Offing

 

It took me a month to read "Entangled Life" by Merlin Sheldrake but "The Offing" by Benjamin Myers only took a week. The novel flowed and made me hungry to read on. The language was rich and fulsome - almost as if Myers was moulding clay or enjoying a good meal.

The only other book by Myers I had read was "The Gallows Pole", recommended here in the blogosphere by Thelma from "North Stoke". That was a great read. I reviewed it here. So when Shirley told me that her reading group would be talking about "The Offing", I asked her to pass the book on to me when she was done with it.

I was not disappointed. The novel tells the story of a young coal miner's son called Robert Appleyard who, just after World War II leaves his home in County Durham to have adventures that will keep him away from the pit that is meant to be his destiny.

Near Robin Hood's Bay on the coast of North Yorkshire he encounters a rebellious and intellectual older woman called Dulcie Piper. It is a meeting that will change his life.

Well maybe I should not say much more because I do not wish to be accused of creating spoilers but I will say something about the title. An "offing" is described as “the distant stretch of sea where sky and water merge”. It's like a place that blurs boundaries.

And here's a typical sample of Benjamin Myers's writing:

“At times like this, or when hoeing soil or sanding wood, or just sitting on a bench with my face turned to the sun, I appeared to slip out of the moment so entirely - or, conversely, perhaps was so deeply immersed in the here and now - that I forgot who I was. The slate of self was wiped.”

You might say that "The Offing" is a coming of age novel and it illustrates the point that the course of someone's life can turn on a pinhead - a chance encounter, being in a particular place at a particular time. That's life. For most people, there's a randomness about the choices we make at junctions.

Apropos of almost nothing, I just want end by saying to Meike in Ludwigsburg that an important but never seen character in "The Offing" was German.

Robin Hood's Bay, North Yorkshire

Quiztime

My, how sand flows through the hour glass! Many days have passed since the last exciting edition of "Quiztime". Time for another one I think and for today I had the bright idea of focusing upon words and their definitions etc.. As usual, the answers will be given in the comments section.  Good luck! (You'll need it... tee-hee).

⦿

1. What is a "rapscallion"?

(a) a thin onion often chopped and added to salads  

(b) a kind of pirate ship with two sails

(c) a mischievous or roguish young man 

(d) a copper kitchen vessel with holes in the bottom

2. What is the Latin term for common ivy?

(a) Ursus arctos horribilis (b) Hedera helix 

 (c) Helianthus annuus (d) Ilex aquifolium

3. What does the Russian word "Glasnost" literally mean?

(a) openness  (b) security  (c) hatred (d) it'a a kind of copper samovar

4. What does the word "butt" mean? (Trick question 😄!)

(a) slang term for a human backside

(b) the thicker or blunt end of something

(c) a large cask for beer or wine

(d) to push with the head

5. In Australian slang, what does the word "drongo" mean?

(a) Aboriginal rock mural  

(b) another way of saying, "That's wrong mate!"  

(c) small marsupial only found in Western Australia 

(d) a fool, idiot

6. "phantasmagoria" is a lovely sounding word but what does it mean?

(a) a mental condition akin to  schizophrenia

(b) when an orchestra reaches its crescendo during a symphony

(c)  a shifting, dream-like series of illusions

(d) it describes a location that is allegedly haunted

7. "prattle",  "company" and "pandemonium"  are all collective nouns but which particular bird species  do the terms relate to?

(a) pigeon (b) penguin (c) sparrow (d) parrot

8. If someone is said to be "ostentatious"what is meant by that?

(a) well-educated, knowledgeable  (b) prone to showy displays 

(c) suffering from bone degeneration (d) cunning or sly

9. From which language is the English word "bungalow" derived?

(a)  Hindi (b) Russian  (c)  Swahili (d) Ancient Greek

10.  What is a "costermonger"?

(a) a banker or moneylender

 (b) a travelling minstrel

(c) someone who sells "costers" (i.e. fish)

(d) someone who sells fruit and vegetables

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That's all folks! How did you do?

Balls

 

Balls? I thought that might get your attention for some reason. 

Above that's one kind of fungi known as earthballs and below that's another kind of fungi called  puffballs. I googled images of them sliced open to see how they might compare with the "thing" I shared with you on Saturday night.

I am still no closer to coming up with an airtight explanation. If I had spare banknotes aplenty I might send the curious item off somewhere for chemical analysis.

I should emphasise how light the item is and when you squeeze its surface it is springy - like a sponge. It has no odour and since I sliced it open its inner whiteness has not changed. Just as a reminder, here's the dissected image that I posted on Saturday:-

Maybe it is some kind of sponge for cosmetics or their removal but no amount of googling revealed anything similar.

Ah well, thanks for all the helpful suggestions but  maybe I will never know.

I ended  yesterday's blogpost with this odd line that had Meike in Germany puzzled: "Mama done told me there'd be days like this". It referenced a song that played in my head before I pressed the "Publish" button. First recorded in 1994, that song is "Days Like This" by Van Morrison and for your elucidation and entertainment, here it is:- 

Happy

Detail of Shirley's Women's Institute tree in the cathedral

Please do not worry about me but for the second time in a week, I visited Sheffield Cathedral yesterday afternoon. There is absolutely no chance that I will be converted to Christianity as my belief in atheism is rock solid. All that stuff about the baby Jesus, wise men and  shepherds is a lovely legend that is part of our western culture but in the final analysis it is pure hogwash. Sorry to disappoint you if you had been taken in by the mythology.

I have always loved to sing Christmas carols and that is why I was at the cathedral. I had a front row seat and a song sheet. Shirley was volunteering at the "Age Concern" shop. I was set fair and from my unholy mouth burst forth the following very familiar carols:"O Come All Ye Faithful", "Away In A Manger", "The Twelve Days of Christmas",  "While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks By Night", "Hark The Herald Angels Sing" and "We Wish You a Merry Christmas".

Sheffield Town Hall clock tower and a massive Christmas tree

My singing voice was in fine fettle and perfectly in tune though I say so myselff. I probably overwhelmed the excellent choir of The Sheffield Chorale who were making a guest appearance and slightly frustratingly sang three extra carols  that did not require audience participation. Grudgingly, I must admit that their delivery was damned near perfect.

It was a joyous programme, interspersed with some of the boring stuff - like slices of white bread around pieces  of grilled sausage. You know what I mean - "The Lord's Prayer "  and biblical readings from Micah, Luke and Matthew: "On entering the  house, they saw  the child  with Mary the mother and they knelt down and paid their homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold,  frankincense  and myrrh."

Sorry folks - but there is no evidence that that happened.

After the service, I had a bowl of delicious carrot soup and a small wholemeal roll in the cathedral cafe before making my way home in the fading light. Past  the town hall, down The Moor then across the inner ring road to London Road and along Abbeydale Road before making a detour down Broadfield Road to take photos of the lion with electric eyes that I have passed several times in the last two months.

For whatever reason, I felt  really happy yesterday - at peace with the world - as I made my way home in the darkness via Carter Knowle Road, Struan Road, Jowitt Road  and  Bannerdale Road. It's a long slog up that hill. Colourful Christmas lights were twinkling in dozens of windows and I helped an anonymous old man with his shopping bags before  getting home to cook rump steaks. In short, I was fully alive, entirely alert and very comfortable in my own skin. Mama done  told me there'd be days like this.

Burger restaurant on London Road

Thing

 

Yesterday, I toddled up our garden to empty the caddy bin in which we collect vegetable peelings, used teabags and other compostable stuff. On the way back, something caught my eye sitting on the bark chipping mulch that covers a little border in front of a laurel bush.

At first, I thought it was either a stone or some kind of mushroom. Crouching down, I studied it for a few moments. When I finally decided to gently lift it, I expected that it would be secured to the earth with a stalk but there was no resistance and it was surprisingly light.

I brought it into the house and asked Shirley to come and have a look at it. She was as puzzled as I was. It weighed very little and had no aroma. How had it got into our garden if it was not growing there? Perhaps a fox had deposited it or a neighbourhood cat or a bird. It remained a mystery.

Next I took a sharp knife to it and with some difficulty managed to saw it in half.  The inside was dense and almost pure white. Shirley decided that it must be a sponge but I was not entirely convinced. I mean, I have never seen a sponge like that before and the shape of it was not entirely regular.

Natural and artificial sponges invariably have a more bubbly textured interior but this thing is uniformly dense.

I have tried googling its identity, searching for likely sponge culprits but to no avail. Maybe Frances or Stewart will know what it is when they come for their Sunday dinner tomorrow afternoon. Also, I guess there's the possibility that you, dear reader, will be able to lead me to a definitive solution.

Zeppelin

Stealthily and slowly the zeppelin moved across that summer sky, sometimes appearing briefly and largely unnoticed in the gaps between evening clouds. In those days, military airship navigation was a rather crude process and the given targets were therefore quite general. It was August 9th 1915 and The Great War had, like my father, just passed its first birthday. The huge L9 aircraft, manufactured in Friedrichshafen, Germany was commanded by Kapitänleutnant Odo Loewe.   

Ahead was the little Yorkshire port town of Goole.  With its first few bombs, the enemy attempted to blow up Goole Railway Bridge where it crosses The River Ouse. They failed miserably before drifting on to the town itself.

Goole Railway Bridge on Wednesday

In the little terraced streets north east of the docks, citizens were getting ready for bed. No doubt some were mending shoes, ironing clothes, playing dominoes, reading books, eating supper, stoking fires or settling children. Goole had never been bombed before and the people were blissfully unprepared for what was about to happen.

In total, sixty bombs were dropped on the town that night. It was like winning a reverse lottery. Roofs and walls came down. Fires erupted. Screams were heard and in the neighbourhood of Aire Street and Bridge Street, it was as if hell had broken out. The zeppelin drifted serenely on to the docks where minimal damage was caused before turning back to The North Sea and Germany beyond. The last few bombs were dropped in fields near the village of Hotham in The East Riding.

Behind lay the innocent dead, dying and injured - victims of a war that they neither created nor understood. Isn't that characteristic of all wars? 

Those who died that night were: Sarah Acaster, 65; Sarah Ann Acaster, 34; Kezia Acaster, 32; Violet Stainton, 18; Hannah Goodall, 74; Alice Harrison, six; Florence Harrison, four; Margaret Selina Pratt, nine months; Agnes Pratt, 36; Alice Elizabeth Woodhall, three; Grace Woodhall, 31; Mary Carroll, 32; James Carroll, 26; Alice Carroll, four; Gladys Mary Carroll, three, and Alice Smith, 17.

As I was walking in and around Goole on Wednesday, I looped round the cemetery and saw this, though at that precise moment I had no idea what it was:-

It is a memorial to the unfortunates listed above. Here's a close-up:-

The second photo is from the Historic England website.

My morning research into this tragedy conjured up an evocative  letter dated August 12th 1915 and written by Mr West, a resident of Goole, to his daughter who was a student in Leeds at the time - training to be a teacher:-

Mr Gunnee carried girl out, all flesh of one leg torn away - next he fetched a young baby, but the sight finished him; he was done ... sick ... he went away ... to vomit. Had it been a man, he says he would not care. Next fell in Ouse Street (back) near T.K. Wilson's baker. Hole in wall, drive horse and car thro' - floors are all down in the cellar, furniture just a pile of ruin, pictures hang akimbo.

Let us pray especially for the children whose lives had only just begun - Violet, Florence, Grace, Gladys, the four Alices and last but not least Baby Margaret. It goes without saying that they did not deserve to die that night.

As for Kapitänleutnant Odo Loewe, six months later in January 1916, he was commanding another zeppelin - the L19. It had to be ditched in the middle of The North Sea but all of the crew survived in a life raft.  Their signal flares were spotted by a passing  Grimsby fishing trawler but when the skipper of that boat, William Martin, realised that all of those seeking rescue were German airmen, he refused to pick them up, fearing they might take over his vessel. Subsequently, all sixteen, including  Loewe,  drowned. Perhaps it was predestined that that number precisely matched the tally of death in Goole.

Goole

Terraced houses on Pasture Road, Goole

Yesterday, I boarded a train bound for the town of Goole. It's forty three miles from here. I first blogged about Goole back in April 2022. By the way, it's where my brother Robin was born back in 1951 when my family lived in the nearby village of Barmby-on-the-Marsh.

Unlike Sheffield which is a very hilly city, Goole is as flat as a pancake. Round there you could walk for miles at exactly the same small height above sea level - just over three feet. In fact, I went to Goole for a long walk that took me to the village of Hook and then along the bend of the mighty Yorkshire Ouse.

By The River Ouse, heading back into Goole

Goole has a population of around 20,000 people  and it is Britain's biggest inland port. The town is situated some fifty miles from the mouth of The River Humber and though really big ships or container vessels cannot use the port, it is perfect for medium sized coasters and barges. That is really the reason why the modern town exists at all.

Round the back of St Mary the Virgin parish church in Hook (below), I came across a lone woman with a backpack and walking boots sitting in the open porch enjoying some rays of sunshine in what she called a "moment of reverie" We conversed politely for a little while.

Back in Goole itself, I visited the little town museum above the library before catching the 15.48 train home. The daylight was already fading in these northerly latitudes and by the time I disembarked at Sheffield Midland Station, the veil of inky darkness had already descended. It's only ten days to the winter solstice.

The clock tower in Goole's fading afternoon light

Before catching the 81 bus back to our neighbourhood, I made a special detour to The Moor - one of the city's main shopping streets - just to see the Christmas lights. It had been another grand day out with welcome exercise in the sunshine.