WEEKEND BREAK (7)

OUR GEOFFREY: POLITICIAN ‘FOR ALL THE RIGHT REASONS’

 

If ever a fellow deserved the Freedom of Falmouth - recently granted to him - it would surely be Councillor Geoffrey Evans, currently the town’s longest-serving public figure and mayor a record 12 times during his 51 years and counting on the town council.

 

Unless my powers of judgement are seriously questionable, Geoffrey has repeatedly demonstrated that he, more than most, has been in politics “for all the right reasons.”

 

His record of public service, both openly and behind the scenes, has been genuinely outstanding and truly exceptional. Okay, I’ll go a step further and say it:  he is the very antithesis of most people’s idea of a politician. 

 

It was a fact royally recognised with his award of the MBE in 2018 by the late Queen Elizabeth II.

 

He met Her Majesty in Falmouth on several occasions, perhaps most notably during her visit in 1977 as part of her Silver Jubilee.

 

Certainly, that visit left Geoffrey – who represents my own Arwenack ward - with one of his fondest royal memories of them all.

 

It was the day the Queen gave royal approval to our national dish!

 

As she left the Prince of Wales Pier, having come ashore from the Royal Yacht Britannia, she said to Geoffrey: “I wonder what I’m going to receive today.” He replied:  You never know, it might be a Cornish pasty.”

 

He subsequently told me: “As we left the Town Hall, a little girl ran up to her and gave her three pasties. The Queen looked at me as if to say ‘Is this planned?’ – it wasn’t – and we had a really good laugh together.

 

“I later asked if she had liked the pasties.  She said she had cut them up and sampled each one of them – and found them very enjoyable.”

 

 

‘OK, GIMME THE FACTS . . . ER, HUBBY’

 

It would be easy to suspect that BBC news “impartiality” has never been under closer scrutiny.

 

Perceived bias in the corporation is not exactly new, though, having been on the go for just about as long as I can remember.

 

One example of potential bias that was not generally “perceived,” however, used to be on the regional airwaves from time to time back in the 1970s.

 

As well as being regularly grilled by intrepid local reporters, Ian Sutherland, then managing director at Falmouth Docks, was also to be heard on BBC Radio’s Morning Sou’ West programme (i.e. long before Radio Cornwall was born).

 

The interviewer would often be announced as Peta Riley. Initially, I knew nothing of her background and wondered who this fearless, investigative journalist, aiming to lift the lid off the affairs at the troubled yard, could possibly be.

 

It was only a little further down the line that I learnt the cosy “truth.” Peta was, in fact, Ian’s wife, using her maiden name.

 

And in local journalistic circles, it was widely understood that such interviews were conducted – wait for it – on the edge of the sofa in the comfort of the Sutherlands’ lounge!  

 

 

The Monster Tale I WAS Prepared To Believe (I Think)

 

I’ve just caught up with BBC2’s Loch Ness: They Created A Monster, which put the spotlight on the hunters who camped out on the shores of the Scottish loch throughout the 1970s and ‘80s.

 

But still the question lingers: was/is Nessie for real?  Ditto, for that matter, Morgawr the legendary Falmouth sea monster, which also captured worldwide media attention during those decades.

 

I’ve often asked myself that question, as in: “C’mon, son, do you really believe in this stuff?”

 

I was always tempted to conclude “Of course not.”

 

But in amongst the many reported “sightings” of Morgawr – which occupied much of my time as a freelance journalist back in the day – I have always remembered one such that truly stood out.

 

The late Falmouth author Sheila Bird, who researched the subject in depth, claimed to have seen the monster off Portscatho in 1985.

 

She described it as some 20 feet long, with a long neck, small head and a large hump protruding high out of the water, with a long muscular tail visible just below the surface.

 

The sighting was shared, she added, by her brother, Dr Eric Bird, an accomplished scientist.

 

She said they watched the creature for several minutes before it submerged. It did not dive, but “dropped vertically like a stone, without leaving a ripple.”

 

 

I knew Sheila very well, both writing about her in my professional capacity and as a  close neighbour . . . 

 

. . . and I simply cannot imagine that she would have made up such a thing, let alone go public with it unless she was certain of what she had seen.  It just wouldn’t have been Sheila.

 

 

A WEE TALE BEST NOT TOLD?

 

(Readers of a sensitive nature may prefer to skip this item.)

 

My newspaper reading last weekend (always so much to wade through – love it!) included this little gem from best-selling author Matt Haig –

 

“I remember having a wee next to Paul McCartney. I’m a nervous wee-er and I always struggle if I’m right next to someone in a urinal.

 

“When I realised who it was, I ended up having to go into one of the cubicles to finish the wee off, because I couldn‘t go.  How can you urinate next to a Beatle? It’s simply impossible.”

 

I’m very grateful to Matt for that info – because for the last 50 years or so I had feared it was just me with that affliction.

 

It gradually became a non-issue, but it was very much alive during my 20s.  And that was when I had a similar experience not with a Beatle but with George Best, no less.

 

When I realised who was standing next to me in the men’s toilets of the Annabel’s night club in Manchester, I duly dried up.  

 

I went through the motions (couldn’t resist that one) alongside him at the wash basins and then walked out, pretty much together but with him just ahead of me.

 

Then it happened. I suddenly realised that one of the world’s greatest-ever footballers was standing there, perfect gentleman, holding the door open for me.

 

In all of a microsecond or two, I found myself frantically pondering: “Do I call him George, or what?”

 

I figured that would be a bit presumptuous, so chickened out with a simple “thank you” and just an ordinary sort of smile, settling for the this-is-an-everyday-occurrence-and-I’m-not-in-awe-of-you approach.

 

In that fleeting face-to-face, I couldn’t help noticing just how bright-eyed our wonder boy from Belfast was.  He was still not so far short of his peak football performance, after all.

 

A decade or so later, he guested for Penryn Athletic in a memorable friendly match at Falmouth Town’s Bickland Park.  

 

I interviewed him before the match and couldn’t help noticing how foggy-eyed he had become.

 

I also winced, later on, when learning of some of the unsporting, not to say ungentlemanly, things he had said and done on the field of play that night.  Local referee Mike Hodges even had to deliver a stern lecture at one stage. 

 

But no sweat, the big crowd breathed a collective sigh of relief when George was allowed to continue playing!

 

WHAT HOPE FOR THE PLANET?

 

One of the curses – or benefits, depending on how you look at it – of getting older is our apparent need for so much less sleep.

 

So, ever keen to try something new - because I just do not want to settle for four hours or so -  I received a pulse point roller ball sleep aid yesterday.  

 

It, and absolutely nothing else, was delivered in an Amazon cardboard envelope measuring 14 x 10ins. 

 

The product, even in its packaging, came to no more than 4 x 1½ x 1½ins! 

STOP PRESS: The bloomin' thing WORKED! Best night's sleep for absolutely ages.  So if you're in the same boat, go onto Amazon, search Tisserand Pulse Point Roller Ball - and buy without delay!