Category: childhood
My Best Film – Ever
I was 13, staying at Granny's house in Springfield Road, St Leonards-on-Sea. I lived on the Isle of Wight, but sometimes went there in the Christmas holidays. It was a rainy evening when I went to see the film, always on my own - I had no friends there.
A Brush With The Past
I've just finished my first attempt at watercolours since 1958. From the age of 12, I went to King James I School, in Newport, Isle of Wight. It was built as a grammar school in 1613, with some latter additions to accommodate up to 120 boys. Our art master was Mr Bell, a strict disciplinarian.… Continue reading A Brush With The Past
Revelations
Got out of bed this morning telling myself there's a close connection between sex and God. On reflection, love has to be in the equation: Love + sex = God This is surely why religion smiles on marriage but not one-night stands. As for homosexual relations, every religion so far as I know has frowned… Continue reading Revelations
“Thank You NHS”
I went up to the hospital for a blood test and took these snaps of the approach road. They've been painted here for more than a year, and reflect a massive manifestation of affection for our National Health Service since the pandemic hit us. At various points it has drastically overloaded its workers at all… Continue reading “Thank You NHS”
George Santayana
I came across his name when I was 17, but since then I've never seen it again till now: in the same book I borrowed, back in 1959. Despite extensive reading in the spheres of philosophy and religion since then, I've never come the name since, except in the book I borrowed then. I was… Continue reading George Santayana
Housewifery
HOUSEWIFERY is the efficient running of a house, and embraces problems of widely different natures. It includes the problem of running the house economically, seeing that the money available is spent to the best purpose. It includes keeping the house clean, for cleanliness and hygiene are the basis of healthy living. It includes a knowledge… Continue reading Housewifery
Face-to-Face
The ghost of Christine Keeler is returning to public view, in the form of a TV series now on BBC, and a forthcoming exhibition in London, which I heard about through Natalie D'Arbeloff's blog, in which she says Christine Keeler was, in that story, simultaneously absolutely powerless and absolutely powerful. She was neither victim nor… Continue reading Face-to-Face
Life-story part 2
I looked again at this post today, it's not good enough, nobody will follow its intricacies, & nobody but I will care. Will try to make it more readable. Consider it as under refurbishment. "My father died in the war," I used to say, "so I never met him." It wasn't true but I wasn't… Continue reading Life-story part 2
Life-story, part 1
I want to tell the story of my entire life up to the present: the bare-bones series of events, with no fanciful embroidery. Let it be like a series of chess moves without the expert commentary. Let it be like a dispassionate ship's log. Let the facts tell their own story. As far as possible,… Continue reading Life-story, part 1
When the Past Haunts the Night
Lighten our darkness, we beseech thee, O Lord; and by thy great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night ... I find myself surprised to discover that the boarding school* I was so glad to leave in 1954 is actually still open for business, run by the same headmaster and his… Continue reading When the Past Haunts the Night
How to quell terrorists
Disclaimer: Vincent does not know how to quell terrorists, religious or Communist, and has no opinion on any methods for doing so, past, present or future. My title is deliberately provocative and refers to methods used in 1954 in Malaya. When Burr Deming, in "Fair and Unbalanced" (see Pingback at bottom of comments below), says… Continue reading How to quell terrorists
Intelligent Design
I’m sure there must be various ways to introduce the elements of science in schools, some good and some bad. Let the reader judge. Aged 9, I was excited by the prospect of Science lessons. We started by proving the existence of air, a project which seemed disappointingly trivial and uninteresting. We thought we knew… Continue reading Intelligent Design
On fresh air alone
If you want to go somewhere and enjoy an undisturbed smoke I suggest the Nineteen-Fifties. If you were actually around at the time, it’s no problem—wings of memory will take you and your membership remains free for life. Otherwise you need to be escorted as a guest. I’ll do my best to take you to… Continue reading On fresh air alone
The Call to Service
(being the third of a trilogy on “Religion and Violence”, a theme covered in Karen Armstrong’s latest book, Fields of Blood) Background What I learned about religion in childhood came almost entirely from school. The single exception was a phase when my invalid Granny would take me through a series of booklets from the Bible… Continue reading The Call to Service
The printing-factory
I wonder why, out of the mass of all we forget, some inconsequential things stick in our minds. Perhaps they chime with our destiny, that elusive future no one can see till it arrives. And when it does, perhaps something from our rag-bag of memories may “ring a bell”, as if it had been foreshadowed.… Continue reading The printing-factory
At sixteen
With contemporaries: I’m at far right Here is the text of the essay I referred to in my last, as written in 1958. I don’t suppose it is intrinsically entertaining. To lighten it I’ve embedded some group photos in which my face may be seen, and an aerial shot of the place, Swainston Manor, which… Continue reading At sixteen
Me and the Little Rock Nine
My Headmaster’s great vision Now that my birthday’s out of the way—it’s become a family event, this year bigger than last—the most exciting thing going on in my life is Winter’s retreat and Spring’s approach: the great drama of the seasons. I like it when nothing more than that is happening, for then I can… Continue reading Me and the Little Rock Nine
Books
I haven’t been writing because I’ve been reading so much. One book leads to another and the Kindle Reader has a lot to answer for. Snuggled in bed late at night, cradling the thing in its handsome leather case and its own light just bright enough to illuminate the page of black and white e-inks,… Continue reading Books
Reason to Celebrate
Today I celebrate a milestone. It is exactly fifty years since I reached the age of 19, a special number for many reasons, and the last year of one’s teens. This morning I was given a mug bearing the words, “Today is all about YOU ... and there couldn’t be a better reason to celebrate!”… Continue reading Reason to Celebrate
The Old Testament
I last read The First Book of Samuel fifty-eight years ago, long enough not to by blinded by the reflective glare of familiarity. It starts off with a simple tale which arouses interest and sympathy. A man has two wives. One has borne children, but the other is barren. Her name is Hannah and he… Continue reading The Old Testament
The boy Samuel
One doesn’t just read the Bible. One does so within a context. It’s very plain to me that I would not be undertaking it now, except as a process of retracing my steps: to revisit the ten-year-old Vincent and see through his eyes. It helps me see what I am now, and also how the… Continue reading The boy Samuel
On reading the Bible
When I read, I like to make an orgy of it, especially on a rainy winter’s day, curled up in my armchair in front of the glowing embers of a log fire. One book is not enough, I want to be surrounded by them, drawn into their world where time and space are condensed into… Continue reading On reading the Bible
A modest school reunion
I often “dwell in the past”. It’s a fabulous museum, where you can look at the same exhibits time and again, and discover new ones you hadn’t noticed before, and see the familiar ones from new angles. My fondness for this pastime owes a lot to my sense that I didn’t live my life fully… Continue reading A modest school reunion
Such is Life
The postman left a package which felt like a small book. Not expecting any such thing, I was delighted; then opened it, and was Deloitted. Deloitte Touche Tohmatsu is the current incarnation of a company I left in 1985, known then as Touche Ross & Co, Accountants. I was in their management consultancy, but now… Continue reading Such is Life
I am still me
“You don’t know what you think until you speak.” Which is why I blog. And then there are the extempore comments scattered across cyberspace, wanton and unremembered: pigeons loosed but never coming home to roost for they are not of the homing variety. Or they are seeds broadcast, which engender new life in many a… Continue reading I am still me
Mau-Mau and Me
I lie soaking up warmth. Around me, steam rises like incense. I marvel like a savage at this jar of Royal Jelly and Pure Honey Moisture-Rich Cream Bath. What attracts me is the glittery swirls, as if the gunk inside were gold-dust bound with egg-yolk. As the list of ingredients doesn’t mention gold, the sparkle… Continue reading Mau-Mau and Me
Dress code
In my last, I claimed that my long-standing writer’s block was over, and promised to continue my memoirs from where they left off last February at the age of fourteen. There has been plenty of scribbling since then but nothing fit to print. I wanted by some means to indicate “the story so far” so… Continue reading Dress code
Walking Alone
What makes us the way we are? What sets us off on our own unique path? Heedless of a fine drizzle, I set out on foot to West Vale, pondering on these questions. There is nothing like walking to set imagination and memory alive. On this afternoon of purposeless wayfaring, I saw my whole life… Continue reading Walking Alone
The constant spring
Sunday morning: I’ve taken my writing-book out to the backyard, where I can sit on this bench and be warmed like a lizard for the first time this year. Surely Spring has arrived! The yard is so tiny, the fences so high, that in winter the sun never reaches the ground: the best it can… Continue reading The constant spring
Cherrydown (3)
There’s still a ragbag of memories to share with you about the time I spent in that house. If they have any common theme, I suppose it is wonders and miracles. I’m not saying there actually were any miracles: just incomprehensible things. I mentioned in a previous post that my mother started to suffer from… Continue reading Cherrydown (3)
My true self
Paul had spoken of those who accept the received answers of their religion and find no calling to be seekers. Their satisfaction comes from being in the bosom of a congregation. Cool and detached, I had responded that I would not write about the hypothetical experiences of others, for I would not judge them or… Continue reading My true self
What is God?
Somewhere along the course of my life I became “spiritual”, or perhaps it would be better to say that I realized I could never be an atheist. Till possibly now ... In approaching this I must tread delicately. Let us not excite our brain-boxes with the wording of the “God-question”, not yet. Our brain is… Continue reading What is God?
Norfolk House 4: Vignettes
In “Nest of Dreams” I referred to awakening sexuality. A boy, especially if he has come into contact with no girls, doesn’t necessarily associate his burgeoning virility with those giggling, teasing creatures. It doesn’t surprise me that some take the other direction and stay that way. In my case, wet dreams had always been accompanied… Continue reading Norfolk House 4: Vignettes
The old telephones
One of the useful functions of retirement must surely be to relive one’s youth. In between comes a time of working-to-support-a-family-and-pay-a-mortgage, which can be irksome to the spirit. It’s easy to forget how hard it was to become adult: to find somewhere to live and pay a month’s rent in advance plus a month’s deposit… Continue reading The old telephones
Not doing and not writing
I haven't delivered on the promise made at the end of my last. I did try to start a memoir of life in the commune, but various technical problems presented themselves. I had difficulty with names. I couldn’t remember some; I didn’t want to use some because the emotion was too strong and telling felt… Continue reading Not doing and not writing
The school yard
Me; the bullied boy; Rasmussen That aerial photo of the school helped arouse many memories, which in my life seem to be fastened upon places more than upon people. In that respect, I am more of a cat than a dog. I’m more introverted, solitary, not made to hunt in packs and defer to the… Continue reading The school yard
King James I School
At the school there was a Scout Troop in addition to the Cadet Contingent. At some point in my bookish diversions I had read Baden-Powell’s Scouting for Boys and been seduced by it just like millions of others world-wide. The essence of this seductive power was contained in the bush-hat, the neckwear and the badge-adorned… Continue reading King James I School
I bear his name
I’m clearing things out and waiting to move to another house and it’s a jittery time for there are delays and dramas, so I cannot write anything coherent. On the other hand I can’t do anything practical till things clarify. Meanwhile I discovered this photo whilst gathering old papers together and deciding what to throw… Continue reading I bear his name
Some rare photos
This one is late ’50 or early ’51. I'm in my stepfather's 1938 Hillman Hawk, my mother in the front passenger seat. My half-sister stands outside. The reason I'm not wearing glasses is that my short sight had not yet been identified. They noticed at school around this time and the headmaster's wife* drove me… Continue reading Some rare photos
New day-school
My most vivid memories are not of the first days at my new day-school, as you might think, but of coming back home each afternoon. I’d been five years at boarding-school and could not imagine a greater luxury. Let out at 3.45, I’d arrive home from a country-bus ride, ravenous. My mother let me cut… Continue reading New day-school
Back Home from Hospital
The pianola When I reached home from hospital I was pleased to find I had a proper bedroom. Well, it was my baby sister’s room. Her cot had been moved to my parents’ room and I was assigned a mattress on the floor but I luxuriated in its sparse furnishings and relative comfort. I soon… Continue reading Back Home from Hospital
Released from hospital
It takes effort to wrestle the facts from memory. I thought that it was summer when I came out of hospital, and that it had been a six-month stay. But I was discharged in time to see a long queue outside a tobacconist / candy store in Harold Place, Hastings. The public record confirms that… Continue reading Released from hospital
Early childhood
I suppose I was six months old in the photo but it might be good to start when I was four. Some of the biggest dramas of my life occurred then and in the next three years. So I have some vivid memories. In writing a memoir there’s a lot to be said for working… Continue reading Early childhood
The Deck of Cards
It was the glorious summer of 1960. I had just left school and the world was mine. I went to a seaside resort, Shanklin on the Isle of Wight. I knew nothing about women, girls I should say: I disregarded any over the age of 21. I got a job washing dishes at a hotel,… Continue reading The Deck of Cards
Why pain?
Since my last I have hardly ventured outside due to a pain in my thigh. It’s not swollen and there is no bruise, just a pain sometimes severe, as when walking or standing. I suppose a muscle got pulled on Friday when I went up to that mysterious US base. Each day since recovering from… Continue reading Why pain?
Christmas Past
Yes, time can be a spiral, as Cream pointed out in her comment on my last. But it can seem like a circle of recurrence too, as the season evokes emotions long past. I’ve been wanting to write of life’s pathos for weeks now, but today it caught up with me, with an inescapable twisting… Continue reading Christmas Past
a wayfarer’s notes 