Tuesday

National Emergency Services Museum in Sheffield

On Tuesday of this week the weather was as  changeable as meteorologists had promised. Showers and sunshine. I decided to head back to The National Emergency Services Museum that we had visited with the grandchildren a month ago. The ticket was still valid and without the little ones  I would be able to take it all in. I even remembered a torch (American: flashlight) so that I could read display boards in  shadowy corners of the museum.

I spent two hours in there and then in the museum shop I encountered a typical meist. She was, she said, a retired teacher and as a regular museum volunteer she pretty much ran the shop. I was looking for little gifts for Phoebe and Margot but the meist woman had other ideas. Me, me, me, my son, my work, my daughter, me, me, me - what I think about this, what I think about that. AAAAARRRGGHHH!

I just wanted to say, "Shut the f*** up! I want to have a look round the shop!" Fortunately, after about ten minutes of the one-sided torture, a young father appeared with his little girl and the meist spotlight turned upon him. I grabbed a small police notebook for Phoebe and a little replica lifeboat that Margot could sail in her bath and then I scarpered before that silver-haired torturer could claw me again. 

World War II gas mask in The National Emergency Services Museum

By the way, it turned out she was never a teacher after all. She was a teaching assistant for a mere four years before she retired and yet that didn't stop her from spouting off about schools and education to a trapped listener who had been an actual teacher for thirty seven years - fifteen of those years as a hardworking Head of English. She did not want to know as this would have stalled her gushing meist narrative.

After leaving. Up through Paradise Square, across Campo Lane and along St James's Row, past the cathedral. I crossed High Street and cut through George Street before catching a Number 88 bus home.

It had been a good way to spend my Tuesday afternoon. I learnt more about the Victorian criminal Charles Peace who shot a man dead just fifty yards from this keyboard. Apparently, he is even referred to in The Beatles' 1964 film, "A Hard Day's Night". Late Victorians viewed him  as a kind of celebrity but he killed a young policeman in  Manchester and an outraged husband here in Banner Cross. Peace was no hero - far from it. Here's his actual mugshot from the 1870s...