Like the Clappers

My own personal experience of bell ringing, proper stuff in a church tower with one of those stripy, plush ropes and a fusty damp atmosphere, is pretty limited.

I was pursuing a minimum standard necessary to get an achievement badge in Scouts. That was back in the 1970's, an era well before the spread of Health and Safety into well, everything.

In a quick glance at the range of badges offered by Scouting currently I could not find any reference to bell ringing. I can probably guess why- the risk assessment and insurance premiums would be too much to cope with by most local Scout Troops.

Back then it was a case of Me and a few other from my scout group just turning up for a regular bell ringing practice session at the ancient and historic Anglican Church in our town . We placed out lives, limbs and general well being in the hands of the regular campanologists, men and women of the Parish with, or so it appeared to me, an average age of about 80 years.

My perception of bell ringing was based mostly on TV and film comedy sketches of flying monks, dangling clergy and demonic and demented steeple dwellers or cartoons in my weekly Beano or Dandy with hazardous but hilarious capers by my favourite characters involving bats in the belfry and other mishaps.

I was therefore very cautious, well in fact more like downright petrified about what could happen in a worst case scenario in my introduction to the activity.

I need not have worried. Our hosts as tutors were the nicest people you could expect to find up a steeple on a weekday evening. They were kind, patient and very tolerant of our initial giggling and whispering before we came to realise that it was serious business requiring a lot of concentration and a surprising level of athleticism.

I did, for two hours per week over the next six weeks, progress a bit or at least enough to get the merit badge and it took pride of place on one arm of my green patrol uniform between awards for cooking and cycling.

One benefit from my brief skirmish with bell ringing and that my family remarked about was an improvement in my upper body strength, breathing and overall fitness. I of course put this down to my youthfulness and tendency to run frantically everywhere rather than from the cumulative 12 hours of pulling on a rope.

It now appears that the promotion of Bell ringing for fitness is being used by churches nationwide to attract new enthusiasts with one strap line being  "You've heard of workouts with dumbbells, now try church bells".

Everyone knows that bells are amongst the largest and loudest instruments in the world but many may not have realised that they are also the perfect way to get gentle physical exercise and increase active living for people who are looking for alternatives to conventional sport. Sport! Yes, it appears that campanologists are pressing for their hobby/pastime to be recognised as a sport on the basis that it is a physical activity and particularly as many other pursuits of a similar low key have been elevated to a sporting status such as angling and archery.

In some respects I can see why bell ringing may have a case. Whilst bells can weigh up to 4,500kg most are much lighter and are rung using mainly technique rather than strength. The motion required for bell ringing often helps many people to stay active longer and increase agility.

Professional trainers and health experts now recommend bell ringing to improve i) agility, ii)co-ordination, and reaction times iii) tone core abdominal muscles and glutes, iv) work biceps, quads and calves all with minimal force to develop muscle endurance .

There are over 4,000 sets of bells in England alone and lots bell ringers nationwide so plenty of opportunities to take part. Actual Research has backed up the campaign of the churches in confirming physical and lifestyle benefits. It was found that bell ringers could look forward to improved agility, co-ordination, reaction time and balance, plus improved muscle endurance and cardiovascular fitness. My octogenarian hosts were living proof of these attributes.

A study also identified that as a gentle and inherently sociable pastime, bell-ringing was an ideal ‘gateway’ to improved fitness and healthy living. Bell ringing requires you to think and use your memory, which is great for keeping the mind as well as the body active. Mastering the sport of bell-ringing is a skill that does require many months of dedicated practice to become an expert.

Personally I could not make out any of the peals or patterns of ringing however hard I tried. At that young age I obviously lacked the focus and concentration to appreciate the complex chiming patterns and alternating rhythmic sounds.

It is also necessary to get to the bells to ring them and this typically involves the climbing of a steep winding belfry staircase promoting a full-body cardiovascular work-out.

Those keen on more of an endurance type sporting activity should not discount bell ringing .Special occasions,such as national commemorations, festivals or the announcement of invasion by a hostile enemy can mean that some bell ringing performances last for over 3 hours.

All of these factors make for a convincing case for those looking to improve fitness to flock to their local bell tower and get to work. I can see only one downside and that is a heartfelt sympathy for those who live within hearing distance of those damn bells.

(source article;Bellringing.org)

Coastal Erosion.

I am very well qualified to provide an up to date report on the current state of the Holderness coastline, the fastest eroding in Europe.

My credentials are not academic, scientific or geographic.

I have not augured the boulder clay or carbon dated the glacial deposits.

I cannot profess to knowing the actual physical forces promoting the saturation and slump of the soil.

I have not sat in a precariously balanced clifftop chalet whilst a lifetimes collection of garden ornaments tumble into the North Sea to emerge millenia later as fine particles forming a new stretch of beach at Clacton.

My experience, well it is from parking up on a work day and falling asleep at, in turn, every one of the current cul de sac roadways terminating at the cliffline.

Only just today I revisited Ulrome, a wonderful spot just at the southern cusp of Bridlington Bay and with a sweeping eyeline view out to the Flamborough Head lighthouse. The keepers of the light must feel really smug on their chalk plug of a headland whilst their near neighbours and brethren towards Spurn Point struggle to retain a foothold in England.

The Ulrome resting place is fast diminishing. No expensive or extensive coastal defences are warranted unless you staunchly defend the right to see a plastic Walls Ice Cream flag stiffly flapping as a guarantee of a good British seaside holiday. The cafe owners at Ulrome have optimistically claimed the top of the cliff for a seating area for customers but have they not realised that it takes less and less visitors every day to reach full occupancy.

I suspect that on a very blustery and showery monday, today, it is more a time to re-arrange the stock than be run off your feet serving snacks.

The strength of the wind, in rocking the car gently made for a good power-nap.

I can also recommend the parking area and viewpoint at Mappleton for a restful break. This is a fairly recent venue occupying an elevated position above the massive imported granite rock reef which is intended to protect the strategic, as in the only, road, south of Hornsea.

It is amusing to keep half an eye and one ear open and alert to the comings and goings of visitors to the car park ,not for the sake of people watching but to avoid being blown up with the enthusiastic retrieval and display of corroded and unstable ordnance from the adjacent Cowden  Beach live firing range.

I remember that tuesdays in the 1980's was air attack day with coastal strafing by A10-Tank Buster aircraft. Having observed the pitifully poor aim and deployment of missiles and heavy rounds by the US Army Air Corps on such days I am not surprised on the wide availabilty of cold war memorabilia.

My favourite location for a snooze and peruse is Tunstall a bit further south.

This is a positively cosmopolitan and hectic environment with a large and well patronised static caravan park, facilities and a boat compound.

My late Father in law, George ran a cobble fishing boat out of Tunstall and I can certainly appreciate the attraction of the place.

The Holderness coast may be fast receding, some 3 miles and many rural hamlets have disappeared to the sea since the Doomsday Book, but it does have two dominant factors in abundance- a lot of sea and a very big sky.

I find these things very therapeutic and cannot help but drift off in their presence.

I am comforted by my calculation that if I park seventeen and a half  feet from the current precipice I have at least a full year of undisturbed sleep with no worries of being roughly deposited on the sandy beach below ,car and all.

Skyfall

Drones; For a brief moment in time they were associated with fun and recreation, well at least the compact, rechargeable types. The Gadget Shop and many other similar retailers stocked many sizes and styles and to fit all pocket money ranges.

The sight of a parent and offspring  out flying a drone has become commonplace and perhaps to the detriment of kicking a football, going on a bike ride and just taking a ramble. A nice innocent activity.

Unfortunately, most of our perceptions are based on the large unmanned aerial vehicles very much favoured by the military and which now  seek out and destroy targets, human and tactical giving drones, lets face it, a very sinister, politically sensitive and negative image indeed.

The hobby range of drones has been adapted and upscaled for practical day to day use in commercial sectors such a map making, aerial photography, movie making, in agronomy, archaeology, surveying, and by inspection engineers and asset managers. The Amazon Empire recently announced an intention to use drones to deliver parcels which may have been seen as a bit crazy but does serve as an indication that Corporations are thinking hard on the subject.

The increasing use of drones and by new entrants to the sector with little or no experience has led to the UK Civil Aviation Authority (CAA) imposing regulations.

Their approach to prevent incidents and accidents in airspace and minimise exposure to risk of those on the ground has been relatively low key showing a conscious attempt to strike a balance between business opportunity and public protection.

Over the last two years the number of UK based organisations Certified to operate drones has increased almost four fold and this could, with 10 or more approvals per week lead to around 3000 licenced operators by 2018.

The key document is the CAA Permission for Aerial Work or PfAW establishing operational limitations such as the form of flying activity, type of drones to be used and safety principles. Insurance is mandatory.

It is not a case of just getting the paperwork.

Pilots of drones must undergo the Certification process which can be offered by National Qualified Entities on behalf of the CAA. Those with a private pilots licence may have some exemption  having already shown the required competence in the theory modules of flying regulations and airspace considerations but possibly not in setting up a flying site, pre-site surveys and risk assessments.

All must undertake a practical flying test from initial planning through to actual in-air manouvres and show an ability to react to emergency situations. Rather like a UK driving licence there are categories of drone configuration and weight with eligibilty determined by the particular test taken.

There follows a two month period in which the pilot must submit an Operations Manual before attaining the PfAW.

By business use the majority of firms currently holding a PfAW are in aerial imagery for marketing, high end production video and inspection.

So what hardware is available for civilian drone applications?.

Unmanned Aerial Vehicles can be rotorcraft, usually four, six or eight engined or fixed wing and of around 20kg weight. Flight physics apply although launch can be by hand, bungee or on rails and if unable to be brought back to land under power then parachutes can be deployed.

Drones must have fail-safe features that will return them to their launch point even if the radio communication and control fails.

More drones in the sky inevitably means a higher risk of a near miss or incident even under the Regulations and training in place.

Current rules permit a pilot to operate a drone over a 500 metre radius and to a height of 120 metres but being visible at all times. A buffer zone of 50 metres is required from the launch site to people, cars and buildings unless specifically briefed of the fact. There is a prohibition on flying over populated areas but this is not practical given that a good proportion of the commercial applications are by definition in built up environments of villages, towns and cities. The CAA, again balancing public safety with enterprise can give permission to reduce the operational parameters in highly populated areas if the pilot can demonstrate an enhanced level of competency.

The design and durability of drones has been honed from quite modest gadget and toy origins and many are sophisticated and technologically complex.

Some models on the market can cost up to £20,000 and the payload from mounted equipment makes for quite a hefty piece of equipment hovering above our heads.

Incidents do happen in spite of the regime in place.

If you are undecided about the role of drones then just take a look at this bit of TV coverage from December 2014. The clock will show about 59.00 seconds. Concentrate.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-v78AZo7Gmo

I may start to wear a crash helmet even if popping down to the shops for some milk.

(Source; Craig Lippett article for Modus Magazine)

Rhubarb Rhubarb

My lack of success in growing rhubarb has always been a great disappointment to me.

The prized and prolific clump of rhubarb from my late Father in Laws back yard was, with reverence and respect, transported to our house as part of the legacy of the quiet but very wise and humorous man after his untimely departure.

I transplanted it in the most fertile part of the garden and in a spot which would receive the best and appropriate proportions of sunlight and rainfall . I had great expectations for the rhubarb to thrive and return to its huge productivity. It was not to be.

There was a brief flourish as the first nutrients from the clay soils seeped into the tender stems but the perfect nursery conditions for this rather exotic addition to our outlook from the distant kitchen window could not be achieved. The plant, which originated from Mongolia and Siberia, was genetically disposed to pretty harsh conditions but not those in our back garden.

I took this as being an affront to the memory of George. We would not, soon or ever, be celebrating his life to the piping hot aroma of a home grown rhubarb crumble or stewed with a rich, syrupy sweet sauce . As a child I would relish the treat of sliced, raw rhubarb stalks for dipping in a large, teeth rotting mound of Tate and Lyle caster sugar. Even that would remain a distant memory.

I sometimes lie awake in the early hours asking myself and my God what more I could have done to encourage the rhubarb to take root.

Apparently, my main problem was geographical in that I lived well outside of the Rhubarb Triangle- a 9 square mile area in West, and not East ,Yorkshire which once produced 90% of the world's supply of the stuff.

In my opinion they also cheated a bit in that the production process involved 'forced' cultivation methods. This practice was developed in the early 1800's. In addition to the cold, wet weather conditions which prevailed between Leeds, Bradford and Wakefield these same large, sprawling urban areas produced huge amounts of human and animal based waste. A fleet of wagons would, on a daily basis, haul the excrement or 'night soil' from the packed and stacked slums and well to do houses alike and take it into the surrounding countryside for use as natural fertiliser. Horse manure was also abundant and the blended material including discarded wool debris from the commercial mills was put to good use.

The first years of a rhubarb plant are tough. They are left out in the fields for a minimum of two to two and a half years without being harvested in order for the sunlight catalysed absorption of nutrients to take place. As the winter months approach at the end of such a cycle the roots are exposed to harsh frost before being carefully moved into large forcing sheds that fringe the growing fields. The sheds are kept completely darkened and in a heated environment, taking advantage of cheap coal from the Yorkshire Mines, the rhubarb stems are fooled into transforming the carbohydrate goodness into glucose which gives the distinctive bittersweet flavour.

The shed hot houses produce a very tender shoots under anaemic green yellow broad-leaves and in 2 foot lengths of textured, crimson delight.

If a Yorkshireman from the Triangle growing area offered an invitation to a sweetheart for a candlelit evening then she knew best to bring wellington boots and oilskins. The stalks were pulled in such artificial light as bright and strong exposure would halt growth. The crop would be fully harvested by the end of the long winter and early spring.

In the age of steam trains special Express Services would take the rhubarb to the Spitalfields and Covent Garden markets in London or for export to Europe. It took until 2010 for a group of producers from the Rhubarb Triangle to be awarded the Protected Designation of Origin for 'Yorkshire Forced Rhubarb'. The twelve farmers, as instigators behind the application to the EU,  represented a mere rump of those involved in the production process from the 1800's. The forcing method had originally included hundreds of growers, individual smallholders and market gardeners and with a proliferation of the often extensive covered acres in the heated timber sheds.

A combination of world, economic and consumer factors marked 1939 as the tipping point for rhubarb production in this way. The Ministry of Food saw the careful nurturing of the plants for up to two and a half years as a waste of valuable growing land and resources and the immature green field grown stalks were commandeered to be made into jam for rationing in the war years. Fixed pricing for wartime rhubarb saw a flourishing of Black Market business.  Increasing shortages of cheap coal on the doorstep of the Triangle led to a reliance on increasingly costly imported oil. The arrival after the war of a wider range of fruits relegated rhubarb from the perception and shopping baskets of the public. The coverage of the Triangle retracted accordingly from its zenith of 30 square miles to the current 9. Land, previously under the broad leaves of rhubarb, has been lost in large tracts to residential development across the West Yorkshire conurbation on a regular, creeping basis in the post war years.

The rhubarb industry does survive, just, in its natural geographic location and is celebrated for its cultural and economic heritage with a Festival and a Sculpture.

This is little comfort to me, however, following my miserable failings to nurture George's prized rhubarb in the East Yorkshire Rectangle that is supposed to be my productive vegetable plot.

(First written in 2013)

Hideaway Home

A sweeter, nicer octogenarian couple you could not have hoped to meet.

Silver Grey haired and a bit creaky on their pins but with minds as active and engaged as someone a quarter of their age. I had arranged the appointment to survey their property for a prospective buyer myself. We had hit it off well in the telephone conversation to agree a date and time for me to call. Exceptional manners and courtesy were apparently highly valued and I made a mental note to make sure that, on the day of my visit, my shoes would be well polished and I was groomed and tidy. We ended the phone call with pleasantries, a few points of humour and the prospect of copious cups of tea and lashings of sandwiches and cakes. In the run-up to the appointment I imagined the old couple preparing for my visit by refreshing the wc rim block, replenishing the lavender drawer liners, re-stocking the toilet rolls under the knitted doll covers, replacing the old and worn doylie covers on the dining table, relentlessly boiling up the antimacassars and activating a power sapping array of plug in air fresheners.

Their property, a bungalow, was in Skegness, not quite the Cannes of Lincolnshire but nevertheless a pleasant place to retire to. Wide windswept sandy beaches, wide open skies and on the fringes of some beautiful countryside glimpsed above the roofs of acre upon acre of static holiday caravans and the Butlins Holiday Camp. I speculated that the couple had taken up a hard earned retirement, perhaps 20 years before ,with a move from perhaps the sprawling and foreboding industrial cities of the English Midlands or emerging from the dark satanic mills of the South Yorkshire manufacturing and mining areas. I imagined their mutual excitement about a fresh start and the possibility of seasonal stays from their children , granchildren and family friends who would no doubt see a trip to the coast as a good excuse for a visit.

The bungalow was in a cul de sac of very, very similar looking properties. Brick and tiled exteriors, neat manicured lawns and borders to all and always a compact Japanese car on the driveways. I could see failing eyesite and early stages of senility amongst the residents as a potential source of confusion for pulling up outside and even entering the wrong property.

I was welcomed into their home like a long lost son. The couple had more than lived up to my speculations and imaginings. I made a point of subtly showing off my clean shoes and this was met by a favourable reception and an immediate sit down, slap up light tea. I made polite remarks about the nice intricate doylie's and that there must be a large fragrant field of lavender close by given the overpowering scent in the room. We traded condensed life-stories and I gracefully commented on their framed photos of what were, frankly, quite ugly and chubby grandkids. I was loathe to break up our cosy and intimate love-in but I had to remind myself that I was there to do a good thorough inspection for my client.

The outside of the bungalow was of conventional appearance and in well maintained order.

The inside of the bungalow was a completely different entity.

The first window I opened as a basic test of operation fell out of the frame and into the flower bed.

On tapping around the inner surface of the outer walls there was a distinct metallic resonance.

The floors were weak and springy.

In the roof space there was a strong theme of grey in large boarded sheets.

Between the grey sheets was a mass of tangled and distorted mesh.

My diagnosis; The bungalow was a bricked around chicken wire rendered former asbestos prefab.

I quizzed the couple on what they knew about the place as I was now very suspicious about their motivations in buttering me up. It was on their part a very calculated, measured and cynical diversionary tactic. Now confronted they feigned deafness, frailty and complete ignorance of everything to do with the bungalow. I had rumbled them and they did not like it. Their active and engaged minds had been wholly misused for the purposes of financial gain. I did not want to stay there any longer. In fact driving out of the cul de sac I was mightily relieved to have got away without mishap or worse. I did not find out what happened to the couple or whether if fact they did dupe anyone into purchasing their glorified asbestos packed chicken wired seaside retreat.

In quieter moments I have toyed with the idea that they were the kingpins of a massive nationwide scam perpetrated by a gang of retirees exasperated by the diminishing returns of savings and investments and, lets face it, desperate for a bit of a thrill and a buzz that could not be attained even by faulty wiring on a stannah stair lift or a bath hoist that has no earth bonding.

Magic Numbers

Whenever I see reference to "Taxpayer" in relation to the funding or ownership of something I really start to worry. It is a typically British trait, to worry ,but entirely justified after a seemingly endless progression of the squandering tax and other public revenues on fantastically ambitious or downright ridiculous projects and enterprises.

At National and State level there has been the £26 billion frittered away on an all singing and dancing but inevitably flawed computer system for Government and another £12.7 billion on an all walking and talking computer system for the National Health Service. The much lower but still eye watering sum of £240 million was appropriated for a network of Fire Control Centres but were just not workable on a practical day to day basis. (My mate Dave, a 30 year serving Fireman was right about that from the day that scheme was announced)

We will never forget or forgive the bail outs in 2008/09 by the UK Taxpayer for the banks which , as the justification ,were deemed too big to fail.

In post war history some £125 million was spent on a jet aircraft, the fledgling chicken-like TSR-2 before costs and political meddling caused the project to be cancelled.

At Local Authority level there have been controversial spends on new Council Logo's , branded golf balls and in my area, for a second civic chain of office for the lady-wife of the Mayor of a large village which has just attained status as a small town.

We may not get to know the full story of other allocations, overspends, misappropriations or just the loss of large amounts of pennies down financial black holes where, strangely, no one seems accountable either for a bad decision or ill informed gamble.

You can therefore understand my initial concerns over seeing the headline "Taxpayer owned locomotive returns to service".

I can relax knowing that the railway engine in question, The Flying Scotsman is perhaps the world's most famous .

Built in Doncaster in 1923 this locomotive was the flagship of the famous London and North East Railway (LNER) and its apple green livery became synonymous with great British engineering, technology and the golden days of steam propulsion. Numbered 4472 the engine was displayed at the Empire Exhibition at Wembley in 1924 prior to entering into full service and setting new records including Kings Cross, London to Edinburgh (392 miles) non-stop in 8 hours 3 minutes in 1928 and being the first steam loco to reach 100mph in 1934 albeit over only 600 yards.

The wartime years were in a black livery which remained until 1947 and the return of the LNER trademark colours. By 1963 and after covering 2 million miles the Flying Scotsman was overhauled and then sold to a private owner. There followed a four year tour of the United States and another new owner, William McAlpine.

In August 1975 I was lucky enough to see it as part of the celebrations of the 150th anniversary of the pioneering Stockton and Darlington Railway as it joined an all day cavalcade of famous and iconic trains covering the Stephenson Rocket through to the new, for 1975, High Speed Train.

Use became more ceremonial in the 1980's with attendance at other events celebrating steam, pulling the Royal Train and a tour of Australia. Commercial considerations became important and the music impresario Pete Waterman became a joint owner until another sale, this time for £1,300,000 in 1996.

Restoration work was carried out by Rolls Royce and in 2004 the Flying Scotsman was bought for the Nation through the National Railway Museum York for £2.31 million. In the hierarchy of such acquisitions in the name of UK Taxpayers I would say, without fear of contradiction, that this represented one of the best deals ever. It was a glorious and triumphant return to public ownership after the periods of custodianship when belonging to private individuals.

In fact, if you count the Nationalisation of the railways way back in 1948 the event of 2004 heralded in the second period of taxpayer ownership.

In the same year regular excursions were run to the east coast resort of Scarborough from York and were a great success. The last run was in 2005 with the current overhaul starting in January 2006.

It has not been an easy task for the National Railway Museum to take responsibility for The Flying Scotsman. There was an initial skills gap to progress an all essential overhaul but in a true and enthusiastic spirit the engine was eventually displayed in the York venue as being ready for service. This was far from the truth as the works had not been to a very good standard and everything had to be dismantled to allow a new, managed project to take place.

This was completed to allow a test run under steam just a couple of weeks ago (February 2016) from Carnforth, the film location of Brief Encounter to Carlisle over the magnificently engineered Ribblehead Viaduct.

The cost to the taxpayer is estimated at around £4.2 million but that, to me, is a small price to pay to safeguard a piece of British history. In the shelter of the York Museum engine shed the Flying Scotsman as a static display attracted 700,000 visitors a year. Now out and about in restored splendour the nation at large will get a chance see it in action as it goes on tour.

I grew up very much at the time of the replacement of the mainline rolling stock with smokey, smelly diesels but I still get that warm and fuzzy feeling at the sight of a steam train. That is difficult to quantify in monetary terms but is not far off priceless.

Busted

As a youngster in the 1960's and early 1970's I played football at every opportunity in my waking hours and no doubt , even when meant to be asleep, dreamt that I was on the pitch as well.

It was a heady time for English football what with the World Cup Victory in 1966 and arguably some of the best players in the world, well they had to be didn't they as after all The Beautiful Game was invented in this green and pleasant land, was it not?

My heroes included the likes of Peter Osgood of Chelsea, Gordon Banks of Stoke, Bobby Charlton of Manchester United and Roger Hunt of Liverpool.

I drifted in my support for a team but did settle for Liverpool by 1971 in spite of being most upset by their defeat to Arsenal in that year's FA Cup Final.

My first proper football kit was an Umbro Liverpool one and I began to copy the ball playing skills of Keegan, Toshack, Heighway, Lawler, Hall, Lindsay, Tommy Smith and even Ray Clemence the goalkeeper.

Keepie-Uppies kept me busy for hours in the back garden along with heading practice, passing to the wall or friends and learning how to spit or expunge snot from one nostril at a time.

The 1970's was a troubled decade of hooliganism and general hassle before, during and after a game. A lot of the fun and innocence in the game just evaporated under these almost civil war conditions. The 1980's saw the twin tragedies of Heysel and Hillsborough resulting in many fundamental changes to match going.

There was also a concerted effort , under pressure, for  players to set a good example in their behaviour and lifestyles. By the 1990's players incomes had increased significantly with wage and transfer deals but they retained their status as role models on and off the pitch.

New skills on the European and World stage of football made the English game look unsophisticated and downright ugly. The arrival of foreign players, the first being the Dutch at Ipswich Town and Argentinians at Tottenham heralded a huge influx and in my opinion helped to revive the ambitions of the kick and run home grown players.

The current Premier League is huge business, a self perpetuating commercial circus and expensive for supporters to follow with admission prices and regular changes in team shirts and merchandise.

However, as with my love affair with football in my childhood it is clear that today's generations are similarly smitten with park and school games being the place to replicate step overs, dummies, volleys, overhead kicks and the usual spitting and snot shots.

It is possible to take things just too far though and this has been no more evident than in recent press and media stories about one particular individual, a Brian Garruto from Cleveland, Ohio, USA.

Playing in an Under 17's team,  the maverick teenage footballer has been banned by league officials fed up with his constant rule-breaking  and general lack of respect for the game.

Like many great sportsmen, Brian Garruto clearly has a rebellious streak and a single-mindedness that sets him apart from all others.

Regular mischief and trouble making brought about a long e mail from the league organisers listing his misdemenours and announcing his barring from participating any further in games.

The list is rather bizarre in its description of activities and also quite hilarious to even the strictest follower of regulations.

These include;

Making a phone call while playing on the field

Refusing to wear shinguards

Pretending to shoot a bow and arrow at opposing players after scoring

Running into the goal while hiding ball in shirt

Removing shirt after scoring

Sitting on the opposing teams bench

Wearing a cowboy hat during a game

Eating a banana in play

Making a show of giving birth to the soccer ball

Altering the score board

Wearing a natural light tank top instead of team kit

After sending off, changing shirt and coming back on pretending to be someone else

Mr Garruto's dismissal may have brought some calm and order to the Ohio under 17's league but his absence will be missed.

He was evidently a very skilful and accomplished player scoring, in one game, a total of 14 goals.

The league rules are on this point very petty and mean in that players were not allowed to score more than three goals per game.

You are better than them Brian.

The Usual Dickens Suspects

Just a compilation of wonderful character names found in the works of the great Charles Dickens, eminent novelist and socio-political commentator of 19th Century life in England.

Photo from the New York Public Library

The idea was encouraged by the current BBC Dickensian series of a fictionalised drama using a whole host of the main figures in his best known literature.

You may find a particular favourite from your own reading and re-reading as there are indeed many beloved characters.

I just like the rhythm and poeticism of many of the names or just the mischievous humour of Dickens in such examples as Anne Chickenstalker, Charity Pecksniff, Decimus Tite Barnacle and many that in the modern context just sound rude and risque....,step forward Dick Swiveller, Fanny Cleaver and Henry Wititterley.

My own personal favourite, there is no argument about it, just the individual by the name of Mealy Potatoes from David Copperfield.

Abel Garland Old Curiosity Shop
Abbey Potterson Our Mutual Friend
Abel Magwich Great Expectations
Ada Clare Bleak House
Adolphus Tetterby the Haunted Man
Affery Flintwinch Little Dorrit
Alexandre Manette, Dr. A Tale of Two Cities
Agnes Fleming Oliver Twist
Alfred Heathfield the Battle of Life
Agnes Wickfield David Copperfield
Alfred Jingle Pickwick Papers
Alice Brown Marwood Dombey and Son
Alfred Lammle Our Mutual Friend
Amy Dorrit Little Dorrit
Alfred Mantalini Nicholas Nickelby
Anastasia Veneering Our Mutual Friend
Allan Woodcourt Bleak House
Anne Chickenstalker the Chimes
Anthony Chuzzlewit Martin Chuzzlewit
Annie Strong David Copperfield
Anthony Jeddler the Battle of Life
Arabella Allen Pickwick Papers
Arthur Clennam Little Dorrit
Bella Wilfer Our Mutual Friend
Arthur Gride Nicholas Nickelby
Belle A Christmas Carol
Arthur Havisham Great Expectations
Bertha Plummer Cricket on the Hearth
Augustus Folair (Tommy) Nicholas Nickelby
Betsy (Bet) Oliver Twist
Augustus Snodgrass Pickwick Papers
Betsy Prig Martin Chuzzlewit
Barkis David Copperfield
Betsy Quilp Old Curiosity Shop
Barnaby Rudge Barnaby Rudge
Betsy Trotwood David Copperfield
Bayham Badger Bleak House
Betty Higden Our Mutual Friend
Bazzard Mystery of Edwin Drood
Biddy Great Expectations
Benjamin Allen Pickwick Papers
Caroline "Caddy" Jellyby Bleak House
Benjamin Bailey  Martin Chuzzlewit
Charity Pecksniff "Cherry" Martin Chuzzlewit
Bentley Drummle Great Expectations
Charlotte Neckett "Charley" Bleak House
Bill Sikes Oliver Twist
Clara Barley Great Expectations
Bitzer Hard Times
Clara Copperfield David Copperfield
Blathers Oliver Twist
Clara Peggotty David Copperfield
Bob Cratchit A Christmas Carol
Clarissa Spenlow David Copperfield
Bob Sawyer Pickwick Papers
Clemency Newcome the Battle of Life
Bradley Headstone Our Mutual Friend
Cleopatra Skewton Dombey and Son
Brownlow Oliver Twist
Clickett   David Copperfield
Bucket Bleak House
Cornelia Blimber Dombey and Son
Bumble   Oliver Twist
Defarge, Madame a Tale of Two Cities
Caleb Plummer   Cricket on the Hearth
Dolly Varden Barnaby Rudge
Canon Crisparkle Mystery of Edwin Drood
Dora Copperfield David Copperfield
Charles Bates Oliver Twist
Dora Spenlow David Copperfield
Charles Cheeryble Nicholas Nickelby
Edith Granger Dombey and Son
Charles Darnay A Tale of Two Cities
Emily David Copperfield
Charles Mell David Copperfield
Emma Haredale   Barnaby Rudge
Charlie Hexam Our Mutual Friend
Emma Micawber David Copperfield
Chevy Slyme Martin Chuzzlewit
Emma Peecher  Our Mutual Friend
Christopher Casby Little Dorrit
Estella Great Expectations
Clarence Barnacle Little Dorrit
Esther Summerson Bleak House
Clarriker Great Expectations
Fan A Christmas Carol
Compeyson Great Expectations
Fanny Cleaver Our Mutual Friend
Creakle David Copperfield
Fanny Dombey Dombey and Son
Daniel Doyce Little Dorrit
Fanny Dorrit Little Dorrit
Daniel Peggotty  David Copperfield
Fanny Squeers Nicholas Nickelby
Daniel Quilp Old Curiosity Shop
Flopson    Great Expectations
David Copperfield David Copperfield
Flora Finching Little Dorrit
David Crimple "Crimp" Martin Chuzzlewit
Florence Dombey Dombey and Son
Decimus Tite Barnacle Little Dorrit
Good Mrs. Brown Dombey and Son
Dick Datchery Mystery of Edwin Drood
Grace Jeddler the Battle of Life
Dick Swiveller Old Curiosity Shop
Harriet Carker Dombey and Son
Dolge Orlick Great Expectations
Helena Landless Mystery of Edwin Drood
Dr. Slammer Pickwick Papers
Henrietta Boffin Our Mutual Friend
Duff Oliver Twist
Henrietta Petowker Nicholas Nickelby
Durdles Mystery of Edwin Drood
Honoria Dedlock, Lady Bleak House
Ebenezer Scrooge A Christmas Carol
Hortense Bleak House
Edmund Longford the Haunted Man
Isabella Wardle    Pickwick Papers
Edmund Sparkler Little Dorrit
Jane Murdstone David Copperfield
Edward "Tip" Dorrit Little Dorrit J
anet David Copperfield
Edward Chester  Barnaby Rudge
Jemima Bilberry Little Dorrit
Edward Leeford (Monks) Oliver Twist
Jenny Bleak House
Edward Murdstone David Copperfield
Jenny Wren Our Mutual Friend
Edward Plummer Cricket on the Hearth
Julia Mills David Copperfield
Edwin "Ned" Cheeryble  Nicholas Nickelby
Kate Nickelby Nicholas Nickelby
Edwin Drood Mystery of Edwin Drood
Lavinia Spenlow David Copperfield
Elijah Pogram Martin Chuzzlewit
Lavinia Wilfer Our Mutual Friend
Ephraim Flintwinch Little Dorrit
Lillian the Chimes
Ernest Defarge  A Tale of Two Cities
Liz Bleak House
Eugene Wrayburn Our Mutual Friend
Lizzie Hexam Our Mutual Friend
Fagin Oliver Twist
Louisa Chick Dombey and Son
Fezziwig A Christmas Carol
Louisa Gradgrind Hard Times
Filer   The Chimes
Lucie Manette a Tale of Two Cities
Fledgeby "Fascination" Our Mutual Friend
Lucretia Tox Dombey and Son
Francis Spenlow David Copperfield
Madeline Bray Nicholas Nickelby
Frank Cheeryble Nicholas Nickelby
Maggy Little Dorrit
Frank Milvey, Reverend Our Mutual Friend
Malta Bagnet Bleak House
Fred A Christmas Carol
Marchioness, the Old Curiosity Shop
Fred Trent Old Curiosity Shop
Marion Jeddler   the Battle of Life
Frederick Verisopht, Lord Nicholas Nickelby
Martha Bardell  Pickwick Papers
Gabriel Varden Barnaby Rudge
Martha Endell David Copperfield
Gaffer Hexam Our Mutual Friend
Martha Jeddler the Battle of Life
Gashford Barnaby Rudge
Martha Varden Barnaby Rudge
Gaspard A Tale of Two Cities
Mary Anne David Copperfield
General Cyrus Choke Martin Chuzzlewit
Mary Graham Martin Chuzzlewit
Geoffrey Haredale Barnaby Rudge
Mary Graham Pickwick Papers
George Radfoot   Our Mutual Friend
Mary Peerybingle "Dot" Cricket on the Hearth
George Rouncewell Bleak House
Mary Rudge Barnaby Rudge
Grainger David Copperfield
Matilda Price Nicholas Nickelby
Grewgious Mystery of Edwin Drood
May Fielding Cricket on the Hearth
Gridley Bleak House
Meg (Margaret) the Chimes
Ham Peggotty David Copperfield
Mercy Pecksniff "Merry" Martin Chuzzlewit
Hamilton Veneering Our Mutual Friend
Miggs Barnaby Rudge
Hannibal Chollop Martin Chuzzlewit
Millers    Great Expectations
Harold Skimpole Bleak House
Milly Swidger the Haunted Man
Harry Maylie Oliver Twist
Miss Havisham Great Expectations
Henry Gowan Little Dorrit
Molly Great Expectations
Henry Wititterly Nicholas Nickelby
Mrs. Hominy Martin Chuzzlewit
Herbert Pocket Great Expectations
Nelly Trent Old Curiosity Shop
Hugh Barnaby Rudge
Ninetta Crummles Nicholas Nickelby
Jack Bunsby Dombey and Son
Peg Sliderskew   Nicholas Nickelby
Jack Dawkins Oliver Twist
Pet Meagles Little Dorrit
Jack Maldon David Copperfield
Pleasant Riderhood Our Mutual Friend
Jacob Marley A Christmas Carol
Polly Toodle Dombey and Son
Jaggers Great    Expectations
Rachael  Hard Times
James Carker Dombey and Son
Rachael, Mrs. Bleak House
James Harthouse Hard Times
Rosa Bleak House
James Steerforth David Copperfield
Rosa Bud Mystery of Edwin Drood
Jarvis Lorry A Tale of Two Cities
Rosa Dartle David Copperfield
Jefferson Brick Martin Chuzzlewit
Rose Maylie Oliver Twist
Jeremiah Flintwinch Little Dorrit
Ruth Pinch Martin Chuzzlewit
Jerry Cruncher A Tale of Two Cities
Sairey Gamp Martin Chuzzlewit
Jo Bleak House
Sally Brass Old Curiosity Shop
Job Trotter Pickwick Papers
Sally Tetterby the Haunted Man
Joe (the Fat Boy) Pickwick Papers
Sally, Old Oliver Twist
Joe Gargery Great Expectations
Sissy Jupe Hard Times
Joe Willet Barnaby Rudge
Sophia Tetterby the Haunted Man
John Baptist  Cavaletto  Little Dorrit
Sophie Wackles   Old Curiosity Shop
John Barsad A Tale of Two Cities
Sophronia Lammle Our Mutual Friend
John Browdie Nicholas Nickelby
Sophy Crewler David Copperfield
John Chivery Little Dorrit
Spottletoe, Mrs. Martin Chuzzlewit
John Grueby Barnaby Rudge
Susan Nipper Dombey and Son
John Harmon Our Mutual Friend
Tattycoram (Harriet Beadle) Little Dorrit
John Jarndyce Bleak House
Ticket, Mrs. Little Dorrit
John Jasper Mystery of Edwin Drood
Tilly Slowboy Cricket on the Hearth
John Peerybingle Cricket on the Hearth
Todgers, Mrs. Martin Chuzzlewit
John Podsnap Our Mutual Friend
Twinkleton, Miss Mystery of Edwin Drood
John Rokesmith  Our Mutual Friend
Vengeance, the a     Tale of Two Cities
John Wemmick Great Expectations
Volumnia Dedlock Bleak House
John Westlock Martin Chuzzlewit
Wade, Miss Little Dorrit
Johnny Tetterby the Haunted Man
Whimple, Mrs. Great Expectations
Jonas Chuzzlewit Martin Chuzzlewit
Jorkins David Copperfield
Josiah Bounderby Hard Times
Julius Handford Our Mutual Friend
Kenge Bleak House
Kit Nubbles Old Curiosity Shop
Krook Bleak House
Langdale Barnaby Rudge
Lewsome Martin Chuzzlewit
Littimer    David Copperfield
Lowten   Pickwick Papers
Luke Honeythunder Mystery of Edwin Drood
Mark Tapley Martin Chuzzlewit
Markham David Copperfield
Marquis de St Evremonde A Tale of Two Cities
Martin Chuzzlewit Martin Chuzzlewit
Matthew Pocket Great Expectations
M'Choakumchild Hard Times
Mealy Potatoes David Copperfield
Michael Warden the Battle of Life
Mick Walker David Copperfield
Montigue Tigg Martin Chuzzlewit
Mortimer Lightwood Our Mutual Friend
Mould Martin Chuzzlewit
Nadgett Martin Chuzzlewit
Nathaniel Winkle Pickwick Papers
Native, the Dombey and Son
Neckett Bleak House
Ned Dennis Barnaby Rudge
Nemo Bleak House
Neville Landless Mystery of Edwin Drood
Newman Noggs Nicholas Nickelby
Nicholas Nickelby Nicholas Nickelby
Noah Claypole Oliver Twist
Noddy Boffin Our Mutual Friend
Old Bill Barley Great Expectations
Oliver Twist Oliver Twist
Pancks Little Dorrit
Paul Dombey Dombey and Son
Paul Sweedlepipe Martin Chuzzlewit
Perch Dombey and Son
Perker Pickwick Papers
Peter Magnus Pickwick Papers
Phil Parkes Barnaby Rudge
Phil Squod Bleak House
Philip Swidger the Haunted Man
Pip (Pirrip, Phillip) Great Expectations
Prince Turveydrop Bleak House
Pumblechook Great Expectations
Quebec Bagnet Bleak House
Quinion David Copperfield
Ralph Nickelby Nicholas Nickelby
Redlaw the Haunted Man
Reginald Wilfer Our Mutual Friend
Reuben Haredale Barnaby Rudge
Riah Our Mutual Friend
Richard the Chimes
Richard Carstone Bleak House
Rigaud (Blandois, Lagnier) Little Dorrit
Rob the Grinder Dombey and Son
Roger Cly A Tale of Two Cities
Rogue Riderhood Our Mutual Friend
Sampson Brass Old Curiosity Shop
Samuel Pickwick Pickwick Papers
Samuel Weller Pickwick Papers
Serjeant Buzfuz Pickwick Papers
Seth Pecksniff Martin Chuzzlewit
Silas Wegg Our Mutual Friend
Simon Tappertit Barnaby Rudge
Sir John Fielding Barnaby Rudge
Sir Mulberry Hawk Nicholas Nickelby
Sleary Hard Times
Sloppy Our Mutual Friend
Slurk, Mr. Pickwick Papers
Smalweed Bleak House
Smike Nicholas Nickelby
Snagsby Bleak House
Snawley Nicholas Nickelby
Snitchey and Craggs the Battle of Life
Soloman Daisy Barnaby Rudge
Soloman Gills Dombey and Son
Soloman Pross A Tale of Two Cities
Solomon Pell Pickwick Papers
Stagg Barnaby Rudge
Startop Great Expectations
Stephen Blackpool Hard Times
Stiggins, Reverend Pickwick Papers
Stryver A Tale of Two Cities
Sydney Carton A Tale of Two Cities
Tackleton Cricket on the Hearth
Tartar Mystery of Edwin Drood
Theophile Gabelle A Tale of Two Cities
Thomas Gradgrind Hard Times
Thomas Lenville Nicholas Nickelby
Thomas Plornish Little Dorrit
Thomas Sapsea Mystery of Edwin Drood
Tim Linkinwater Nicholas Nickelby
Tiny Tim Cratchit A Christmas Carol
Tite Barnacle Little Dorrit
Toby "Trotty" Veck the Chimes
Tom Cobb Barnaby Rudge
Tom Pinch Martin Chuzzlewit
Tom Scott Old Curiosity Shop
Tommy Traddles David Copperfield
Tony (Weevle) Jobling Bleak House
Tony Weller Pickwick Papers
Toots Dombey and Son
Trabb Great Expectations
Tracy Tupman Pickwick Papers
Tulkinghorn Bleak House
Tungay David Copperfield
Uriah Heep David Copperfield
Vholes Bleak House
Vincent Crummles Nicholas Nickelby
Wackford Squeers Nicholas Nickelby
Walter Bray Nicholas Nickelby
Walter Gay Dombey and Son
Wardle Pickwick Papers
Watt Bleak House
Wilkins Micawber David Copperfield
Will Fern the Chimes
William Dorrit Little Dorrit
William Guppy Bleak House
William Swidger the Haunted Man
Woolwich Bagnet Bleak House
Wopsle Great Expectations
Zephaniah Scadde Martin Chuzzlewit

Ten Foot City

It must be a feature common only to the city of Hull.

I refer to the phenomena of the ten foot roadway or as it is referred to with alternate affection and detestation, just a ten foot.

If I happen to mention it in even casual conversation or in a report or correspondence to an out of towner, usually someone of an expensive legal educated background, then there is always a long pregnant pause before a sheepish voice requests clarification of what it comprises. It is, as they say, what it says on the tin. It is a roadway and it is ten feet wide. I know because I have been sad enought to measure them.

The housing stock in Hull has a very high proportion of terraced properties, long regimented blocks with some consisting of perhaps thirty or more dwellings. This was part of the huge expansion of the suburban areas in the period between the two world wars. It was a time of increasing affluence and living standards.

The suburbs were away from the belching industrial operations and less likely to be shrouded in the usual Hull odours of fish processing, tanneries, cocoa and yeast. Car ownership was increasing and although initial very low levels of private cars kept the streets nicely clear and safe for access and children at play, a perceived and attractive selling point for the speculative builders would be the ability to park a car or van in the back garden. The homes, which had all mod cons such as indoor toilets, electric light and heating still required service access for the coal merchant and tradesmen and a cut through the back garden to the ten foot was always preferred to what could be a very long walk around the block.

Under fairly light use the ten foot could sustain an unmade clay based surface or with the better ones being concreted or tarmac dressed. The aggregated rights of way and use over the ten foot demanded reasonable behaviour to prevent obstruction and inconvenience of passage. As car ownership increased the surfaces inevitably became churned up or damaged. A few good citizens would take on the informal duty of carrying out patching repairs for ruts and potholes. The soot and ash residues from the common use of open fires were ideal for impromptu repair.

The owners of end terraced houses with elevations flush to the ten foots would express understandable concerns over echoing noise and vibration from unsociable use as well as a risk of splashing and spraying of accumulated surface water up their walls. In the larger suburban areas of  West Hull the ten foots became a paradise for thieves, pilferers and opportunists, a veritable network of escape routes along which to transport ill gotten goods from garden grown soft fruits to the whole contents of a shed..

Parking spaces soon saw the proliferation in numbers of garages and in particular the cheaper timber and asbestos structures. This was in the prime era of that wonder cement bonded material and well before the expressing of concerns on health grounds. Soon the ten foots appeared scruffy and home to every form of construction and style of garages, sheds, aviaries, pigeon lofts, summerhouses and play houses.

By the 1970's cars were rarely driven to be parked at the rear of the houses and many ten foots fell into a deteriorated state. After heavy or persistent rain there were always large pools and ponds to be negotiated by brave souls. I am not aware of any cases of persons  being found face down in such a potentially watery grave. Neighbourhood awareness has led in recent years to the postioning of lockable gates at the entrances to the ten foots and this has had a remarkable deterrent effect on crime levels but quite a bonanza for locksmiths in the provision of multiple keys for all those entitled to use the road.

A high proportion of Hull's resident population has therefore grown up with the ten foot. Many scarred knees will have been caused by a rift valley of concrete road sections or loose based gravels and tarmac, as many birthday bicycles left with mangled wheels or frames from frequent jumps and wheelies, a few babies thrown out of prams and buggies by uneven ground and  some of these infants actually conceived in the darker shadowy parts of the shanty town of structures.

The ten foot does have some competition on a national basis from the likes of ginnels, snickets, a cut, alley ways, passages and lanes but is intrinsically part of the Hull culture and language and will survive long in the pages of urban folklore of which there is a great richness from that north east City

(Reproduced from a few years ago)

Sex and clutch control

I started work in Kingston Upon Hull, Yorkshire, UK,  in 1985.

I had lived up the road from 'ull in the family home in the genteel market town of Beverley for the six previous years although four of these coincided with my student life away in another part of the country.

So you could say that I was not really that familiar with the city on my doorstep , the nuances of its different streets, local areas, the significance of the River Hull and its divisive influence on the population, and many, many other aspects of life and culture.

In my first week of proper employment I had a short induction after which I was provided with a company car and sent out with a full diary of appointments from monday to friday.

I had to quickly learn my way around the city and my knowledge of how to get from one location to another did soon, I felt , rival that of the most seasoned taxi driver.

In 1985 Hull was in yet another of its transitional stages. I tend to think that there was only one really starting from the decimation of the city in the wartime blitz and just progressing in fits and starts giving that impression in the following seven decades.

Large tracts of small, densely packed late Victorian terraced houses were being demolished and cleared and their residents, many with multi generational roots in those areas, shipped out to new and soul-less estates at the far reaches of the urban sprawl. Other, once proud streets of large and character town houses had been allowed to decline in condition and desirability and a few only just survived to be regenerated into trendy middle class dwellings. New roads were carving their way through the old docklands and trawler quays, many citizens being appalled at the decline in the core industries of Hull but firmly of the opinion that this type of infrastructure was well overdue anyway compared to regional centres such as Leeds, York and Sheffield.

Improvements followed in shopping and leisure amenities although these typically sounded the death knell for the corner shops, those niche outlets run by sole proprietors and many which had been an integral part of daily life in Hull.

One such premises, much loved but nevertheless of dubious reputation was a landmark on the Springbank and Princes Avenue junction and traded as "Gwenap".

It had a traditional shop front with twin display windows and a central entrance door. The often lurid and downright outrageous goods in the windows clearly advertised the business as an adult shop or sex shop although the signage was for "specialist underwear and pleasurewear".

Motorists at the head of the traffic queues on the junction could not really avoid sneaking a glimpse of the colourful and provocative window dressings. This would make for an awkward silence if a male driver was accompanied by wife, partner or observant, inquisitive and expressive children.

On some occasions there would be a demonstration on the pavement by a Methodist contingent or other Watch Committee endeavouring to impose morality and restraint on prospective customers. It was not a wise thing  to do to linger outside or show a casual interest as you were likely to have your photograph taken on the assumption that you were either a degenerate or a pervert.

I did see many cars stalling when a distracted driver would be beeped by impatient followers long after the green traffic light showed. On some days there would be a small sheen of headlamp or tail light lenses on the carriageway evidently arising from a similar lack of concentration when confronted by mannequins dressed in nurses, policewomen's or French maid costumes.

The establishment had originally opened to trade in 1902, then as a ladies outfitters and hat makers.

The change in retail identity may have taken place in the more liberal 1960's or 1970's , certainly the stylised demeanour of the window dummies was of that period.

I was a naive onlooker in 1985 thinking that the large fly poster in the window advertising "TV Times" referred to small screen entertainment rather than a Transvestite magazine.

"Gwenap", in name, featured in many aspects of Hull life either in  pub conversations or in comedy and popular culture. It represented a constant in a fast changing urban environment although I cannot recall ever having seen anyone go in or come out of the shop on my frequent, very diligent pass-bys in the car. I did nearly lose control of the steering wheel in dumbfounded amazement at seeing an inflatable sheep on display but then again anything and everything seemed fair game for the loyal , but invisible, clientele.

There was also wit and pathos in the regular change of banners and yet more full window posters which could produce a heartfelt laugh, smile or nervous giggle. These under new ownership from 1988 included, very much on topic with news events, "Bent Politicians welcome here", "Knickers to the lot of you" and "Blow up dolls for the reformed terrorist" .

Hull folk did not regard Gwenap as being at all seedy or a corrupting influence because of a certain lightness and tongue in cheek attitude of the proprietor. Perhaps well ahead of its time was the courting of a customer base through clever marketing and advertising, foremost being the "Gwenap Flyer", a contact magazine for singles, couples, groups and specialist fetishists from every gender.

This publication enjoyed decades of patronage even though no one would ever admit to having bought it, read it or let alone advertise in it. It was once cited as the catalyst  in a high profile legal case of group sex swingers and a blackmail that excited local interest in an otherwise sleepy and parochial village out in the wilds to the east of Hull.

In 2009 the business became unsustainable and closure was imminent but such was the public outcry that the owner kept going and actually found a buyer in the following year.

The key factor in securing a deal was the "Gwenap" name with an inherent value and goodwill in being the longest established business of its type in Britain or even the world. Investment under new ownership kept the iconic shop front intact although, someone told me that the innocence and fun of the old made way for a more commercial edginess in the adult market also covering retro and burlesque goods.

 It may have just been a last swansong for the institution that was "Gwenap" as the shop eventually closed in 2013.

It was a sad day for Hull on that front but as for the busy road junction, it became an infinitely safer place to drive through without temptation towards voyeurism or good old titillation.