OF BOOKS, BLOGS AND PAINTINGS
£30,000 CANCER MILESTONE IN SIGHT
Not quite sure why, but I see this blog website (latterly Weekend Break) is continuing to attract healthy interest despite my having closed it down a few months ago for all but occasional footballer memoir promotions.
One should “never say never,” of course, but for the time being at least I see no prospect of returning to its broader-interest base.
Much though I’d like to have continued with it – because I loved doing it – circumstances had conspired to force me into concluding that something simply had to give. It was either my books (and occasional paintings) or the blog.
And as the books and paintings raise money for Cancer Research, but the blog doesn’t, at least not directly, it was a no-brainer.
That fund-raising will hopefully pass a major milestone in 2026. If my current ghost-writing project – provisional cover design below – performs anywhere near as well as expected, then the grand total raised from my books and paintings since I retired in 2015 should pass £30,000.
So a big thank-you to each and every one of you who has supported me these past 11 years with purchases or assistance in any way.
It’s been a true labour of love – and all for a wonderfully worthy cause – and I certainly intend to continue with it all, majoring on a new book every 12 months, for just as long as I can.
But meanwhile, as tiz Christmas time, ‘ere be a one-off festive foray back into blog territory for ee. . .
THE WAYS WE CORNISH DE TALK - ALLEGEDLY
My sudden departure from “proper English” in that last paragraph above is a sort-of introduction to my theme here.
For starters, I’m wondering if ANYONE from any part of Cornwall ever talks, or has talked, in the way I’m about to exemplify. (Blowed if I recognise it, speaking as a Cornishman of 71 years’ residence here):--
“I’s never knowed ee go especially to church to do so. Not when there ain’t no service taking place” . . . . “ I’ll tells ee what; I could make ee a sandwich” . . . “You’re the Froggie, ain’t ee?” . . . “That’s how they sees it, but tain’t stopped me working” . . . “Ee tweren’t romantic in the least” . . . “Then I comes awake and remembers; they be the loneliest nights of all.”
These examples are taken from the novel I’ve just finished reading, Wild Strawberries, by Emma Blair (pen name for Iain Blair), which is set in Coverack in the Second World War.*
It reminded me of something I was once told when I made my first stab at novel-writing: “The moment you start using dialect and accents in dialogue, you’re treading on a minefield.”
That is, getting any kind of balance between authenticity and readability is well nigh impossible. In other words, the greater the “Cornish” consistency, the bigger the threat to fluency.
The “minefield” warning - 40 years ago - came from now-retired Cornish author Jane Pollard, whose Cornish-based historical novels were written as Jane Jackson, or similar.
And it’s as true today as it was then – as I discovered when I recently caught up with her.
“I, too, have seen some dreadful examples of so-called Cornish dialect which was actually an all-purpose totally inaccurate bastardisation!” Jane told me.
“When you consider that Penryn dialect is different from Camborne, which is different again from Bude, it’s not surprising so many authors get it wrong.
“Most of the time this is due to sheer laziness! They don’t bother to check Cornish grammar or sentence construction, yet there are plenty of books on the subject.”
In Wild Strawberries, there is a striking, nay hilarious, example of inconsistency when a returning merchant seaman relates over a thousand words or so how he survived a sinking.
Without exception, his tale - entirely in quotes - is told in perfect English, in masterly prose in fact, only for the guy to revert immediately, upon completion, to talking Cornish, or at least the author’s attempt at that, e.g. “ . . . then a drink it be. Tis a long while since I had a pint of cider . . . I’s dog-tired anyhow. ’Twas a long journey down . . . You can’t imagine the times I’ve thought of ee."
Oh, and another common failing when authors have their characters talking “Cornish” is to forget to drop their H’s, which again makes it all sound instantly and totally inauthentic.
Lest you think I’ve got it in for Mr Blair, let me readily add that Wild Strawberries overall is a cracking good read, with the Paris Hotel at its heart and with at least one episode based on true life.
* Notta lotta people know this, as Michael Caine might say, but Coverack was hit by an audacious daytime bombing raid in August, 1942, killing four people, injuring 21 more and destroying five houses.
WHEN IT SEEMED EVERYONE IN
FALMOUTH (ALMOST) LOVED ME!
And while the Festive Season is still with us, here’s one from the archive, from one of my Packet columns back in 1984, in fact, published three days before that year’s Christmas Day (soon after I had become Falmouth Rotary Club’s youngest-ever member!):--
. . . there was one evening last week when for nearly three hours I was the most loved, lovable person in Falmouth. Despite the fact that my white moustache kept falling into my mouth whenever I spoke, scores of children beamed bright-eyed into my face, and their parents, too, were delighted to see me.
(Have you guessed who I was yet, this dark and cold winters night?)
My hood was altogether too big for me, too, and I had to cross roads very carefully and hold it above my forehead as I stooped to talk to the little ones.
One little boy – clever brat that he was – remarked: “I didn’t know you wore glasses.” Another, with an equally high score on the brat scale, said: “Hey, you’re wearing brown trousers.”
(Oh, come on, you’ve surely cottoned on by now!)
Close by me throughout my vigil was a giant snowman hauled on a trailer to the accompaniment of taped seasonal music. And members of Falmouth Rotary Club were knocking on doors with collecting tins for the club’s Christmas charities.
Oh, the unrestrained joy and innocence on those sweet little faces and whispering so precisely into my ear what they wanted for Christmas.
Oh tragedy that these delicate creatures must grow up and encounter this world’s wicked realities.
Happily, the reality for me and those collectors last week was nearly always a warm welcome and a generous donation.
In streets were you would anticipate little spare cash, residents without exception – from pensioners to toddlers in their night clothes – would come running with handfuls of coins.
At some of the more sumptuous households, however, we came across instances of people peering through their curtains and then not even coming to the door.
To them, I say: shame on you, you latter-day Scrooges of Falmouth. To them goes this Santa’s blackest mark of the year!
HOW MY WIFE WAS TRAPPED - AND
A CITY’S TRAMS WERE HALTED
We don’t have a big family – it’s not an endless stream of seasonal social visits to and from all and sundry – so during the Festive Season I usually turn my time to a bit of extra spring-cleaning/decluttering.
What often happens is that I stop and dwell on so many items from days gone by that I rarely shift anything like the amount I had in mind.
This year is no exception and included a reminder of the day, back in April, 1993, when a crash involving three of my family paralysed a city’s new tramway system.
“Once a newshound, always a newshound,” of course, and Guess Who duly issued this press release:--
A Falmouth woman was trapped for nearly an hour in a city centre accident that knocked out Manchester’s new tramway system on Thursday evening.
Mrs Janet Truscott, 41, was a front seat passenger in a car that collided with a tramcar. As a result, the city’s much-heralded new transport system was brought to a standstill for one-and-a-half hours.
She was eventually cut free by firemen and taken by ambulance to Manchester Royal Infirmary Hospital, where she was treated for minor cuts, bruising and shock.
Mrs Truscott, wife of Falmouth public relations expert Mike, had travelled to Manchester by train with the couple’s two children, Annabelle, 14, and Lisa, 11.
The car was being driven by Mrs Truscott’s father, Mr Herbert Lowe of Swinton, who was unhurt. Annabelle, Lisa and Mr Lowe were treated in hospital for shock.
WHAT A BLAST – NOT!
Doubtless it will be a blast in many ways when the New Year is ushered in . . . but one “blast” that will be sadly absent, once again, will be the cacophony of ship’s horns from a rich variety of shipping in Falmouth Docks.
Long gone are the days when anything up to 20 vessels or more would be in dock and alongside, including two abreast and just occasionally three, with any number of ship types and company colours.
You can just imagine what a great sound that lot made, can’t you, when the clock struck midnight.
That was back in the post-war boom years of the 1950s and, to a lesser extent, into the early ‘60s.
Now you’ll be lucky to hear just one ship trumpeting away. That’s all it amounted to last year and the current picture is pretty much the same, with just three MoD ships constituting the seemingly permanent Docks scene.
The long-term all-grey look is great for the yard’s stability, of course, but enough to make any keen shipspotter - or New Year’s reveller - cry into their bubbly!
MY IDEA OF CORNISH HEAVEN
Sadly, my painting is not progressing at the pace I would like. Art, of all things - for me anyway - requires total focus and if humanly possible a minimum of three hours at a time, to the exclusion of all else. Say no more . . .
So no freshly completed paintings for another month or two. I’ve got two on the go at the moment, and in the meantime here’s a reminder of one of my all-time favourites (acrylic on canvas, 30 x 30cms), from a photo (Gunwalloe) by daughter Annabelle.
Apart from the particular technical challenges I overcame, I think its principal appeal for me is that it is so Cornwall . . . so my idea of escapism and relaxation, so that switch-off moment when you arrive at a beach, with peace and the sea awaiting, maybe at the end of a little walk with nothing but nature around you (e.g. Sunny Cove near Falmouth).
This one’s already spoken for – it was quickly snapped up when I put it here a couple of years ago – but you can see some others of mine, along with an insight into my art world, if you visit the gallery on my teacher’s website, Jeanni Grant-Nelson: https://www.visual-awareness.com/store/c16/Mike.html
YOU KNOW YOU’RE GETTING OLDER WHEN . . .
. . . For the fourth time now in five weeks, you forget to retrieve your pound coin from the Tesco trolley slot!
SO . . . POINTING THE WAY TO A BETTER MEMORY?
(Spring-chicken readers below 60 may wish to skip this item!)
Senior moments . . . doncha just love ‘em! I have devised a mind game to keep the little pests at bay as best I can.
This is how it works. Quite simply, start each day with ten points and lose one each time you have one of those moments – or, more precisely, whenever you forget to do something, or do something familiar the wrong way.
It can be any little thing – including the classic “now what the blazes have I come into this room for?”
And if you have what you would regard as an exceptional massive senior moment, whatever that might be, then you lose two points.
Yesterday was the first day I tried this, and I was down to seven points after just my first three hours. (No, I’m not going to tell you my final score!)
Part of the challenge, of course, is not to forget how many points you’ve dropped as the day goes on. In which case – let’s now make another rule – that day’s challenge is red-carded and declared void.
I’ll let you know how it all goes for me when I post my next Festive Break this time next year.
(If I remember to, of course. . . )
POSTIE’S PUZZLE
One of the photos in the Step Back In Time feature in this week’s Falmouth Packet was of a man identified in the caption as “Mr Wagstaff.”
That was it, just the two words, albeit with a reference elsewhere on the page acknowledging him as “a well-known face of the (1977) era.”
Robert Wagstaff was indeed well-known, as head of his namesake Falmouth-based group of china and glass stores.
I also fondly recall him as the recipient of what has to have been one of the most creative postal addresses of all time on an envelope.
Here’s how it read:--
The Manager or Manageress
The China and Glass Shop
Quite Near To The Falmouth Bookshop, I Believe
And Not Far From Where The Road
Curves Around With A Pub And A Church
With Shops In Between
Leading To A Phone Box
The Main Street
Falmouth, Cornwall
NEXT BOOK – THE FIRST SNEAK PREVIEW
And finally, for a flavour of the Melville Benney book publishing later this year (see first item), try these extracts from its Foreword, written by Leon Prynn, Packet Newspapers Sports Editor, 1987-2010:--
If enthusiasm was the barometer for achieving success, then Melville Benney would have been one of the most successful football managers at the highest level in the country.
. . . during his time Melville, now 74, has probably ushered thousands of players through the early learning curve of adult football, which in itself is a major achievement.
. . . he has also kept many clubs in existence by taking on additional off-field duties such as treasurer, secretary, linesman and even groundsman. If no-one was willing to do a particular job, Melville would volunteer to fulfil the role – or, on many occasions, all the roles even in a league capacity.
. . . Speaking to Melville after a match a while ago about pitch markings, he revealed that he didn’t have time on the day of the match to mark out the pitch and did it at 8.45 pm on a Friday evening because no-one else could – or would – do it. The knockout punch was that Melville had to mark the ground with a torch, but not a word of complaint, he just got on with the job as he has so often done over the years.
STOPPED IN MY TRACKS – BY NOTHING
Took a rare day off from dawn walking yesterday, but normal service quickly resumed this morning.
Except that it wasn’t normal. I rounded Pendennis Point at 0802 and was struck by that rarest of sights: no ships, no boats, no cars, no pedestrians.
Nothing, just me and the birds! And there was another thing missing, even at that time: full daylight.
So here’s to those longer days and the first hints of spring – and a bit more “company” when I go round that Point!
THANKS FOR READING – AND WATCH OUT FOR ANOTHER FESTIVE BREAK FROM ME AROUND THIS TIME NEXT YEAR!
