Sailing by

I have, in my writings on Maritime Hull, not really thought about the essential service industries to keep the merchant ships in good repair, provisioned and under sail. 

There was of course a large supporting operation on a commercial basis in the Port of Hull with entrepreneurs and traders experiencing the financial ups and downs of business in what, in the 19th century, was a precarious time to have capital and assets tied up in shipping related concerns. 

One such company in Hull was the partnership of William and Thomas Irving trading as Humber Bank Ropery. 

The company appears to have already been trading in that name prior to their involvement as there is in 1804 a newspaper notification of new owners although it is unlikely that this marked the arrival of the Irvings given that my main research information is from much later from around 1834. 

The two businessmen appeared in Trade Directories as dealers in flax and hemp as well as being the makers of ropes. 

They put an advertisement in the local Hull newspaper of that year and marketed their services and inventory of goods to shipowners and others. 

As well as the premises operating as the Humber Bank Ropery which was at 73 High Street in the Old Town of Hull they had quite a modern sounding concept trading as the Canvas Warehouse which was opposite the Corn Market at address 86 Queen Street. 

This facility allowed the Irvings to offer to accommodate the lodging of ships rigging, warps and lines during the winter months when a number of merchant sailing ships would be laid up to avoid bad seasonal conditions.The service of a rigging shed was adjacent to the Ropery. 

A particular line of goods was the branded products by Robert Campion of Whitby who was a well known maker of canvas sails. 

He had patented a process of starch free sail cloth made out of hemp and flax which made for much more pliant and strong canvas. 

Campions Patent White and Brown Canvas and the Superior Patent and half bleached canvas were highly regarded amongst the maritime customers. 

The advertisements seemed to promise a thriving business for the Irvings in terms of what they could offer in services and in response to a demanding customer base. 

However, this was not the case and in 1840 there appeared a Notice of Dissolution. 

Isaac Newton does breakfast

This is the formula produced by Scientists;

N = C + fb (cm) . fb  (tc) + fb  (Ts) + fc

This looks completely boring and somewhat incomprehensible to those of a non science background but becomes infinitely more understandable and palatable when the variables are explained;

N = force in Newtons for cooking.
fb = type of bacon
fc = type of filling
Ts = serving temperature
tc = cooking time
Ta = time to apply filling
cm = cooking method
C = Newtons for other purposes

In plain speak all of this gobbledygook relates to a bacon butty, or for those south of Watford, a bacon sandwich. The original exercise by the Department of Food and Science from Leeds University was to attempt to create the perfect bacon butty. 

I would have liked to have put my name forward to partake in that particular experiment but of course the best jobs always stay in the department in spite of lip service to a wider interview base. 

I find it fascinating that more than 1000 hours were dedicated to the pursuit of perfection but am in complete awe of there actually being , allegedly, 700 variations of the classic butty. 

The human guinea pigs sacrificing time and their arteries in the taste test phase of the experiment were asked to judge and rate the butty's according to taste, texture and flavour. The results of the massive exercise were, funnily enough, the exact same as those which could be produced by casually chatting with members of the public purchasing a bacon butty at any roadside grill , back street greasy spoon or Greggs the Baker. 

The winning component was considered to be the crunching sound and texture rather than actual taste and smell of the bacon. Of course the formal study was laboratory or hygienic kitchen based but  key factors to the enjoyment of a bacon butty are, we all know and appreciate, locational, social and economic. 

The best bacon butty's by far are those eaten outside. This is a huge variable which a pure science approach cannot replicate or even represent in formulaic terms. There would be a different set of conditions for example for a seafront butty, a roadside butty, sit down cafe butty and a night out on the town butty. 

In social situations the act of eating a bacon butty can show people in their true light.

The world is divided into the advocates of brown sauce, tomato ketchup or with no condiment at all. I am sure that volumes could be written by psychologists on choice of sauce or not. I have just attended a breakfast business meeting with a bacon butty. 

There is a whole realm of etiquette involved with when to eat and when to listen and speak. Get these mixed up at your peril. It is best not to top load the butty with too much sauce in such situations. In economic terms I would say that a bacon butty purchased with stray cash found under my car seat and in the ash tray is infinitely more appreciated and tasty than one where a bank note passes over the counter.

The attraction of a bacon butty cannot be denied, especially I find when I am determined to get through from breakfast to lunch without an elevenses treat. 

My resolve usually gives in at about 10.23am to that very clever marketing ploy of a flag flying on the verge close to a lay-by mobile caterer or just a shop advertising fresh bacon butty's.

Wow!! Earthquake and Comet (amongst a lot of weather)

We have, in this country, an obsession with the weather. Looking at it, talking about it and complaining about it. 

That is because we do have a lot of it but always the wrong type for any particular season. 

You can appreciate the desire of many to seek out warmer foreign climes for their annual holidays or even take that big step and emigrate to enjoy a more predictable and consistent climate away from these shores.

The obsession has been a constant characteristic for some time as seen in the following extract from The Wakefield Journal and Examiner of June 1st 1860. 

The article lists the weather conditions experienced over a period of 45 years from 1814 and was aimed at those amongst the readership "who took an interest in such things". 

1814- this year is prefixed as remarkable for a severe winter from December 27th to February 7th 1815. The River Thames in London froze over.

1816- Extremely wet and cold throughout. One of the worst harvests ever known, Corn spritted in the ear and the loaves black under the crust.

1817- Very cold and wet in July and August but very fine in September which favoured the harvest.

1818- Intensely hot and dry, the thermometer twice at 89 degrees and often above 80 degrees

1819- a very fine hot summer, The month of August intensely hot. Scarcely any thunder.

1820- a fine summer on the whole and very productive

1821- Some very hot days occasionally but for the most part cold and showery. Immense rains during harvest which did great damage, November 30th great storms.

1822- a splendid year, hot and dry for the most part but heavy rains at times and much thunder. A very abundant harvest.

1823- A very cold showery summer. In July it rained every day except the 24th, Very little thunder. December 3rd hurricane.

1824- very fine and warm throughout but never intensely hot. the thermometer stood highest on September 1st and was at 79 degrees. Good harvest.

1825- Very hot and moist throughout, July 18th the thermometer stood at 90 degrees which is the highest observation in the course of these summers. Good harvest.

1826- the hottest and driest summer ever known, it began early and continued late. Cattle in Derbyshire had to be driven miles for water. The thermometer was twice at 88 degrees and often at 84 degrees, Abundant harvest.

1827- Hot and dry but not so much extremity as last summer. Good harvest.

1828- Immense rains which began July 9th and continued almost without cessation. Large floods July 16th and 3oth. Heavy thunderstorms. Bad harvest.

1829- a very cold stormy summer. In September the rains were very heavy.

1830- very cold and wet, especially in June. Much thunder.

1831- warm, gleamy, showery and electrical. A sickly summer. A great number of insects especially house flies.

1832- moderate for the most part without much inclination either way or the other. October 8th hurricane.

1833- very fine especially the first part, An abundant harvest. November 9th and December 31st two great storms.

1834- A very fine hot summer but heavy rains at the end of July. An early and productive harvest.

1835- Storm, February 22nd. Hot and dry with some showery exceptions. Another abundant harvest.

1836- In the Midland Counties dry weather predominated. Remarkable for the almost entire destruction of the turnip crop by the fly. Harvest not amiss.

1837- A fair average of hot weather but preceded by a very severe spring, Harvest deficient.

1838- A great frost from January to March. A cold wet spring and a late unproductive harvest.

1839- Hurricane 6th January. Lockwoods and New York Packet Ship lost, Very heavy rains almost without cessation. The harvest not unproductive but much damaged.

1840- A fine warm summer with intense heat in August. Fine harvest weather. Seed deficient.

1841- fine and warm in May and June. Wet and cold in July and the beginning of August. Temperature 82 degrees, Fine harvest weather in the end and in September.

1842- Fine spring and most delicious summer. Temperature 86 degrees, Fine autumn, Harvest not abundant but excellent grain.

1843- Windy winter, Great storm 13th January. Fine wet spring and fine summer. Temperature 79 degrees, Good harvest

1844- Summer very dry. No rain in April, May and June. Temperature 80 degrees. Deficient hay harvest. Good harvest

1845- Winter long and cold, A late ungenial spring, Sun hardly ever seen during the summer. temperature 79 degrees . Harvest plentiful but in bad condition.

1846- Seasonable spring. One frosty night in May blighted the fruit trees. Three hot weeks in June afterwards wet and electrical, Temperature 87 degrees. Early corn well harvested. Much late corn injured. Potato crop destroyed. November 20th storm. 

1847- Bitter spring to the end of April after a very cold winter. A very delightful summer but not hot. Temperature 78 degrees for four months averaging 70 degrees, A cold september and rainy. Potatoes and beans extensively blighted. Average harvest. Heaviest rain in December for 5 years.

1848- January 29th temperature 20 degrees. Spring and winter mild and wet. Wet summer to September. Temperature 73 degrees. August 26 days of rain then fine weather but showery during harvest. Winter mild and windy.

1849- Beautiful February. Six weeks bitter east winds to middle of May followed by night rains and hot sunny days. Temperature 76 degrees. Vegetation exuberant, Beautiful Autumn, good harvest and good apple year.

1850- A fortnights frost and then rainy. Cold east winds to middle of May, then very fine and warm. Fine good hay. Moderate heat and sunny in summer. Temperature 82 degrees. No rain of any weight for the first half of the year, Autumn showery. Harvest patchy and precarious but grains not spoiled.

1851- Very mild winter, one weeks frost. Sunny and pleasant, Wet March. Hailstones and cold in April. Beautiful summer, hay good. June 29th temperature 81 degrees. Ten cold days in July then Indian Summer to 22nd September. Harvest good, potatoes plentiful but diseased. Apples and nuts plentiful. June 29th highest temperature 81 degrees. November 29th lowest temperature 29 degrees.

1852- Mile winter, no snow or frost, Two storms in January with 53mph winds. Cold spring and east winds until Old May Day. Two months without rain, a fine summer. July 5th temperature 80 degrees, earthquake, average harvest, potatoes still diseased. Fruit not plentiful except pears. Storm 26th December 8am and again on the 27th. Wind speed 71mph and 47 days rain in November and December.

1853- An unprecedented winter for heavy rain, the railways flooded. cold up to May, fine for a month and a cold summer after. Heavy rains in July 4.145 inches and 72 degree temperature. Much hay spoiled and rainy autumn. Bad harvest- wheat 80 shillings , fruit and potatoes injured. September 25th storm winds 36.9mph . Fine November.

1854- Winter severe. Temperature 16 degrees. January 26th very stormy 43.7mph. Temperature lower than it had been for 30 years, great winds, disasters at sea , beautiful spring. Hay spoiled by rain in June, a genial summer, good harvest, potatoes good, little fruit.

1855- The severest and longest frost since 1814 and cold to the end of May. Fine summer but rains in July. Harvest good.

1856- Mild winter, seasonable spring. Rainy July afterwards splendid weather. Average harvest

1857- No frost and very windy. Fine spring, the most beautiful summer ever known and a fine autumn. Good harvest.

1858- Mild winter, a moderate summer. Average Harvest, Donati's Comet

1859- Mild winter. Fine Spring. Fine summer, a fortnight of very hot weather. A severe frost for a week in December, Temperature 17 degrees, not such a winter since 1814,1838 and  1855, Hurricane in October , Royal Charter lost

Storms over Hull 1860

The 1st June 1860 broadsheet of the Hull Packet Newspaper recorded the chaos and mayhem exacted on Hull and its surroundings by ferocious gale force winds in the preceding days.

That particular year was infamous for its weather which, for those out on the North Sea, had resulted in multiple fatalities of crew and passengers amongst some 350 lost or stricken vessels as stated in Lloyds Register. 

There had also been a very harsh winter with an unusually prolonged freeze and all of the issues that arose for the population, transport, trade and agriculture. 

The storm that hit Hull and the East Riding over a Sunday and Monday at the end of May 1860 was regarded as being one of the most severe ever experienced leaving a trail of destruction to buildings and land. 

Tragically there was some loss of life and many injuries incurred but at the same time a large number of escapes from stricken structures or where favoured by sheer luck in the circumstances. 

A small girl, taking breakfast to her Father in the Pier area was carried up by the gale force winds and cast into the moat at the Garrison where she sadly drowned. 

In Paragon Street in the town centre a lady sustained head injuries after being blown forcibly from the pavement into the middle of the road. Debris was in the air from damaged premises and a loose flying umbrella, wrestled from its owner, struck an unwitting Prospect Street pedestrian in the eye. Her condition was not thought to be life changing but nevertheless must have been distressing. 

In the industrial corridor along the River Hull considerable damage was incurred. 

At Mr Rowntree's Mill on Dansom Lane the sails of windmills were detached by the force of the winds and fell onto the buildings below. The sheer strength was illustrated by the fact that the windmills and uppermost machinery weighed upwards of 5 tons. 

Mr Alderman Blundell's Oil Mill on Witham just to the east of the town centre had its chimney stack blown down and death or injury were only avoided as the workforce was at the other end of the building that bore the brunt of the fallen masonry. 

A former shipyard building of Messrs Gibson and Samuelson had its gable end blown out as the winds caused a bulb of pressure within. 

Those making their way for work in the town were risking their own lives. A horse and cart in Lower Union Street was forced into the shop front of Mrs Cross's premises causing damage. The central town area was densely populated with town houses of the wealthier classes and the tenements and slums of the working class. These did not escape the gale. 

The house of Dr Munroe on the well-to-do Charlotte Street sustained damage to its gable (end) wall and a large chunk of masonry fell down into the adjoining Bourne Street. Other neighbouring houses were affected to varying degrees, In the tightly packed terraces of Wincolmlee part of a small house on Neptune Street collapsed. On Dock Street the roof of a house was uplifted and removed. On Anlaby Road the large chimney stacks on the house of Solicitor Richard Bell crashed down onto the roof of his children's Nursery but all escaped unscathed. 

The wind also wreaked chaos on the infrastructure of Hull. 

A long stretch of wall on Walker Street fell down. One of the hands on the clock face of Low Church on Lowgate was stripped away and a panoramic view of Peking that formed part of the displays at the Zoological Gardens was impaired. 

Out in the villages and on the large landed Estates there was considerable loss of trees which were unceremoniously uprooted and cast aside as though matchsticks. 

On Burton Constable Estate 100 fine trees suffered this fate. 1000 trees on the Snake Plantation near North Cave were upended and on the nearby Cave Castle grounds a further 300 were felled by the storm. 

In the flatlands of Holderness to the east of Hull the Sunk Island Church Tower incurred damage as well as the loss of spouting and tiling to its roof. There was widespread damage to property and land  in Paull, Hedon, Preston, Ryehill and Keyingham. 

In all it was a momentous couple of days.

Pyschling

What is the measure of the value of any particular item? 

Everything has its price or at least those things that do not have an element of pricelessness from a personal, family or unique nostalgic association. 

As a bit of a check and balance I often dip into the resource that is E-Bay to gauge the demand for and current values for things that come to my attention from, perhaps, a story in the news or if I come across anything interesting in the course of my daily workload. 

That was the case this week when in a dusty and cobweb strewn garage at the bottom of a garden I came across this. At first glance it was just a faded red framed bicycle.

Its geometry was unusual being quite elongated and with a very upright riding position. Just above the short downtube leading to the pedal crank was a clamp style fitting and fixing indicating it to be of a folding type. 

I didn't really register anything more than that this was a heavy, small wheeled shopper bike. Then the stylised writing on the main tube caught my attention.

It read "The Uri Geller Bend it-Bag it Bike.

I had not seen one before or even known about its existence. It was launched by the celebrity, Uri Geller in 2004 being a re-branded model from the existing "Bike in a Bag" product originating in China and imported by a small company based in Somerset. 

Geller has shown an entreprenurial spirit in his career with amongst other products and merchandise a shelf of self help and instructional books, a jewellery range and of course an autographed spoon for members of the public to emulate the famous trademark spoon bending. 

Cycling and bike technology has for a long time been a particular interest of Geller and in 1997 he promoted the Ultimate Bike- a carbon fibre monocoque machine which would be virtually indestructible against the twin enemies of conventional metal bike frames- rust and the climate. 

The Bend it Bag it Bike is in comparison low tech engineering but that it all that is demanded for everyday use on harsh and potholed roads and in heavy duty operation in a commute or for doing the shopping. 

The initial selling price in 2004 was between £250 and £300 and this included a free helmet. 

At that time there was strong competition in the folding bike sector and the celebrity endorsement of Uri Geller was expected to be a key factor in capturing a share of the market. 

Brompton and Moulton were the top end leaders in the small wheeled folding bike sector and much better known and so the Geller Bike would sit in the budget sector to appeal to leisure and recreational riders. 

I have not been able to find out how many Bend it Bag It bikes were sold and there are currently none up for sale on E Bay.

That means that they are either extremely rare or very much loved and cherised by those who bought one. 

What's in a name

There are numerous websites dedicated to the generation of names.

These at a basic level just give you a selection of names if you are undecided or just a bit numb with thinking about naming a child, pet or just about anything else.

I have written in the past on the shifting trends in popular children's names in some way an indicator of the social, economic and ethnic direction of a nation at any point in time. Names such as Albert, Clarence, Ethel and Norma, so prevalent in the early years of the twentieth century have been superseded by the likes of Alfie, Josh, Rhianna and India.

Other sites give you an opportunity to generate a name, using your own, that could be used in role playing or fantasy games which is an indication of the popularity and appeal of such things.

Fans of cult fiction can also insert their normal name and be provided with one which would not look out of place in your chosen genre of novel.

I thought that in an idle few hours on a cold, damp Sunday morning I should attempt to source a few versions of my name from available sites.

As you can see these cover a great range of cultural influences but equally some plain nonsense ones.

They are in no particular order but see if you can guess which one is my favourite
(Answer on Twitter @Langdale82)

      

This is my Christian name and surname in Runes

Golradir Telrúnya
My Elvish name, apparently, as in "in all of Rivendell the untidiest front lawn is to be found outside the home of Golradir Telrunya. The Council should make him cut the grass at least"

Wilibald Gamgee-Took of Bywater
"Gandalf, looked around at the band of brave Hobbits before sending Wilibad Gamgee-Took home with a sick note. The prospect of fighting with the dark forces of Middle Earth had make him a bit peeky.

Spike Scourge Thomson
Transformers are dedicated to freedom and do all that is in their power to defeat the Decepticons. Spike Scourge Thomson can go first..........

Angry Snake Steel Vendetta
Welcome to tonight's WWF Bill from Memphis with the undercard bout between Bone Crusher Mash Man and a first timer with a joke name..... ROUND ONE.....can someone call a Medic!

Bling Freak Biggie Doggy Dog
Mother F*****, who do you think you are!


Dazzlepuff Quickdust
TA bit of a twinkle toes in the fairy dell, light of foot and voice.

BurgundyNovember Lucifer
Whatever!

Turn Pulsarfall
A lesser known inhabitant of Tatooine who was relentlessly bullied by Luke Skywalker and his pals Windy and Biggs because of an inferior model of T-16 Speeder (his dad's old one) and a chronic inability to hit a Womp Rat in Beggar's Canyon.

|01010000|01100101|01110100|01100101|01110010|00100000|01010010|01101001|01100011|01101000|01100001|01110010|01100100|00100000|01010011|01110100|01100101|01110110|01100101|01101110|00100000|01010100|01101000|01101111|01101101|01110011|01101111|01101110|00001101
Binary

Tyr Ton
A low achieving occupant of the Planet Krypton but sensible in that he wears his pants under his trousers.

Mini Greentooth
Often found cowering under a four leaf clover, this tiny leprechaun is shy and retiring. Must be his tooth decay.

.--. . - . .-.  - .... --- -- ... --- -.
Morse Code

Khal Peterark Greyjoy
Just a few walk on parts in Game of Thrones, no dialogue yet but has shown an aptitude for dying gruesomely in battlefield scenes when called upon.

Dirty Roger Rackham
AArgghh, the baddest pirate that sailed the seven seas, well a little bit naughty then as it does sound more like the name of an Accountant than a buccaneer.

Петер Чомсон
Cryrillic script, Comrade.

Everleaf Brookhelm
Actually a bit of a snitch and a particularly favourite informer for President Coriolanus Snow

Dandelion Celestial Prince
A beautiful and graceful unicorn. What more do I need to say?

Kink and Bulge

 This is one from the archives and a particular favourite of mine

House Calls

Once in a while I come across a gem of a property.

I am not talking about the elusive "WOW" factor in terms of square footage, number of bathrooms, acreage of Travertine tiles or the number of ipod docking points but just in the form in which it was originally built.

This week was a treat for me in coming across just one such property.

A cottage. Last lived in some fifty years ago.

Built in the latter years of the 19th Century as a pair of dwellings it has been maintained only as much as has been required to stop it falling down. The current owners, or rather custodians as they reside in a newer house on the site ,did put on a new roof about 5 years ago and had every intention to renovate and refurbish but the two catalyst components of time and money never coincided.

It is a traditional labourers cottage.

Long and narrow over two storeys. Solid brick walls with the bricks themselves made from clay excavated from a hole in the ground only a short horse drawn cart journey distant. The gutters are old cast iron, possibly original, mounted on brackets hammered in to the top courses of the wall and nestling just under the slope of the roof to catch the run-off.

Brickwork is in a bit of a haphazard bond but not untypical where built by field workers in between their labours on the large agricultural estates in the hamlet.

There is every type of window frame from sash cord to Yorkshire sliding sash and small fixed panes to narrow arrow type slits, all in a hand thrown glass with air bubbles and giving a strange outlook onto the world, a bit blurry and mottled.

The cottage is built out of a gentle northerly slope and the door to the lower part, in planked timber is reached by a flagstone step which is well worn with generations of footfalls.

At the end wall is the old earth closet toilet but this will not be salvageable as the single storey structure has long since parted company from the main building in the form of a wide jagged fracture. The main house gable wall above shows some signs of collateral damage although this was obviously anticipated by the amateur builders in their positioning of the metal dog bone tie bars on the outer face and anchored through onto the roof timbers.

The back wall has a bit of a kink and bulge but does not appear to be going anywhere in particular.

For a structure erected on a mere handful of foundation courses it is a miracle that it has survived over the years from surface water run-off down the hill, from its exposure to the prevailing westerlys and the periodic vibration from the main freight rail line just a few feet away.

I was enthralled by the whole character of the cottage. Unspoiled, authentic and charming.

I was not disappointed by the interior.

The first thing that came into view was a tin bath, propped up against the wall in the kitchen. It looked as those its last occupant had just left it there after a long soak of weary land-worked limbs. It stood close to the old range, an enamelled double oven type and with a drain off tap sticking out of the chimney breast. This was at the perfect height to cascade the boiling hot water from the back boiler into the tub. Enough scalding liquid evidently to clean a body, wash the pots and provide an overnight soak to the family clothes. It would be a social event, a bit of a public baptismal for the man of the house before giving way to the functional requirements of the rest of the household.

Adjacent to the tin bath was a galvanised bucket containing a copper posher, by which the laundry could be immersed and agitated until less grey white than before.

The kitchen would be the hub of the cottage. It still had a brick floor, undulating from localised settlement into the chalk topped clay and a beamed ceiling with a view through the wide pitched pine floorboards into the bedroom above.

Being long and narrow the house was a series of rooms connecting to others. The dimensions did not allow for a hallway. The best room was distinguishable as best by a thick canvas layer on the floor, faded wallcoverings and a cast iron fireplace flanked by Dutch tiles and a marble mantelpiece. I could imagine it's use just once a week on a Sunday or when visitors came to call.

There was no staircase to the first floor. A steeply angled ladder did the job.

I struggled to climb it. Upstairs was little more than one long room, about 40 feet from end to end. I was a bit hesitant to walk about on the wide pine planked boards as I had seen the flimsy ceiling joists on which they were supported.

The wood under foot had a unique sheen and patina around the shallow excavations left by the woodworm. I am average height but felt like a giant under the low, vaulted ceilings in part close and parallel to the external tiled slope. Much of the old plaster had fallen away from the walls leaving wispy growths of horse hair used as the original bonding agent.

In its early years the house will have relied upon candle sconces for lighting up the rooms and these were still in position.

I carefully dismounted the ladder as though passing through the decks of a ship before pulling the plank door shut behind me and returning to the comparative warmth of the outside world. It had been a privilege to bear witness to such a well preserved cottage. I may not come across another like it for some considerable time.

A Journal of Surveying in the Covid Era

I've been working through the Pandemic being employed in what the Government call an essential sector of the economy- servicing the property market. 

I have a letter in the glovebox in my car to be presented to the Authorities to explain why I am out and about on the road network. My area of coverage has not diminished ins successive Lockdowns and so any number plate recognition technology will have registered my vehicle as far north as Whitby, west to the commuter villages of Harrogate and all points south and east where I am only restricted by the Humber Estuary and the North Sea. 

I have not been stopped and quizzed and indeed I have only seen one possible road-block scenario although that could as easily have been to check on road tax dodgers or for the illegal use of Red Diesel amongst country folk. 

On some days I have had rural  roads very much to myself although the motorway and trunk road networks have been as busy as under normal pre-Covid times. 

Those looking to buy, sell or re-finance their homes have been happy for me to carry out my inspections. We have provided reassurances that we are keeping to Covid Guidelines and my arrival on doorsteps in mask, gloves, single use overalls and shoe covers has not presented too frightening an appearance although I have made a point of parking around the corner to get dressed as it is not a pretty sight. 

The UK population have become desensitised to seeing persons in PPE and no one gives a second glance at my attire. 

Yes, we do get a few cancellations where occupants of a house have contracted the virus or have been contacted to self isolate and to date we have managed to re-arrange these appointments for a future date. 

There have been occasions when we have just not known who was in occupation, for example, in a large multi-let address and that has been a challenge.

I do have the discretion to simply walk away if  I feel there is any risk at all of coming into contact with the virus in a household or causing distress to vulnerable occupants and this has been the case more frequently in recent weeks as the next wave of the virus rampages through a locality. 

Working in this diligent way since last June has been testing and exhausting to all of us in our office. It is equally trying for the homeowners as our policy for an inspection to proceed is for all windows to be opened up, residents to be outside or in a single room. This was all very well in the warmer months of the year but in the recent sub zero temperatures and bitingly cold winds it has been difficult for all in the process. My passage through a property involves minimal contact with surfaces and installations. Afterwards I dispose of my overalls and clean up equipment before heading off to the next job.

I have placed my colleagues on staggered working days to minimise contact and they have continued to excel in keeping me on the road and able to service the busy workload. 

I am well stocked up with PPE for about 6 months but I can see no end date as yet for when we can return to some semblance of normality........if ever.

Make and Mend

 Make and mend defeats me.

I am the first wave of that generation of baby-boomers of the 1960's who coincided with the great consumer experiment.

This consisted of plentiful goods at relatively cheap prices but by definition of low quality that would not last.

I had a bit of an education in practical skills but no more than being able to fashion a crude box out of jointed wood, weave a small wicker basket or bake a barely edible rock cake.

Consequently I was being brought up as an ideal consumer. I would only be fit to purchase, quickly wear out and then have to replace everyday goods, utensils and appliances with no thought, hope or comprehension of undertaking that which previous generations had to do in the art of repair.

This was surprising in view of my genetic inheritance of having a clever and intuitive Father when it came to tinkering and mending and an equally enterprising and improvisational Mother where making and fashioning things were concerned. To a certain extent they were themselves the offspring of a more austere period.

By austere I do not mean a puritanical black and white existence but one of prudence, living within your means, putting aside funds for a rainy day and just plain saving up and economising on other things to be able to afford what was really needed.

My parents showed me a photograph, I recall, of their assembled wedding gifts in all of their brand new sheen and show. Remarkably to me but not to them was that most of the items are still, today, in the house and many remaining in everyday use and in as good a condition as when first unwrapped after all of those years. It was not a case of buying the best but the fact that furniture, dinner services, cutlery, ornaments, glassware and furnishings of that time were taken for granted as being of top quality, master crafted and durable.

The things were also repairable and could be maintained easily to prolong their usefulness and appearance. This was also the case for larger products such as the early TV's, radio sets, other electrical appliances and the new and affordable motor car.

My Father was never more happy than carrying out repairs to his cars and I was privileged to be asked to pass up skilfully crafted tools from the grease and oil saturated canvas saddle bag in which they were kept, immediately to hand and ready for use. Mother was and remains swift and deft with the sewing machine making up curtains, clothing and all manner of soft furnishings to adorn the home and us children.

I was brought up in a house of make and mend.

As every household must have, there was always at least one kitchen drawer crammed full of screwdrivers, electrical fuses, insulating tape, washers, assorted nuts, bolts and screws, one jubilee clip, the rubber seals from Kilner jars, sticking plasters and a key for letting the trapped air out of new fangled radiators.

The back wall of the garage was arranged with every type of tool for any job. The sewing box was a visual delight of buttons, spare fasteners and zippers, balls of wool and brightly coloured cotton on wooden reels.

What killed off the spirit and desire of the art of repair was the mass production of shoddy goods and our willingness to simply dispose of them when inoperable or damaged even if potentially salvageable with a little application, thought and patience.

I am ashamed and embarrassed by the contents of the plastic container that is loosely referred to as my tool box. My Grandfather's well cared for woodworking tools were passed from down previous generations. Although in regular use by him they were looked after and cherished in order to continue a livelihood, passion and pastime. I had thought about taking them on but left them in a safer environment upon the shocking realisation that I did not have an inkling how to use them properly.

My so called tool box is a loose array of oddments of socket sets (never used for purpose), miscellaneous but totally useless sized allen keys, bent and distorted chisels (from inappropriate applications), various drill bits also wonky from mis-use and solid bristled paint brushes, used once and not cleaned. The pinnacle of my making and mending extends to perhaps changing a plug, fitting a bulb, stopping up holes with expandable foam and botching the fitting, fixing and securing of something to everything else.

The manufacturers on a global scale are reputed to make more from servicing and spare parts than the actual production process but have made it so technical and awkward that any servicing and fitting of spare parts has to be done by themselves or their acolytes. If you have ever tried to arrange for the collection and taking away for repair of anything you will appreciate that it is just as easy to throw the thing away and purchase brand new.

Modern consumer goods are rapidly obsolete, redundant or just superseded by the next best and must have appliance or gadget.

I unfortunately am an unwilling participant in this because of my lack of confidence and skill in the art of repair.

I am not alone as can be illustrated by the rapid disappearance from our High Streets and Back Streets of repair shops trading in everything from replacing a sole or heel on shoes to rewinding copper wire around electric motors. Small radio shops, TV repairmen, car repair workshops and jobbing tailors have been driven out of business by the consumer society.

Some survive and I have been heartened to hear of and recently see a short documentary type film entitled "The Art of Repair" featuring small businesses in traditional sectors which are clinging on against the onslaught of a throw-away culture.

See what you think of it. I challenge you to still have dry eyes or ice cold indifference afterwards.

Sandie Shaw

 Memories of seaside holidays are fresh in my mind.

This is usually the case on the darkest and coldest of winter nights. I may also have been the victim of the relentlessly brash or vaguely aspirational advertisements for that tailor made summer vacation where kids and their parents get on swimmingly. After all it is on a fully inclusive basis (gratuities excluded).

I grew up as part of a large family, even by baby-boomer standards, five kids under the age of 14 so the most efficient logistical approach to the main summer holidays was to stay within the UK, well more specifically  England and Scotland to explore and sample the delights of the phenomena that was the day trip to, or a longer stay at, the seaside in a bed and breakfast, under canvas or in a static caravan.

Standard family equipment for seasiding included a wind-break, mallet, travel rug, hamper, pair of ancient wood wormy candy-stripe canvas deck chairs, plenty of assorted Tupperware, buckets, spades, kite and a cricket bat. For many years I was under the impression that we were Spanish by descent on the basis that the brittle weave of the wind break appeared to represent their National colours. The wind break was quite an event to get into position as by its very name it was only brought into action in a stiff breeze.The whole exercise took on the appearance of the launch of a brightly coloured fantastical hang glider to carry a whole family out of the country.  Hammering the uprights into soft sand was fairly ineffective so other methods were deployed including guy ropes, large sea-cobbles (dependant on the local geological conditions) or large cofferdam construction. My father was responsible for the physical siting of our gawdy encampment which took a lot of skill. It was essential to be within sight of the paddling zone of the beach for supervision of five children of varying swimming competency and water sense, but yet at sufficient distance, if the tide was on the turn, to give a good few hours of enjoyment before being at risk of being inundated by the rising tide. We were not alone in our quest to take the beach and by early morning on a day of reasonable British weather we soon found ourselves in a vast temporary settlement. Some posher families had small Camping-Gaz stoves for a brew-up.

The elite of the beach-set had the luxury of a small timber hut in a long ranked brightly painted terrace of similar on the nearby Promenade but still had to use the same Public Loo's as the rest of us, so no real social advantage there.

In my childhood we lived in Suffolk, within a short sweaty drive on the vinyl seats of the unventilated VW Variant Estate to the seaside. Hunstanton was frequently visited as a family or with relatives and friends. The beach faced north onto the vast tidal expanse of The Wash so on some days, although we were at the seaside, there was a chance that we would never actually see the sea apart from a slight mirage-type heat haze some two to three miles in the distance. The stranded water pools were a shallow, safe and warm place to play but became a bit minging later on in the day on account of the stagnant conditions and, I suspect, impromptu use as a childs' toilet.

I have a very strong memory on two counts from Hunstanton. The first was a large second world war amphibious DUKW or Duck which ran pleasure trips out to find the tide-line. The second was witnessing a fight between two women on the beach for the affections, I think, of the driver of the DUKW, who was after all quite a cool dude.

Nicer beaches were to be found further south along the Suffolk coast. We took a chalet one year at Overstrand near Cromer and for the first time Gran came with us. Our cousins lived in Newquay in Cornwall and we often holidayed in the area. A proper seaside experience with crashing waves, whole families in wet suits, amusements, donkey rides, cliffs and caves.

Our family then moved to Lincolnshire and the nearest seaside was the delightful Cleethorpes. The town is often the target of ridicule and I can fully understand why. Lets face it. It is not really a seaside town but on an estuary with an easterly view onto Spurn Point and two offshore, and now very rusty-red military forts.As in Hunstanton the tide went out a long way , a very long way. This did cause a few problems. If we set up our base on the narrow sandy strip beach we had to walk through alternate terrain of water pools and increasingly thick and gloopy mud in order to reach the  shallows. The tide line always had white scummy foam deposits, floating detergent bottles and a band of sawdust in suspension. Not the best conditions to attempt to wash the caked gunk off our legs. We rarely spent much time paddling close to the busy shipping lane because we knew that the return to our welcome beach towels would be very unpleasant in the accumulation of a fresh coating of mud. That was Cleethorpes.

Our family move to East Yorkshire introduced us to many new and delightful seaside experiences including a short drive to the really proper attractions of Scarborough, Robin Hoods Bay, Whitby and Staithes.

If I was asked to name my top beaches I would definitely include two in Scotland. With my own family unit we had booked a very late weeks holiday on the Isle of Skye. The beach at Tarskavaig on the west side was idyllic. A broad sweep of a bay with views  to the Cuillin Mountains and out to the ring of islands of Canna, Rum and Eigg in the pounding Atlantic breakers. It was unseasonably warm for early september. The shallow bay waters were warm and glinting in the late summer sun. A very rare combination of conditions indeed on an island where average rainfall has been documented at seven feet. Paddling with my wife and, at that time, two small daughters, we were mystified by a movement in the shallow raised ribs of sand under our feet, a tickling sensation and a flurry of the fine white grained sand. It took some time to concentrate on what was causing the minor disturbance until a small flat, flounder fish revealed itself as one of hundreds basking in the bay.

The second strong candidate for beach of a lifetime was more difficult to find. I had read about the place and was pretty certain that I could find it. At the very start of an anticipated 11 hour drive from the west coast of Scotland to our home we pulled over between the single track road and the sand dunes. Progress through the shifting sands was difficult, two steps forward and one back, but we eventually broke through the dunes and emerged onto the whitest, purest sandy beach in the world. It was deserted. It could have been an ordinary beach but it was the actual one featuring in the 1983 film Local Hero. We stood for a few moments, collecting sand unwittingly in our socks and shoes. 

It was a magical experience.

Life's rich Tapestry at 50

I wrote this after seeing Carole King perform live her 1971 Album Tapestry. The album reaches its 50th Anniversary tomorrow, 10th February

The last place that I ever expected to see Tom Hanks was in Hyde Park, London but just last sunday evening there he was, larger than life and right in front of me.

That was an unexpected surprise but even more so when Elton John and the remaining survivors of Crosby, Stills and Nash loomed up out of the haze and addressed me, well and about 50,000 others gathered in that idyllic setting for the rarity of a Carole King concert.

Those particular celebrities paid a fully justified and perhaps long overdue tribute to the singer songwriter, now 74 years old and who last performed in public in her own right some 25 years ago.

For those under, say, 35 years old the name of Carole King may not be familiar and indeed in an informal poll that I conducted amongst acquaintances of that generation there were either blank looks in response to my query or vague references to the lead singer of T'Pau and the former hostess of ITV's Countdown programme.

Of course those of my age group, that is just on the other side of fifty, would number the back catalogue of Carole King as figuring in their own collections of vinyl or replacement CD's and specifically the 1971 released "Tapestry" album.

In any top 100 or even top 10 of all time great records this definitive work which captured the mood and tone of the early 1970's stands its ground with character and credibility in the company of Led Zeppelin 4, Thriller, Ziggy Stardust, the output of The Beatles, the tone poems of Pink Floyd and the melodic rock of The Eagles.

The event of last weekend, under the British Summer Time series saw Carole King follow on from an Eagles Fest by one of the founder members, Don Henley and a previous two days where Massive Attack, Florence the Machine and guests entertained a heaving capacity crowd in the picturesque setting of that Central London Royal Park.

It is a current trend for performers to dedicate a concert to an entire album from their repertoire although only at a notable anniversary of say 25, 30 or 50 years since release which in the music industry is an achievement in itself.

This latest Party in the Park had sold out well before the date.

My motivation to attend was as a devotee of the album which,as they say, was a bit of a soundtrack for my own life.

I should clarify that statement.

It was playing on the car CD player when I got my first speeding fine after 25 years of holding a clean licence but is also very much a  part of the courtship mix-type tape in my longstanding marriage to my wife, Allison.

It appears that one or more of the tracks played that evening held a similar special role in the lives of most of the 50,000 attendees based on my observations of couples and friends holding tightly onto each other and openly weeping and crying.

I can appreciate the emotions engendered by Carole King's most well known songs of "You've got a friend", "Will you love me tomorrow?" and "It's too late" in any close relationship or deeply founded friendship.

From the 100 metre or so distance from the stage where I had managed to win a foothold for my wife and myself the diminuitive blond  figure could just be seen at the grand piano. A series of huge TV screens on gantry towers through the human tide of the audience gave the type of close up view that those just at the foot of the stage had paid a small mortgage for. At least there, unlike in our position they were less likely to stumble over discarded wine bottles and abandoned travel rugs from the day-long party on what turned out to be a beautiful summer evening, as rare indeed as a Carole King concert.

In a sequined little black number she hardly appeared to have changed in recent decades and seemed humbled and a bit overawed by the reception of the crowd and the quiet and respectful accompaniment of every skilfully crafted and delivered song.

Carole King has written for many great performers of the modern era giving them major hit success over and above her own.

In a writing duo with former and recently deceased husband Gerry Goffin they achieved a prolific output of ballads and pop songs which still receive regular airplay on a global basis. The co-written "You make me feel like a natural woman" with Goffin and Wexler became an iconic anthem for great female artistes, pre-eminently Aretha Franklin in 1967.

The second half of the concert was homage to Goffin's work in a medley that seemed so familiar to me even though I had not realised that the songs had come from such a talented source.

It was a great performance with King herself expressing surprise at her getting through it without throwing out a hip or having a senior moment that comes to the best of us. I feel privileged at having been there, witnessing a little bit of history and being able to tick off another iconic artist on my list before they die.

Well, it does seem to be a bit of a recent trend doesn't it.

1868 Hoard Albert Dock

Michael Farron was amongst some 600 Navvies working on excavating the basin and lock pit opening for the new Albert Dock in Hull 1868. 

The men and boys of the workforce were some 21 feet below what would become the level of the quayside. In his own words Farron described that as his spade struck a large stone it suddenly burst open and hundreds of coins cascaded out into the mud. 

There was an understandable scramble to retrieve and claim some of this hoard of coins evidently concealed in the hollowed out innards of the stone. This action was to be expected as a welcome windfall for the Navvies whose daily rate was at or below subsistence level. 

There was a general wider distribution of the coins amongst those present and a few were sold on for trifling sums. The coins were described as being in good condition and with their markings clearly discernible. Farron himself took a few of them thinking that they were of no value. 

The news of the hoard soon came to the attention of Treasury Officials in London and a raid was made to recover the items. 

Out of the alleged hundreds of pieces only a very small proportion were recovered in the initial operation and these were already spread over a wide area. There was a slow drip feed of coins over the ensuing decades from donations from local holders, private collectors or through auction sales. 

The Hull Museum on Albion Street catalogued 19 pieces in 1927 thought to have come from the hoard although in the devastating world war two bombing of that very grand porticoed building most of the collection was strewn about in the rubble and damaged or lost. 

It was well into the twentieth century that resources were dedicated to studying the hoard. 

The location of the find had at one time been one of the openings of the delta of the River Hull. It had been sealed off in the reign of Edward the First in the fourteenth century so that a single deeper water and navigable river channel could be formed to promote Kingston Upon Hull as a Port and a fortified base for naval vessels on what was a front line with Europe. 

Specialists called to investigate the hoard included historians, numismatists, metallurgists and laboratory based scientists. Understandably there was a wide range of opinions. 

An initial analysis was that the coins were Demi-Sterlings from John the Blind (1309-1347) who had fought and died at the Battle of Crecy and prior to that had been a Count of Luxembourg and Titular King of Poland. The Luxembourg State Museum were consulted. This line of enquiry was inconclusive as the coins could not be matched up to any of that era that had otherwise been in common circulation on the continent. 

Other scrutiny of the markings on some of the coins revealed lettering of "Edwardensisrex" , a London reference and clear depiction of a head and 3 painted crowns although there was an inconsistency in the lettering including a Lombardic "n". 

This led to speculation that the coins were Ha'penny issue from the reign of Edward the First which tied in with the location factor. However there was a further hypothesis that the hoard was possibly from the reign of Edward the Third who had issued Kingston Upon Hull with a Regal Issue of coinage in the 1300's. 

A series of Laboratory based tests on weight and metal content showed a poorly quality of materials and in the method of their striking. Coins of the 1300's were of a hammered type. Most revealing was the combination of a very low silver content ,traces of a silver wash onto an inferior and debased copper metal and a higher proportion of lead. This latter observation of lead was not unusual as it was a constituent in the refining of silver but not at such an elevated level. 

Gradually the consensus amongst those investigating the hoard was that it was in fact the output of a local forger. 

Farran and his contemporaries had, back in 1868, doubted that the coins has been freshly planted as a hoax given the circumstances and lack of opportunity for a perpetrator to access the building site of the Albert Dock and conceal the hollowed out stone and its stash. 

The scientific analysis was consistent with the Medieval period and so the forger, whether intentionally hiding his work or having disposed of them into the river in a panic had been from the 1300's. 

The latter explanation is more plausible as the coins because of their poor quality would have to be mixed in with legal coinage and circulated in an area of larger population than the still rather parochial Kingston Upon Hull of that era. This would have meant the coins reaching London or sent to the Continent where political, social and commercial upheaval would present a greater opportunity for subtle distribution for illicit profit into the economy. 

Continental coins of that period did have a lower silver content than English coins and so the baser material might be more readily accepted without question. 

The idea of a Hull based forger of the Medieval period is quite intriguing and particularly the chain of events that led to their eventual discovery during construction of the Albert Dock in 1868. 

I just hope that the individual was not attached to the stone either by accident or as an early example of local gang warfare over the lucrative crime of coin forging.

Town and Trade of Hull

The waterfront of Kingston Upon Hull is testament to its history as a major shipping port. 

It comprises a series of Dock Basins and Quays which in the majority remain in some form of maritime use to the present day. 

In its halcyon days there will have been large warehouses and other buildings associated with freight and the movement of livestock and some 2.1 million in number of immigrants arriving from Europe for an onward journey to the New World. 

Hull was also home to a large trawling and whaling fleet operating in the harsh and dangerous North Sea and Arctic Waters. 

The Hull Dock Company were the driving force behind the development of their 410 acres of land and 124 acres of basins on the waterfront and their proactive and sometimes ruthless commercial approach was a matter of, jointly, admiration and detestation amongst those in competitive or dependent businesses. 

In their time they brought to Hull the wealth and status of a Port and through investment of £3,537,909 from the late 18th Century a legacy of 8 Docks, 2 Graving Docks (Dry Docks), 3 timber ponds and many buildings was created. 

The first venture was the opening of Queens Dock in September 1778, engineered by John Grundy, at a cost of £64588 (without quays). Funding was through an issue of Shares with a take up of the issue by those with a vested interest being Hull Corporation, Trinity House and Charterhouse. 

The ceremony was a great affair with attendance by Mr Joseph Outram the Lord Mayor and with the first ship through the lock gates, The Manchester which was a Greenland Whaler followed by Favourite with dignatories and the well-to-do on board. Soldiers provided a volley of muskets accompanied by cannon volleys from the shoreside defences. 

The new docks proved popular with shipowners and merchants and a surplus of trade justified the construction of The Humber Dock in 1809 at the huge cost for that time of nearly a quarter of a million pounds. 

This was followed within 20 years by Junction or later called Princes Dock costing £165033 which formed an interconnecting series with Queens and Humber Docks. The design criteria was extended from merchant ships to be able to take 50 guns Men O'War vessels. 

In 1846 at a cost of £123314 the Railway Dock was built to allow freight and other traffic to be brought to and taken from the Docks for global distribution. 

Four years later the Victoria Dock provided a facility for trade in timber and cattle and with a later extension at a combined investment of nearly £600000. 

Continued success in the town  and trade which were seen as indivisible saw, in 1869, the Albert Dock built in 1869 at over one million pounds and the Wright Dock by 1880. 

The last two decades of the 19th Century was a busy time on the waterfront and in 1883 St Andrews Doc was opened having cost £414707 and with Number 1 and 2 Graving or Dry Docks over the three years from 1880. 

Of course global trade and trading routes have changed dramatically even in my own lifetime and Queens Dock, St Andrews Dock and what was called Junction Dock and latterly Princes Dock proved obsolete in the 20th Century to become public open space and the location of a shopping centre and retail park respectively. 

You can still see architectural features of the infilled basins such as huge dressed stones which formed the quayside and moorings many having great tales to tell as an integral part within the heritage of Hull.