Should that heading say 'mode' or mood'? I'm not sure, although I'm not much given to moods these days. I tend to think of the year, even life itself, passing through different stages, each with its own range of experiences and reactions to them. As the temperature has crawled up to the dizzy heights of 10°C, the sweatshirt spends more time folded on the seat beside me, spring is in the air, and the year enters what I think of as an outward-looking season.
Plans are being made for summer holidays, and it's often now that dreams of moving house regain the momentum they had before someone suggested 'don't worry about it now, during the winter'. Not that I'm planning to move, but my neighbour is considering such a step, and it's a good illustration of the way thoughts and ideas apply themselves to a broader canvas at this time of year.
Today it was late morning when I made a quite regular delivery to a factory in Haverhill, and it was somehow emotive to gaze around the deserted workroom as I waited for my documents to be signed. In contrast to the time I worked in manufacturing in the '70s and '80s, many such businesses now stop work for the weekend at Friday lunchtime, and the chat I fondly remember about 'what are you doing this weekend?' has shifted forward a few hours, and is already being put into practice by Friday afternoon.
Once the general thought of my past had taken root, it wasn't a great leap to find myself pondering on the time I spend researching my family history. It's the sort of hobby to which there is never an end. There just isn't a point where you can say, "there, I've finished it!" because, wherever you draw your metaphorical 'fence', there's always someone at the periphery whose parents, or spouse, or children have fallen beyond the present boundary, and could be the excuse for shifting the fence outward one more place ... and so on.
I tell myself that, one day, I'm going to write it all up - the Great Family Story - and I do believe that that day will come: at the moment, I just can't see when that will be. Apart from work, and the minutiae of daily life, there's always some project to soak up the 'spare' time. At the start of last year, I found myself embroiled in a mammoth study of half a dozen families that bore my mother's maiden name. They all lived, married and died in the same couple of Suffolk villages, but seemed to have few if any links to each other, as they would if they were all part of one great 'clan'. I thought that would be over by the spring, but eventually it took until June or July to complete it to my satisfaction.
At the start of this year, another project has taken hold, prompted by an autumn e-mail out of the blue, as it were, from a fourth cousin in the USA. Suddenly, a line that had been quite minor and had long been 'dormant' in terms of research, has become the prime focus of my attention, as I follow up and extend the family tree that this cousin has generously made available to me. Again, I thought this might take until about January, but it now seems likely that last year's precedent will be followed pretty closely.
Another line that my musings took today, was the fact that my researches into my mother's family seem to have far outweighed both in extent and in intensity those on my father's side. I wondered why this should be, and I came up with a couple of fairly sound theories. One concerns what, for want of any other term, I call the 'growing era' of each family. My father was just over ten years older than his wife, and while she was the second child of her parents, he had nine elder siblings, seven of whom were still alive when he was born. I have inherited a host of family photographs, the bulk of which were of mum's family. Her parents were married in 1912, and by the time that she and her siblings were growing up, the box camera was there to record some of the events. In dad's case, by contrast, his parents were married in 1892, and as well as the 20-year 'growing era' difference, raising a family of nine (for he wasn't the youngest!) would have left precious little either time or funds for an extensive pictorial record!
The second theory to explain this basic disparity in my researches is simply that, with dad out at work all day - and a five-and-a-half day week was the norm - he had less opportunity to impart family stories to me than mum did. Consequently, before ever I started research, I knew far more about her personal history than about his. Hence there was already quite a firm 'mum-base' upon which to build, whereas on dad's side it's all been pretty much from scratch.
Enough of this rumination. Work still continues apace, and I've already loaded my first job for Monday morning. There will be more about that next week!
Friday 21 February 2014
Friday 14 February 2014
Water, water everywhere ... and lots more besides!
I began this month by thinking about twos, and followed up last week with two hospitals. This week, apart from another hospital to add to my collection, I can bring you tidings from no less than three airports, with their varying stories.
The week began with a fairly undemanding Monday: a regular collection from Daventry for a customer in Royston, another from Bedford, and a couple more local jobs to Luton and Cambridge, and the joy in the evening to go bellringing for the first time in about three weeks. By Tuesday morning it was my privilege to be top of the list.
Called at about 9.30, I was despatched with a box of equipment to the theatre of Hereford County General Hospital. The journey was straightforward, and in places quite spectacular, with only one closed road to delay me, and superb views of the flooding around Worcester and Hereford, where the Teme and Lugg respectively had covered a number of fields in each direction. Respect for those suffering from this tragic situation combined with consideration for other road users to preclude the taking of any photos and, having left so early in the day, I was home again in time to be given a job for Wednesday morning.
On the face of it, this ought to have been a routine job. I was sent to Heathrow airport to collect some items for our customer in Hitchin. I'd been given the name of a contact and his phone no. - what could go wrong? My suspicions were aroused when I examined the address on the computer the previous evening. It appeared that terminal 2B is still under construction, and it was by no means clear where would be the point of access. I decided that I would phone my contact while still on the M25. It was well that I did, for instead of turning towards the airport, I was told that I needed to leave the motorway and head west! A subsequent U-turn then brought me to a control area adjacent to the motorway, where things began to liven up.
The problem was that the point of collection was 'airside', in other words I was subject to all the normal constraints that apply to passengers travelling on an aircraft . . . and not only me, but my van as well! After all the scanning - including the removal of boots - inspection and examination (I still haven't worked out why the contents of three bottles of plain water had to be poured out, while I was allowed to retain a container of screenwash!) I was given a sheet of driving instructions and, followed by a security vehicle, drove to another location on the airport where the same searches were carried out, this time including a body search! Eventually the security vehicle led me to the collection point which was, as I'd expected, on a building site. Minutes later the escorted journey was reversed, and soon I was heading back to home territory, some three-and-a-half hours after my arrival!
The week's excitement was just beginning; once this collection had been delivered (during that day's allotted downpour!), I was sent to Stansted airport, where disciplines were only a little less severe, to collect a pallet of goods that had arrived for one of our customers in Stevenage. Once these had been delivered, some of the boxes were labelled, prepared for despatch to their customer, and re-loaded onto my van, to be taken to Rochdale for 6.0 am delivery the next day.
During the course of this journey and the two local jobs that followed, I had become aware of an intermittent noise. Experience has taught me that noises can be expensive and shouldn't be ingored. So, after delivering a cooker this morning to a building site on the outskirts of Oxford, I phoned the garage. The staff there have always been understanding of my situation, and the immediate reaction was, yes, bring it in and we'll have a listen. Sadly, new brake parts were called for, but these were rapidly obtained and fitted, and I was back on the road - happily silent - within a couple of hours. Two local jobs completed my day, including a visit to the third airport of the week, at Cambridge, the co-operation of whose security and goods-in staff was a welcome contrast to the heavier formality of recent days.
After I'd exchanged the van for the comfortable surroundings of my lounge, I realised how tiring the week had been, with only five hours' unsettled sleep on Wednesday night, and the need for another early start this morning in order to make the requested 8.0 delivery. When the phone rang an hour later to enquire whether I'd like to match this week's hospital count to last week's, with a trip to Bristol this evening, I decided enough is enough, and echoed last Friday's positive 'No thanks.'
Now the weekend is off to a good start!
The week began with a fairly undemanding Monday: a regular collection from Daventry for a customer in Royston, another from Bedford, and a couple more local jobs to Luton and Cambridge, and the joy in the evening to go bellringing for the first time in about three weeks. By Tuesday morning it was my privilege to be top of the list.
Called at about 9.30, I was despatched with a box of equipment to the theatre of Hereford County General Hospital. The journey was straightforward, and in places quite spectacular, with only one closed road to delay me, and superb views of the flooding around Worcester and Hereford, where the Teme and Lugg respectively had covered a number of fields in each direction. Respect for those suffering from this tragic situation combined with consideration for other road users to preclude the taking of any photos and, having left so early in the day, I was home again in time to be given a job for Wednesday morning.
On the face of it, this ought to have been a routine job. I was sent to Heathrow airport to collect some items for our customer in Hitchin. I'd been given the name of a contact and his phone no. - what could go wrong? My suspicions were aroused when I examined the address on the computer the previous evening. It appeared that terminal 2B is still under construction, and it was by no means clear where would be the point of access. I decided that I would phone my contact while still on the M25. It was well that I did, for instead of turning towards the airport, I was told that I needed to leave the motorway and head west! A subsequent U-turn then brought me to a control area adjacent to the motorway, where things began to liven up.
The problem was that the point of collection was 'airside', in other words I was subject to all the normal constraints that apply to passengers travelling on an aircraft . . . and not only me, but my van as well! After all the scanning - including the removal of boots - inspection and examination (I still haven't worked out why the contents of three bottles of plain water had to be poured out, while I was allowed to retain a container of screenwash!) I was given a sheet of driving instructions and, followed by a security vehicle, drove to another location on the airport where the same searches were carried out, this time including a body search! Eventually the security vehicle led me to the collection point which was, as I'd expected, on a building site. Minutes later the escorted journey was reversed, and soon I was heading back to home territory, some three-and-a-half hours after my arrival!
The week's excitement was just beginning; once this collection had been delivered (during that day's allotted downpour!), I was sent to Stansted airport, where disciplines were only a little less severe, to collect a pallet of goods that had arrived for one of our customers in Stevenage. Once these had been delivered, some of the boxes were labelled, prepared for despatch to their customer, and re-loaded onto my van, to be taken to Rochdale for 6.0 am delivery the next day.
During the course of this journey and the two local jobs that followed, I had become aware of an intermittent noise. Experience has taught me that noises can be expensive and shouldn't be ingored. So, after delivering a cooker this morning to a building site on the outskirts of Oxford, I phoned the garage. The staff there have always been understanding of my situation, and the immediate reaction was, yes, bring it in and we'll have a listen. Sadly, new brake parts were called for, but these were rapidly obtained and fitted, and I was back on the road - happily silent - within a couple of hours. Two local jobs completed my day, including a visit to the third airport of the week, at Cambridge, the co-operation of whose security and goods-in staff was a welcome contrast to the heavier formality of recent days.
After I'd exchanged the van for the comfortable surroundings of my lounge, I realised how tiring the week had been, with only five hours' unsettled sleep on Wednesday night, and the need for another early start this morning in order to make the requested 8.0 delivery. When the phone rang an hour later to enquire whether I'd like to match this week's hospital count to last week's, with a trip to Bristol this evening, I decided enough is enough, and echoed last Friday's positive 'No thanks.'
Now the weekend is off to a good start!
Saturday 8 February 2014
It Never Rains but ... and it's Still Raining!
In the town where I grew up there was a soft drinks company named Doubleday. Where that name came from I have no idea, but it comes back to me now as I review a few days of distinct ups and downs. Best, as always, to begin at the beginning. On Monday I had the usual enquiries from my friends at breakfast as to what I would be doing today, and unusually I was able to answer them positively. Normally if there's a definite answer, then I'm already on the road, and not there to give it. This Monday, however, I knew exactly where I'd be for most of the day, since the van was booked in for a service and MOT. A couple of years ago I had an argument with a bollard on one of Tesco's car parks and come off second best, with the result that I've been driving around with a headlight that was fully functioning but with a cracked glass. Gradually since that assault the interior has been gathering dust and damp, and has grown ever dimmer so, deciding that now should be the time to have a replacement, I was fairly sure that the whole sequence would take up most of the day . . . a day easily absorbed by my current family history project, once I'd completed my January accounts and submitted a VAT Return.
Tuesday and Wednesday were both good days, and went some way to compensating for the loss of income on Monday. Tuesday began early with a local collection for Northampton, and goods to bring back to our customer in Letchworth, followed after only a brief interlude by a couple of local jobs. I was nearly back from the second of these when I was diverted to collect from our office, where there is a small medical warehouse facility. Three items were then taken to the Russell Hall Hospital in Dudley - another journey made easier by having done the exact same job five months ago - resulting in a return home about 9.45 pm. I made straight for bed, resolving to do the daily admin when I got up.
As soon as I'd finished breakfast on Wednesday I rang in as available. It was about 8.30, and I anticipated having an hour or more to record the doings of the past day and read through the e-mails and social media that had accumulated since Tuesday morning. Not so. Within about five minutes came a call asking me to collect something urgent for Oxford from a healthcare firm in town. By the time I'd collected this, another job had come in for something to be taken from Welwyn Garden City to Didcot. The visit to John Radclife Hospital in Oxford resolved a doubt I'd expressed a couple of weeks ago as to whether or not I'd been there before. Clearly I hadn't, for I'm sure I should have remembered it, if only for the difficulty in finding the main entrance.
My goods were designated for the theatre, so having once found a reception desk and placed my enquiry I was distressed to learn that they had at least two operating theatres. Since I had no indication which one I needed, it was agreed that I should be sent to 'main theatre', and followed the directions to the main entrance, which I had already bypassed in ignorance in my original search. Once there, the staff were very helpful, and examined the goods I'd brought, in order to determine their application. On discovering that these bore the critical word 'paediatric', they sent me further afield to the Children's Theatre, escorted for convenience by a member of staff, whose swipe card could gain access through the otherwise securely closed doors. Once the delivery had been completed, I was then escorted in the opposite direction to recover my van at the main entrance. Taking into consideration the length of the corridors, and the speed and energy of my escort, I felt I'd had this week's workout by the time I set off for Didcot!
After negotiating an alternative route to avoid a road closed owing to floods, I had almost reached home when the almost dreaded call came, sending me immediately onto another job. This involved collecting a small bundle of timber from Hitchin for a public house just outside Nottingham. I'd just picked this up when another call announced that a customer in Letchworth had a small parcel for Leicester (which turned out to be a large box of plastic trays - bulky but lightweight). This was definitely two days in one, and by now the rain had settled in for the night, although it was still only about 3.0 pm. An accident on the M1 caused a diversion on the way up, and the road conditions made it slow going anyway, so I was getting a little anxious that all the staff would have gone home by the time I arrived at my destination. In the event the manager was looking out for me; the door opened just as I pulled up outside and, by the time I'd completed my paperwork after making the delivery, he had secured the premises and driven off himself!
On then to Arnold, where the Greyhound Inn is being refurbished. By good fortune I had the phone number for someone involved in the operation, and a quick call resulted in a door opening to indicate how access was to be obtained. Another late night ensued, and at 10.30, it was time for bed when I got home. When I got up on Friday morning I already felt tired, and decided that a couple of local jobs would satisfy me quite nicely to end the week. So this time, I didn't ring in after breakfast to say I was available. In fact, I didn't need to, because the phone had already rung before I'd finished my cereal!
Friday was already under way. I managed to squeeze in a little essential admin before I was sent to Luton, following which I was summoned once more for the next job before returning home. This time I collected from Stevenage for Rochford, to deliver to badly-identified premises on an industrial estate behind Southend airport. I confess, I didn't hurry home, was then conveniently given a job to start off next week, and felt confident in beginning my weekend routines. When the controller rang at 5.45, to ask if I would be able to do another job that evening, I was pleased at the way I confined my response to a polite but firm 'No,' following this with the advice that, since two late nights had robbed me of two evenings, I needed to catch myself up before embarking on a busy weekend.
And so it is; my busy weekend has already begun with a follow-up to that MOT: a tyre check that reveals the need for a new set of four!
Tuesday and Wednesday were both good days, and went some way to compensating for the loss of income on Monday. Tuesday began early with a local collection for Northampton, and goods to bring back to our customer in Letchworth, followed after only a brief interlude by a couple of local jobs. I was nearly back from the second of these when I was diverted to collect from our office, where there is a small medical warehouse facility. Three items were then taken to the Russell Hall Hospital in Dudley - another journey made easier by having done the exact same job five months ago - resulting in a return home about 9.45 pm. I made straight for bed, resolving to do the daily admin when I got up.
As soon as I'd finished breakfast on Wednesday I rang in as available. It was about 8.30, and I anticipated having an hour or more to record the doings of the past day and read through the e-mails and social media that had accumulated since Tuesday morning. Not so. Within about five minutes came a call asking me to collect something urgent for Oxford from a healthcare firm in town. By the time I'd collected this, another job had come in for something to be taken from Welwyn Garden City to Didcot. The visit to John Radclife Hospital in Oxford resolved a doubt I'd expressed a couple of weeks ago as to whether or not I'd been there before. Clearly I hadn't, for I'm sure I should have remembered it, if only for the difficulty in finding the main entrance.
My goods were designated for the theatre, so having once found a reception desk and placed my enquiry I was distressed to learn that they had at least two operating theatres. Since I had no indication which one I needed, it was agreed that I should be sent to 'main theatre', and followed the directions to the main entrance, which I had already bypassed in ignorance in my original search. Once there, the staff were very helpful, and examined the goods I'd brought, in order to determine their application. On discovering that these bore the critical word 'paediatric', they sent me further afield to the Children's Theatre, escorted for convenience by a member of staff, whose swipe card could gain access through the otherwise securely closed doors. Once the delivery had been completed, I was then escorted in the opposite direction to recover my van at the main entrance. Taking into consideration the length of the corridors, and the speed and energy of my escort, I felt I'd had this week's workout by the time I set off for Didcot!
After negotiating an alternative route to avoid a road closed owing to floods, I had almost reached home when the almost dreaded call came, sending me immediately onto another job. This involved collecting a small bundle of timber from Hitchin for a public house just outside Nottingham. I'd just picked this up when another call announced that a customer in Letchworth had a small parcel for Leicester (which turned out to be a large box of plastic trays - bulky but lightweight). This was definitely two days in one, and by now the rain had settled in for the night, although it was still only about 3.0 pm. An accident on the M1 caused a diversion on the way up, and the road conditions made it slow going anyway, so I was getting a little anxious that all the staff would have gone home by the time I arrived at my destination. In the event the manager was looking out for me; the door opened just as I pulled up outside and, by the time I'd completed my paperwork after making the delivery, he had secured the premises and driven off himself!
On then to Arnold, where the Greyhound Inn is being refurbished. By good fortune I had the phone number for someone involved in the operation, and a quick call resulted in a door opening to indicate how access was to be obtained. Another late night ensued, and at 10.30, it was time for bed when I got home. When I got up on Friday morning I already felt tired, and decided that a couple of local jobs would satisfy me quite nicely to end the week. So this time, I didn't ring in after breakfast to say I was available. In fact, I didn't need to, because the phone had already rung before I'd finished my cereal!
Friday was already under way. I managed to squeeze in a little essential admin before I was sent to Luton, following which I was summoned once more for the next job before returning home. This time I collected from Stevenage for Rochford, to deliver to badly-identified premises on an industrial estate behind Southend airport. I confess, I didn't hurry home, was then conveniently given a job to start off next week, and felt confident in beginning my weekend routines. When the controller rang at 5.45, to ask if I would be able to do another job that evening, I was pleased at the way I confined my response to a polite but firm 'No,' following this with the advice that, since two late nights had robbed me of two evenings, I needed to catch myself up before embarking on a busy weekend.
And so it is; my busy weekend has already begun with a follow-up to that MOT: a tyre check that reveals the need for a new set of four!
Saturday 1 February 2014
Two by Two
In Celtic cultures St Brigid's Day, 1st February, is celebrated as the first day of spring and, writing this with the sun streaming through my window, that seems almost believable. Not so the last few days, however. Although I haven't been to the worst-hit parts of the country, I can be forgiven, I think, for yesterday mistaking a lake for 'just another flooded field'! I fear much is to be done before we can justifiably think of a warm spring day, with summer just around the corner!
So what of this week in the courier's life? By Wednesday I felt it had fallen off a cliff, but now on reflection I can think of it more as a bagel, or a Polo mint - a week with a hole in the middle. Monday started off with good news, when I rang in after my return from the church breakfast to be told that I was no.2 on the list! Sometimes, despite earlier postings here, it's a mystery to me how that list works. But avoiding the dental inspection of a donated equine (a 'translation' of a well-known proverb that a few years ago had one of my cousins scratching his head!), I sat back at my computer, confident that the day would soon unfold. To my amazement it took until the late morning before this no.2 driver was summoned. It was worth the wait, however, because I was soon off to take an item to Ormskirk General Hospital, calling on the way at two railway engineering firms in Derby for another customer.
Tuesday started with an early collection that needed to be in Haverhill by 8.0, and a succession of three other jobs finished with a delivery in north Kent, after which my return through the Dartford tunnel caused my prepayment tag to beep, indicating that it would like a financial transfusion. Wednesday was the hole in the week's bagel (or Polo, if you prefer); I did one job to Cambridge and later in the day another to Watford General Hospital. By now, the week's theme of 'doubles' had been established, some in their entirety, others in their completion. Let my continuing story explain.
Early on Thursday morning, I collected two boxes in Stevenage for delivery in the Norwich area. This was only the second time in my career I'd been to the small industrial estate in Rackheath, to two different premises, for two separate customers. It was also a rather unusual assignment; I felt like a fish out of water as I followed the signs for 'Goods in' and entered what appeared to be a conventional engineering machine shop . . . with two boxes of asparagus! As I looked around me, trying to distinguish some semblance of a goods receiving area, I took heart from the sight of a score or so of apples laying on one of the benches. I had in fact come to a factory whose product is food-packing machinery.
Another 'second' was scored on Friday morning, as I visited Fortnum & Mason's warehouse in Cambridgeshire. For security reasons it carries no outside identification, and I was glad to recall my earlier lengthy searching experience, and know exactly where to go this time. By now the week had been quite productive and, given the incessant rain, I would have been quite content to sit at my desk uninterrupted by the phone. This wasn't to be, however, and before long I was sent to the tiny village of Cople, near Bedford, where I visited - not on this occasion for the second time, but the first time for some while - a back-garden workshop, to collect goods for Loughton in Essex, another place that I've not visited for several years. Along with this, I also took two items for delivery in Hoddesdon, and the week finished with one in Gillingham, my second visit in three days to Kent, and another reminder from my rapidly expiring Dart-tag as I returned.
Now, with a happily replete Dart-tag, and all kinds of other admin cleared up, I can relax in anticipation of going to a quiz this evening to celebrate the 90th anniversary of the opening of St Paul's Church in this fine Garden City.
So what of this week in the courier's life? By Wednesday I felt it had fallen off a cliff, but now on reflection I can think of it more as a bagel, or a Polo mint - a week with a hole in the middle. Monday started off with good news, when I rang in after my return from the church breakfast to be told that I was no.2 on the list! Sometimes, despite earlier postings here, it's a mystery to me how that list works. But avoiding the dental inspection of a donated equine (a 'translation' of a well-known proverb that a few years ago had one of my cousins scratching his head!), I sat back at my computer, confident that the day would soon unfold. To my amazement it took until the late morning before this no.2 driver was summoned. It was worth the wait, however, because I was soon off to take an item to Ormskirk General Hospital, calling on the way at two railway engineering firms in Derby for another customer.
Tuesday started with an early collection that needed to be in Haverhill by 8.0, and a succession of three other jobs finished with a delivery in north Kent, after which my return through the Dartford tunnel caused my prepayment tag to beep, indicating that it would like a financial transfusion. Wednesday was the hole in the week's bagel (or Polo, if you prefer); I did one job to Cambridge and later in the day another to Watford General Hospital. By now, the week's theme of 'doubles' had been established, some in their entirety, others in their completion. Let my continuing story explain.
Early on Thursday morning, I collected two boxes in Stevenage for delivery in the Norwich area. This was only the second time in my career I'd been to the small industrial estate in Rackheath, to two different premises, for two separate customers. It was also a rather unusual assignment; I felt like a fish out of water as I followed the signs for 'Goods in' and entered what appeared to be a conventional engineering machine shop . . . with two boxes of asparagus! As I looked around me, trying to distinguish some semblance of a goods receiving area, I took heart from the sight of a score or so of apples laying on one of the benches. I had in fact come to a factory whose product is food-packing machinery.
Another 'second' was scored on Friday morning, as I visited Fortnum & Mason's warehouse in Cambridgeshire. For security reasons it carries no outside identification, and I was glad to recall my earlier lengthy searching experience, and know exactly where to go this time. By now the week had been quite productive and, given the incessant rain, I would have been quite content to sit at my desk uninterrupted by the phone. This wasn't to be, however, and before long I was sent to the tiny village of Cople, near Bedford, where I visited - not on this occasion for the second time, but the first time for some while - a back-garden workshop, to collect goods for Loughton in Essex, another place that I've not visited for several years. Along with this, I also took two items for delivery in Hoddesdon, and the week finished with one in Gillingham, my second visit in three days to Kent, and another reminder from my rapidly expiring Dart-tag as I returned.
Now, with a happily replete Dart-tag, and all kinds of other admin cleared up, I can relax in anticipation of going to a quiz this evening to celebrate the 90th anniversary of the opening of St Paul's Church in this fine Garden City.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)