Moving in a yellow bedroom light

[peterbirks]

Up to Worcester via Evesham for Diane's funeral yesterday. There were about 100 people there, I would guess -- of whom a surprising number just turned up for the funeral. That was quite touching. I was told that even Marilyn, John Taynton's ex-wife, was there, although I hadn't seen her for a good 16 years, so I didn't recognize her. John Taynton once did a live broadcast for Midlands Radio from MidCon -- at which I believe Mr Doubleday (P) made a contribution, although perhaps my memory is playing tricks on me.

It was nice to talk to Di's relatives from Peterborough; I hadn't met most of them before. Her old friend Ian, who used to work in The Nightiongale, drove up from Devon. Jan, who used to work with Martin and Di and Stuart's Kitchens, and who later worked with Di at the BBC club, did all the food (at "Eggwins", which is what the BBC Club is now officially called), and it was predictably excellent.

Stuart's half-brother (Martin's son by his first marriage) was there, although Martin himself was not. Stuart quite clearly can't see it himself, but Stuart and half-brother are far more like brothers than they do half-brothers -- personality-wise as well as looks-wise.

As I suspect Diane would have wanted, it wasn't a grim affair. In a valiant show of anti-current-PC, nearly everyone on Di's side of the family likes a cigarette, making various outside refuges popular places.

Although it was a saddening occasion, I didn't come back feeling depressed - more melancholy and reflective. My non-belief in God is fairly aggressive; there are no straws of faith to clutch at. Life is randomly bad or good to people who are bad or good. Di was good and life was randomly bad to her. So it goes.

When I arrived back in London I decided, since it seemed to be a day for memories, to wander down Craven Passage and have a look at the Ship and Shovel, one of my old haunts from the mid-1980s. Some of you may remember the pub as a dingy little local used only by people working in that little village underneath Charing Cross Station, that small block bounded by Villiers Street and Craven Street that in the mid-1980s was an odd place where ebberyone who worked there seemed to know each other.

No longer. The place was heaving. And the brewery (Hall & Woodhouse?) had turned what used to be an old shop opposite the pub into an extension of the pub itself. This was a cunning move in the light of the smoking ban, because that made the passageway a "part" of the pub. But one that you can smoke in. Shrewd.

But why now "The Ship and Shovell"? What's the extra 'l' all about?

Comments

[the-maenad.livejournal.com]

Possibly a reference to Sir Clowdesley Shovell, the admiral?

Regrets, nostalgia, life, etc

[real-aardvark.livejournal.com]

Your memory is fine. Mr Taynton did indeed build a mini-radio station at MidCon for Radio West Midlands (the poorer relation of BRMB), and he did indeed build it around me. Literally. One moment I'm fast asleep on a couch in the Royal Angus bar at 2am on a Sunday morning after thirty six hours of solid debauchery,and five hours later I wake up with a big furry mike in my face (not Woodhouse, although he was present) and an impressive array of technical kit woven around me. True professionalism on the part of Mr Taynton, although he may now regret letting the likes of me and Piggott pontificate on the morning papers. I did enjoy the gorgeous PA bringing me endless cups of coffee, though. It was operationally necessary, but still rather sweet.

Which seems like a depressing memory to bring back at this juncture. I appreciated your original post on Diane's death -- there's always a temptation to resort to euphemism, but I think death it is -- and the present post is a fine encomium. Even though it doesn't really say anything about Diane, I don't think there's a need to do so. It's a good summary of the atmosphere, and that's more of a tribute than any random collection of memories.

"There were about 100 people there, I would guess -- of whom a surprising number just turned up for the funeral." There's your non-random good, right there. One might look at life as a series of goals, achievements, errors and near-misses. Living a life that connects a hundred disparate people so closely that they all drop what they're doing and come together is a far better way to go.

I rather wish I'd met the lady.

Di's funeral

[(Anonymous)]

Thanks for the report, and the initial call. I still can't believe that Di was only 52, but then I can't believe that I will be in two weeks time. I'm surprised that Martin wasn't there, although i don't suppose he would have relished meeting her family. Is he healthy? alive? Last I heard he'd had several heart attacks but that's a long long time ago. "and at my back................." John W

Re: Di's funeral

[peterbirks.livejournal.com]

Hi John:

Yes, Martin is still running Tom's the barber shop (named after his father, btw), down a litle side passage just off the road that leads down from the middle of Evesham to the river.

PJ

Re: Di's funeral

[geoffchall.livejournal.com]

Yep - know those little alleys well and have strolled amongst them on a number of occasions, blissfully unaware that Martin was stalking them as a demon barber. Funny old world - and how odd to have had quite so many very different lives.

I'm glad that the funeral was 'right'. Sometimes that can be unsatisfying, when a happy person has a sombre funeral or a very sober person has too much flipness. We buried my Aunty Mabel a couple of years ago and the priest/minister/whatever was hilarious in a useless kind of way - kept getting names wrong and cocking things up. For some people that would have been brutally offensive but you knew that it suited the occasion (Mabs was always one for malapropisms and cheerful mess).

Di Hammon

[(Anonymous)]

Thanks for the notice of Di Hammon's funeral (and the update about Martin). She was always one of the best people to play silly games with at cons, usually in the bar and usually enjoying herself and laughing.

Niall L

Sir Cloudsley Shovell

[(Anonymous)]

Hi Pete

Yes your first commentator is right. It will be a reference to Admiral Cloudsley Shovell (sic). He sailed his fleet into the Scilly Islands in 1707. This wasn't a good thing, as he literally sailed into the Scilly Islands and his ship and all hands were lost. It Admiralty enquiry afterwards set off the search for a proper measurement of longitude and it is mentioned in Deva Sobell's book of the same name.

I know because there is a folk song about the disaster - quite a good one actually, though I don't sing it myself.

All the best

Brian

Re: Sir Cloudsley Shovell

[peterbirks.livejournal.com]

This is all good romantic stuff, but my bet is that the association has been 'invented' by the brewery. The Ship and Shovel, as it used to be in the long-distant past of the 1980s, was so-called, as far as I am aware, because the river used to come somewhat higher up the street than it did after the Embankment was built in the 19th century (see also "Horseferry Road", further down the river at Lambeth Bridge). There were many ships that called in at where Embankment station is now (previously Charing Cross Station - the current Charing Cross Station was previously two stations -- Trafalgar Square and Strand) to unload coal and the like. This was removed by shovellers, who liked a drink after work. Hence the name of the pub as "The Ship And Shovel".

That, at least, makes some historical sense. Cloudsley Shovell, nice bloke that he undoubtedly was, seems to be associated with Norfolk, the Scilly Isles, and Gibraltar.

I note from Google that my memory wasn't playing tricks - the pub did indeed used to be called The Ship and Shovel. www.fellwalk.co.uk seems to provide a more convincing reference.

"If looking for a pub along the north bank, walkers will have to deviate up to "Strand". where the bank of the river formerly ran. Hence the name "Strand". meaning beach. Two pubs there have names relating to the unloading of colliers - The Ship and Shovel, and The Coal Hole" (a pub actually on the Strand, near the Strand Hotel).

I rest my case. Norfolk sailors, my arse. Marketing shite from modern breweries....

PJ