on ferry just as it was about to push off. Discovered last ferry 645 pm. Ferry turned a laborious circle to return for Messenger and BJ who arrived minutes after us. Power-driven ferry took one mammy lorry and our 3 cars over the narrow but deep river. BJ expressed the unwisdom of running cars full out in the heat of the day and on bad roads.

358 miles, 430 pm Niamey. Highly attractive capital of Niger, and famous for ivory trade. Sprawling town with usual massive French administrative buildings and centre market where we saw camels for first time - and cattle, goats, donkeys, horses; and horsemen gaily caparisoned. No tryps here.

40 litres of petrol at 34 Francs (Marsh carefully avoiding Total, which at Fada, had seemed largely kerosene). Spent one hour fruitlessly trying to find someone to repair tubeless tyres (at 530pm on a Saturday): at least this was my impression, although once in our circuits of Niamey we visited an ice cream factory and a magic show. Eventually mended puncture ourselves in courtyard of campement. Marsh and I mended our first tubeless and had doubts about its success. Messenger and Burberry removed the cover from punctured tyre - to discover there was no inner tube and that the strange writing on the outside (schruckloss) was German for tubeless. Difficulty resolved by putting in a tube, cleaned out air filters. Insisted on a beer at any price which wasn't too bad- 90F (about 3 shillings) served by a French woman.

370 miles. Very comfortable campement at the one-floor Terminus Hotel. Dinner, by fountain and coloured lights, consisted of soup, chicken and red pepper sauce, and tomatoes, steak, cheese, pudding and brandy sauce: very strong red wine. Dinner, bed and breakfast at 4am, cost 1080 each.

Total mileage now 1005. Reynolds busily acquiring local information, was difficult to prise from the bar. Cheetah in a cage in the courtyard, and a chimp on a chain. Tried to get some sleep but the hotel was only 30 yards from a bar with no closing time, they quietened down at about 0230.

Sunday 22nd December 1957.

After breakfast French style, away Niamey 450am in the dark past good modern shops. Collected a large thermos of ice cubes from bar steward who was still on duty from previous night.

Road tarmac as far as Residency - a yellow fortress on banks of Niger. Armed sentry was awake. Road then rough and corrugated with occasional deep gullies usually signposted. Flat yellow country except where Niger wound through lush green. Road followed river at distances between a few feet and 2 or 3 miles.

Many nomad Fulani encampments with their unsubstantial tents of black striped matting; and hump backed cattle. Occasional fine healthy horses, front feet hobbled. This area and further north marked for many cattle the beginning of the long trek to the butcher's shops of Accra.

6am, 61 degrees - still chilly with the windows open. I had acquired Marsh's heavy cold. Messenger asked Marsh "Any Benzedrine?" He had had 3 nights of poor sleep and felt his eyes closing while driving. Marsh who doubtless could not easily locate the Benzedrine (because he'd forgotten to bring his "Keep Awake" pills), brightly suggested that Burberry should drive.

Many guinea fowl and pied crows (which were sparse in the northern territories). Great waves of white egrets flew downstream.

74 miles, 7am Tillabery. Average speed, 37 mph.

Passed military convoy. French officers in jeeps furiously driven by Africans.

127 miles Ayoron (Agora). Important village on left where clearly it was market day. Passed many loaded donkeys, and donkey caravans converging on Ayoron. Women wore satin black and the men a sort of white burnous. Features less negroid, but very black: Bambaras. Important men on horses or camels.

Flat and mostly bare scrub; but large areas as devoid of vegetation as an aerodrome. But everywhere birds - egrets, black magpies, starlings: and 2 crown cranes.

11am. Lunch under a tree by the side of Niger. Village some distance away on a hillock, safely removed from Niger which floods extensively. Watched at respectful distance by village men and boys: and ostentatiously ignored by busy little fire-finches. Women wore attractive and intricate hairstyles; much better fed than NT women. I gave a small boy a piece of ice and in wondering speculation it was hastily passed from one small hand to another - as if it were too hot. As always one sophisticate among them had been to Accra and was able to explain all. They were happy to take our empty tins.

1145am away - to pass BJ who had chosen to eat away from the curious villagers.

Many sheep in the dried up yellow grass. Almost as tall as donkeys - black and white, or white, or brown and white and some fat black ones with thick black coats, seemingly more suitable for the north of Scotland.

Naked little boys, usually in pairs - administrative masters of herds of enormous hump backed cattle. A great bustard. Occasional copses of thorny green epineux. Laterite cliff on left. Crossed the border into French Sudan. The border guard had no idea what to look for but stopped us anyway: we were friendly so he let us through. Rapids and a giraffe were marked on the map, but we saw neither.

Arrived in the attractive town of Ansongo at 1pm. It was a travellers delight with a very blue river on one side and a very yellow desert on the other. As at most times this desert was not the ideal sandy waste, but contained sparse and scraggy bushes. The buildings of Ansongo demanded photographs and also a view down a little alley to where women were washing in the Niger.

286 miles, 245 pm Gao. Chef lieu de cercle. Important river port with a tarmac road and a small airport. Petrol 40 litres at 40 Francs out of a roadside lorry as Total was closed for Sunday. Beer 120 Francs bottle at Air France hotel. Proprietor said rate for £ was 450 Francs. We thought this was a poor comparison with 670 at Po. He said rate in Timbuctu was 330. Marsh confused BJ into wrong payment for petrol and vexed Messenger by hastening away before he had had a beer at the Atlantide Hotel. We got our 25 litres of petrol for 1000 francs, the most expensive of the trip. Our range with the jerry-cans full was about 500 miles in good going so we needed all of it. However, the departure of the whole party was accelerated by a doubtlessly unfounded rumour that passports required scrutiny.

345 pm away from dusty, sandy, not very clean Gao, next to a sign bearing the magic symbol "Tomboctou".

339 miles. Desert proper began - sparse scrub and rolling dunes. Passed a camel caravan carrying salt bars, sides of camels badly lacerated. Occasional pairs of camel riders mostly Arab - the chief magnificent in his blue burnous and white litham, pale caucasoid face and long black hair. In his hand 2 or even 3 spears, he would stand impassive, whether we passed or stopped and photographed him.

This is where we started to doubt our own maps - some places on it don't exist. Drove slowly past the camel trains to avoid startling them.

520pm, Bourem. We climbed up to Bourem on the hill in fading light as we were 15 degrees north. It comprised 3 large fortresses - each flying the tricolour - and a handful of mud wattle houses on a hillock overlooking the bend of the Niger. Stayed at largest most commanding red laterite coloured fortress: looked like a foreign legion fort but was actually built as a prison, on a steep hill reeking of Beau Geste memories.

Guardian put on fine dinner of soup, pasta, steak and potatoes, egg custard sweet and red wine for 175 Francs. Messenger had had 2 punctures, and cleaned the engine, changed the air filter and engine oil and greased the suspension. He also enjoyed a midnight attack of vomiting which he ostentatiously enjoyed in various parts of the fortress, including over the battlements.

Total mileage: 1353.

Monday 23rd December 1957

Awakened by George at 5am. Felt a bit rough with heavy cold, sore throat and stiff limbs. Large bowl of steaming coffee.

615am, away Bourem. Pale translucent sky over the buildings of pink, violet and white clay for which Bourem is noted. This was a late start. There had been the previous night a strong and sustained objection to another crack-of-dawn start, to constantly arriving in darkness and leaving in darkness. Marsh and I did not share this view - but we had no punctures and had arrived in daylight. Generally, however, the need for pressing on to Timbuctoo was agreed.

As a result of Reynold's talk with French geographical surveyor and our own credulousness, we took what purported to be a better road out of Bourem (the road to Tessalit which ends up in Algeria) and got lost. But saw at close quarters 2 gazelles. Eventually went back 10 miles and restarted on proper road clearly signposted Timbuctoo. Terrain, rose red, iron hard alternating with sand. Plenty of thorny epineux. Gazelles in twos and trees and 3 Sudan bustards. Single ostriches examined our passage objectively from grass tussocked dunes.

60 miles, 815 am. 73 degrees. Average speed 30mph.

9am. Track forked. After extensive reconnaissance by Marsh we all took wrong track past a series of Tuareg villages full of cows, goats and donkeys, with dogs that raced us for a mile before giving up. Later in the cool clean invigorating air Messenger said he couldn't understand why Marsh had led for so long along what was clearly the wrong track.

110 miles, 1025am. Onto causeway which was intersected by fast west flowing stream, where Warren was stuck, and we spent ages wading around trying to find a ford. Long discussion with Bambiye Africans who clearly could not understand our difficulty in getting to Timbuctoo and amongst ourselves, as to why the stream - part of the Niger - was flowing west and not east. Latter problem was quickly solved and so was former at 11am when we followed faint tracks north across scrubland and joined a heavier track going east-west, like we actually wanted.

1130am. Lunch on rounded knoll overlooking Niger. Knoll composed wholly of broken pottery. No village near. Niger wide and slow moving among banks of green borgou grass. This grass contains sugar and is fattening for cattle.

1220 away. Track generally hard, but patches of loose sand. Many sleek and handsome donkeys, wild in the sense of wild Welsh ponies. Occasional shepherd boys naked or in blue guinea cloth. None with umbilical hernia, and no villages for 150 miles, despite all the wandering humans and animals. At distant intervals we met enigmatic single Arabs on enigmatic horses, whose sole occupation seems to be gazing enigmatically into space. There may be perhaps a dozen private cars along this road each year, yet they did not bat an eyelid. The 2 villages of Rhergo and Sakamar on the map failed to exist.

192 miles. Patches of soft sand more frequent. Some gazelles: once a herd of 12. Many ground squirrels with black or white ringed tails. Once a congregation of huge vultures (Nubian vultures or white-headed vultures?). Neumans chestnut winged starlings near the cliffs.

202 miles, 315pm. 91 degrees, average 22mph. Road frequently divided into many tracks over areas of loose sand. Continued to follow tyre marks of large vehicle and hoped it went to Timbuctoo. Opel sometimes in difficulties but was usually pushed out by its own passengers. We kept within sight of each other. The road got steadily worse with sand. You'd get a mile or so of flat track and then a hill and sea of soft sand. The good sections got shorter over the last 100 miles which was an excellent apprenticeship in sand motoring, and we learned as we went. Someone starting off from Timbuctoo going the other way would meet the worst conditions first and surely give up. We slewed drunkenly from one side of the tracks to the other with high engine revs in second or even first gear.

223 miles, 430pm. Terrain now wholly loose sand, maintained to a negligible degree by coarse grass, an area of gentle slopes and rises with occasional deeper sandy gullies. VWs experienced no real difficulty, but Opel frequently came to a standstill, Ebbs suggested possibly due to paraffin in the fuel from Gao. Magpies and ground squirrels.

Just as we were planning to camp out for the night, 5pm with Timbuctoo on the horizon all 3 cars came to a standstill in ragged echelon. The over-heated Opel was the most difficult.

530pm, Timbuctoo: arrived by way of a well, an alley and the beehive huts of Bela Farrandi. In the gathering darkness Marsh led the convoy in a lightning tour of the city finally coming to a halt, confidently but unnecessarily, at a military fort and the parade ground of the foreign legion. Burberry's immaculate French took over so he hired Mohamanodu, a small Arab boy as guide and thus we quickly arrived at the resthouse to find the accommodation taken by Achimota, a French surveyor and 3 white friends. None of these folk thought it was possible to arrive by car, they had either flown in from Ghana or by boat from Nigeria. They were all University people and quite mad.

We consulted the Commandant who meticulously shook hands with everyone twice but was otherwise not interested. The shifty-looking caretaker suggested we could use the unfinished guesthouse. We put up our beds on the roof of the campement - Ebbs and I under a mud overhang on a floor decorated with tiny mounds of bat droppings, dry and brown like coffee grounds. The rest slept in the open.

The bearded lecturer from Legon told us there was a Ghanaian photographer in town anxious to exchange francs into pounds, even at 600. This was good news indeed as we had become very short and there was no other chance of exchange.

Burberry engaged 2 small French speaking Songhai boys as watchnights because Mrs Heyman was quick to warn us (no doubt inaccurately like other local information) that the caretaker/guardian was a teefman. Burberry had experience of this and trusted that all Arabs were untrustworthy. Monster dinner of Irish stew - ragout cooked by surly young guardian, with some tins of food we'd given him. The local café looked dingy from the outside but was quite good inside with lots of cold beer and wine. We had a nightcap there but it was cold and we were tired; we slept well under mosquito-free blankets. We saw the bright crescent moon and single evening star so beloved of Islam.

233 miles total mileage 1586.

Some historical notes on Timbuctoo

Lies where the river and desert meet. The north bound wealth of the tropics and the southbound products of the Barbary coast meet at Timbuctoo.

First mentioned in about 1076 when Ghana was the predominant power in Sudan. It was a trading centre and also became a dormitory area for the Tuaregs from the north, the Songhai from Gao in the east, and for the Bambara from Djenne in the west.

1336: Timbuctoo and the Songhai came under Mandingo (Bambara) control and Timbuctoo began to acquire its reputation as a seat of Islamic learning. Byengerey Ber, the great mosque was built.

1420 or so, Mandingo authority waned and the Tuareg captured the city.

1468 began the Songhai era and the age of Askia the great. Timbuctoo became one of the important towns in the great Songhai empire which stretched from the Atlantic to the Nile and as far south as the forest belt of present day Ghana. The peripheral areas were doubtless never integrated. The Judge of Timbuctoo was automatically the Chief Justice of the Empire. The Islamic University of Timbuctoo was famous and there were cultural exchanges with Universities elsewhere including Spain and Northern Egypt; the zenith of Timbuctoo.

1551: the Moroccans and Andalusians defeated the Songhai and entered Timbuctoo. By 1625 the Sultan of Morocco's influence declined - mainly because of poor communications, and Timbuctoo was successively governed by the Armas - cross-bred descendants of the Moroccan Arabs, the Bambara from the west again, 2 short-lived Sudanic empires of the north-east, and for long fill-in periods by Tuaregs. Indeed during the Arma occupation the Armas paid the Tuaregs protection money.

In 1894 Colonel Bonnier of the Legion captured Timbuctoo for the French. He has a statue in an open space near the military fort at the head of the canal leading to the river 5 miles away.

The permanent population of Timbuctoo is about 6000 but after the short rain season it may increase to many more as nomads move into the outskirts of the city.

Excluding the French the racial types are 2 - the Caucasian and the Negroid. The Tuareg nobles are typical Caucasoid - light skinned, straight black hair, long limbed, tall, straight noses. Those Arabs who were also Caucasoid had aquiline noses.

Superimposed as it were on these 2 racial types were the three main cultures of the city. Arab, Songhai and Tuareg, and in each of these groups there are 3 sub-groups. In all these groups there are Caucasoid and Negroid race types. Almost all the Tuaregs who live in Timbuctoo are pure negroes, so are most of the Arabs. The only pure Caucasoids are the Tuareg Nobles (Surgu) who by a strict matrilineal caste system retain their pale skins, long limbs and sometimes blue eyes. All the other sub-groups are mixed Caucasoid and Negroid.

Each of the 3 main groups has its own language: Arabic, Songhai and Tuareg/Temajegh, but all the sub groups except the Tuareg Nobles (Surgu) speak Songhai, which is a sort of lingua franca for the city.

The Tuareg nobles, essentially aloof in all their activities rely upon the Bela, Tuareg slaves for interpretation. The Tuareg Nobles are nomads.

In both the Arab and Tuareg culture groups there are slave sub-groups who are negroid. Slave is now no longer an accurate description. Most of the Tuareg slaves (Bela) live on the periphery of Timbuctoo and it was by their beehive shaped straw huts, Bela Farrandi, that we entered and left Timbuctoo.

In general it was difficult to distinguish between the different groups but often we were quite sure. We were guided by the following.

The Tuareg Noble never walks: his racing camel or horse takes him even into the market. He is always veiled but the crown of his head is left bare; and he always carries a handful of spears or lances and a straight bladed sword.

The Tuareg Daga (serf) is a mild imitation of the same type. He wears a bracelet above the elbow. Tunic narrow and knee length. Carries a lance. Practically no negroid influence. The Daga women are very attractive - caramel coloured, slim, straight haired and with hemispherical breasts.

Arab, Arma and Gabibi wear poncho like robes extending to the ground.

City Arabs and Songhai wear open heeled slippers, Daga, Berabich and Bela wear a sort of Achimota sandal (or go bare footed).

The Tuareg Noble wears a wide soled sandal.

The Berabich or Moor wears long bushy hair down to his shoulder.

Bela and Gabibi ride donkeys, the Daga alone ride hump-backed cattle.

Hair styles are also indicative - but only partly. For small children the pattern is complex.

Arma girls wear rings through their nasal septum; Gabibi through the wing of the nose.

Only the Arabs sell camels: only the Bela make sandals, the Gabibi and Bela are the biggest traders; but all sub groups (except the Tuareg Nobles and Dagas) engage in some commerce.

Tuesday Christmas eve 1957.

Temperature dropped to 43 degrees so everyone on the roof slept badly and woke early - except Marsh who wore a glove fitting Artic sleeping bag (like a Michelin advertisement) and myself under a mud overhang, 2 double blankets and the influence of 2 aspirin.

Burberry, Messenger and Pugh took a pre-breakfast walk. It was bitterly cold and grey. The few people about - Negro and Arab alike were heavily wrapped. We warmed up over breakfast.

The city was composed of a closely packed central area of mud brick houses usually of 2 stories and narrow straight streets, often impeded by tall communal clay ovens where the local black bread was baked. The oven was chest high: no stooping for the housewife. Two beam studded minarets - the mosques of Sankore and Djinkquereber, 14th century but restored - interrupted the unimpressive panorama of the town buildings. Round this congested central quarter ran a wide sandy ring road.

Flanking this road were Fort Hungueny, in the north and Fort Bonnier in the south - each bravely flying the tri-colour and with a mounted machine gun and a smart sentry at the gates - and also the yellow washed administrative buildings, the post office, the resthouse, the Residency and a nice little pub run by an Italian, Monsieur Vergil.

The city was divided into quarters where persons of the same sub group tended to live together, though not exclusively; the Arab was found in every quarter. On the periphery - outside the ring road - were the suburbs - the beehive huts of the Bela on the east, those of the Berabich on the north and those of the Bambiye and Songhai, the water carriers, in the west.

Since this was the first day of rest on the journey (after the hell-for-leather 1500 mile dash), it was characterised by ceaseless activity. We constantly met each other in all the expected places. Our first sally was to the Post Office where postcards were sent to favoured friends, or where the impact of a postcard from Timbuctoo would be most dramatic. I casually asked the counter clerk "Any letters for Pugh" and among a murmur of disbelief among my friends got 2. News of Hay-on-Wye on Christmas eve in Timbuctoo.

Burberry and I went to the Administration to get our passports stamped "Vu a Tomboctou" and then, with information gained from a French official, back to the Post Office to send a telegram to the Commandant at Gormaa Rharous asking him to fix a ferry across the Niger. Asked about the chances the French official said with a shrug "C'est possible, mais ..." and then "trois voitures .... mmm" most discouragingly. A nasty piece of work, he underestimated our French and stage-whispered to a minion that there was a bank at Algiers that would do the exchange - 2000 miles away across the desert.

In the wide sandy road outside the Post Office there was desultory traffic - two detachments of French soldiery, 2 military jeeps (which we met again and again) and 2 VWs (which they met again and again), and occasional camel trains, Arabs and Songhai.

Spotted the Ghanaian photographer, from Mpreiso, about 100 miles from Accra, plying his trade across French West Africa. He had francs so we got 600 to the pound, a decent rate.

Went with Reynolds to the harbour (the end of the canal from Kabara on the Niger) primarily to photograph Reynolds among the indigenes and camels. His efforts to mount a camel were thwarted by a complex of good reasons. Main commodity was Borgou grass - but there were also bags of groundnuts which were being auctioned, and striped earthenware and grain from Mopti. Donkeys and camels.

It became hotter and frequent calls at the Italian pub for iced beer were considered necessary. Towards 1pm Marsh emerged from the Post Office having given the postal authorities uncommon custom in postcards. Visited the market where bright woven sandals, intricate plaited grass, gold dipped to masquerade as jewellery, and bars of salt from the desert salt flats were sold. Found the CFAO shop (found all over West Africa) but they could not sell us a cold drink: passing through narrow alleys with mean little rooms on each side we reached the Sankore Mosque which has seen better days. The towers of this type of building resemble a pincushion since wooden spars extrude in all directions - the beginning of reinforced concrete? Then we found the house bearing the plaque to Major Laing, first European to visit Timbuctoo, 1826, when the town probably looked no different. Doubted whether the house marked was the original one, as like all African towns of mud brick buildings, Timbuctoo seemed to be in a concurrent state, falling down and being rebuilt. One acquired the impression that the desert - and one unconsciously recognised the influence of desert and sand in Timbuctoo - was of greater substance than the ephemeral buildings of man.

Original Tuareg spear (150 francs)

Marsh collected 60 litres of petrol from Shell ordered by cable from Accra, at 37.50 francs a litre: less than 5 shillings a gallon: odd, as the only petrol in town was labelled Texaco. The meat stall was loaded with flies as in Egypt. Repaired to the pub for a lovely cold beer, being the only customers we got well acquainted with the owners.

We were shown some Tuareg spears and bought one each for 150 francs. They could hardly be made specially for tourists - the maker would soon be bankrupt, so we are sure they are the real thing.

4pm . Drove a poor bargain with a pirogue owner (1,000 francs) and embarked for Kabara: Reynolds, Marsh and myself. The Bambara owner poled the warped old boat. 2 small boys in dirty blue guinea and scabby heads kept baling pace with the inrush of water. The pirogue had previously transported camel dung, so we unexpectedly were provided with clean matting to squat on. Ahead of us in a narrow reach of the canal a boy made a bundle of his clothes and holding them high above his head - and at the critical time they were just a few inches above the water - walked across the deep canal. It was too late for the 2 1/2 hours journey to Kabara and at dusk we returned. Reynolds took some photographs of Egyptian plovers (always by itself) and Forbes Banded Plover, and of the pastel grey and rose sunset (ceaselessly demanding a reed in the foreground). The stars were cold and clear on the return journey. Messenger and Burberry drove the 5 miles instead so saw Kabara with small boats at the quay of the covered-over 1910 type from Somerset Maugham's tales of the southern seas.

Dinner at the pub where the Tunisian wife (of obvious Negroid extraction) of the Italian owner fed us on mutton couscous and Algerian wine. Burberry spoke Italian to him for ages, shame there were no Swedes or Russians for him to complete his language repertoire. The pub was gaily decorated and included a Christmas tree, put up by Burberry. The Heymans also ate there and French officers called in to add to the festivities. They had exotic uniforms with white jackets, epaulettes and fancy rank markings. Down the sides of their trousers were patterns in white. Naturally we assumed they were Foreign Legion but were disappointed to find them only the French Colonial Army. Marsh and Reynolds took flash photographs, cajoling the worn-out proprietess into the shots.

Just outside the café, inside its grounds was a crowd watching an American civil war film on a concrete screen. Back on the roof of our resthouse we could still see the film show.

Christmas Day 1957

Awoke just after 5 to check the thermometer. 0 miles, 610am. In a magical Christmas dawn we tried to find our way out of Timbuctoo, as there were no visible roads leading out into the desert. Burberry said it was the perfect Christmas morning. It was: the cold clear half light; the waning stars in the ice blue sky; the robed Arabs, closely wrapped against the cold, standing among the beehive huts; goats and asses; and the pale loose sand kicking up like sugar snow actually looked biblical.

Had risen much earlier, but stowing took longer than usual: our stay at Timbuctoo had been relatively extensive. Also delayed by discovering that an important map had been left in pub. But this deduction was not made until Heyman had been wakened to suggest it. (Heyman was unperturbed at the eccentricity of being consulted about a lost map at 5am on a dark Christmas morning). Eventually recovered map by breaking into deserted pub.

After much hesitation we found our old tracks out and all 3 cars got stuck on first hillock. But the early morning sand had greater cohesion. Good progress.

640am. Tracks very faint and led into lake. Much deliberation. BJ decided lake was still filling; we all remembered tales of this phenomenon - distant lakes and reaches filling with water when the Niger unexpectedly rises. We were over 7 miles from Niger. Crept around northern edge of lake among thorn bushes and dunes and eventually found old tracks. Sacred ibis, and groups of four or five gazelles.

Clear air, bone dry but fresh. Many hornbills, ground squirrels and a single superior ostrich.

87 miles, 1045. Turned south and at banks of Niger to our delighted surprise found a pontoon ferry waiting with a dozen or so bodies for propulsion and across the 3 mile Niger saw the twin-towered red brick fort of Gormaa Rharous. Spent a fruitless 30 minutes trying to get both VWs on the ferry. Both NCOs in charge and Captain of the ferry disliked the idea - and it wasn't practicable, one of the VWs might fall off.

1120. Messenger and Burberry left - taking the only radio set to hear the Queens speech and the Commonwealth programme on the BBC overseas service. We put up a large umbrella and lazed the day away. Vista of cool water, green borgou reeds and giant water flowers like anemones. Niger pleasant for swimming and a good wash.

1pm. Toasted those at home (in canned Tennents beer). Corned beef sandwiches, cucumber, bananas, cake for lunch. Primus refused to function despite 6 meta blocks (total stock) and a box of matches - so no tea.

4pm. Some Bambara 9 men poled (and rowed in deep parts) us across - after making their Islamic prayers to the east. We lost a straw hat into the river but a boatman retrieved it. Not noticeably tired although weeds thick in places. All wore bone bangles above elbows, so tight they incised into muscle. It took 5 hours to get us all across, a free service.

Herons, firefinches, coucals, wagtails, lily trotters, terns, crakes. 1,000 dash to boatmen who clearly were not expecting it: they split it so not much for all that work.

510pm. Gormaa Rharous resthouse to find 1) Messenger and Burberry lavishly installed (bucket shower, made beds, music on radio and mosquito nets being only 200 yards from the river) 2) Opel had already departed for Hombori 150 miles to south-east. (BJ had announced at Niamey that he had to return one day earlier than us. In fact they got back 2 days earlier). They needed a guide but organising things in a crowd of Arabs is impossible, they all talk at once and have no idea of time. 2 of us wandered around the village followed by a huge crowd of children.

Total mileage 1700.

Aperitif with Jean Allard, le Commandant de Sub Division, on his wide stoop overlooking the Niger, and then dinner in his massive walled fortress, white washed inside, brick red outside. He lived alone and indeed he was the only white man in the sub division, but he looked with little joy on the occasional visits of the Governor-General from Dakar. His outfit was good for any musical comedy - a bit like Ali baba but with some Oriental like Yul Brynner in The King and I. Sub Division almost bereft of communications except the Niger in the north and the Douentza-Gao road to south. Does all his trekking looking after his district by camel, and had no idea it was Christmas day.

We drove to the fort and had drinks on the terrace overlooking the river, lit by the moon. Some had martini and soda, some cognac, Allard apologised for not having any whisky which costs a lot in French territory, but when sitting by the Niger, who wants whisky?

Dinner which was prolonged by wines, beer and champagne was excellent (and included a fine onion omelette and pineapple salad steeped in white rum), and all eaten off the same plate as is the French way. A most jovial evening during the course of which his English and our French became more fluent if less intelligible. But to Marsh's last remark before he fell asleep - "Les indigenes sont tres jolies?" - Allard bleakly thought not.

We worried that our map showed no petrol at Douentza, the next big town about 300 miles away. Allard allayed these fears by saying yes there was petrol, and there was a shortcut that did not appear on the map that could save us 100 miles.

Apparently the French have you to dinner but don't hang about afterwards and the information that "The lights go out at 10" dismissed us suitably: well laden with alcohol we drove back to the resthouse for a good night's rest. Allard gave us 2 notes - one to his temporary assistant at Bambara Maomde (who would show us the short cut), and another to a nurse with whom he was acquainted at Twickenham. Normally his letters took 5 days by boat before even reaching a post office.

Boxing Day 1957

Warm morning. Messenger mended an overnight puncture. A pulsing leak of oil behind engine of Marsh's VW. Decided to pray and "see how it was after 50 miles or so"; necessarily a popular solution. 100 francs to guardian who though lazy made a show of willingness, telling us that 10 miles out of town was a mountain - Tin Ahara - where we would take the right fork at a notice.

0 miles, 730am away. My fever had at last subsided. Track well-defined - probably by Opel of previous day, although they turned left at Tin Ahara, missing the lakes. Basins of soft sand alternated with compounds of igneous cinder like gravel: desert savannah with barren purple plain.

Gazelles, ostriches, hornbills, brown necked ravens, pied crows in enormous flocks, Sudan bustard, black magpies and many magpies nests in the trees. The country became very flat. In the middle of this we found the sign and fork - Tin Ahara was the queerest mountain in existence.

1015 am, large water hole in the middle of nowhere. Great herds of cattle, sheep donkeys, cows, camels, goats, but nothing else for miles. Messenger another puncture.

114 miles, 1150 am, Bambara Naomde. This seemed to me to be the most desolate place on earth: a small collection of grey mud houses in a flat grey landscape, flat as far as the eye could see. Silent as a Sunday afternoon and sizzling hot. To the west was the endless Lake Do, pallid in the hot sun, and by a hut stood a large empty lorry that had come to the end of the road.

Bambaras appeared in numbers but didn't speak French so having nearly given up the search (and deciding to press on by compass) Burberry found M. Viney, for whom we had a note from Allard. We found him in an Arab round hut filled with natives - a barefooted French administrator, dressed in immaculate white "and clean-shaven", noted Marsh significantly. Allard had asked him to reveal "the new road to Douentza" but the news was shattering, there was no road, only an intermittent camel track.

To get to Douentza we had to return 100 miles to Tin Ahara and take the other fork, and get to Gao or Douentza via Gozzi. We had insufficient petrol for this 350-mile reroute and wanted to take the short cut, but Viney was doubtful. I wanted to go across country by compass but without a road that would have been fatal. We had to have an unenthusiastic guide which meant transferring petrol to Warren's car and still being overloaded. We set off on the most perilous part of our voyage, a wonderful experience but not at the time as we were all anxious, heading east to Kokobadie along the edges of the lakes, then south, taking guides from village to village. The temperature was only 101 degrees.

First there was a rough track but it disappeared in the sand at the first settlement. There were many thorn bushes and cram cram, a small pale plant good for camels and eaten when boiled by the Songhai but its adhesive spines and prickles were most unpleasant to us. Now, on the right hand, was a lake of immense size, Lake Nangaye. Not at its largest as in the wet season, but still fifty miles long and too wide to see across. We had to go roughly westward along the southern shores of this lake to a small town. This forty or fifty miles was with the first guide. We were often becoming stuck in the frequent corridors of soft silver sand and were pushed out with the help of the locals, who once more, were negroid. One wonders what would have happened without these bits of help, or even worse if the people had been hostile.

For the cars it was a nightmare 50 miles, much of it over deep rutted "ploughed" fields with tall reeds and roof-high rushes that we had to drive straight into and mow down, and sometimes we came upon water and had to turn blindly back. Once we crashed through a smouldering bush fire: we loved our sturdy VWs. The iron hard yam fields were the most uncomfortable. By the lakeside we had another puncture and had 100 miles to do with no spare wheel, as the spare tubes were in the other car that we had left behind. Also the Opel had taken both the repair kits. Pugh paddled out for 30 yards into the lake conspicuously naked, but could only sit in 6 inches of tepid flat-tasting water.

The lakeside villages of Bambaras and a few Fulani were often beautiful with huts of reed thatch, silvery white nets hanging up to dry and the lake itself intensely blue and seemingly interminable. No vehicles had ever been along here before and it is doubtful whether the folk had seen Europeans more than one or 2 times before. Women wore thick strings of highly coloured bone beads, rings in their noses. The children watched the wheels of our cars in amazement. We saw grey heron, great white heron, the chestnut crested giant heron, egrets, spur-winged geese with great wings of black and white. Egyptian plovers, a flock of stints trailing their bright red legs and rosy pelicans, once a large congregation of them stood at the lake side, their sulphur pouches and pink bills clearly discernible against the silver grey water.

It was about 230 that we reached our first destination, the large mud-hut town of Kagnoume, with many under-nourished children. We then had to find the local Fulani chief who could not speak French or read the letter from M Viney. At last the literate member of the community arrived, a pleasant Arab type who had been on the coast. After considerable explanation we got the 400-franc guide we needed. The exit from the town was hopeless with sand so for about 5 miles we careered across open bush country, just missing the thorn bushes on each side but picking up plenty in the tyres. The sand was held together with coarse grass so going was a bit better. We could see glimpses of Lake Hagouadou to the west, gazelles, guinea fowl, francolin, purple starlings and black magpies.

Now and then we could discern a track showing that what little traffic came to this area was from the south and not Bambara Maonde. Across flats where the high annual tides had reached we could even do 40 and get into top gear again.

At the next village Ore-Vendou some ten miles away we had again to change guides; paid the first one off with 100 francs and took the chief man himself. His French was a relief after the previous 2 guides who just pointed the way, often straight into a bush. This new guide had his wits about him. After only 10 miles we overtook a party of six walkers and the guide in his close-fitting raincoat said we could give one a lift all the way to Douentza. Two were chiefs of some sort and both wanted a lift. Only when they saw how completely full up we were did one get in, swapping with our guide. He smelt somewhat but now we did not need to stop and wrangle at every village.

For the last 50 miles the road improved. At Kersana at 530 we ran out of petrol and refilled but this had allowed dirt into the carburettor. Twice Bill cleaned the main jet then stripped the whole thing. When we got started it was dusk but this gave us our chance to see some animals which lie low in the day. A massive bull Eland crashed across in front of us and later, on a flat piece of ground, a warthog ran across our path. There were lots of foxes, hyaenas and hares.

Reaching Douentza was nicer than reaching any place I can remember. The lights in the darkness were welcoming. The town looked impressive and we reached the campement at 730. A meal was only 150 francs so we ordered it and made a beeline for the local beer shop, delicious and so was the meal. Being exhausted we left the punctures until morning, we all had a bed and a net and a good night's sleep, total mileage 1909, 300 francs for B&B. Douentza is the district town and hemmed in on 3 sides by mountains of purple rock, at a confluence of passes through the Falaise de Sangha. One of them close to the town is an ancient elephant walk; according to the official the petrol station is still use in April and May each year.

Friday December 27th 1957.

Got the caretaker to make us breakfast with our supplies in the shady courtyard of the resthouse: in the dry cool morning it could have been Southern Spain or France. We mended the punctures by putting 2 new tubes in, as we had no means of mending a tube. The radio was tuned to the BBC as we could not raise Radio Ghana. A large Peugeot 403 station wagon was there with 2 French chaps who only wanted to speak English. Got 45 litres of petrol at 40 francs from the government concessionaire.

We were on the road just before ten. The way led between mountains on either side and we saw Chenne, our first Dogon village perched on a hill and blending with the rocks. Dogon country is valleys of boulders and rocky cliffs like the carboniferous limestone of Cheddar. Narrow winding road with defiles and grotesque eroded boulders and pillars. Every horseman doffs his hat with a flourish. Once again dogs were racing us except for one bold beast which came to meet us head on and was promptly killed.

Soon we were on more brown dots on the map but the road was not bad, climbing into the mountains. Eventually we reached the red mud town of De but the distances on the map were wrong and confusing.

We spotted the turning that we wanted for Sangha. This was a dead end some 20 miles long but very picturesque and tourist-worthy. This road had steep descents into little valleys where there were very green crops growing, possibly onions. We stopped for lunch and had no more than a dozen spectators.

At 3 reached Sangha, once known for troglodytes. Bongo, a Dogon village is perched on some rocks and there is a narrow natural tunnel beneath with the road. Through this tunnel we found a steep descent of 1000 feet or so with another village below. A vast plain stretched into the distance except where the scarp could be seen with its immense sheer drops. Dogon villages such as Gogoli, Banani and Ibi are perched both at the top and bottom of the cliff. Irelli is virtually built against the cliff wall and has vertical rectangular mud tombs built into the cliff. The dead are buried or sealed into apertures in the cliff face, an immense vertical cemetery, something like the wall cemeteries in parts of North Italy, but much larger. Pugh and co spent a long time clambering about at the top of the cliff looking at the tiny fields, as big as a room, little terraces of cultivation separated by paths so narrow that one foot had to be placed precisely in front of the other. Each of these little terraces of cultivation were filled with shining emerald green onions. A villager working in the fields said they send the onions to Mopti and Douentza, and that most of the soil was brought up from the plains below. There was in fact constant intercourse between the clifftop villages and those on the plain. Towards the end of the dry season water has to be carried from all-weather springs half way down and at the bottom.

There were steep defiles and crude flights of steps up these enormous cliffs. A man in shorts and a dirty singlet took them to the famous Escalier Dogon, some distance from Bongo, where Pugh fell down it. The loud French explanations en route were constantly interrupted by the elaborate form of salutation in which the Dogons indulge. When within earshot of another villager, there was a series of 11 or 12 questions to which the reply was a yum or a yah, then the other commenced his questions until the guide was out of earshot. Apparently these form a regular pattern and concern the well-being of the mother's family, the father's family, the house and the crops and the person addressed. They were worded so as to require only yes for an answer.

The Dogons were warriors and among the last in French West Africa to keep their independence, partly because of the inaccessibility of their country, though it may be visited more nowadays. The guide took us to a hollowed-out basin near the top of the cliff filled with flowing water, where the maidens of the village were gaily washing themselves. No doubt he thought the spectacle would appeal to the English as it had to other visitors before.

Sangha was an agglomeration of 17 villages or closely packed collections of houses of which the most important were Ogol du haut and Ogol du bas. The rectangular houses were built of mud wattle, without windows, surmounted by tiny terraces or minarets or by pointed straw roofs, curiously Tibetan in silhouette.

The group met back up and left Sangha at 445 knowing it would be dark by the time we reached Mopti. Passed a lorry on the wrong side of the narrow road, and then rendezvoused at Bandiagara, 530. Blue VW stopped for an hour to repair the carburettor so pink VW pressed on. Saw a huge edifice in the gloom that was too big to be a building but too regular not to be: made plans to return in daylight. Again, map distances were wrong and Severe was 7 miles early. Then it was a final run of 7 more miles on actual tarmac with water either side.

Mopti is the Venice of Africa, or Venice of the Boucle, built on 3 islands in the river. The very first place you meet at the end of the causeway is the resthouse, but it was so grand we doubted whether it was. It was like a hotel and indeed, Mopti is enough of a town to have a hotel. As in all larger places, the atmosphere did not seem so friendly at first. The resthouse was full and expensive. Bill was for returning to Severe but I was worried about petrol and our francs, which were again running out. We could sleep on the verandah but were warned about mosquitos. We ordered dinner and the others arrived.

Dinner was good but expensive. The man in charge of the campement said we could pay the bill in pounds which helped. 2 of us had to erect beds and the proprietor gave us 2 more so we slept heavily shrouded as the air was alive with insects of all sorts as thick as snowflakes in a blizzard. Total mileage 2079.

Saturday 28th December 1957.

Up for 7 when it was light. Warren took photos of the sunrise over the water. At breakfast the proprietor agreed to change some pounds which was good of him as he didn't know the rate. Met 2 Swiss chaps from Briscoes, the Accra agents for Volkswagen. They had tried to get to Timbuktu but met with floods on their route and failed to reach it. Then we planned a tour of the town and a meeting time of 930 at the gate in case we got separated.

Mopti district capital is built on 3 islands at the confluence of the Niger and Bani. The guide book also describes it as the town of dried fish. Visited the mosque, took off our shoes in the usual way and most of us climbed to the top for the view of water and islands in all directions. There were no seats but mats on the floor and an ancient clock on the wall.

There were many pirogues in the harbour even though it was not market day. We saw the decorated pottery for which Mopti is famous, and fish and borgou grass was being loaded. Occasionally, large sailboats came down the Niger like English canal barges, laden with merchandise and families, including live chickens and goats. The market women (Bambaras) were richly decorated with rings in their nostrils and around the upper curvature of their ears. On Marine drive there were many Riviera-like houses and the river, with many long canoes and craft.

We wandered the streets meeting a couple of flat-footed ostriches, and saw crown cranes among the market wares on the quay. There was much Arab-influenced architecture but the headquarters of the Sudan Progressive Party was a decrepit mud hut. We pushed the blue VW into life at 10 and filled up at a new Shell garage.

1015 am: Sevare. Linked to Mopti by a tarmacadam dyke built before WW1: open water and extensive marshes on either side of the dyke with herons, egrets and hawks. Mopti is the centre of the grain growing area of the French Sudan. The agriculturalists are mostly Bambaras and we noticed much of the grain being transported by barge.

1130am: Bandiagara. Again this is an important market town in Dogon country, selling fine sandals and tall yellow riding boots of yellow leather. Has a few buildings with Arab architecture including one with heavy relief panels all over. At this stage we took another "Short Cut" marked on the map at this time as 'under construction' which are usually snares and delusions as your speed is reduced to half and you use up petrol in lower gears. But, this one was scenic and we chose a lone tree for lunch (1230) in a scene of flat black rocks and soft grass, watched at a respectful distance by small boys naked apart from one franc pieces on loose loops of string. Lunch was the usual Ryvita with butter and marmalade with salad, and then we came to the edge of the scarp, the road led through a deep pass and below the high red rocks of the Falaise de Sangha and we dropped 1500 feet in about half a mile of road, into the 600 miles of wide sandy plain seen before from Bongo, and we felt the trip was practically over in terms of new vistas. The sandy road was lined by men, women and children, donkeys and oxen carrying heavy loads of corn. Apparently Dogons, but men and boys almost without exception wore skirts, sometimes pleated, with a triangular sash folded over in the front centre - rather like Roman soldiers.

At Koro we rejoined the main road which was wide but had a poor and rutted surface.

Very hot, 111 degrees. Many green parrots and rollers. Passed Bombax trees in purest primrose yellow and at mile 119 went through a fantastic forest of Baobab trees. There was no undergrowth and the huge Baobab trees with their thick bare limbs stood, or rather appeared to march like grotesque beings from another planet. The late start and difficult terrain gave us low mileage and we made for Ouahigouya for the night. The town is quite large and according to the map, has a first-class resthouse. On enquiry we found it had been shut up 3 months previously. The Frenchman who we were asking pointed to a house and advised us to see M. Lionné as he knew the district well.

We did so and were soon fixed up for the night in what we thought was a boarding school. M Lionné was the local inspector of schools, and a powerful force in the land. Warren's initial idea of pressing on to Yako was quashed. Soon we had a beer each and were talking to our host in both languages.

We were escorted to our lodging which turned out to be a palatial bungalow - in fact the residence of the absent director of education. Next thing we were invited to dinner. Now for four days running our Christmas dinner had been put off for one reason or another and I saw how to kill 2 birds with one stone by presenting our host with this large tinned chicken, this suggestion was taken up.

We made our beds and had a glorious shower and awaited a guide on a Citroen 2CV. This did not come so we probably misunderstood the arrangement. Anyway we found our way to Chez Lionné and sat outside on the verandah until dinner was ready. The party included two Frenchmen and their wives, some or all of whom were in the education field. The two men were fairly reticent but the ladies, particularly the one sat by me, were extremely voluble. It was an excellent dinner with champagne and wines and the usual procession of small edibles. Conversation was bilingual and very gay. Our host found the Sudan duller than Madagascar where he had spent 6 years. As in Ghana the French education people do short tours and fly back to France each year. Apart from M Lionné none of them had been to England, although all of us had been to France.

I had a golden chance to use a French word I heard in a film and have stored up for years. After pouring white wine into my neighbour's champagne, the boy later put red on the white. Without realising it I murmured 'cretin'. This went down well though it was of course bad form.

To bed again in semi-drunken state and a good night's sleep. These dry parts give you a raspy throat but do let you sleep better than on the coast.

December 29th 1957.

Up early for a long run and on the road for 720, after a long push. Beards on all 4 coming along nicely, but we looked a collection of hoboes and dagoes. Enjoying the new Yako by-pass: the French have taken much trouble in planting trees along extensive new road and protecting them with thick leaf walls. At midday we reached Ouagadougou after 120 miles of good road.

Bicycles and motorscooters had taken the place of donkeys, horses and camels. We spent some time looking around the town that had seemed so romantic in the dawn gloom seven days previously. It was now a little more ordinary but still more imposing than anything in Ghana.

We took photographs in the enormous market with part-cantilevered roof and Bill bought a headscarf and I got a leaden figure of a drummer. Obviously a good demand for bicycles. Next port of call was a bar full of Frenchmen, opposite the Palais de Justice, where we were served by a somewhat disdainful but pretty Mademoiselle. Of course we did look extraordinarily disreputable by this time. Got 10 litres of petrol at 33.5 francs. Another puncture in the blue VW.

Taking time off only to see the cathedral we left town at noon and had lunch not far from Kombissiri on the shore of a small (you could see the other side) lake. Much of the area was burnt out, yet in parts of the blackened earth yellow desert roses bloomed in profusion. Very hot. The distance to the border seemed long and the going not very good. At Po we still could not understand the customs official but now we realised it was his French and not ours that was off beam. He wore a duffle coat and a roll neck pullover although the shade temperature was nearly 98 degrees. 2 mammy lorries piled high with persons and merchandise gave the scene much activity.

About 330 we crossed to Navrongo and stopped in Bolgatanga for another refreshing ice cold glass of beer. Small altercation about photographing a mammy bathing her picin. Away at 450, the 100 miles to Tamale was done half in the dark but it took only just over 2 hours.

We got accommodation at the resthouse and by dint of some honest Ghanaian bribery, four of us occupied the same chalet. We had a well-cooked English dinner at the resthouse and passed rude comments about the waiters who are the most dismal bunch imaginable. Beer afterwards at the Gymkhana Club, where we gladly described our travels to Kingston PMO, and Schwed APDW. Warren and John had bagged the beds so I borrowed John's camp bed, having almost fallen through mine at Mopti. Total mileage 3609.

Monday December 30th 1957.

Breakfast at the Club and a slight contretemps over the service. Left Tamale at 7am after collecting 4 pieces of cloth from Peter Quashie Hansen and 8 gallons of petrol at 4 shillings and 8. Pale morning with opaque sky and thick atmosphere. Hingston had remarked at Club that harmattan was late this year. Headed southwards through teak forest and past a coconut palm at Salaga. Straight onto (to keep engine running) the Yeji ferry and across where there was nothing of interest. Temperature 88 degrees but very humid.

Averaged 44mph but the blue VW got a puncture and had to wait for us as we had the only spare wheel. Our car couldn't keep up with the other and we tried several things such as pulling out the now very loose silencer and using 2 gallons of 'Super'. At Kumasi we found it was the tyres causing the drag. Had the usual at the club, got car repaired with new distributor points and got 7 gallons at 4 shillings thruppence ha'penny.

The others went to KCT to complete tasks. Bill and I came on alone and after yet another glass at Koforidua arrived in Accra at about 730 and went straight to the Director's house to prove we had not got lost after all. He greeted us with the news of the PM's secret marriage but we were not impressed. WE had been to Timbuktu.

Meanwhile, the blue VW followed on through high green forest, a rich and pleasant change from the north. Herds of gentle eyed cattle, enroute for Accra. Some had walked almost as far as we had driven. At 530 reached Nkawkaw where Marsh despite expressed fears about its aphrodisiac qualities consumed 2 1/2 cokes in as many minutes. Made an unnecessary call on Marsh's boss, Peter Allan at Accra airport and required the humiliation of a tow to get away.

845pm, 33 second circular (Cantonments district). Kofi reported Kintampo had absconded, Kofi had been attacked by Fra Fra teefmen - but car, bungalow and animals were OK. Consul towed Marsh away.

Total excursion time: 11 days, 3 hours.

Approximate route of road trip, following modern roads, so several hundred miles shorter, as roads were not there in 1957

Goodbye

2017-07-24T19:30:00.002+01:00

Recently I have changed. We've all changed. I used to speak on here with the voice of a 7 year-old, but that is no longer the case as we all grow up and speak about different, less appropriate or child-friendly things.

So now this blog, like our innocence, will remain firmly rooted in the past, as my daily thoughts migrate to a new, private, invite-only blog invisible to search engines. If you know me personally, you can always ask to read the new version.

The Professor and his 7 year's worth of adventures on this new and interesting planet will stay available as an online resource as it gets 100,000 page-views a year from people searching for things from Majorcan children's songs to museum reviews, with special favourites the protect-yourself-from-spam page and the one about cardboard castles.

But to avoid further conflict about publishing the faces of children, or revealing (and protecting) their thoughts, I reluctantly retreat behind a veil of cyber-secrecy, while admitting that I, and everybody else, need to move on. Shame, but there you go.

If you are a Russian reading this: your dictator-leader is actually a Nazi war criminal committing genocide. But, they don't allow you to know that, and tell you massive fibs instead. If you overthrow the leadership which has stolen so much from you, you will all be able to join the big boys at the grown-up table. But until then, you'll remain outcasts.

July 2017 3/4

2017-07-23T21:02:00.000+01:00

Not the last Monday at Medium School, but nearly. We had to design and cost up a theme park as a business proposition to venture capitalists. I installed a toilet block and food area but then spent the rest of my funding on a giant haunted forest with big spiderwebs etc. The picnic and camping area was in a clearing in the middle.

There was the usual roundelay of Lion King rehearsals, this time I roasted my own butt sitting on the asphalt playground after it had heated itself in the sun. We all worked very hard on the Stampede Scene (in which I die heroically) and everybody except me had to have lessons in being louder.

Child Q has decided to leave school a week and a half early. He got miffed with people laughing at him so declared his years of academia to be over. I am not sure what the law or his parents will have to say about that, but as he is one of the 5 Rafikis in the play, Lucy had to take on his role and learn some new lines with only 4 days to go. Thank you, Child Q.

We were given helpful-looking, friendly booklets with tips for coping with the special changes in life associated with moving on to Big School. Highlights include saying no to girls, boys, drugs, rudeness and sloth, and saying yes to homework, togetherness, dedication to laudable enterprises, and finding god. You barely had to look in the small print to find the publishers are 'Scripture Union of the Church of Prophetic Portents and Brimstone'.

Another slow journey home with Ben who left some Death Candy and tried out the dumb-bells. At the seaside we all went in the sea and dived for rocks again, saw one jellyfish and didn't draw blood. Normally we get chips but the Miniature Village café (where you get tiny chips) was closed and I was forced into having a cheese'n'ham squashie, primarily marketed as a toastie. It was quite flat, but meant I didn't need supper.

In the last Scouts of the term we welcomed a new member and cooked sausage-inna-bun on an open gas fire in the church garden.

I had a burger (the second time tonight I didn't need supper), won 2 badges, ignored the dodgy coffee and said goodbye to Nicola the Leader-Helper who is leaving to get a real job and Flynn who is moving to Gloucestershire, as one does. Here I am showing off my once-svelte body and effort-efficient press-up technique to an adoring Flynn back in May 2011.

Tuesday was one of those days when your voluntary activities come back to bite you in the butt. Syd and I have a Drama School Showcase performance tomorrow so tonight, once I'd barely had any Minecraft at all, I had to go out for a 4-hour rehearsal.

It is my destiny, and I do have talent, and it's all worth it. But sometimes it's hard work. Bud has a Scout Group executive meeting tonight, same applies.

Jof and I made cheese and sweetcorn wraps which were little rolled up bits of heaven. Apparently there was a thunderstorm, but following the Battle of the Bulge, loud noises don't wake me up. Although sometimes I wake up hungry.

One Man, Two Plays

Wednesday was a day of great news! I was told that tomorrow, it will be a full 6-hour day of Lion King dress rehearsals. But first I had to hold down the lead role in our section of the theatre school showcase, a for-parents production in which they see where their money goes and what little Tarquin and Rosettina get up to when they're in stage school.

It is the enduring fault of my schoolteachers that am at drama school, and I thank them for it. I made myself a snack and then walked to Little Tesco to buy myself the food I most associate with acting - tuna and cucumber sandwiches.

Sydney arrived dead on time and we drove past a million students celebrating graduation day to the theatre, where we'd been asked to come in 30 minutes early to rehearse our pivotal sketch, the second half closer.

The show opened with a Greek display by the ladies both young and old. Heavy on veils and togas, they mentioned Phrygia a lot and were very meaningful about the origins of the spoken word upon the stage.

A talented yet thin dancer sang capably about popularity, Lee did a Shakespearean scene about a drunk man and a fish, and Sydney introduced the massive ranks of the Youngers who performed an impenetrable extended oriental play about a Princess escaping a bad king with the help of a magic Buddha (Naughty Bertie) who froze the river enabling the Princess to skate right on out of there.

Plenty of LSD, colour and tassels in this one, then I came on to introduce a song from Showboat and it was half-time! While we weren't onstage, Syd and I helped the Little People get to their stage cues on time, quietly.

In the second riposte the Younglings sang D'Oh! Re Mi and lots of girls in suspenders performed Money from Cabaret which woke everybody up.

There were nice songs from Pocahontas and Shrek and then we rounded off the show with 1 Man 2 Guv'nors. This is a slapstick farce in which I was the Man and was onstage practically the whole time, with my table, in what was a complicated section. I co-opted a member of the audience to hide soup and then sent her the wrong way before the fire scene.

OK, so we made a few mistakes and had to ad lib a bit and missed out a section but the imaginary flaming crepe suzette was good as was the real fire extinguisher used to put it out. But Thin Laura has only been with us a short while and was great, Sydney did some quick costume changes and I got a few laughs.

At the end, to cover for a forgotten line I ad-libbed a speech to the audience in which I said I hoped they'd enjoyed the show as much as we had enjoyed putting it on. Outside the stage door I got plaudits and congratulations from strangers and I was annoyed that I'd made mistakes but happy that I'd now only got 1 play to concentrate on. I was wired, incandescent with energy. And tumescent, didn't expect that.

Thor can keep his day

Late to bed last night and still fizzing mentally so was quite tired today. Once we'd done boring pointless stuff like reading, we tested the sound system for tomorrow's performance and basically had ourselves a disco!

We kept the beat going from break to lunch and so the whole school got to join in. Then we got into our costumes and rehearsed madly for a while. On the way home I met Jack W who was at my Tiny School and will be with me once more at Big School.

So, there I was (in pants) being REALLY angry about a Minecraft mission when Bud said let's go out, things to do, places to go. Thing is, the Mine-task was to get past the pavement of holes to the bridge of safety and drop the clock of insanity into the lava (hope you're following this).

But every time I was nearly across the Holy Pavement, a lava zombie or a magma skeleton would pop up out of nowhere, fire an arrow into my butt and I'd fall down a hole in the pavement to my fiery doom in the Volcano of Smaug beneath.

And it was mildly embarrassing when the man came to read the meter and I was only in pants, but then we drove (fully clothed) to the Scout Storage Garage and took out the empty gas bottles and signed the asbestos inspection register and got out all the plastic barrels for raft-building that we never use. I have a size advantage (that I am slowly losing) so was able to climb right to the back of the packed shed, even though I fell into a camping toilet.

These are the things you have to do when you work for the Scouts. Meanwhile, Jof's car was covered in so much guano, she had to pressure-hose it twice before her car felt able to park next to all the other, smarter cars.

The Garden of Remembrance

Friday at last, and one I've been especially looking forward to, at the end of a bizarrely busy week. We donned our costumery and did a performance of Disney's (remember this for later) The Lion King for the rest of the school and staff, which went down a storm because we're awesome. In fact, I remember last year when I was but a stripling in Year 5, the big, mature Year 6s did a talent-show type sketch revue and I thought they were the bees' knees, now it was our turn to sear the memories of talent onto the younger generation.

And we had an extra-long lunch break again, because let's face it, we're practically retired. The end of the day dribbled into being and the teachers set up the stage and sound system and delineated the audience area with millions of those little football cones, and we waited for the parents to arrive. One of mine was first into the playground and obtained Prime Seat #1, for photography purposes.

Then the chorus sat on the benches and the headmaster made a lengthy speech underlining how the nice Disney Megacorporation had stipulated that nobody could post to the web images or video of any sort, all the songs, lyrics, stage directions, costumes and characters were protected by intergalactic copyright, trademarks, hallmarks and any infringement of said rights would result in the Disney Corporation Legal Division suing the absolute botties off the school, and the school only has 2 botties left until the 3rd bottie gets out of prison in 2034. So as our epic performance will not get the coverage it deserves, here is a truly uninspiring picture of an empty playground with its football cones and a teacher scratching her foot, which is only invasion of shoe privacy, a shot of the cover of my script booklet but not any of the words or music, and a GIF of someone else getting affected by wind.

On the way in, I met the rest of my after-school gardening class and they said join us, but I told them I would remember them, but I had regal duties to perform. It's good to be the King (again). We have been practising this for ages so we were actually really good. A few amongst us were not particularly interested, but the 18 characters with lines spake them with gusto, the ones that sang, sang with many notes, often the right ones, and even Ben, Leader of Trees, had a grin.

It is a little unfair to review without pictures, but: the Rafikis were resplendent in their finery and makeup. The Poomba/Timon duo are destined for marriage, although Jessie (Timon) is the talented one. Ingrid (Zazu) will go far, with or without her unmanageable hair.

The wind played a big role in the production, erecting the tassels and ribbons of the Rafikis, animating a discarded crisp packet that made repeat unscheduled appearances, and going wumph wumph on the radio microphones.

I (Mufasa) had a loud voice and obvious stage training as did Stanley (Scar). He was pretty good, and could hold a tune. I made sure my dying roar reverberated a bit and then Owen the Destroyer took over from Harvey the Haircut as my son, and the world continued to spin once the hyenas had eaten Scar. I have some REALLY good pictures and videos of the performance but cannot use them here. At home I cursed the 2 lines I forgot and had a soak in a foam bath, for it has been a tough week.

RainShine Roulette

Because of the tough week, I was most miffed when he said we're going out. I was very miffed indeed when he said we're cycling, because I could see it was raining. I wanted a day of videos and chocolate, not wetness and torture. He said we'll play 'Rainshine Roulette' and hope we get away with it. I wore the special face of sulk, the one I can keep on all day if required.

Anyway, it cleared up a bit and we rode uphill against a 75 mile an hour wind to the Gosport Ferry where we bought the tickets with added bikes, and the man onboard said there's a special rate on for the summer - bikes go free. It is best to only tell people that once they've purchased their tickets from the machine.

While we were on the ferry, it started to rain. My bike squeaks and squawks when the brakes are wet, so every now and then I'd screech my brakes at him to tell him how angry I was.

Arriving at the Explosion Museum, I cheered up as I was surrounded by guns'n'ammo, although the rebel flag was not on the wall. Amazingly, I can still fit in the depth charge thrower, and a jacket potato with tuna and sweetcorn could still fit in my tummy. And nowadays I actually listen to the videos of ex-servicemen explaining how to fire a 5 1/4 inch gun.

In the shop I got [chocolate and] a T-shirt saying "I love Explosions" which Bud said I had to wear on the plane next time we go on holiday. So on that subject, I chose some Jasper Conran swimming trunks in Debenhams, and he swapped them for 3 Sports Direct ones for the same price. And then I got my sit-down time.

Saturday-night-is-Film-Night was Lethal Weapon 2 in which a man is decapitated by a surfboard. I liked the condom tree and the nailgun to the head and all the chocolate.

Pete Fountain's Half/Fast Walking Club*

After being forced outside against my will yesterday, I insisted on a day off, which in my book means one in which the wearing of pants is not guaranteed, let alone going-out type clothing.

But during the Minecraft Marathon I did ask to have a walk round the park so Jof and I fed leftover bread products to the birds while he fed leftover glass products to the bottlebank and clothing-banked some of my school uniform, for the End of Days is close at hand. Maybe one day in the future, some random African village will have an outbreak of maroon jumpers.

And I did do a bit of work in the swingpark for old time's sake but then, amazingly, it started raining, as if it hadn't done enough of that yesterday. We did a half-fast nonchalant walk back home, and I plugged in again, for I can never get Mining Fatigue. And apart from a couple of games of Uno, that's where I stayed.

*Jazz-playing marching Krewe at the New Orleans Mardi Gras. Originally the Half-Arsed Walking Club, the Parade organizers asked them to change it.

July 2017 2/4

2017-07-16T21:00:00.000+01:00

Bloody Hell!

Mondays start well for me because I'm not at work. We're starting to get to the last of things, the last gardening lesson will be this week, the last one of these, the last one of those, and the last school report from Medium School.

The report itself was just the SATs results (teacher input comes later) and I got 112, 113 and 114 out of 120. Brainiac Lewis got all 120s and the lowest score I know about is Child A with a 96, so perhaps ours is not an inner-city sink-hole school. But I was 'Not Bad'.

And then it was Lion King sing-along-a-Max and Lion King poster design and Lion King programme design, a theme develops, for that's all we have left, apart from the last of things. When we do the singing, the teachers keep telling everyone to sing louder because all they can hear is me, as I later proved by entertaining the entire street out of the shower room window.

Ben comes to mine on Mondays and Jof had kindly cut up a watermelon for us to take to the beach because the weatherguessers said it would be hot and sunny. We met the JBs for our usual bout of extended Fourplay. OK, it wasn't cold, but they exaggerated. We went in the sea anyway. That's when we found the Killer Jellyfish.

This was not one of those harmless colourless blobs we found in Gosport, this was a 7-foot Black-Ribbed Portuguese Man'o'War with extra pincers and stuff, so we decided to attack it with rocks, which are plentiful on our beach.

Throwing to kill, we may not have been super-accurate and Johnny got Ben in the back of the head with a wayward rock and he bled LOTS and got angry. There was quite a puddle of blood on his head and his clothes and the floor back at base camp and he had to be taken away for questioning and a blood transfusion, let's hope his blood group (Q negative) is available at the vets, poor chap. Soon enough he realized he'd get lots of attention at school and extra Instagram followers, always look on the bright side. We finished off the watermelon anyway.

In Scouts we did Yoga and had to bring in our own Yogamats. Very few of us do Yoga for a living so the rubbery sleeping bag groundsheets from camping had to do. So, just like everybody else, I rolled it up and hit him with it and he said that was attempted matricide and crap jokes like that are exactly why we have to hit these people. Also we had to sign a waiver saying that if we broke our spines and were condemned to live in an iron lung or gravitational support goo forever, we wouldn't say it was the YogaMaster's (Maharishi Mahesh Yoga) fault.

Briefs Encounter

Tuesday was a day like any other day ie full of Lion King rehearsals. This time the Trees were allocated. Every year-group play has to have its dancers, musicians, grass, angels, trees and bricks, for otherwise disgruntled Mummies could say where was my little Tarquin or Roselda, surely a part could have been found for him/her/it. I myself started as a 'Musician' in the Year Zero Nativity Play, I just had to bang a cymbal or small rock and keep out of the way.

But our trees have a very cute and funny dance so we love them, they bring us shade, apples and laughter. And during one of the songs, 3 of us have to come on and make our obeisance to the great lion-kid Simba, but we don't have the [Teddy-standing-in-for] Simba yet so we had to praise a bunch of school jumpers shoved inside one another. This is much like the Jeddah Light Opera Society's 1983 production of 'Merrie England' when a priceless 17th century royal declaration on gently haunted vellum was replaced by well-used 10-Dirham note because nobody had a parchment royal proclamation handy, even the ambassador (and no, they don't give a flying fig for Ferrero Rocker chocolates).

And it was the Year 6 School Leavers' Prom Dance Event. Jof is one of the Friends-of-the-school super-helpers and like most of them, this was the final hurrah before us important people leave and they don't have to bother any more. So they'd made extra effort for extra brownie points, knowing that they could then say stuff it, somebody else's turn.

So instead of the outside disco-a-rama as planned, it rained all day so it was back to the good old assembly hall. And we boogied a bit and stole all the props from the photo booth and paraded around wearing them, as it clearly didn't say on the big sign Jof had written. My prom date was Lucy but we made an agreement that although we actually like each other and are a real couple on a proper prom date, we'd just say hello and go off with our friends, which we did, I expect all girlfriends are like that.

Then we were called through to a Year 4 classroom where all the Meon Mummies had laid out a feast of party food with added cakes and lashings of no ginger beer whatsoever. Everyone got a pointy hat and many people nicked them and wore several.

There was a bit of a food fight but not much 'cos of the headmaster standing right there, and lots of silliness and laughing and then we left the destroyed room and went back to the dance hall and did the special dance until the Prom King and Queen were chosen. They actually kissed on stage, a first for both.

I helped Jof clear up and a boy O boy, a lot of clearing was required. Supper wasn't, because of all the party food.

Wednesday was good for me with Rounders in PE and the school choosing to use many of our pictures of the Year 6 Prom on the official website. We sold leftover Prom cakes for treat money, learnt HTML in computing, and practised the Lion King yet again. But the best bit was the totally free afternoon apart from having to cram watermelon so it doesn't all go to waste.

Dirty Victorians

Started with football because I can't get on with basketball or tennis. One kid got a boot in the face, this is why I normally restrict my sporting activities to Minecraft. Then 'Hell on 2 legs' aka Crunchy Girl picked a fight with Child A for no good reason, and even I shouted him out when he repeatedly turned off my Chromebook while I was trying to work. It is possible we're all ready for the end of term.

Rehearsed Lion King up to the Stampede Scene in which I am cruelly killed off before my time. Speaking of speaking roles, in the evening I went to the theatre where Sydney and I auditioned for the Festival of Christmas at HRH Queen Elizabeth's Historical Naval Dockyard, although by then it could be King Charlie's Yard if London Bridge falls down.

Sydney and I have done this performance twice before with much success and we get different roles each year, as our talents mature and we rise up the ranks of professional Thesps, although we're not yet old enough to play Brothel Prostitutes. This time the BossMan said that comedy was the key and as we're currently doing 'One Man, 2 Guv'nors', we agreed.

We seem to work well together like Ant'n'Dec or Hinge'n'Bracket or the 2 Ronnies or Morecombe and Wise, and were asked to poke our faces out from behind an imaginary curtain like nosy grannies and we improvised a series of commentaries on other people in the room in Pythonesque accents which made everybody laugh and we were hired on the spot.

Basically we shall dress as Victorians and randomly tour the festival site (with our curtain) insulting the passers-by in a 2-day improv-a-thon with just a few basic start-off lines and concepts to work from.

It's a licence to be rude, we'll be Rollin' and Trollin'. So here for no good reason is a yacht for sale in the harbour (dolphins not included).

Carberry the Clouter

Friday started normally with Lion King rehearsals and Lion King program design and finished with the Last Gardening. Well, it's on next week but I shall be playing Mufasa for my adoring public. Our performance area is marked out in the playground as 6 x 3 metres which is the same size as our front room: the doors to the assembly hall are the stage left/right entrances.

I also got my actual school report in which I got a 1:1 in religion even though I'm atheist, and a 2:2 in French and PE which is not a surprise. Teacher seems to like me, though.

But I got hardly any sofa-time afterwards because it was time to go out. Every year, I do some work for Charidee at a local cricket ground, this year I dug up brambles on the boundary line of Southsea Cricket Club, for which I got points towards a Scout badge, everyone's a winner. So not only did I get some sunshine and fresh air, we got free T-shirts and free tickets to the T20 Blast cricket match at the Rose Bowl (now the Ageas Bowl) to see Hampshire against Middlesex.

Leaving with only an hour and a half to spare, we got to the Hedge End motorway turn-off in only 28 minutes even though we were in Jof's rubbish car. But the queue stretched from there, across 3 roundabouts, back over the motorway bridge and into the car park (a bumpy muddy field, a snip at £10) and it took ages. Even when we'd abandoned the car it took us more ages to queue up for our free tickets, enter by the wrong gate with an increasingly angry Jof and walk all the way back to our seats in the same place we sat last time. We missed the beginning of the match.

This time there were no dancing girls, farm animals or those gas-powered fire-breathing boxes that flamed every time somebody scored a boundary, but there were odd snatches of Mexican fanfares and blarty trumpets at irregular intervals for no apparent reason. But there was a wasp on my hat that landed on Jof's head, and the 14th Itchen Scout group who brought at least 60 members and loads of uniformed adults.

And because I have matured significantly, I didn't spend the whole match wandering off and investigating, instead electing to actually watch it. I even chose to ignore the Mexican Wave after joining in vigorously only 8 times. And being part of the baying crowd was exhilarating as they got more and more drunk and the Middlesex players dropped easy catches and fumbled in the field and low-flying planes went over from the nearby airport. And I took quite a lot of the photos because I'm qualified on the Nikon Coolpix B700 camera.

Our man Carberry (we saw him last time) was on top form and got 77 or so with flashing bat and big efforts to get singles as well as sixes. He is an old-school long-term veteran with lots of experience and well worth his wage. We all gave him a big cheer when he finally went off.

At half-time we fought our way round in front of the Hilton Hotel to the Bouncy Slide (free) and the Pizza Truck (ten inch pizza for a mere £10) and the beer tent (£5 per pint, but they do come in a cardboard carrier) and missed the beginning of the second half. Meanwhile the massed ranks of the 14th Itchen Scouting Movement and associated mascots paraded around the central wicket square in full uniform, now that's a parade I could get my teeth into.

So by the time we'd found some more empty seats, we'd taken 3 of their wickets and for a while we wondered whether they'd make it to their 20 overs. We screamed when they got out and my cricketing lingo improved as I learned to say "32 for 3 off 6 overs" and "put someone out deep by the square leg umpire" etc. We won.

The match was not televised so I didn't get on TV but found £1.16 and a yellow hat thing that I may be able to modify as part of my Mufasa costume.

We got some kind of charity lottery ticket called the Golden Gamble but we didn't win. On the way out I rolled down the embankment with a lot of other drunk fat blokes and rolled right into the crowd.

The car was still there as was 256 other cars and we went nowhere for half an hour as we all tried to cram out of the 1-lane exit road in the dark. Next time we might take the train. It was a very long, very epic day and by the end of it I was fkn I was ffff I wzz wzzz snore............

Newbies, Nuts and Norberts

Slept late, for I needed it. And I needed the shower I failed to fit in yesterday. On most Saturdays I have only the one appointment, which is Acting. So having had Pambled Eggs out of our new egg poacher, and the Tuna'n'Sweetcorn/cucumber pasta and sandwich combo I love so much, I was ready to once more tread the boards in anger, last acting lesson of the term.

But Performing Partner 'Sydney' brought a friend. 'Chelsea, I'm 11' wanted to tag along, see what shenanigans we get up to in theatrical academy, and do the try-out session I once did when first considering drama school.

Sydney has a ... big personality, and we have developed as a team with a robustly loud, demonstrative, in-yer-face attitude, which was quite overwhelming for Chelsea 11, poor girl.

But we rehearsed our parts and got measured for our costumes and I showed Chelsea 11 the ropes and the press cuttings and the wardrobe and at the end we played 3 games of hide'n'seek in and around the theatre even after home-time. Apparently Chelsea 11 wants to join up, it was the stage and the wardrobe department that tipped the balance.

Incidentally, today Pompey hosted some kind of gathering for Morris Dancers. Bizarrely dressed weirdos from miles around descended on the city and then caught buses home afterwards, bells a-jingle. Some had peacock feather hats. Apparently in the USA they call them 'Walmartians'.

When you perform in the Festival of Christmas, you need a city council performer's licence which includes a passport photo. So every year, Syd and I go to Sainsburys in town to use the Photo-Me booth and collaborate on a fun picture at the end. This time we had an extra Chelsea 11 and we got our serious poses (while we tried to put each other off), our fun poses and we all bundled into the booth for picture #5, yes I look smug, but I am the filling in a girl sandwich after all.

We dropped Syd and the now terminally traumatized Chelsea 11 off at home and got back to Minecraft.

We didn't even bother with Saturday-Night-is-Film-Night even though I have about 15 films in my queue. But with the addition of my latest official school pictures (portrait and group shot) and the Lego League team and todays' passport photo, we had enough to finish off my giant photo frame which has all my official images from the age of 4. Jof says we have to make a new one for Big School, and obviously a much bigger one for when I begin my illustrious film and TV career, just saying.

The Psychology of Moving On

Normally I would consider a Sunday wasted if I didn't get at least 7 hours Minecrafting, but today I actually had tasks! I move to Big School soon and wished to tidy my room.

So obviously, Jof sent Bud into the loft to bring down lots of extra crap to store in my room, women eh. This was the cutting/sticking/artworking boxes with everything from UV paint to polystyrene eggs, and we went though it all with an older, more sensible Mungleton in mind, and everything we kept went into the giant wooden trunk. All the little things went into the display cabinet on the top shelf, which cleared my desk for all the schoolwork I'll be doing. A stick poking out of a box shredded Jof's trousers, turned out it was the fishing rod with magnetic grabber that Nanna invented for me.

I got rid of the books for younger people and the plastic plane I got free at the museum and all sorts of other stuff and got to play with things I hadn't seen in years but once it had all been done, the room looked exactly the same. But you know it was worth it.

Then I did an online Psych profile (minimum age 12, I had to lie!) at Profilingforsuccess.com which only took 10 minutes, as did the results, and I am a 'Co-ordinator'. This means I like order and logic and focus and careful planning, but I hate chaos, uncertainty and ambiguity. This is probably why I always want to know what jobs I have for the next day, and why I get angry with Okely-Dokely.

July 2017 1/4

2017-07-09T22:00:00.000+01:00

Life begins at 11

Bet you didn't know that, with all the old people saying life begins at 40 or 50 or whatever, trying to justify their own miserable existences.

This week I got a tryout session at my new Big School. For 2 days, I attend the Big School in question, yet retain my youthful looks and current school uniform. I have been looking forward to this with trepidation and mixed emoticons, and set my alarm particularly early to compensate. Sydney came to walk in with me and I was just saying how I'm not going to know anybody when a whole crowd of known faces met us on the pavement.

These included Jack W from my infant school, Lily the Pink from acting classes (just like Sydney but smaller) and more people that she knew and by the time we'd got to Woodstock we were half a million strong, with many members of my Scout group and old infant school mates. But Flynn was not one, as he is moving to a school in Gloucestershire, must have got his postcodes wrong.

First, we went to an abandoned classroom and were given our tutor group IDs. I am in a different group to Syd but made a new friend 'Molly'. I once spoke to a local artist (and the one that did the number rocks) whose name is Pete Codling, and suggested that if he ever had a daughter, he should name her Molly. I don't think it's the same one.

This school has a new behavioural profit'n'loss points system called ERA. Not Exemplary Reward Accolade points, but Enjoy-Respect-Achieve points. I put that I enjoy computing, respect Grandad and achieved victory in the regional finals of the Lego League.

Then we had a history lesson about the Titanic. We were all captains and had to do the multiple choice, I got 18/24 which I thought was good. The second lesson was Food Tech and my partner Molly and I made sweetcorn and cheese tortilla wraps and had them for lunch. They were better than pasta, which is saying something, I wanted to eat 25.

For break we played tag in the tennis centre and then went to a music lesson. The teacher has his own video on Youtube called the Rhythm Café and it is truly dreadful but quite funny if you used the wrong mushrooms in Food Tech. Later we had a PE lesson with cyclic never-ending dodgeball with new and interesting rules. A prefect (Year 11) joined in and wrecked us totally but I did get her back later.

Then I walked home with the Krewe (via the sweet shop). Jof was very late home, turned out she was buying the entire fruit'n'vegetable section of Tesco to feed the 5000 (well, the 279 children of the Year 3,4 and 5 summer disco-a-rama), see how our bespoke handmade fitted kitchen groans under the weight.

Toe-torture Tuesday was a reprise of yesterday but with different activities. Walked in with the Syd Krewe (a giant quacking entity that babbles and jabbers and doesn't look when crossing the road) again and got to know my tutor group which contains Tall James, and began to see numerous other ex-Wimbornians, I suppose it is the same catchment area.

Today I did some science, in which we dropped coloured powders into 'Glass Water' and watched little filamentous crystals form, English in which we basically played class bingo where you had to collect someone in every category. I could not complete the task because nobody else has a birthday in my birth month, so the teacher let me off, not my fault.

There was quite a lot of scheduling and getting-to-know type things and a maths quiz where each different classroom had an answer and you had to navigate the school to find them. Eventually the day finished, but not for me.

Jof has been a keen member of the 'Friends-of-the-school' for a few years now, which is why Bud and I have been roped into running the hook-a-duck stall at fayres, selling drinks, lucky-dips and air fresheners, and cleaning out the dreaded cupboard under the stairs when rodent activity was detected.

The fact that Jof is allergic to children has made this a greater act of volunteering and determined self-immolation than most, probably my smiling face that has kept her going.

So today, having finished at Big School, I got changed and walked to Medium School, where I doled out the fresh fruit and cucumber (lovingly prepared by Jof with just a smidgeon of cyanide in each bite) and helped with the burgers and sausages and helped myself to a couple en route. All the other child helpers failed to help and sloped off to play football, only I stayed the course.

When we returned home, we brought 3 cucumbers, a box of cooked assorted processed reshaped items of animal origin and 27 apples, which is a staff benefit.

But that was not the end. Syd (sans Krewe) picked us up and we walked back to Big School for the Headmasters' presentation. He was very pro-joining in, and school trips, and homework and being nice to each other, and very anti-less than 100% attendance and disrupting the learning of others.

It was in the big hall with the big roof, and then some prefects came on to make worthy speeches which we couldn't hear, and some recent joiners spoke also, although we couldn't hear them either because they mumbled downwards into their scripts, instead of talking to the microphone with an open face and a clear voice. I shall do much better when it's my turn.

Then we got a little 37-on-one session with my new tutor, and broke up for uniform purchasing. I lost both of them in the flowing tides of humanity, then Bud took me to the wrong sports hall and Jof bought me cake and squash and I became somewhat grumpy because of the long day and lack of deserved screentime.

But eventually the very very long queue in the correct sports hall digested us and spat us out at the business end, where I got a jacket, 2 sets of PE kit and 2 ties, a bargain at only £63. The Edwardian brickwork looks quite attractive in the evening sun, see why it's called Big School.

My current Medium School has only 3 rooms on the 2nd floor, look at this one with the big-ass 3rd floor and proud buttresses and chapel and a century's worth of higgledy-piggledy extensions.

My poor little feeties only just got me home. Lucky life isn't like this.

Transitional, Elementary

Gosh. Such a long week and it's only Wednesday. My 2 transition days at Big School were a snip compared with the transitional periods of others, who have to spend the whole week getting to know their Alma Futures, must either be slow people or slow schools.

So when we did the Lion King rehearsals (I did the whole day off-script) we had many missing players so teachers and pupils had to cover, which is why Miss B was Young Simba and Sham was a Tree.

Later, we got a dead fridge from the Scouts (generous lot) and Jof invented Spaghetti Burgernaise. Because of the leftover food from yesterday, we're all eating cucumber and apples like there's no tomorrow, and Jof chopped up the burgers to make a Bolognaise sauce for my daily pasta ration. This wartime spirit of making do shows why she's Cordon Aquamarine. Or is it Bleu Cheese.

Flying Ant Day

OK, so that was yesterday (not the Foreigner song), but I don't mind if you don't. All day the dratted insects bumbled around tickling your hair and walking up and down the windows and stuff. And on the late-night news we could see that the tennis matches at Wimbledon were similarly infested. Do you know how every single ant across the entire country knows to come out on the same day? They arrange it on the Anternet.

Anyhoo, school was just a whole buncha Lion King. We sang the songs. We spoke the lines. We did the dance. Actually, I don't have to dance. This is probably a good thing and I most certainly don't mind. Plus, in centuries past, it used to be that Polite Society would dress for dinner. At suppertime in Mungle Manor, it was still very hot and sultry and we noticed that between us, we added up to one set of clothes. Apart from pants. We all had pants.

Frying-pan Friday suited me fine, as I remembered to wear shorts. School was almost entirely Lion King, I spent most of it on the Chromebooks as I'm only in 4 songs, enjoyed a free 'Rocket' ice lolly kindly donated by Miss M and had PE in the park again.

This involved 'kick-rounders' which is like baseball but you kick it: I have a natural advantage because I'm crap at kicking. All the football-mad people boot it miles, just to where all the fielders are waiting with open cupped hands. But when I'm battist, I deviously kick it along the ground the wrong way and that's how I managed a home run. Plus our team was full of girls so we won. In Gardening only us two sensible Year sixes were allowed to weed the nettlebed, but we still both got stung.

The call went out from the Beaver Scout Group asking for Nerf Guns for a hunting-related outdoor activity at camp (they have to shoot their own supper or go hungry). It just so happens that I have a wide variety of nervous weaponry and am currently going through a mental re-organization.

When I was a child, I spake as a child: but now I'm moving up to Big School to become a man, I wish to leave behind childish things and re-purpose my bedroom accordingly. So offloading plastic toy guns could fit into this new cultural narrative quite well and I gathered them all up (and tried them all one last time) ready for the Beaver Leader, who is a special type of engineer who already works with certain weapons. I'm only wrapped in a duvet because nakedness on blogs is a nono.

Sunny Saturday started quietly as Jof was at work. I took full advantage and didn't even Skype any Minecrafters, just got on with my own thing, with only Pambled Eggs to keep me going.

Like a bottom-produced gas expanding to fill the space provided, we had so much spare time, 1pm took us by surprise.

Then there was a mad panic and rush getting food and my acting bag together and we stood outside waiting for hot date 'Sydney'. She didn't show up, and we were just deciding to go without her when she phoned and said I'm 11 miles away, not coming in today. We drove madly-fast without her.

Arriving at Theatre slightly late, my co-workers and I rehearsed the next play (did I say I had the lead role?) while Bud took the dead Scout fridge to the tip and delivered my Nerf Gun collection to the Beaver Scouts, who had to contend with a lovely 3 days in the deep wild countryside. See how the little people are having the time of their lives.

And, for no apparent reason, here is a picture of the Emirates Spinnaker Tower from beneath. That window you can see is the glass floor, hope everyone's wearing pants.

Film night was 'Forrest Gump', because it can't be Pulp Fiction and Predator every week. It made us all cry secretly. I don't know half of the historical figures in it, but I'm learning.

Sunday is my day off. So I play Minecraft ALL day. Apart from where Jof took me to the cinema to see Despicable Me 3, and took me for my yearly trip to MacDonald's afterwards. One of the groups enjoying the abundant sunlight on the seafront was a posse of naked cyclists. They had a Police escort, also on bikes. The Police escort wasn't naked.

June to July 2017

2017-07-02T21:21:00.000+01:00

Another tiring Monday with far too little Youtube.

Today we had a visit from the head-teacher of my next school. He explained how the 2 try-out days next week would work, getting split into our tutor groups and so forth. Apparently it's the biggest school around and there are so many groups and classes and subdivisions and stuff, but in each one of them there will be a familiar face.

And in Year 8 we get to choose our favourite subjects for the GCSE exams and get to drop the subjects that we don't like, so that's spontaneous academic combustion for all languages, which I hate. And tomorrows' sports day was cancelled due to rain.

This section of the school year is a bit empty, we've done the exams already so we've been kinda filling in with sex education, cycling proficiency, and acting. So us important cast members in the school play (only 18 characters have lines) did a run-through for the rest of Year 6 to show them what to expect, and even though I declaimed loudly when I spake my lines with emotion and gravity, I could still hear lots of brats muttering and mumbling in the audience.

Us proper Thesps got an extra goody-point each for our performances, but then the non-players got a point each for being such a good audience! Well, the teacher must have been deaf, blind or just approaching point budget cut-off day, for it was a lie. We had a proper rehearsal later.

Joined Ben and the JBs down at the beach hut for some more salty play action. I stayed in the sea the longest and on the way home we espied an abandoned shopping trolley by the side of the road, and generously picked it up, our civic duty to keep our streets clean. It fitted in the back of the car (just) but we'll have to do something about the bricks in it. Ben was allowed to cycle all the way home on his own, more than I can do at the moment.

In Scouts we hardly had time to do anything useful because Flynn has a foreign exchange student (or he's adopted a Spaniard) so we spent the whole lesson shouting useful phrases in Spanish such as 'You have no friends, fight me'. But by the time we'd mangled the phonetics it probably meant 'You three ferrets, dream putty'.

Expect lots of confused parents tonight. But we did hammer in tent pegs with such force we lost one to China and broke, like, 5 mallets.

Tuesday was a day of broken dreams. Because the weatherguessers had predicted thundery downpours for the whole day, Sports Day was cancelled, which may well have disappointed some of my sportier colleagues, but not me.

In fact, because the authorities that be had denied the school permission to have Sports Day on the field next door, we had to have it 4 miles away and all be driven there by non-working parents, so I suspect few tears were shed. It did in fact rain but only after Sports Day would have finished. In school we mostly did 'Lion King' and practised the songs.

Jof got to have a whole day sewing and sorting out the cupboard under the school staircase, and I was on hand to help her carry out several sacks of leftover unsold stuff from previous school Fayres etc, including 3 bags of quality DVDs that remained stubbornly unsold however many Fetes and Fayres and Raffles we held. The binbag of DVDs split all over the playground floor as we were going home.

Meanwhile, the shopping trolley was released with no fanfare back into the wild B&Q carpark from whence it came and Bud tried to offload several boxes of fluorescent lights from his work before they had to be thrown in the bin. Maybe one day they will illuminate my school.

Ni-nga di-nwa!

Today we got a hint of things to come with a big handout from my future senior school. I am in Group A which probably means I'm a thicko, and there's all sorts of rules about body piercings and what kind of skirts we all have to wear.

I have to choose a language to learn. I've been pretending to learn French but I think I'll surrender that and go for German instead. In one of our classes we had to assign values to various subjects, and my bottom 3 were French, Religion and Sport.

At school we were awarded our Level 2 Bike-ability badges. It enables us to navigate moving traffic without experiencing death, always a useful move. And on an African theme, we rehearsed the Lion King again, this time it was all about the songs.

My songsheet has all the main songs and boy, they're full of native African dialog. For example, I-ngo-nya-ma nengwe' na-ma-ba-la and the uplifting Ingonyama nengw' enambala, and who can forget the enchanting I-bam-be ni nja-lo ba-ki-thi, may she live forever.

We also learned about Nigerian internet scams and international currency transactions from Lucys' Dad and I did a show'n'tell on the carved wooden African mask from our dining room. I didn't take the ceremonial paddle/spear that we inherited from Blind Uncle Len because it was too fragile when you're showing 90 eleven year-olds.

Thursday was dull, damp and grey, like a former Prime Minister. In Maths we learned about speed which sounded exciting and drug-related but then it was neither.

I am 4200 days old today so I got measured and have grown 12 millimetres in the last 3 months. I am in 2 minds about this because I don't want to be short, and complain vociferously about the treachery of the dwarf genes I'm sure I have. But then sometimes I'm quite sanguine about who and what I am, what will be will be and all that, and then seek release anyway in being somebody else on stage.

Currently I'm Mufasa (they lose me after the Wildebeeste scene) and comfortable being a genial yet doomed monarch of the Serengeti. Today we went through the whole play and the various Rafikis (the role is split between 5 or 6 kids) were having trouble with the African lyrics to one of the songs, so the teacher made us all try them so we wouldn't laugh and huff at their incompetent pronunciation. We all found it tough.

Thank Me it's Friday was a welcome if sticky event. As I left, it looked a bit rainy so I insisted on taking my big raincoat which proved to be a boy-boiler, and I roasted on the way in and the way home. In English we started our adverts (we all have to design an advert for the Lion King play, the best will be selected for the official poster) and then it was more maths, still about speed.

This is very boring for me because my speed is greater than the rest so I'm on the second additional sheet of questions while the drongos are still asking Miss about the super-simplistic stuff on sheet 1.

Pausing only to avoid the large vomit-stain in the playground left by a basketball player, I joined in with the scripted run-through of the school production including added songs, and got measured for my regal leonine head-dress costume.

Later, most of us were sufficiently well-behaved to deserve an hour of games, see earlier comment about the bulk of actual schoolwork being over.

After school Lucy and I (the only 6th formers in the gardening group) were allowed outside by ourselves so we witnessed the workmen putting up the flash new academy sign by reception.

Saturday started so well. Nobody else was up, so I went downstairs and fired up the Minecraft-o-tron and located some worthy adversaries in cyberspace for a Skype session. But as I am incapable of talking quietly, my screaming and shouting woke both parents up and I was turfed off the computer in ignominy AGAIN. That's the second time in 3 days, what do I pay these people for? Will I ever learn?

Still in a huff, I walked through the park and threw a selection of elderly bread products to the birds, most of which had been scared off by dogs. Opposite, Kev at the butchers' shop said he didn't want any of my duplicate coins because he mostly collects Queen Anne and George 3rd, but he did give me a Hampton Court Medallion free of charge after we bought some sausages for tomorrows' breakfast.

The Year 6 Prom is in a couple of weeks and Jof has made some robes for the Prom King and Queen. When Syd arrived we tried them on, here we are modelling the latest in low-cost silks and ermine for those on a restricted budget. I have already ascertained from my Prom date that we are not going in Penguin suits and ballgowns, far too formal. I probably won't be wearing the Fez.

In acting we ran through the performance many times and I had to annotate my script with pages and pages of stage directions. Mine is a complicated part and as it's a comedic farce, there's lots of dancing around and timed moves and so forth.

In Langstone Harbour, some seals have taken up residence. I myself have seen them from my boat when I was at the sailing club: they have now gone past novelty and are a permanent fixture. Apparently we now have a dolphin, who gambols around in Portsmouth Harbour and the Solent, chasing boats and generally having a good time.

And we also have a tame Spitfire, who graces the Solent with aerial displays of acrobatics, and buzzes the beaches with special emphasis on the nudist beach further along. And today we got an extended performance in which it was clear he was having fun, to the delight of the flotillas of yachts out in the sun, and the hordes of German tourists by the Castle. It's nice to have local characters.

In the evening we went back to the Tennis Club to wish Johnny and Robert's mum a happy birthday. That meant we had access to all the tennis courts so the rest of the kids played tennis with footballs while the DJ played oldies.

We built a 'Trump Wall' which was just a pile of bricks that we gathered together. After a while someone came up with the wheeze of climbing the fence into the splashpark and that was good for a while until Johnny and Robert's dad turfed us out before the council childcatchers (like dog wardens, seen in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang) came to take us away.

So we re-invented Manhunt and chased each other round the local area until some of us went too far - as far as the big war memorial. So we were rounded up again.

I had 3rd helpings of the buffet with extra salami and then I boogied the night away on the dancefloor with an increasingly drunken Jof.

It all ended at midnight and in an identical situation to last time, the JBs and us were abandoned by the taxi companies and were left sitting on rocks until 0030 Sunday morning. But at least the seafront lights were pretty.

For the rest of Sunday I Minecrafted while the rest of the world hit the beaches. There was a live music event on Castle Field and a babestorm on the beach but I missed it all because I have Skype and Bed-Wars on Minecraft, what else does one need?

Tomorrow I find out what tutor group I'll be in next year at Big School. With any luck, it'll be the same one as Sydney.

June 2017 3/4

2017-06-25T21:00:00.000+01:00

Greetings! I am Mungleton, a man of 11 years standing, 3 years sitting and 6 months crouching over a small bucket.

Gosh. It really is a time of confusion, and not just hormonally. Met Bud at 0700 but then he left the county to go and be taught how to do his job in a place called 'Braintree' which sounds fake to me.

So Monday, being a day off, was an opportunity to do not-very-much, one of my talents. I did have an appointment with Sham, so Jof walked me round there and we both cooked merrily in the blazing sunshine. Did I mention it hit 28 degrees again? Or was it 30.

Sham and I played our various games for 2 hours and then Jof and I boiled our merry way home again. Once upon a decade, I had an eye test having failed to read a 'No Smoking' sign from across the room. I passed but promised to return in a few years and today was it, if I was going to need glasses, best to arrive at senior school already wearing them. I passed again: I'm a little short-sighted but it doesn't stop me. I promised to return again in a couple of years.

Then my Scoutmaster asked us if we have any wood for outside firelighting of the Scout variety. As we are in charge of wood, we had half a garage full, all chopped up and packed into big boxes for easy loading. But because Jof has the spinal column of an 80 year-old (and won't give it back) and Scoutman is on crutches, it was up to us kids to move it and, well, they should have been better prepared.

In Scouts we learned tent-raising the old-fashioned way, burnt some marshmallows and had a water fight, definitely the best thing to do in this weather. Then we wasted 20 minutes trying to find Flynn who had already gone home on his own.

Tuesday started and finished without Bud who was miles away. And it was even hotter, I tried telling the headmaster that the reason I turned up naked to school was that our washing line caught on fire and all my uniform was lost, but he didn't believe me. He asked if the dog had eaten my homework as well. We don't even have a dog.

But the big change was Year 6 Bikeability. All week we're out there in the real world learning how to avoid being run over. But there's a 2 strikes and you're out policy and a couple of us have had the first warning.

We have all been told to bring in a bottle and drink lots of water, as the playground is slightly warmer than the surface of the sun. But I didn't heed the warnings and got sunstroke-related vomiting disorder and had to have supper twice.

On Wednesday we cycled again, and learned all about pulling out and looking past car wing mirrors and cycling far away from parked cars so you don't get clonked if they open their doors without looking. And we had a rehearsal for the school play and I finished my African artwork which is a giant lions' head. In D&T (design and technology, not delirium tremens, although one can lead to the other), we did cuboids and had to build tall towers. Child B and C on my team used our tower as a punchbag so of course we came last. And Bud came home and all of a sudden it was go-to-bed-on-time and stuff all over again.

Thursday was overcast. This did not stop it being hot, and even the 12 minutes of thunderstorm we were promised boiled off into space before it could strike, and all we got was 5 minutes of hail that made all our bike brakes squeak.

In cycling, Child C dabbed while riding ie hands-free operation so he got shouted at lots. It's always the usual suspects, just that none of them are called Keyser Soze. In Design and Tech, I did a fact-file on the Empire State building and can tell you that it gets struck by lightning twice a month. And in a rare streak of luck, I got a credit point for being quiet, putting me back on 20 and in the running for swimming. After all that cycling, it was practically a triathlon. No wonder I needed to sit down and have chocolate ice cream.

On Friday we had our last CycleMania lesson, or at least those of us who weren't banned did. Child A was barred for calling the teachers stupid idiots and he had to write a letter of apology, even if he didn't mean it.

We cycled off in a long conga line all in our Hi-Vis jackets and went up and down roads with signalling and looking-behind aplenty. And in Rounders I spilled the ball when doing a diving catch and everyone was mean, apart from the nice girl who's never mean. She has 31 Goody Points, whereas Child A is down to 11. And thus the differences begin. Later I was barely on my third hour Skyping with the Minecrew and Bud said get off the computer, it's my turn. So I said "I'm Hungweeeeeeee" in a whiny voice which meant he had to cook supper so I got right back on the SkypeCraft with Sydney and the rest of the gang. And they say kids are stupid.

Anyway, Saturday started well with more Minecraftery and scrambled eggs, think that's why the keyboard's sticky. Sydney turned up for acting, and the metal pin has been removed from her broken arm, so at least she doesn't set off the detectors at the airport any more.

We all went through the script of 'One man, 2 Guv'nors' a load more times and we have another new starter, a 13 year-old called Mary. Her boyfriend's name is Joseph. Jesus, if she has a sister too, it'll be the return of the Auntychrist.

And one flew over the cuckoos' nest, or more accurately, a Chinook double-ended helicopter flew over Southsea Castle to honour veterans gathered there on Castle Field on Armed Forces Appreciation Day.

Incidentally, Jof has been made Little-manager at her work and is coming home tired every day after all that shouting at people. But the Big Manager and the Even Bigger Manager bought her a bottle to say well done. The label mentions fruit, will it count towards my 5-a-day?

Saturday-night-is-film-night was 'Lethal Weapon' with two guys out of Predator 2 and the guy from Expendables 3 and some very 1980s screaming girls with 1980s hair and clothes and attitudes to simple Class A drugs.

The Invention of Pambled Eggs

Now, Jof wanted a poached egg for breakfast and it's already a pain in the bum using the poacher, let alone for only 1 egg. So she said why don't you whip up the scrambled egg mix for the boy as usual and use 2 of the unused cup thingies to cook it in.

And it worked really well! It rises like a soufflé and is scrambled really but in a bowl shape. OK, so lots of you are saying nonono that's just Scroached eggs like Granny used to make in the bungalow in Barnstaple, but as far as we're concerned, Jof invented Pambled eggs.

And then I nearly had a fatal swatch error. Jof wanted to go fabric shopping (it's serious - she's bought a second sewing machine) and said it's either that or go supermarket shopping with Bud.

Now, what I wanted was Option C which is to remain naked at home in the real world, while actually being in the blocky make-believe world of Online Minecraft where I can have swordfights with other 11 year-olds and Zombie Electric Pigs and Reticulated Charge-creepers, and invade Sydney's Nether Portal, but it was not to be.

So I escaped torture of a most cruel and unusual nature, and even managed to sneak 17 chocolate items and a Minecraft toy into the trolley. Also, as we've invested so much in the bottle bank, haven't we got enough to afford a Gin Palace, or at least a house of ill repute? Later, I Skype-Minecrafted for ages but kept getting told off for shouting and screaming and babbling and hooting and yapping and jabbering at the screen. I just can't do it quietly. Are houses up and down the country parent no-go zones because of jabbering kids, or are others actually quiet or locked in their distant attic rooms? Answers in the comments section, please ....

June 2017 2/4

2017-06-18T22:00:00.000+01:00

Mufasa Monday started with creative writing. I am quicker than most so got a chance to do further additions to my story (based on the Lion King).

And us lead characters (with actual lines) in the Year 6 school play (The Lion King) had a full rehearsal. It's a low-budget production so when I am cast to my death by the treacherous Ska, I just fall over lethargically, rather than plummet flailing off a crumbling cliff into a herd of stampeding Wildebeeste. We couldn't afford the Wildebeeste, and our health and safety man said no cliffs for the under-12s.

Incidentally, in a previous school production, I also had to fall to my doom when cast off my own bridge by treacherous Billy Goat #3. Perhaps I will end up always being the bad guy in my movie career, no bad thing.

Managed another Minecraft Skype call with Screen Wife Sydney, and we had our first married quarrel, didn't think it was possible. But at least we both got lots of exercise in the cyber-sunshine playing hide'n'seek. This was made possible by Ben being at the basketball tournament, cancelling Beach Monday.

In Scouts, I had an arrangement with Luke that we would both bring in our duplicate Lego cards, to do some swapping. I brought a brick of cards, a veritable shelf of them, over 100. He brought about 12, only 4 of which were new to me, what a con. We played a game where the older Scouts whizzed a bola at knee height and we had to jump over it without getting it wrapped around our legs. Adam Cricket and I were the last men standing but the rest of the group were so roister-doisterous that we couldn't finish the game, and Scout-Fuhrer had to get quite shouty. I got my Patrol Badge which as you can see is Merlin, not Petulant Corncrake.

Hand-Me-Up Tuesday started badly. Normally I have a domestic administrator who will deal with any school letters or forms or demands for money or permission slips instantly, and place the completed article in my school bag by close of business on the same working day.

But seeing the explanatory pamphlet and associated permission slip for the "Year 6 Bikeability Week", he assumed I didn't need one as I can already ride a bike, and binned it forthwith. As it was the last day for handing in signed forms, Poor Old Jof had to do it.

She is currently suffering from Gravedigger's Gout, Screaming Heebie-Jeebies and Adverse Camber of the Leg so she walks like a cross between a Mexican Grandmother and a damaged Terminator with only 2% battery life left. In fact, we have been most cruel in laughing at her.

But I certainly wasn't laughing as she kindly and bravely battled the mean pavements to come into school and sign it personally, saving me from a week of literacy revision and Disney movies.

And it was school photo day. This is not the entire-school-on-scaffolding one, but the individual portrait and the class photo. As it was very hot for the whole of the week, I was wearing shorts and no jumper. But apparently school rules dictate that you have to have your image permanently etched in silver compounds (or pixels) while sweltering pinkly to death in a jumper. So, like most others in the entire school, I had to find a knackered old Year-3 sized jumper that smelt of cheese from the lost property box, which also smells of cheese and those special 'mouse raisins'.

However, I helped to pay her back for her efforts in running my entire life for the last 12 years, by making supper. Jointly, I suppose, but I chopped and sliced and stir-fried my way to chickeny noodly heaven, nothing to do with the flying spaghetti monster. I got a Scout badge for cooking, you know.

Hump Day had a whole hour of PE in which I chose football over tennis and actually touched the ball! I got an assist when I passed to James and he scored. Of course, most of the match was marred by arguments which is why I normally don't bother.

Some time ago, the headmaster instituted a system of red and yellow cards to try and instil some discipline. Of course, without the more traditional discipline of canes and shouting, no progress will be made so now it's a points system. You start with 20, and anyone who still has 20 or more at the end of the term gets to have a fun day at the Pyramids waterslide funpark.

You can gain points for being wonderful and a wonderful girl has already upped her total to 23, whereas Child B has so far dropped to 16: Day 2.

After school I wandered around the park a bit because I promised Jof I'd go for a bracing walk. And then after a couple of hours playing Minecraft with Sydney, I grabbed myself a comedy snack of 3 yogurts, a custard, a jelly, 11 grapes and a packet of Wotsits. Meant I didn't finish supper, of course, but who's counting.

Record temperatures hit Britain for a third day

Even though I now wear school shorts, it's still a tad warm so I'll be having a haircut soon, especially now the school photos have been done.

Hardly anybody lost brownie points today, perhaps because the teachers have said that if there are enough goody-two-shoes, we could book out the whole Pyramids Watery Funpark for a manic smash-session. Because there is a member of the school basketball team in my Scout group, I knew on Monday just how Puddlers Ben and Erin and Tall James and 'Fridge' Fraser got on at the basketball competition. We spanked the opposition totally and the winners' medals will be handed out at a special assembly soon.

Although I promised I'd 'walked round the park' on the way home, he still made me go out again and we met Brandon the Footballer and Owen the Destroyer and GreenGuy, and a million other happy youngsters in the sun. I should probably do it more.

Pulex irritans (the Flea)

Today was just one of those days when everybody was irritated. OK, so the school-wide malaise (much like sick building disorder or irritable bowel syndrome) could have been something to do with heat-related sleep loss ailment versus sloshing hormone malady with a touch of Minecraft-related reality confusion, possibly all in my own head, but possibly not.

In Literacy, we had to expand upon our Lion King-related stories. Clearly, I had chosen the Lion Mufasa as my main character, as I have played him in at least 3 stage productions. But, as Monty Burns hath told us, the true winner makes an effort above and beyond the rest of the pack and I mentioned that the voice of Mufasa (James Earl Jones) also played Thulsa Doom in Conan the Barbarian, and King Jaffe Joffe in 'Coming to America', and Darth Vader, and in each case, declared himself to be the Father of the Main Character in a big booming voice. Now, that's the kind of Thesp that'll live forever in any galaxy near or far.

So there was a lot of pushing on the stairs and in the playground, a lot of poking with pencils and insults, and some barbs, slings and arrows, not to mention sticks and stones. Amazingly, I survived the day still on 19 Pyramid Points and enjoyed after-school gardening club, even if it was just weeding again.

Saturday Sneeze-a-thon was really noisy and drippy, for those of us in the family with Saturday Night Hay Fever. I was up last, and got my Youtube time before being re-fortified with scrambled eggs as usual.

It may be a day off, but we don't get to sit around. Jof was Branch Manager for the second day running, achieving her childhood aim of shouting at everybody without them getting to answer back. Bud sorted my coin collection and I had to show my Official Scout face and press the flesh at the Church Fayre.

It has been quite warm recently so I had a haircut first, a Grade 3 on top and Grade 2 on the sides, one Grade longer than usual because in 2 weeks it's the school prom and I need to look my best, not a shaven-headed thugbert. At the fayre I won breakfast (choose a full egg from the sand-tray of empty/full eggs and win a rasher of bacon as well) and had 2 goes on the coconut shy but failed with all 6 balls! This is most unlike me.

Scoutmaster Skip offered me a place on the Leaders' camp but I turned it down because of a prior acting lesson, even though I wanted to do both. I guess you get double-booked when you're a megastar.

After yet more Sydney-Skype-Minecrafting, we went to acting and rehearsed our play while the rest of the world sat on the beach with or without clothes or saw the live band at King Henery the 8ths' I am I am's bandstand in the blazing sunshine. At one point, Bud deliberately grabbed me and let his hay fever-ridden nose drip right into my face. This is where the psychiatrists of the future get paid: you just don't need it. I was most punchy.

Later, Flame-haired Sydney and I were just settling down to a 7-hour Mine-Skype-love-in when Jof insisted on going out for supper, so it wouldn't just be Film Night again, even though she's just bought me the 'Lethal Weapon' DVD series. Now that she is Area Uber-Fuhrer, we have to listen to her views whether we want to or not and so we cycled down to the Thatched House in the glorious sunshine and had hot food.

I chose the table by the live band and after a quick tour of the place where the Cub Scouts did some shoreline naturism, our food arrived. I got pasta, like I'd commanded. Bud got steak, but without the chillies that keep him alive. Jof got steak, unlike the gammon she'd asked for.

After servants of all nations and languages had clustered around us in consternation, we got replacement food including extra chocolate cake with hot ice cream and I even had a go in the soft-play area with the ballpit and hanging punchbags, once all the sweaty kiddies had gone home. The band made a brief appearance that was considerably shorter than their tune-up session and we went home a different way (Jof leading).

Kung-Fu Wave Fighting

Now, I had a plan for today. In fact, it was the same plan I had yesterday until Jof ruined it by making me go out, and O Yea it was to play Minecraft with Red Sydney and our band of merry Crafters. And I did that, even when they went shopping and left me there to fend for myself.

But again, she made me go out, to the beach this time. Just because the sea is but a short bike ride away, and the temperatures hit 28 degrees or so, and Ben has a beach hut, doesn't mean I want to leave the sanctuary of my cyber-domain.

But we met Ben and Gene and we went in the sea which was really cold but you get used to it and and gosh it was worth it. Bud joined us and we all went in and a short while after the massive cruise ship "Enormosity of the Seas" drove past, we got a series of huge waves and we battled them and jumped up and down going raaargh and threw seaweed at each other and swallowed too much seawater and got sand in our clefts and gravel in our pockets. The tide tried to take us sideways.

I didn't get out of the sea until 630 and it was still busy and hot, especially where we'd warmed it up by weeing. So Fathers' Day passed off without a mention apart from at Grandads' place where he won a bottle of French fizzy pop for correctly guessing the weight of the chef, 'cos you know, insanity.

June 2017 1/4

2017-06-11T21:26:00.000+01:00

I was most miffed to have to go to bed on time last night following a week of late nights.

But et hoc transibit, doncherknow, and school restarted. Afterwards, Ben and I came home via 2 sweet shops for sugary refuelling (that's dedication to our medication) because it was raining so Beach Day was off.

Last Saturday, I bought a Retro 8-Bit games console in the Science Museum in London.

But having tried to connect it to the TV in my room, I was unable to do so because of the retro (obsolete) co-ax connectors. So my minion had to go to Maplin's (Tandy and Radio Shack being unavailable) and get a co-ax to SCART connector at £13, a mere £2 less than the original cost of the console, no consolation there, hoho.

So Ben and I tried out some of the games and they were weird and fast and I crashed my B52 bomber and you were a mermaid blowing bubbles to hit floating shells and you had to avoid getting eaten by the sharks or any one of a million combinations of badly-drawn-item-you-can-move avoiding craps dropped by badly-drawn-items-that-hover-overhead while trying to eat lettuces or broccoli or any number of seemingly irrelevant badly-drawn-unidentifiable-objects.

And all this to a constant background tweetling of 8-bit synth music of dubious quality which all adds to the 80s feel. Then Bud got a new job, just when I was getting used to being picked up from school.

So we wet ourselves laughing and then he went home. In Scouts we played games and did a quiz on Lord Baden-Powell who invented Scouts in the first place. Originally he didn't hand out badges, but beads, and they had to carve them themselves. I won a packet of Lego cards and then had to walk home in the rain even though I was promised a Limo. I was angry.

Tuesdays are boring and start with PE. Well, they do with my spelling.

We all had to (in teams) find a Mediterranean holiday for Miss B and her partner and kid on a budget of £4000. Sham and I booked her on a £950 flight to Majorca with private transfer to a 4-star hotel with day-club for the brat. We have not yet discovered which team's efforts will be chosen by Miss B, nice to win but it's tough asking a pair of 11 year-olds to lash out 4 grand on the teacher's holiday.

And I was able to write a story based on our trip to Marwell Zoo in which a dust-devil possessed of evil spirits and intent haunted the Go-Kart track, and rose up whenever a driver passed. I solved the malevolent anthropomorphic dust storm entity with a leaf blower.

Today the wind tried to blow our garden away, probably in revenge for the leaf blower. It mostly failed but a lot of leaves and twigs are on the ground in the park. At home I solved 3 equations for Y for Grandad, why he still needs to know what Y is at his age I'll never know. I also showed Jof the 8-Bit lettuce game and I think she'll secretly play all night.

Wednesday was our school trip day. I have performed the Lion King at my theatre and the Year 6 play is again, the Lion King. So our Head-teacher organized a trip to London to see the aforementioned at the Lyceum in the West End, and I know it's real because I saw a poster for it in an underground station last Saturday.

And speaking of last Saturday, some of the parents and some of the kids had second thoughts about the going on the trip at all, because of the angry men killing people in London. But I know that the chance of actually meeting one of these terror events is minimal, we're in far more danger every day walking to school because we still don't look properly when we cross the road, even if we tell our parents that we do.

And they'd all spent the £40 on the tickets, too.

But as a compromise they said we won't let the kids out, just bus-show-bus. I had a packed lunch on the coach but because they said you have to pick up your own crumbs if you drop them, I ignored the lunch and just had the sack of crisps and chocolate instead.

The show itself was brilliant in a venue 3 times bigger that anything I've seen before. We were stage right on the first shelf of seats and the boxes were full of drummers and other performers and the costumes were enormous with 3 guys making the elephant and guys in giraffe costumes with huge necks and 3 were played by kids, and sometimes they walked through the audience on the bottom shelf.

The songs were loud and the ghost head of Mufasa was made by several players with bits of face on poles and I swear that at the end they made him wink.

It was a million times better than anything I've been in but that's because I work for a small local theatre that relies heavily on volunteers. I wish I could play at the West End. We didn't see any terrorists but Waitrose had cops and fire engines outside, suspicious vehicle at the US Embassy.

I got home at 8pm which meant I could only have 1 hour on Youtube, totally unfair.

General Election Day is apparently Thursday. Our School library was a polling station as was the junior school round the corner. Difference was, we couldn't go into our library but their entire school got a day off.

Now, I know what voting is, I've done it myself in school and have been voted in or out of a position depending. But a general election to see which lot runs the country is definitely someone else's problem.

So once the boring school day was over I arranged to meet some mates in the park for a bike ride. This counts towards my independence, I don't have as many independence points or street smarts as some others my age so it was nice to go out on my own and burn around the park for a while.

And I'd just settled down for a deserved 7 hour Minecraft stint when he said let's all go and vote then, and it just so happened to be at exactly the time it started raining.

Friday on my Mind

All week I've been asking is it Friday yet, getting myself in practise for 45 years of wage slavery perhaps.

But it finally arrived and we did some more of our African art project and some more story-writing based on the Lion King (I wrote a treatise on Mufasa and his growing pains, very topical) all rather pedestrian, yada yada.

But one of the letters we all brought home this week was notification of the Year 6 end-of-year Prom, which Jof is helping to organise. Cue lots of pre-teen angst as everybody realises they'll have to ask someone to the Prom, should be fun to watch.

In gardening we weeded every section of the many gardens outside our school, here's one of them. It has potatoes in it. While we were clearing it, we found a pair of headphones in the hedge.

Saturday Night's alright for Farting but I started at 10am with black pudding and scrambled egg. Everybody polished their plates, for it was good.

I have a tough daily schedule because I am currently playing Klash of Klans and have to do daily votes on Minecraft Server #1 and watch all the new Youtube videos and connect with my American friend on Skype and connect with Sydney on Skype and then randomly add to a few other Minecraft worlds I own. In fact, it's amazing I get any time to myself, I'm in such demand.

So I pretty well managed all of the above before a perfunctory luncheon and then we waited for Sydney to take her to acting. As she hove into view along our street, Small Iwan from the acting group waved from across the road. His Dad is one of the shop refurbishment guys that gave us some wood for the Scout campfire, we discovered. Incidentally, following the London Bridge terror attack, a new anti-truck obstacle (in this case, a giant ship's mooring bollard, so very much in keeping with the area's naval tradition) has appeared in the historic entrance (with its 2 large golden balls) to Her Majesty's Historic Dockyard. Not sure if the message to would-be terrorists is 'Balls' or 'Bollards', just saying. And there were armed cops in Gunwharf.

In acting we rehearsed our scene from "One man, 2 Guvnors" in which I have the lead role. And I know pretty well all my lines, even though there are a lot of them. The actual performance is 2 days before the Year 6 play 'Lion King', so plenty of opportunities for stage schizophrenia as I announce to Simba that his soup is getting cold, and open a hotel room door and say "Gareth, you are my son".

Finally, I have found that the tall thin girl I've been acting with for the last 6 weeks is called Laura, not Gareth, sometimes it's easier to remember people by the roles they play, rather than their actual names. So in this way, the Judge and Fox from Wind in the Willows told me my voice is breaking. In my opinion this is not something to be cried over and fixed with glue, rather a momentous milestone on the rocky road to adulthood.

And those suspicious seedlings have been planted out, which has given us lots more space in the back yard. Jof got home with some special stuff for the Year 6 Prom and had one of those terrible back spasms which meant she could only sit in a big chair an issue orders involving painkillers. Chocolate is a painkiller, right? Film night was 'Hot Fuzz' with rudeness and guns and underage drinking and satanic rituals.

Sunday was another pyjama day. I got a 2-hour Skype call with Sydney and Jof spent all day in pain. Later, Sydney and I made a new jointly-owned Minecraft world and took logical advantage of a new thing you can do on this server, which is to get married and kiss a lot. Maybe one day Minecraft will have the haptic teledildonics plugin app.

And so although it was a lovely day, I didn't go out at all and missed the live music at the bandstand and the vintage bus rally on the seafront and all that sunshine. But there was 'Stonehenge Apocalypse' in which a plucky archaeologist-turned-radio DJ tried to convince 5 guys in a primary school (representing the scientific establishment) that the computer generated henge which was moving around and making lightning signified the end of the world. And while 3 guys in a jeep (representing the entire armies of the free world) hastily drove up and down a field in Canada (representing Salisbury Plain) and threatened to nuke the naughty henge, the Establishment Archaeologist revealed he was a cult leader and believed the computer-generated Egyptian pyramid that had appeared in Maine would protect his followers from the volcanic eruptions currently ringing the planet, coming out of other pyramids on the map made by the guy with the tinfoil helmet.

It is a credit to the acting profession that the entire cast of 19 people could play so many parts in borrowed uniforms, that all outside filming was done at 530 in the morning so that nobody else was around to witness the end of the world, and that nobody burst out laughing at their own lines. Furthermore, it is a credit to the film-making industry that the petty-cash budget can be stretched by not employing scriptwriters, having the film crew's family members play bystanders, and by shaking the camera to indicate earthquakes. It's worth watching for the wandering accents alone, the historical inaccuracies and dodgy special effects are just a bonus. Well worth seeing. Next up: Ice-tastrophe and Fart-nado.

May to June 2017

2017-06-04T21:00:00.000+01:00

Bank Holiday Monday, so it rained. Forced to go out as part of my new unreasonable fitness regime of having to walk somewhere every day, so I fed the birds (absent), sent even more bottles to their recycling doom (3) and climbed up a climbing frame in the park (1). It might be exactly where Sydney broke her arm so I erred on the cautious side and didn't go up too high. This was deemed sufficient, and I hastened back to Skype-Crafting with my new-found Skype-Craft mates.

Bonus Film night was 'Cast Away' in which the man with a snake in his boot crashed a plane and spent 4 years on an island arguing with a football called Wilson. I liked the cave art and crabs. I think it was also Bank Holiday Monday for 4 years in the south Pacific because it was always raining there too.

Meter Made

Anyway, with its monotonous regularity, Grandad's birthday came around again. He is now 88 but still pretends not to be.

What we normally do is plan a registered activity, usually involving a walk to a set place, and have a pub lunch, do some maths and have a swim. This formula has worked for us so far.

But today was slightly different in that the gas and electric parasite company had arranged a Smart Meter to be fitted. This is not the well-dressed person that greets you at the door of Walmart, it is a meter that can send in the readings by itself. So we cleared out the cupboard under the stairs, which is now the only place you can get into the underfloor Hades now that the rest of the house has been tiled or carpeted.

The Meter Man arrived and we coped with the event by leaving Jof in charge, and played a Gary Moore CD all the way to Grandad. He was pleased to see us and has a special ritual. Prior to this occasion, he stood on a stool made by G-G-Dad to hug Bud, and I stood on the same stool to hug him. This is to even up our relative heights a bit, for a better quality hug. But recently I have been growing and the Equalizer Stool has been replaced by a small leather briefcase. Is it strong enough, we asked. He opened it to reveal a massive chunk of wood which fits perfectly, and can easily support my expanding frame.

So as usual, I had a swim and then tried out the gym. They have a rack of dumb-bells from 1kg to 10kg. I struggled to lift the 10kg one so we selected smaller ones and pumped iron for a bit, as you do on your 88th birthday.

Not content with the pumpage and some cross-training, we drove to Winchester where you can find St Catherine's Hill. This mellifluous carbuncle on the face of the world is also a nature reserve and has a free car park, what more do you need. So we split up and ascended the natural tumulus and met at the top in a copse of beech trees, with many bugs and dogs. From there you can clearly see Winchester cathedral, where the three of us scored the records for oldest and youngest tower-climber simultaneously, a couple of years ago.

I had carefully checked out a footpath that runs around the hill well below the summit and confidently led the way. When M Senior and M Even-More-Senior chose their own route I was righteously huffed and scythed every passing plant with a stick I'd found that closely resembles a Minecraft axe. This is why I'm lower down the hill in my mustard-coloured shirt.

At the bottom he promised me a short walk to the Bell Inn public house and eatery in St Cross which is a village a mile south of Winchester. We walked along the side of a river and saw fish and swans and ducks and cows and sluices and bulrushes and weirs and streams and playing fields and weeping willows, and most of it belongs to Winchester College which is very posh and probably inherited all the land from the church, which is a big landowner in these parts, for the last thousand years or so.

But slowly it dawned on me that I had been conned yet again and my feet were getting tired and it was not the 200 yards I swore he'd said. While everything was joyous and pretty (with its many rivulets and streams of the River Itchen) and verdant and peaceful and historic O yea, there was far too much of it and my stick-scything became more demonstrative, as did my loud complaining.

But just as I was about to expire from exhaustion and starvation, we arrived at the Hospital of St Cross and Almshouse of Noble Poverty (established 1132) and the Bell Inn. I had scampi which came on a wooden board with chips in a bucket, as is the modern way, Bud had his first Caesar salad and Grandad had birthday sausages with birthday mash and birthday gravy. In the Priory (with its Hundred Men Hall Tea Room) you can clearly see medieval and Tudor buildings, and G-Dad sings there every now and then.

Fortunately the return journey was much shorter even though Grandad definitely trolled me about only 5 miles to go etc, and we drove back to his for maths and geography studies, and the suitcase ritual again. He has been given some sponge-cake by a grateful neighbour so we took some off his hands. I have some equations to solve for G-Dad homework and we listened to Jimi Hendrix on the way home, in my opinion he is mad.

Disc Jockeying

Up at 1030 because of holidays. Recently, when Bud's last job died, he took a load of old kit (such as the workbench in the garage) out on a proper signed property pass which now makes me the legal owner. The factory itself was the old Disc Drive manufacturing plant for IBM once upon a decade and as such, had all these old display cabinets with engineering marvels of bygone years.

Problem is, you know it's all going to go in the skip apart from anything like pencils spirited out of the building by concerned employees, or anything of actual value which will get sent to new factories.

But the historical artefacts would be lost forever, and that is a crime against humanity. So he asked the Super-Big-Boss man if he could save these dusty remnants for the Science Museum in London, where I visited 2 years ago and got some great stuff from the shop.

And the collection was made and the museum contacted and they said yes, we'd like this one item please, so we get to keep the rest. The item in question is a 14 inch metallic data storage disc from some long-forgotten product which shows how much space 1 Megabyte or similar took up on a disc, and how that space got smaller as their clever engineers improved the technology over time. Today you'd have to carry about 400 of these to match the storage in your phone. All those little squares are labelled with the IBM product families, from the good old 350 series of the 1960s right up to the byte-busting 3380 we all loved so much back in the 80s.

So we said O Yea, we shall deliver it unto you when the trains have that special cheap offer on again, and it is this week during my holiday. And the nice lady in the museum said sorry, we don't work weekends, I would have come in to meet you but I'll be in Spain at a wedding so nobody will be here. So we said we'll just leave it with a security guard, look at the museum again and go off to that groov-acious cable car near the Millennium Dome.

And she said no, they're not allowed to take it, (shame we'd already bought the train tickets) but can I offer you 2 free tickets to the Robot Exhibition to make up for it. So, for my daily walk, we went to the post office and posted it to London, where it will arrive at the same time as we do. Gosh Diddly-Poodle-Poo, thus the cookie crumbles. But we have given it to the nation, so we did the right thing. And Bud went to another interview so I got to play Minecraft for hours with nobody telling me off for hooting like the Monkey Cage at Marwell Zoo.

The Never-Ending Sandy

Years and years (6) ago we invented the 12-mile bike ride where you cycle down to the Hayling ferry, cross the water to Hayling Island, ride up the old defunct Hayling Billy railway line to Havant, and catch a train home.

This one has done us proud many times and there's always time to stop off at the very-bumpy-bike paths and the sand that never ends at low tide, and the funfair, pub and crab-catching areas.

And as it was a nice hot day we rode to the ferry and got there 10 minutes late because we'd stopped off at the park on the way. Last time we used the ferry, it was every 10 minutes but now it's back to the bad old days with only 1 an hour, and we hadn't looked it up in advance.

We waited for 50 minutes and I learned to skim stones and we could see that it was low tide. At the last minute, Laughing Boy Thomas (in my Scout Group) and his family got on the ferry with us, and we had to give him 50p because he didn't have enough money for the ticket. At least someone was prepared.

And we walked out along the endless dunes of the 'West Winner' which is a vast expanse of sand that is exposed at low tide and you can walk out so far into the sea we've never really actually reached the end. You get a good view of Eastney Nudist Beach and Fort Cumberland with the sewage works with the massive chimney. I'd already elected not to bother with the funfair so we got our ice creams in early.

At the harbour mouth were many kids going mummy mummy look at me and then kicking a football or standing on a rock or dabbing or doing something else pointless but still expecting mummy to say O what a clever boy you are, I expect you'll have loads of girlfriends. Kids.

Of course I had to cycle directly into a massive headwind at all times and directions but eventually we reached the old railway line where we stopped off to ride up and down the bumpy cycle tracks, and met Laughing Boy Thomas coming back the other way, a good trick if you can do it.

It isn't really a long way up the coastal path to Langstone but sometimes it feels that way. The Ship Inn supplies our deserved lunch and the food was very nice but actually a little small, serves me wrong for choosing from the kids menu. The Chocolate muffin with cream and ice cream was good, though.

The train took us home and I cycled straight out into a main road because kids have right of way, correct?

Covfefe. No, I just wanted to talk crap, because hithertoyeauntohereafterforsoothverilygadzooks, FML.

Indifferential Equations

Up first, even though I don't have to go to work! We woke Jof up and left the house before the rush hour was over. This week is getting somewhat formulaic, in that the daily structure has definitely been seen before. When we see Grandad, we do 1 registered activity with a walk, pub lunch and maths lesson. When we do London, we do 3 activities, go by train and drink beer on the way back. When we do Chichester, we swim, buy coins and investigate medieval architecture.

So today we had an hour and 3/4 in the Westgate Leisure Centre swimming pool. Having taken the same wrong turning we took last time, we were better able to correct ourselves and swam and dived and went on the waterslide and splashed each other and fought, directly against Jof's orders, because meh.

And I bought some more goggles on the way out for only £17, hope they last. I didn't get the new full-face mask based on Edvard Munch's Scream. From there, it is but a short hop to our favourite antique shop by Westgate where we bought several coins and tokens, especially the squashed 1p coins from the Statue of Liberty, Epcot Centre and Empire State Building. Couldn't help but notice he had an advertising flyer on his counter for 'The Boy King' at the Groundlings Theatre, where I act.

It had been 3 days since I had eaten by then (or so I made out) so we had food at the Wetherspoons again (who says you can't have scampi 3 times in the same week?) and continued our tour of the Roman city walls. Chichester is rather good for this kind of thing, Dear Follower Fiona told us about it and we're still doing it now. We did the North-East quadrant and found a splendid swingpark with sandpark and tyre-swings right inside the walls at 'Priory Park'.

The boundary rope of the cricket pitch has to divert slightly due to the presence of the mound of a Norman castle (previously much larger): the Guildhall is all that remains of the medieval priory (closed by order of Henry the 8th I am I am), and in the grounds of that priory they recently discovered a Roman villa of millionaire proportions because nobody has built on the site in 1600 years. You can now get married in the Guildhall, but you don't have to. In the background is the Cathedral (also built by that chap Norman), and the place was upgraded a bit by Alfred the Great, you know the way it is.

I climbed the castle mound, swung on the tyres, and carried on round the walls. On the way home we stopped off at the post office to wait in a queue that stretched into the car park for a packet of undelivered coins, so I read 'The world's worst children 2' by David Walliams. At home I Skyped Sydney and Jof brought home some more coins for us to sort through. Not that we like coins in any way.

London

Another planned trip, with the same structure as most of our many previous visits. OK, so we'd had to post the historical artefact of data storage technology we were donating to the Science Museum, but that was no reason not to go to London as we'd bought the train tickets anyway.

Jof went to work and we left the house dead on schedule and arrived at the station with enough time to get a coffee and mess about on the lifts for a while. Train journeys are necessarily dull so I spent my copious free time looking at horses lying down, prostrate cows and apparently unconscious sheep, and babbling.

We secured and successfully defended a 4-seat bay for the entire journey, and by the time we pulled into Waterloo, I'd eaten a Scotch egg, half a pack of cocktail sausages, 3 chocolate bars, crisps and 2 juices.

Trips to London are characterized by frantic periods of activity broken up by lots of sitting down, as well as lengthy stints of thrift punctuated by brief bouts of profligacy. The minute we hit Waterloo we sprang into action. I am now an underground map-reading expert and got us to South Kensington for the Science Museum in no time.

The mostly-lady at the front desk was confused by our request for our pre-booked tickets and sent us downstairs to the toilets who also failed to give us tickets. 2 floors up from there was the actual Robot Exhibition and the free tickets from our new insider friend saved us a good £20.

Some of the early robots (automatons) were freaky as were the religious beliefs of their first viewing customers, seeing moving models of monks as magic. There was a cabinet of prosthetic arms that definitely looks cyborg-ish. The early film robots were epic in a clunky way and there was a T-800 that appeared in Terminator Salvation and some more modern AI bots moving inexorably towards the uncanny valley of human likeness.

We reckon Sexbots will fund the next industry great leap forward, as the military has done in other areas. Sadly there were no Terminator T-shirts in the shop, maybe they couldn't get a licence. I was wearing a Minecraft T-shirt so wanted to revisit the Hall of Archaic Computer Games, to show off. It took us a while to find the right staircase to the basement but once I'd squashed a couple of pennies we hit the shop.

It's great in there and you always want to buy 27 things but I restricted myself to a Minecraft book. He got 2 rocks (one of pure silicon, one of translucent titanium glass) but I found myself playing a game which was offered unto me.

Back in the day when even the parents were young, all you could get were simple 8-bit games with shooting or planes or similar, and you were grateful because that was cutting-edge tech. But with the computing power, storage and processing speed of today, the simplicity of the coding of the retro-games of yester-decade means you can fit 200 8-bit games into a gizmo the size of a matchbox, plug it directly into your flat-screen TV and off you go!

But there is no rest for the wicked and we left with our booty to go back underground, via a man with a huge bubble-making kit in a precinct by the Geological Society. A busker maimed Stairway to Heaven to speed us on our way.

Tottenham Court Road was just 2 underground changes away and along New Oxford Street and up Bloomsbury and Great Russell and hey presto, the British Museum. It has columns to die for and a big queue for the bag check. I led the way and we saw Korean and Chinese ceramics, Somalian carvings, Victorian watercolours, African chairs made out of recycled guns, Solomon Island head-dresses, Moorish textiles, Minoan pottery, Greek urns, Egyptian mummies, Japanese incense burners, a Michelangelo cartoon, Mesopotamian statues, Korean coins, a rock crystal skull, Amerindian totem poles, the world's oldest flip-flops and lots of gold.

In the shop I got a Pyramid pencil sharpener and an Egyptian cat fridge magnet for Jof, because she is always asking if she can have a cat.

We also found a Pizzeria which proved highly acceptable for both taste and price, not the usual situation in London tourist traps. The pizzas were hand-made to order, cheesier than an 80s compilation and mine was only £6 with added drink and side order of broccoli.

Avoiding the numerous flyer-dealers outside, we found 'Coincraft' a Piccadilly-based coin dealer but the cheapest coin was £65 so we ran away, past the gaudy tourist tat shops with their beefeater teddies and Union Jack mugs and telephone boxes of all nations.

I have heard of the Docklands Light Railway and wanted to experience it having heard that some of it is above ground. The transfer was a bit complicated at 'Bank' but we got onto the DLR and it was epic soon enough as we went uphill and over canals and roads and other trains and looked into peoples' bathroom windows, unusual for an underground train. In the underground station was a poster advert for the Lion King at the Lyceum Theatre - which I'll be visiting next week.

Canary wharf (not a singing Klingon) is a vast engineering marvel both above and below ground but they could do with improved signage, in my opinion. After fighting with Julie B (the Jubilee line), we finally got to Greenwich North and the Emirates 'Air-Line' cable car over the Thames.

I collect (amongst other things) novel forms of transport and this was to be my first cable car. I got my own ticket and we waited for the pods to do their slow circuit around the disembarkation/embarkation zone. You can see the procedure while waiting and it is all very slow until the car re-engages with the immense steel hawser whish is powered by the giant red horizontal turning-wheels.

Once you've been engaged, it shoots you up to the maximum velocity of 6 M/S and you climb up and up over the pylons until you are 90 metres over the Thames, even at low tide, and you bob along swinging gently in the breeze.

OK so it doesn't have the raw acceleration of the Solent RIB ride or the brutal altitude of a long-haul Jumbo jet but it was excellent with views of building sites and barges and cable cars coming in the other direction and the runway of London City Airport and the Millennium Dome and Canary Wharf and overground railways and the Thames Barrier and planes and cranes and ships and water taxis and the giant pylons holding it up and skyscrapers and wakeboarders and a restaurant on a ship and I said the cable car would be better with a glass floor and a fellow passenger turned decidedly green. It was all over too soon as we landed at the Emirates Royal Docks.

But we'd purchased return tickets so we did it all again! I got the 2 available souvenir medallion coins from the machine (automaton-robots taking your money, just saying) but we didn't get the pointless souvenir interactive photo because I'd got quite sufficient imagery of the ride already, thank you.

Bud always wants to go the extra mile but it felt like 5 as we sailed past Waterloo and got off at Westminster to see the armed cops.

I found 6 outside the Houses of Parliament and laughed at Black Rod's Garden Entrance which sounds dreadfully rude. It has a heavy wrought iron gate with a little wooden shed for the least popular and perhaps flatulent Policeman. I also found a 7 mile trek past Horseferry kid's park (with actual wooden horses) to Lambeth Bridge and a further 164-mile yomp across unfamiliar terrain to the Archbishop's Park next to Lambeth Palace. This green space has a top-notch swingpark that you can see from the train and I absolutely agree that I need to go there.

But inserting it at the end of a 11-hour, 3-activity day was gross malfeasance, wilful incompetence and cruel and unusual punishment, as both of my legs had fallen off with exhaustion. I bleated and moaned my way down the never-ending pavement back to Waterloo and agreed that the Archbishop's Personal Swingpark will be done first on our next trip.

In Waterloo Station we bought the same 4-pack of Belgian beer as the last 8 times and gigantic chocolate buttons and the Bucket'o'Chocolate and then we met Football 'Arry from my school class. He had been to the Imperial War Museum.

On the train home we secured and successfully defended a 6-seat bay and Charlie (from my acting class) visited us and ate some chocolate and we battled a bit because I was tired and just wanted to read my Minecraft book.

At the beginning of the day Jof had told us to text her regularly as she was worried about terrorists. So we laughed at her and made sure to update her facetiously about our locations and activities about 8 times during the expedition: but for the last 2 she was asleep at home.

We missed the latest London terror attack by 4 hours and 1/2 a mile.

Sunday started at 1220, which means a 13-hour sleep. If you're going to break the all-time sleep record, do it properly. It was a quiet day: I couldn't even play my Retro Mini TV 8-bit games console because my LCD screen doesn't have A/V ports. So we have to go to Tandy or Radio Shack to get a RF converter.

May 2017 4/4

2017-05-28T21:30:00.000+01:00

At last! Up far too early to loiter with intent.

Many schools send kids on residential courses lasting a few days and I've been on the Stubbington one and I've heard about the Parents-Get-Lost one on the Isle of Wight. But a new one has joined the pack - Marwell Zoo.

I've been to this zoo a couple of times and they do have a study centre but now they've added dormitory huts and numerous activities for youths both bold and wet.

Jof had gathered together all my kit and barring the last few things we'd forgotten such as raincoat, it was all ready and I togged up and set off. Jof dragged me back and showed how much she loves me by saying have a good time and I'll miss you and don't forget to wipe your bottom and loads of other mothery blarney and I escaped the tightening noose and fled.

On the way to school we started to see other classmates dressed like me with suitcases and finger-spinners and in the assembly hall stood a bunch of parents and the Left Luggage Hall of Doom. We all trooped upstairs and the parents dispersed: that made us officially zoo animals.

The journey was by 2 coaches: even a short hop like that is challenging for energized youngsters and the teachers knew that so we stopped off half way there to run around a random field, and got to the zoo at noon for a site tour, and a lunch of sandwiches, apples, juice and chocolate bars.

This is when we found that although the campsite is next to the zoo, it is not actually in it. This was a let-down for those of us who wanted to be Ostriches, or who wanted to feed a certain someone to the tigers. In fact, we couldn't go to the zoo or Ye Olde Gifte Shoppe at all, because it is in the public domain. But now we are older, these residential camps are activity-heavy. There was a large refectory tent, and 6 Stalag Luft-style dormitory huts with a seating area outside, 3 for boys, 2 for girls and 1 for teachers. They got comfy chairs.

Activity #1: Rock Climbing Wall, with harness. Topping out at 50 feet, I got 35 feet up the wall that gets steeper and steeper the further up you go, until it goes past vertical and curves back on itself.

Activity #2: Obstacle Course. Has stepping stones, hop-jumps, and a massive tunnel. This tunnel has anti-bear defence lids at both ends and is wiggly and pitch black with minimal crawlspaces and corners and drops. It was ace. But on the jumping-wall, my legs were not long enough to reach to the 3rd level.

For dinner we had stir-fry chicken of which I approve. Then we had a 2-stage activity. First, your team got a random item and had to make an advert for it, act it out, and this would get you points - and in this case, points make money - with which you buy materials for the next stage. We got a golf ball and made an advert for an Un-Chewable Gobstopper. I was the chewer and we had people railing against sugar overload for young teeth, then a granny came on and declared she was tougher than a gobstopper and she was shot by a rifleman, I guess you had to be there. But we won the acting competition and got the most money.

Activity #3: Egg Bounce. This old chestnut is known to us all. Each team protected their egg from a 30 foot drop using the materials purchased with the advertising revenue. We named our egg 'Dr Scramble' and we had so many layers of packaging, our egg-pod floated gently down and our species was saved from extinction. In fact only one egg ('Harambegg') died, when its hat became detached and it sprayed an arc of yolk everywhere. I got 8 hours' sleep.

On day 2, Ben bunked in with me because Child A snores. Breakfast was Full English and I went back for 3rd helpings, with numerous sausages. I need the energy, you know.

Activity #4: Milk Crate Stack. Again, this one is well known to us all, I've done it at the Portsmouth Water Sports Centre. Again, you're harnessed and people throw milk crates up to you and you stack them (in teams of 2) and see how high you can get, just not like Jim Morrison. I reckon we got to Level 10.

Activity #5: Wayfaring. This is essentially orienteering, your team gets a map with points marked on it: each point on the ground has a letter hidden from easy view, you collect the letters, unscramble the magic word, and win. I was a total Map-Guru and on some of the positions, I found the letter nailed to the back of a tree or similar when others had walked right past. The magic word was rifle-range. Then lunch.

Activity #6: Raft Building. OK, so most of us have done this too. You have rope, logs and barrels and you lash them together and row off into the sunset with laughter and gay abandon. I wore my water-shoes, trunks, tracksuit bottoms and 2 T-shirts. Everything got soaked and that's when I had the only shower of the week, mmm. But please notice the epic weather in the verdant and countrified surroundings of this entire residential course. A nice change from summer in the city, back of my neck getting dirty gritty.

After supper (chicken goujons) we had film night - Despicable Me.

Day 3 did include breakfast, but I only went back for seconds.

Activity #7: Archery, another former favourite. I scored a bullseye from 5 metres.

Activity #8: Quad Biking. Well, I've driven trundly safety cars at Butlins but never anything like this! It was amazing with giant helmets with sticky-out bits at the front and a big D-shaped course with wiggly bits and a long straight. Owen seems to be perfectly designed for quad-biking and took the corners like a boss. I opened her up on the long straight and gave it full throttle: ok, so you only get up to 15 mph but it feels like you're in a Spitfire.

Activity #9: Zipline. This one is a detached part of the aerial adventure and you climb 10 metres up a tree and zip 25 metres over a lake. It does go really fast, and you get 2 goes. Funny thing we noticed, the lake had 2 crocodiles in it. One of them is called One-eyed Steve after he lost a fight with the other one.

Activity #10: Aerial Adventure. Similar to but smaller than the one at Centre Parcs, you have a variety of obstacles including the suspended planks. The planks hang in mid-air at different levels and have ropes through each corner. So getting from one to the other isn't always easy. Average competitor 'Child B' could get across in 3 minutes. I took up the super-retro-challenge and went across backwards in 1 minute, for which I got a prize - an extra chocolate bar at dinner.

Later, after sausages and mash, we had a campfire and sang songs such as 'Eat the banana' and 'The balls on the bus go round and round'.

Day 4 was sadly truncated by having to go home. But first we had the Full English breakfast again and I had 3rd helpings, you've got to take opportunities when they arise.

Activity #11: Rifle Shooting. OK, so it was only air rifles, but this isn't the 1970s any more. I scored 8 rounds through the bullseye and will get my cardboard target back later.

Activity #12: Gladiators. Straight away we thought we'd be standing in a sandy ring poking each other with rubber spears to the music from Star Trek but no, this is a climbing game. You have to ascend the various levels and go over the suspended tyres and sit on the upper log, all whilst securely harnessed. I could not get past the spinning tyres. Child C fell off the top bit and swung around, held up by his harness, which squished his ribcage and he vomited copiously from a great height, most fun to see.

And after a hearty meal for the condemned kids, we all got back on the coaches and came home. My first priority was a shower, then straight back to Youtube which I had missed terribly. I had lost my voice (but gained a hoarse) because of all the shouting.

All in all, the school trip to Marwell Zoo activity was totally bodacious and epic. Of course, we are of that special intermediate age so there was lots of bandying about of rude phraseology. We could hear each other through the prefabricated tent/chalets and once Child D heard a particularly funny joke and laughed so much there was fluid leakage. So he needed new trousers and bedsheets and everyone laughed at him, which may not have helped. But you get that sort of thing.

Chasing Ghosts (and Swans)

Back in 1957, when Jof was a kid, her parents used to take annual holidays in a little seaside resort called Mudeford, pronounced Meoo-deford by us and Muddiford by everybody else. This former fishing village sits at the mouth of Christchurch Harbour and is pretty and isolated and has coastal pine trees and marram grass on the dunes and views to the Isle of Wight.

But that was in 1957, and Jof fancied trying to rediscover the hotel they used to stay at, called the Avonmouth Hotel then, but since renamed. A lot can change in that time.

We approached at speed using a hand-drawn map which got us to the car park in 1 hour 10 minutes, no detours, and 1 entire compilation CD of "Dyno-Saurs of Rock" which Jof kept telling us to turn down and I kept secretly turning back up again until she stopped wittering from the back seat of the car where I usually send her.

After some excellent climbing in the coastal pine trees, and having paid for 4 hours' parking, we wandered off in search of the long-lost Hotel of Yesteryear and quite soon, she found it and we looped round the back to make sure. That's when Bud said ooo look, it's the River Mude after which the village was named, let's get a closer look, and I stepped heavily in a patch of newly laid concrete which was clearly marked by a large yellow traffic cone, inserted a deep, full footprint in a permanent position for future generations to admire, and we invoked the great Monty Python, and went Run Away, Run Away.

Back on Mudeford Quay, we saw that it contains Gifte Shoppes, fisherman's equipment stores, a sailing club, Lifeboat station, pub and lots of tourist stuff, including millions of people crabbing (they get bigger crabs in Dorset) and a ferry. This ferry is marked on the map as going to Hengistbury Head (a sandy outcrop about 50 yards away) and Christchurch Central, with Priory, Church and an actual town.

So after a fortifying ice cream, we got the ferry (departs every 12 minutes) for only £3.70 the lot and it was quick and good, 10/10 for them. But that was it. It only went 56 yards to Hengistbury Head, and you had to get the fancy wooden luxury cruiser to Christchurch for £20 return.

So we did that, and we saw swans and ducks and outdoor centres and expensive beachfront houses and buoys shaped like top hats and it was all rather good. In Christchurch we crossed the Quomp or the Quim or the Quagga or the Quorn which is apparently the greensward open space with swingpark and headed into the bustling metropolis, finding a bank for monetary purposes and The George Inn which gave us scampi and chips and squid and beer and toilet facilities.

This is an old town so just down narrow medieval lanes from the pub is the old 14th century ducking stool lovingly recreated in 1986. It was most tranquil with the ducks and the weeping willows, but the description sign makes it clear that back then, the town magistrates could punish mouthy, gobby women and horrendous screaming fishwives who didn't know their place for being 'Scolds', gosh how things have changed, now brassy wenches get on TV.

Across the road is a Norman castle, now totally ruined. OK, so the keep mound remains with a few walls but the grounds are nice with access to the church through peaceful gardens where a wedding was going on, nice work if you can get it. We walked through a lime-tree tunnel and came out by the Quay.

In Quomp/Qwerty/Quandary Fields is a decent swingpark with good-looking added splashpark, both very well attended. They tried to get me to cool off in the life-giving waters, but I was having none of it because all our swimming-type kit was back in the car.

But we'd already walked past a boat-hiring place and I had my eye on the motorboats. So Bud conned us into only having 30 minutes (£20) instead of the hour we should have taken (£30) saying we didn't want to miss the ferry back.

We were allocated a blue 5-seater motorboat and the engine just wouldn't start, even when Bud pulled the cord and made it go chumf chumf. But then there was an orange one next to it and orange is my favourite colour and that one started. The rules were to keep to the right, only go upstream to the 100 foot chimney, and come back. As soon as we were out in the main channel, Bud and I swapped places and I drove the whole way.

You go upstream past lots of fancy houses with yachts and motor boats and verandahs and yuccas and weeping willows and it does rather make you want to live by the sea. The boat was programmed to chunter along at 4 knots and the steering was slow to react so you Tokyo-drifted along like a car on an oily skidpan and I got used to it rapidly and the boring old adults just had to sit there while I bossed it totally.

And once we'd gone under the bridge and met the 100 foot chimney stack, I did a massive handbrake turn in the river and it was epic and gosh I do somewhat like this boating lark. And I got us back to the pontoon and Bud did another handbrake turn to get us alongside which I could have probably done better and we had 45 minutes before the next ferry, did I mention we were conned.

So we had coffee and saw the medieval mill and fed the swans (saw one hissing at a sausage dog that got too close - very funny) with locally produced corn and the ferry arrived early and took us back to Hengistbury Head very slowly due to an adverse wind, seeing some New Forest ponies of varying ages and girths on a tidal island.

And knowing that we still had to take the 56 yard ferry back to Mudeford Quay I agreed to at least look at the millions of beach huts and see the sea, because I don't usually get the chance, living on an island in the sea.

It was sandy. This was immediately different and we gambolled around in the dunes with their spiky grass and messed around on the beach and before long we were paddling and I was digging in the sand and getting totally wet and dirty and that is what you are supposed to do, even though the sea temperature was only 13 degrees. I rinsed off by plunging in right in front of the Needles lighthouse and Alum Bay, where I went a few years ago on the chairlift.

After a while I dressed (with added authentic Dorset sand) and retrieved an errant swan feather and we got the ferry 46 yards back to civilisation (low tide).

There we discovered that the kind but cheeky old Burghers of Christchurch Town Council had awarded us a £25 parking ticket, no doubt as the ducking ducking stool is off the byelaw statute books nowadays.

Stupid thing to mention: of the 4 different boating-craft we were on today, employment agencies phoned Bud while we were on 2 of them. I still maintain that in the event of a lottery win I want a kayak, he wants a dinghy and she wants a motor-cruiser, but then she also wants goats, alpacas, baby horses and 17 cats so you can't trust her.

And, pink in special places due to all the sunshine, we drove home taking only 1 wrong turning which enabled us to see some new and interesting corners of this green and pleasant land, including the fabled Hotel of Yesteryear that Jof saw down a side street as we left.

We kept pace with a fifty-something chap in a bright red Lotus Elise on the motorway and the west-bound side was clogged forever as half the country went to Devon for the weekend.

Meanwhile we pigged on chocolate and West Country Fudge (it's exactly the same fudge box you buy in Stonehenge, St Ives and Weston super Mare, just with a postcard from Mudeford stuck on the top). I was promised all the crabbing equipment I could eat next time we return. We took it in turns to shower.

On Saturday I relaxed with Minecraft. Briefly, I attended acting school where the only other student was a 14 year-old girl who is friends with the older sister of Lucy, who is in my school class. Because there were no drama teachers available, we had a predominantly Tech lesson and played with the lights and I did a White Haze when I was supposed to do a Purple Haze, but my Super Silver Haze was all sparkly with crystals.

And I went back on Minecraft and Skyped with some random dude while Jof watched the FA cup final. Film Night was 'Crocodile Dundee' with some really dreadful outfits from the 1980s and lots of clever jokes that I missed because I was arguing. Showered whilst singing my Dyno-Saurs of Rox medley including excerpts from hits such as 'Stacey's Mom has we will rock you down to Gorky Park, and she's buying a stairway to the winds of change, when the wheels have ideas of their own, smooth as the groove that's making you move, taking the long way around...'

Sundays are always a battle 'twixt sofa and cake but Jof made me go out for a brisk walk, luckily rain stopped pain within 4 minutes. Meanwhile, 2 blokes were filling up a 'Man with Van'-style removals lorry with random rubbish and we noticed some dead pallets. You can't let these things go to waste so we mentioned the Scout Camp-fire and what do you know, both of these old boys were ex-Scouts and helped us carry 6 pallets and a table over the road to our garage, saves a journey to the tip and it's all in a good cause. Film night was 'Expendables 2' with guns and bombs and funnies.

May 2017 3/4

2017-05-21T21:21:00.000+01:00

Sex, Drugs and Scouting

Back to school with our noses to the collective grindstones once more, even though we've finished the exams.

So we began with science, always a good place to start. We learned about blood and arteries and veins and then we went straight onto sex and puberty.

We watched an animation with cartoon-style kids showing off their inner workings and we all laughed a lot because we know all the rude words but not the details. So we have come out of this class with a whole lot of adjusted preconceptions and inventive misconceptions.

And because giggling at each other isn't enough, we also learned about drugs. So now we know about heroin and LSD and cocaine and crystal meth, and that alcohol is ok but not for kids, don't tell the emergency room staff on a Friday night.

Then we went onto lighter things and did our first script run-through for the Lion King. As the King himself, I have to be loud and powerful and full of authority. But it was only the top 18 characters so the rest of the year group will have to join in later.

The happy-clappy religious types visited us again and made us sing overly joyful songs about what a wonderful groovy god they've invented and we contented ourselves by substituting lots of other words, mostly nob.

Down at the seafront it was a bit rainy and Johnny bundled me off the football and I fell over a bit and got wet. But we did climb on the fort using the helpful grab-fence to get to the beach hut roofs and got all muddy. It says warning, anti-climb paint but it didn't stop us.

Later it was the Scout AGM. Because they take our money and look after the kids, the Scout leader-types have to have a proper meeting so all the parents can see how many kids have been killed on camp and stuff, and it was zero again, must try harder.

As I have been a Scout since I was first old enough, I can't really complain about having to attend and the speeches were much shorter. But then he said Quiz Night and I got miffed because I wanted my Minecraft back. But we teamed up with Flynn and Cosmic and their mum and we were 'Spiniez' as opposed to the team called Fidget Spinners behind us and the team called Midget Spinners next to us and something about Pink Fluffy Unicorns which should be a punishment for unruly Scouts.

And of course all us kids are sober restrained sorts and hardly bellowed out the answers at all. If there was a tie on any of the 5 sections, the winners had to do a tying-the-knot challenge tie break, and once a Granny totally beasted a regular Scout with her super-fast getting knotted. And in the end we didn't win but got 39/50 which is knot bad.

Trouser me up, Scotty

The sex education continues. While we did learn about the ventricles, valves and vagus nerves, we also covered other matters of the heart such as sex and love. Friendship was the first relationship we covered in detail, having declared that a sexual relationship won't be required until we're over 16.

We drew diamond-shaped diagrams with aspects of friendship listed in order of importance, and trust and honesty came out top, with cashflow and attractiveness coming last.

And just when I got home he said you've got 2 jobs so I sulked for 2 minutes. Job 1 was trousers. And pants, and shorts, and slippers. Since last year my perfectly good collection of artificial leg coverings has miraculously shrunk in the wash and I need a whole new lot, particularly for upcoming school trips and holidays. So we walked to giant Tesco and with extreme difficulty, found the right section without asking for directions. And even Tesco is not immune to the great shrinking-demon of clothes, because all the 11-12 years clothes did not fit, and we had to get 12-13. Still, this is all due to puberty, which stalks us daily down the halls of education, and even in our dreams.

And just down the road from us is a house currently infested with builders. They were kind enough to say yes, we can take as much broken bits of wood as we like for the Scouts camp-fire so we took 3 loads between us and local man Brian 'Bald Eagle' Beaver-leader caught us taking it, how apt that this wood is going to the Beaver Scout camp next month.

Wednesday was damp with added rain. Due to an outbreak of excessive optimism, I didn't take a coat. In PE we played rounders and I got miffed when placed on First Base which sees no action, hope I won't have to take orders I don't like in my future life.

Luckily, Bud came to pick me up and brought a raincoat. Grandad phoned and set me a task of finding out the time in New York and Turkey if it's 12 noon in England.

The Potatoes of Madness

Today we had another lesson on drugs. We learned which ones were legal and which not, what they do to you and your health, just not how to pronounce them all.

And we all got one drug each to research and write up a little explanatory pamphlet about, I got LSD which sounds a real hoot. The one drug I reckon I'll try is alcohol.

And we had our last sex lesson, which was a video of a baby girl being born.

And then things took a turn for the weird, maybe some of that LSD got left behind.

Now, sometimes people are not what they seem and we have a prime example. CrunchyGirl is all nice on the outside, but very very crunchy on the inside.

And Child A was running down the classroom and tripped up over a chair leg and while he was down, CrunchyGirl kicked him hard in the ribs, so she had to go to the headmaster because she is on permanent report and he had to have his Mum come in to see if he was OK to continue the school day with such a large unsightly purple welt on his ribcage. Then Child B ran towards CrunchyGirl to give her a swipe round the chops and he went down too and ended up with a table on him although he didn't mind, for he is made of sterner stuff.

Then, out of nowhere, six girls started crying for no apparent reason as did Child C who is technically a boy, but, you know, and practically anyone who wasn't already on the floor was blubbing like crazy. It was bizarre.

The teacher said it could be Mash Hysteria which is something you get when you've eaten too many potatoes, or are a large group of emotionally fragile individuals going through puberty.

So after school we went into town and I bought a Fidget Spinner because absolutely everyone else has got one therefore I have to, too.

Fridays are always good and the weatherguesser had predicted clag and drizzle all day. Thus when it was sunny and warm all day and our PE lesson was outside in the park, we were all happy. We did running and jumping and relays and absorbing solar radiation and then Bud walked past and we said hello. Sadly taking pictures of schoolkids doing PE lessons Does Not Look Good but it was in the place in the rainy picture just above. Might I add that Child D (who is a girl) runs like an absolute girl and cost us the relay when she dropped the baton for the 4th time. And we were off drugs, and sex was already finished so now we're off to the zoo. And I'm not kidding.

Psychotic Laundry

Started the day with bacon and eggs and a session gathering my stuff for being abandoned at the zoo (told you). It's amazing just how much stuff one guy needs and it's all grown, like me. When I was in the loft choosing a suitcase, I went for my newer, larger holiday suitcase (rather than my original brightly coloured one) but that was still way too small and so I adopted Nanna's suitcase.

That's when we also found lots of crap in the loft, this is not an obsessive-compulsive hoarding disorder kind of crap, it's either bats or rats so we bought lots of poison and traps, knowing that bats won't touch them.

And every time the laundry was put out, it must have sent psychic rays to the clouds, because it rained heavily, directly against the orders and authorized predictions of the weather-guessers.

Later it was acting and we waited for Sydney and her friend Unknown Caitlin (I know lots of Caitlins but not this one) to turn up but they took too long getting ready and we were late (in the rain, 'cos we'd left the laundry out in the sunshine). This is another thing about girls, if they're going out on a Friday night they have to start getting ready on the Tuesday because they're so rubbish at everything. And adding an Unknown Caitlin simply trebled the time it takes an already slow Sydney to arrive.

Anyway, acting itself was good and as part of the scene I have to knee someone in the goolies but the part of nuttily-challenged man is currently played by a girl, that's why it's called acting. And another in a random series of 'Groovy Local Locations' is the Round Tower, with 2 added forts in the background. Perhaps this is why we're called Strong Island, with all that rock and brick surrounding us.

Saturday-night-is-film-night was 'The Expendables' in which Sly Stallone invited some Hollywood friends to perform in a hotch-potch mismatch of a film where Schwarzenegger and Willis barely featured but Ivan Drago from a previous Rocky movie played a mercenary drug addict. The rent-a-soldier cast of The Unmentionables was taken directly from 'Commando' as was the Generalissimo's palace but this time the general's daughter was the feisty love interest and there was a lot more tattooing and knife-throwing.

Jason Statham from 4 Shotguns & Transporter 1-7 was nice to see (particularly as I have to employ a Cockney accent at work) and I look forward to Irascibles 2 and 3 where a well-known semi-retired Cyborg takes more of an active part in proceedings.

Damaged Goods

Woke at ten something but stayed in bed reading for an hour.

Made contact with Sydney over Skype to find she'd broken her wrist so badly she had to have a midnight operation to re-attach her ears with metal poles and she didn't get home until 1 in the morning.

And of course it would be her right hand, so she can't write or play Minecraft which is basically the end of her life until the cast comes off. So she watched me play for a while but facetime is better than voyeurism so I went round to hers to cheer her up in person. She taught me Back-Garden-Backgammon and we played in the sun, and there was ice cream and discussions about rice pudding and her vast foam cast-protecting sling, which might get in the way slightly in acting. And I couldn't go to bed at midnight because I'm going to be living in a zoo for a while, as one does.

May 2017 2/4

2017-05-14T21:34:00.000+01:00

Verboten in Sixty Seconds

Dread! Fear! Well not really, just the exams that the teachers have been terrified about for so long.

We started with Reading. Not the unnecessarily ugly town by the Thames, but reading comprehension. It was an hour long and before long, Child A had stood up, walked over to the teacher and asked loudly to go to the toilet, even though we had just endured a lengthy speech about not leaving your seats or making any noise. We all knew he was going to mess it up one way or another, because he cannot help himself.

Then, after revision for tomorrows' spelling and grammar test and some differently shaped breaktimes, we had a second round of auditions for the Year 6 play. 25 kids were challenging for 18 parts and they made me do the voice of the narrator to hold it all together, because they knew I could do it properly.

While I do want a large part, it is not the part of the narrator, so I made sure I told them to cast me as the baddie. And it looks like one of the 2 contenders has suitably won himself the role of Warthog, and the other was sent away for being naughty, so I should be a shoo-in, but you can't count on anything in this world, or a hill of beans in this crazy cosmos.

And after school I walked home with Ben and we went to the beach hut and played Manhunt until they got bored and opted for football. I was quite tired by then and had a slight huff but Jof made kedgeree which is good for you and filled me right back up again.

In Scouts we opened the Vicars' garage and did some outside work with the stoves and camping equipment and we have a new girl doing the try-out and Bud took home 3 tents to mend or replace. We had to have 3 attempts to find a Camping-Gaz stove with some gas left in it and then Child B tried to set fire to his shoe and was Banned from Matches. Someone at Buds' work brought home some Turkish delights from Cyprus but as he is from the Greek side, I guess we have to call them Greek delights.

Speaking of delight, it's lovely to see a modern country like Ireland can still have a law against blasphemy. In a hilarious move, Stephen Fry from A Fish Called Wanda was investigated for criticizing the gods. One must wonder how many other developed countries (unlike the islamic ones) still have protection for fictional characters enshrined in law. Perhaps the USA or Germany or Oz also ban defamation of helpless supernatural beings like Santa, Hedwig, Donald Duck and the Grinch. Incidentally, my latest Singalongamax earworm is 'Something tells me I'm into something good' by Hermans' Hermits.

Puto, ergo Sum

Tuesday, and the torture continued with spelling and grammar tests. It's only the 11+, so there's no Also sprach Zarathustra or Veni vidi vici.

But I rarely concentrate on my spelling so much as I do on Minecraft for one simple reason. In this modern world of spellcheck and autocorrect, all I have to do is Cupertino warthog as cryogenics, and milf contractor Whelan collagen implant enantiomer Alaska topless for me.

And after the tests we had so much free time I was able to play benchball and Lego for hours. Jof picked me up from school as a treat and I played her at "Hotel Tycoon" in the sun. I have a special talent, which is to babble inanely without respite even when being told to shut up, for your words are like farts in the wind that I cannot hear over my own far more important shouting.

And Jof has a special talent which is to land on all of my rentable properties and founder immediately in a Femaelstrom of bad luck. Lucky she has my constant vocal assault to keep her distracted.

Wednesday was a day of maths, with an arithmetic exam and also numerical reasoning. We discovered that our resident maths whizz still has trouble translating centimetres into metres and metres into kilometres, he's always wrong by a factor of 10. Sure it won't matter when he's a civil engineer or a spacecraft designer. I still haven't found out what part I have in the Year 6 play.

One of Jof's favourite viewing pleasures is the 'Take me to the Country' or 'Houses under the Hammer' genre, with lots of properties to look at and either criticize or yearn for. This is why she can now stipulate that our next house has to have a staircase up the middle, 3 reception rooms, a hidden servants' staircase at the back, and a kitchen island.

I decided that what I want (what I really really want) is a swimming pool. So I announced that if Jof dies, I will convert her bedroom into a pool.

I'm a SlumberJack and I'm zzzzzz

Today was the last exam of the SATs - Reasoning. Not so much the cut and thrust of learnèd debate on the floor of the House of Commons but bar charts, pie charts and associated mathematical trivia.

I think I did quite well, let's just hope it doesn't come back as 12% after I said that. There are limits to the human mind - as has so often been shown in this blog - but I filled every unforgiving minute with Venn diagrams and bell curves and kids coming back from the shops with 3 junior hacksaw blades @ 14p each and Anusol cream @ 2 shillings and sixpence and how much change did little Alfie spend down at the amusement arcade before coming home and trying to fob off his mother with tales of the unexpected price rises.

Anyway, this isn't the end of term but certainly the end of the exams. So we had a party with popcorn (I don't like popcorn) and blackjack and hookers and herbal chocolate brownies for relaxation. And we got to watch a film!

'Storks' is about ungainly long-legged birds who migrate to Scandinavian countries and nest in chimneypots, but also deliver newborn infants to those villagers who have not yet learned about the birds and the bees. And delivery failed for one such youngling, which means a card through the door saying we'll try again tomorrow otherwise you have to come and collect your firstborn from our local distribution depot in Windy Bottom, only 75.3 miles from your location.

This is exactly what happened to the new Gazebo tent for the Scouts. It does not matter if you specify on the order form that you won't be home until 4pm on that particular day, and even insert a line in the address saying so. Because the Stork is controlled by a computer that decides on the route the Yodel-Stork has to fly, and the automated Female Dork sorry Stork on the phone is only programmed to attempt redelivery the next working day between 0900 and 2100, which is fine if you are working from home, perhaps attached to an iron lung (working from lung?) or to collect it yourself, rather reducing the need for the Stork in the first place. Lucky this Stork Regional Processing Centre is just over the road from Bud's work, making him as happy as an agoraphobe in an iron lung.

INCIDENT SLOW DOWN

Today was one of those embarrassing in-between days like the Mayan Days of the Dead, when you've finished your exams but are technically still waiting for the weekend.

So we could concentrate on our Year 6 play: at last, the roles were handed out and I am Mufasa. Again. Maybe he doesn't have the biggest part, but I am the King, as befits, perhaps I'll grow up to be a movie star with regal gravitas like Morgan Freeman who keeps playing god or the President.

And I tried not to think about those ghastly old French lessons which are probably not actually finished and may come back to haunt me. I may not be a Francophobe, but I don't want to be a Francophone either.

I suppose the most alarming part of the day was when some unknown Year 3 micro-kid was doing some experimenting. As with all seats of learning, controlled experimentation with theory, reproducible results and peer review is a vital part of expanding the sum of all knowledge, creationists take note. So anyway, this kid was seeing how hard he could hit the little glass window on the red box fire alarm thingy with his pencil without actually setting it off. Well, he found out. We all found out the joy of an unplanned fire alarm with actual fire engines in the street outside and lots of angry teachers saying well it wasn't me, and has everybody got out alive. Child C got a week's suspension and the rest of us got a very shouty lecture.

And Bud lost his job again which makes Jof the only breadwinner in the house. It must be a very strange game you play if you hope to win bread, no wonder adults are so stressed all the time worrying about toast landing butter side up. Give me oblivious childhood any day.

Great Balls of ... Pasta?

I like Saturdays so got up really early at 0930. Jof was at work and sent a text home asking for breakfast to be delivered so while Bud did that, I spoke to Grandad about maths.

In acting we are learning 'One man, 2 Guv'nors' and now our group has Sydney, myself, 'Arry (not 'Atchet 'Arry) and the tall girl whose name I still can't remember so has to stick with her stage name of Gareth.

I play Francis, the two-timing butler, so I have to serve 2 unrelated masters as sole manservant, with hilarious consequences. We're only doing one scene for the showcase but it is the funny one, following our winning performance of Under Milk Wood at the last showcase. This random image is of the Hard Bus Terminus which has been completely renovated at a cost of insert cost here, and you can now go in the newly opened main building and ask for tickets or buy a tin mug.

The road surface is very new and smooth and will be fun when the frost returns. It all looks rather swish and all that remains is for the actual buses to find this ready-made international transport hub. After acting, I fed some more birds in the park and then met Sydney in cyberspace for some more Skype-Minecraft. We played 'Bed Wars' which is less erotic than it sounds and 'Happy Slappers' or similar in which you have to slap each other off a grid suspended in mid air, as you do. Meanwhile, Bud mended tents and Jof had a snooze on the sofa. I'd run out of time to select a film so Eurovision noxiously clouded the airwaves once more, with well-known European country 'Australia' showing off far too much hair and some truly disastrous entries from countries who should have stayed annexed, vassal states to some greater power such as Guernsey. For supper Jof made me 'Mac and Cheese Bites' which are macaroni pasta tubes rolled up and deep-fried. I tried one, and never again.

Devil Boy

Up last, once levels of dehydration became too much. Managed to find Sydney online and set up a Skype/Minecraft combo call for extensive gaming. That was when Bud loudly said hope you're not as naked as he is, before he knew I was on a 16-way group Skype call. This is bread and butter for future Psychiatrists. Anyway, I was wearing pants.

The latest replacement for Schools vouchers at the supermarket is "Create the World" Lego cards, much like Match Attax. Each pack contains a super-card and 3 normal cards and there are about 140 of each to collect, so I said I'd open 2 or 3 packs and save the rest for the Zoo school trip but within minutes I'd opened them all.

After an awful lot of nothingness (what are Sundays for?), the JBs invited me round for a Random Barbecue. This traditional event takes place in their back garden whenever sunshine abounds and we certainly had some today.

OK, so global warming has not fully reached our northern climes so the adults wore blankets while Robert and I played stupidity football which is where you joust on plastic motorbikes that would be small for a 6 year-old but can now be used as roller skates by us advanced beings. Later, I played Golf on the Wii and we all had a go at micro-Ping-Pong and Fussball and air hockey and they spotted my fatal flaw in that I am quite crap and a total cheat when pressed and we all had a really good time. May our association last forever.

May 2017 1/4

2017-05-07T21:50:00.000+01:00

Back to school with a clang, because the 11+ exams are just around the corner. Reportedly, 'Football' 'Arry went to a rugby match between the Army and Navy and came on at half-time to do a mini-tournament. That's where he met (and high-fived) Prince Harry.

And visible yesterday at many stalls at the Fayre, the new must-have toy is the fiddler, or the spinner, or the Fidget-bit or whatever, a small moving device for little itchy fingers. And Okely Dokely fiddled with his one so much it pinged up and hit me in the eye, bet the manufacturers never saw that one coming, hoho.

Afterwards, Jof got home from work on her day off and we played 'Game of Life' (the new version) and I was a homeless Lawyer living in my car with 6 kids and invented a new fruit, a chimeric half-kiwi, half-banana called a Kinana, possibly a monstrous aberration against nature.

Wednesday was dull with maths and the like, and coding where we had to make a Mars lander walk about, avoid rocks and eat Martian apples, and French where we learnt about Le Motorcar. I try to forget French instantly because it's rubbish and I know I'll never need it. And lastly, PE which was the last one for a while because we've got SATs next week, a bittersweet victory there. But I did get 40/40 on the maths test for the second time ever, just the right time to start winning. Incidentally, we bought this house 4 years ago today.

One of my classmates is going on holiday to Turkey to relieve stress. Not only in term-time, but just before the SAT exams. I expect they'll get fined, after that nice man on the Isle of Wight thoroughly tested the law against taking your kids out of school for a vastly cheaper holiday. Coincidentally, today I got yet another 100% attendance certificate for the last 3 months. Considering that I did the Lego League National Finals on a Sunday, should I not get 101%? Just asking.

Grandad phoned in the afternoon and taught me more about maths, for which we needed graph paper and a globe. And Bud went out to a Scout meeting so I got to use the computer for longer.

Toeing the Leonine

Hooray for Thursday. Well, Star Wars Day. Since 1743, when 2 alien ships had a battle off the coast of Hartlepool and one fell in the sea, the country has celebrated Star Wars Day. In fact, it is surprising that it took 234 years for anyone to take advantage of this rather promising yet unregistered trade mark and release a film in honour of that glorious day so many years ago.

Then, following lots of boring revision, we did our auditions for the Year 6 Play which is of course the Loin King. I have played various Liony roles (and some loiny ones) in previous productions and had my heart set on the baddie, because the baddies always get the best part, or the most enjoyable one to play.

We don't get to find out what (if any) role we get until after the exams. Sixty or so kids are chasing 18 speaking roles, I guess I have to hope I'm not cast as 'Baobab Tree #4' or 'Rock'. In my first play (I was the Troll - lead character and a baddie as well) some poor classmates were cast as 'Grass' and some as - dare I say it - 'Brick'. They were not speaking parts, but at least the Grass had to wave in the wind a bit. Poor old Brick.

And now that the 'Fidget-Spinner-F***ing-Button-Fiddler' is de rigeur for every pocket in every playground, can I point out that one was built for me personally in about 2009. OK, so it's not a pocket toy, sitting about 8 inches high on its Perspex base, but it has a variety of twiddly things, tactile zones in a range of textures and finishes, moving parts and places for little fingers to investigate.

It also weighs in at a little over 1.4 Kg, and don't expect to be able to take one in your hand luggage as it might look a trifle suspect on the X-ray scanner. Named the 'Mungo Robot', it sits on 2 Perspex squares separated by 4 steel rods. Inside is a nuclear reactor (all fissile material has been removed) surrounded by a ring-fence of gold-plated electrodes, with a forward-pointing laser beam generator.

Each supporting steel rod has a copper sheath that moves up and down freely. The upper floor has 2 lateral spinning aluminium rings and a single bullet-shaped skyrocket for aerial defence, and spider-web shaped fan protector beneath. But the piece de resistance is an old CPU housing with integral cooling fan above, which still moves smoothly and silently.

This aluminium block retains its original heatsink and gold pin contacts for the CPU, and some pins have been selectively removed to spell out 'MUNGO ROBOT' for those blessed with the ability to read. The CPU compartment is accessed by turning the red handle which unclips after a 90 degree turn and the whole thing pops open and folds back on a spring-loaded axle.

And because this was hand-made from old engineering parts salvaged from the test and research laboratories of a company that has since gone into liquidation, nobody else in the world has one. So poo to you and your Spyn-Fidlers.

I Guess that's why they call it Blue Day

Last day of school before the exams. In a truly vast team effort, the entire country of 11 year-olds will be doing the exams at the same time apart from the one kid at Dogger Bank Junior School whose settlement is 1 hour ahead of GMT. If you know her, ask for the answers.

So some of the roles for the Year 6 after-SATs play 'Lion King' we handed out, but I haven't been given one yet and the role I'm hoping for hasn't gone, so there is hope for me yet. Our PE lesson was in the park again and I was on a rounders team with Erin and Ben and they were part way round the bases when I finally connected with a ball flung at me by Okely-Dokely. My team-mates were supposed to continue their run around and complete their circuits but I was on a flier and went straight to 4th base with Erin, overtook them both, and got them both out when I scored my home run. This attracted abuse, meh.

And it was Blue Day with the chance to wear blue regalia for a £1 donation to the Tom Prince Cancer Trust. I did so. The dentist told me I'd been brushing better this year but please reduce my sweet intake, tell that to the Chocolate Salesman. He still painted my teeth with the fluoride guck that makes you unable to eat sweets for half an hour. Friday-Night-Is-Film-night was "Escape Plan", the 2013 DVD release from Schwarzenegger and Stallone where they had to break out of a secret prison ship using only a Koran, a drain cover and a pair of glasses. I did that in Marrakech in 1942 but does anybody remember? Do they panties. It was nice to see Vinnie Jones still working in Hollywood as a particularly ugly prison guard.

Achtung Acting!

Today I was looking forward to going back to acting even though it's only been a fortnight since I last trod the boards in anger. The morning was all about Minecraft and Sydney arrived just about on time with some new purple glasses. Our group was missing Harry but gained 2 new girls and we did comedy with outsized movements and crazy impressions and a new game called Bunny Boilers or something.

You have to say Bunny #1 Bunny #1 calling Bunny #3 and then Bunny #3 does similar and it goes round the room which isn't much as there were only 5 of us including the teacher, although we did it outside. So gradually Syd and I injected humour and LSD in equal proportions and by the end we'd invented a class dance and variety of dubious gangland accents, This is Bunneh Numbah 2, Bunneh Numbah 2 callin', and then at the end we took some wood home for the Beaver Scout camp. This picture of the Spinnaker Tower can only be taken at low tide, given that the camera position is beyond the Gosport Ferry Dock.

Pompington was busy with happy loud people because of the end of the football season and the Footing-ball Authority had set all matches to begin at 530 for extra pub time before the games.

Due to last night's Film Night, we had another Film Night and due to the recent theme of prison-related films, we went for the Kühlschrank Connection, or was it the Sheepshank Reduction, or the Samizdat Injection. Something about sheep-dip anyway, with Morgan Freeman as the man who can get stuff, the Kurgan from 'Highlander' as Guard #1, and the Demolition Man Police Chief as Warden, amongst others.

Shawcross Credentials was quite long with a certain amount of man-on-man bullying and Alpha-Male baton charges, but I am now mature enough to realize that where I'd seen '500 yards of poo-pipe' in Phineas and Ferb, this film was the origin, not the cartoon. Apparently there are many more 'Educational Films' such as The Italian Job, 2001 Space Odyssey, Forrest Gump etc where you just have to see it to understand chunky bits of modern culture.

And all the while, Pompey fans kept up a decent chant of all of the special football songs, right up until Plymouth failed to win, and relegated Hartlepool beat Doncaster, so we rampaged at home 6-1 to take the championship. So the hoorays from the local pub continued until 11pm when I took over with my Lion Kong medley from the shower room. Here is a picture of when Pompey did some stuff in 2008, I was a little smaller. I still have that flag.

Karma, and Despicable Breadcrumbs

For some reason, Jof insisted on doing the weekly shop, nothing to do with the 17 tubes of 'Little Teeth' toothpaste in my cupboard, I'm sure. But that left me free to play Minecraft and now that I have been banned from a server for griefing, I felt more community-minded and rescued a newbie from some kind of rock dungeon that was hopelessly unqualified to enter.

If you're only Level 4 or similar, the Zombies will soon knock your block off hoho, and I saw this player in distress and totally chopped all the Zombies and he gave me some emeralds to say thanks and we Skyped for a bit.

Bud made me distribute breadcrumbs to unemployed local birds and I stalked them through the park and successfully targeted many starlings and blackbirds and other wingèd denizens. On the way back, raucous Pompey supporters waved beer bottles and their feet at us from passing cabs and it was not until Bud got back from his run we found out that the Champions Cup had been shown off to the fans on the seafront with parades and live bands and we'd missed it.

Jof promised me Despicable Me 3 at the cinema but it had finished: all the swimming pools were doing water polo so there was no playtime anywhere and we were foiled.

So she said let's go to the seafront now we've missed all the action and we played Pirate Golf on the newly resurfaced course. Even the skeletons have had some life breathed back into them, the cannons and balls repainted, and it's all looking much better. After an ice cream we tackled the beach and arcades and soon I will go back and do the walk through-the-sky thing.

SATs (11+) is next week. I do not fear them. But I am nervous about what part I'll be given in the Lion King. Even as I went to bed, the Pompies were still singing lustily from the pub garden.

May the Fayre be With You 2017

2017-05-01T21:43:00.000+01:00

Today I was up last: because I am nothing if not unpredictable. The person that was up first was the naughty traffic warden, who put the blue screen of death on half a dozen cars outside the shops near our house, including the JofMobile. There's £25 wasted into the bulging City Council coffers.

It's still the long Bank Holiday weekend so naturally the squally rainstorms are still going strong, as is the May Fayre at the big church in Fratton. I have been up the tower thrice, and to Fayres or other events many times, including silent bell-ringing with the Scouts. This particular Fayre has a beer tent and laser-death, making it an absolute must for us, Johnny (our oldest Puddle-friend) has been going to this event since he was 8 weeks old and has never stopped.

So, Jof was kind enough to give us a lift. We were all stiff getting out of bed, due to running, cycling, or Minecrafting, depending. But as a family, we made the move and us chaps got to the church by 1120. Everything in life is a balance. Do you arrive early, only to spend all of your money on the raffles and pot plants that you then have to carry around all day? Or do you carefully bide your time and wait for the late offers, only to fall foul of 7 pints of slow-down medicine from the beer tent?

We have some experience of this event and have come to a sensible compromise. We arrive early and check out every stall and activity. We might also buy a few items. Then, I spend the first of the real money on one or more activities before the rest of the team get there, and let the day happen.

As we get older, the things that are important to us change. We met the stalwart members of the 29th Scout Group, with associated Explorer section, and had a chat. We met supermodel 'Pops', representing the Kings Theatre Youth Drama Section, where I will spend at least 1 week this summer, like the last 2 years. Then we met 'Flick', our local MP and said thanks for writing a personal letter to our Lego League team for winning the Regionals. And crazily, we met 'Gerald', former Council Leader and the man who awarded me my Bronze Chief Scout Badge.

And I bought some Minecraft characters and Fudge Slices and really wanted the Lupins and cacti and honeysuckle but we don't have a proper garden currently so they'll have to wait.

So once we'd done our initial circuit I chose the Fun-Bus-Of-Doom like the last 7 years and the rules are to only have 2 circuits but spend as much time as you like and I stayed on there for an hour.

That's when School Enemy/Friend 'Okely Dokely' and his step-brother 'Luke' arrived and we spent another aeon bossing it over the younger kids of Fratton.

Then Ben and the JBs arrived and we went right back onto the Bus of Doom and they'd found a new type of bouncy castle where you have to throw a basketball into the thoroughly inaccessible net while being attached to a waist-anchored spring and it was absolutely impossible but very funny.

Johnny was far too old for this lark and so was I until we saw Ben and Robert failing admirably and we both had a damn good go and won a balloon each.

As we get older, priorities change. Once, horses were a novelty and we were prepared to spend some considerable time in the queue to sit on a bored quadruped and wander aimlessly up and down the far corner of the churchyard for 3 minutes on an ambling manure-producer.

This time, we didn't. We technically voted down the option to shoot each other with lasers. We may now be disparate entities with our own isolated personalities, and that includes the JBs, who are in fact brothers. But when the Great Greek Plate-Smashing Extravaganza became available, we all reverted to type and gathered as a 5-man team (Erin is an honorary bloke for the purposes thereof). And we bought (with assistance) 11 wooden throwing-balls each in a personal bucket with a free small French doll and we chucked our balls with anger and vengeance and smashed many plates and plant pots and dishes. But we made the man fill up the plate-shelves first, because we deserve.

Later we disembowelled, exsanguinated, de-fluffed and gutted our French dollies, because deep down we are all vicious serial killers, and chased each other with pistols and crossbows and swords and shotguns in the green patch opposite the church where we witnessed a Pagan Wedding a few years ago. The weather never quite stormed so we travelled to the Rose-In-June Pub (the one with the long garden, right by the railway and the now-defunct Kingston Life Prison) and I suffered the huffy consequences of not having lunch and got a bit miffed, even though crisps were available.

Luckily, home was only a 17-minute strumble away and Jof made it all better with pasta and happiness.

And because priorities change as you get older, the format of this blog will change to a weekly post, because I might not want to detail each changing emotion about those around me, and sometimes it's just 'Went to school' and sometimes not.

Griefing, and Being Unfayre

2017-04-30T22:21:00.000+01:00

I was up first. Not by much, but then I'm only a trainee teenager. Today is the middle day of the bank holiday weekend and as such, was full of rain and wind.

This predictably coincided with the fayre down on Castle Field (right next to the castle built personally by Henery the 8th I am I am) with the rides and the dog show and the heavy horse parade which is always really whiffy and we went there last year. And there was another fayre down by the big war memorial on the seafront, with the really tall rides and the ghost train and the hook-a-duck and the shoot-a-duck etc. And because of the freezing gales with sideways rain, there were only 37 people at both fayres, and they were all in the beer tent. I could see this coming and elected to spend the entire day griefing people on Minecraft, with only limited breaks for cake. I wandered from village to village, pillaging and stealing any items left by other players in unlocked booty chests. This is griefing, although I really only steal stuff, rather than demolishing buildings and wiping poo up the walls. OK, so I killed a few dogs and all the villagers, but my numerous booty-chests are very full, and all locked. It was only later I discovered I'd been banned from the server for griefing. Unfayre!

Escape Plan

2017-04-29T22:30:00.000+01:00

Actually up at a sensible time and was force-fed scrambled eggs and bacon on toast, somebody has to do it.

Yesterday I brought home dreadfully important missives about sex education and the uniform list for my new school. This brings home the reality of change, it's no longer just something that will happen in the misty future. So I agreed to walk the route to see how long the daily commute will take: I predicted 30 minutes and Bud predicted 12.

Now, you can't just do one journey for one thing, you have to make a circuit that completes several tasks. My favourite action hero is of course The Right Reverend Arnoldius Schwarzenegger and I intend to have a wake for him the day he finally benches his last press.

So I was just scrolling through 'Best Arnie Movies' etc on Youtube when 'Escape Plan' came up, also starring another favourite, Sly Stallone. So we visited 3 charity shops to try and find it. It was supposed to be 5, but due to advanced urban decay, even the charity shops are closing: Age Concern and Barnardo's are no more.

We walked home via the churchyard of the tower on my title page, above this post. And I said, when is the next May Beer Fayre here, because I can play laser-death with Ben and the JBs again. It's in 2 days, the beer tent is already up. Later, Bud visited a further 14 charity shops (would have been 15, but Aladdin's Cave has died) and came up blank so we bought Escape Plan on ebay for £2.15. Still, at least we made the effort.

Film night (after Minecraft afternoon - Minecrafternoon) was Conan the Barbarian (1982) with decent music and an early appearance by Sven, Killians' bodyguard from the Running Man and Voice of Darth Vader. When James Earl Jones and Madge Sinclair played King and Queen Jaffe Joffe in 'Coming to America', who knew they'd be back together playing Mufasa + Wife in The Lion King. Time to walk to school: 15 1/2 minutes.

After her 3-hour haircut, Jof made the effort to make supper in plant pots and tin mugs and the bottom-batting boards straight out of 'Animal House', and it was lovely. Please sir, can I have another?

Balconi

2017-04-28T23:00:00.000+01:00

Hurrah for the Friday before the long weekend! Today, the teachers must have been in a good mood for some reason and we were allowed to have our PE lesson in the park.

OK, so it was a PE lesson so we still had to learn, rather than just run around and tread in dog poo and climb trees and play manhunt in the desolate wastelands of the municipal recreation ground and write rude words on peoples' gates and yeah whatever.

So we played Rounders and I got a Home Run and we played cricket and also had to do some athletics because the House Athletics-A-Thon is coming soon and we can't all have 'Fridge' Frazer on our team so we have to do stuff for ourselves.

And I took the Mother-Of-All-Handouts home which included the Notice-Of-Sex-Education and the uniform list for my secondary school, so quite large stuff actually, talk about pressure when you're only 11. Mostly I was intent on collecting my Daily Prize on the Minecraft Server but made time to meet a new chocolate bar Bud brought home from a [nice Iranian man who owns a late-night Kebab Shop] at his work.

This chocolate item is called Choco & Latte (Soffice merenda farcita al latte e con gocce di cioccolato extra) and is lovingly contained in a brown plastic wrapping like all the best surprises in the world. But as a Neophobe, I fear new items and tried it sparingly. Turned out, it was basically Swiss Roll, just unrolled and presented in flat rectangular format (as if legitimate businessmen had bribed the council to look the other way when they employed cheap foreign labour and stole all the cement) with 2 sturdy chocolate foamy sponge cake outer boundaries and a soft internal creamy lipid bilayer, rather good in fact. But Ye shall know it from its Italian makers - Balconi. Luckily it was balcony-shaped.

Misappropriation of Pig Eggs

2017-04-27T22:00:00.000+01:00

School is becoming one long drag towards the SATs (11+) exams. Due to this paucity of detail and some other factors, this blog will change format shortly. I did do my acting show'n'tell with my script and several pictures on the overhead.

But afterwards I was on this Minecraft server, right, and I opened some of the chests provided for people to store their winnings, and some weren't empty. Or locked.

So I acquired 2 chest-fuls of assorted goodies for no outlay apart from some effort. And like a true Pikey, anonymously auctioned off the Pig Egg-Spawners which you need to build a Pig Farm and fraudulently obtained about 13 grand from my nefarious activities, hooray.

Pif and The Blob

2017-04-26T22:00:00.000+01:00

Today we played a new game in ICT which is about coding. You control a blobby thing which moves around in a malleable environment and our task is to make our blob move erratically, as if running away. Then we have to spawn another blob and make it chase the first blob. And when Hunting Blob catches Evading Blob, they swap roles. Hide'n'seek sounds easy, but you try and code it.

And we discussed the pronunciation and meanings of the Swahili names in the Lion King as part of our African project. But my pick of the days' events was the re-ordering of our ICT, PE and French classes into P.I.F. May not seem much to you, but having French at the end made all the difference. All I need now is for French to be annexed by German, or similar.

And Grandad phoned to discuss the results of his graph-based homework. Even over the phone, he soon spotted that I'd misunderstood the equation and plotted an incorrect graph. I did it again. Talk about learning to read the question ...

Non-Linear Relationships

2017-04-25T22:00:00.000+01:00

After school, I met Jof and went for a haircut, for I have become a hippy with a blurred cranial outline and sideburns. Every time I go there, Bud tells me I can choose my own style and many styles are available etc. Once I tried one, but I didn't like it, and have stuck with good old Grade 2 since. So I chose wisely (or simply, it's easy to wash and dry) but somehow I was talked at by the ladies around me until I ended up with a Grade 8 on top, 4 sides, 2 neck.

While being gently nudged into something I hadn't planned is a blatant infringement (aha) of my inhuman rights, there may come a time quite soon when styles and appearance matter more, so why not get some practise in.

Last time Grandad and I met, he taught me more about graphs and had me work out a matrix of Y values where Y = 2X + 1. Then I plotted the co-ordinates on graph paper and Lo, the relationship was linear. And I learned about axes, quadrants and the origin. Not my origin, that's biology.

Today I did my G-Dad homework which was of course to fill the matrix (not Schwarzenegger in Commando this time) for the equation Y = 4 - X and plot the graph. It was also linear but crossed the axes in different places and strode off to +/- infinity at a different angle. Jof didn't know what he was on about, but I worked it out anyway.

Manhunt

2017-04-24T22:01:00.000+01:00

School. Everybody's got to do it. So we had tests with Lego bricks as the reward for each correct answer with special blocks such as doors for 2-markers or 3-markers. It was still a test, however you dress it up.

And we got forewarning of a topic project - The Lion King. I have, of course, met the Lion King before, both on screen and onstage.

We are invited to audition for roles of varying sizes and I'm hungry for lines - I want to be the Line King, aha.

So I was very happy right up until I discovered that my doorkey was missing. No, I didn't check my bag this morning, not my job.

Clearly I have only 1 man to blame for this and sent 2 angry texts and 2 missed calls and then Bensmum picked us up and took us to Jabba the Beach Hutt where I had cheesy chips and we played Manhunt in the forest of unforgiveness and the toilets are miles away and I had lots of retribution to think about.

Yes, it does look like the swan is sitting on a bench. And then Bud picked me up and had found the keys in Jof's second handbag and all was forgiven and I went to Scouts. We played shooting-each-other-with-lava-balls and 2 Chief Scout Gold Award badges (the one I want) were handed out. I got the Scouts Entertainer badge for doing the 50 hours or so it took to complete the Wind in the Willows.