The thoughts of ex-WW2 Merchant Seaman Gerry, recounted spontaneously in the Highbury Pool changing room in the late 1990s:
This morning I hadn't been swimming for a while and I noticed that Gerry, the seventy-year-old gent with his rolling naval walk and tattoo is looking a little plumper. I suspect he swims less than he thinks he does and these trips to the locker room are becoming more social than anything else. I have in the past heard him hold forth to anyone within earshot on subjects as diverse as the failure of Rumbelows - due to the range of goods offered by out of town electrical superstores - to the tedium of his daughter's visits from the country, to the irregularity of the number 74 bus to Nags Head. Occasionally it's whatever topic is buzzing around in his mind from the previous night's news whether it be "that bloomin' Lady Di" or the ordaining of women priests.
"Did you hear about that bus? Crashed into the shops in Crouch End parade. Dunno what caused it. Said there was a gas leak. Maybe he spotted that Bob Dylan. He lives round there now. They've put more traffic lights up Hornsey Road. Hundreds of the bleeders now. Stop start stop start all day long it is. And that Ken Livingstone says he's going to block off Trafalgar Square turn it into a huge precinct. Where's the buses going to go now? One I was on last week had to slam on its brakes 'cos some bloke in a car swung right in front of 'im. Half the bus ended up on the floor. Should have run into the bastard.
"Here, heard about the blokes from the 1939-1945 War having a reunion? One says to his mate 'When did you last have sex?' The other says 'Nineteen forty-five'. 'Blimey that's a long time ago' says the first bloke. 'Not really' says the other. 'It's only twenty eighteen now.' Did you see that programme on the BBC the other week? About a German U-Boat? They found it in the Atlantic off the American coast. Sunk itself with its own torpedo it had. Seems they'd fired it and it had missed the target and come back in a big circle and hit 'em. I saw one once, a U-Boat. It was coming towards us on a convoy we were on. Someone shouted and they turned the ship away. I saw it run alongside us three feet down in the water. Yeah I shouted out but someone shouted sooner. We were lucky that time. It went away. Have you put in a bid for the Dome? Today's the last day. Some bloke's going to turn it into a business park. And that French bloke's after it and all. Should knock the bleeding thing down. They'll shut it at Christmas."
"They used to drop anchor in the Med when we was near Cairo or Alexandria. You could dive off the side. They put a rope ladder up. Course when the ship was fully laden you could dive straight off the deck it was so low in the water. They used to hang these cradles from the side and we had to paint the ship. When you got to the bow you had to swing 'cos the ship curved under and you were miles away from where you were supposed to be painting."
"I see there's a new drain-cleaner on the telly. Foams up, it does, when you add water. Bicarbonate of soda was what we had. And warm water and a plunger. I still have a plunger with a rubber head on it. Not like some of them nowadays, plastic they are. Mister Muscle it's called. There's thousands of the bleeding things. Elbow grease is what we used."
"I've got nine tattoos in all. Only on my arms though. I've seen blokes have 'em on their shaved 'eads. But you can't have 'em done when you're drunk. There's big notices in them places. No Tattooing While Drunk. I had two done in Bristol. One in Whitehaven, one in India.... "
"I see they can't get them pods for the Millennium Wheel under the bridges. Tide too high for 'em. They're putting four on today. 'Spose they'll move it round and put more on later. Twenty-eight there's going to be. Takes seven hundred people at seven pounds forty five each. A fiver for kids. It takes forty minutes to go round."
"What are you doing for Christmas? I don't know what I'm doing yet..." Sometimes it's better to maintain a distance. I was at last drawn into a one-to-one conversation with Gerry last week when some boys noisily took over the changing rooms. "Can't hardly hear yerself think" he said in my general direction. "A pity" I said, for the first time breaking our mutual silence, "I usually enjoy your comments on life". "I don't have much to say that's very cheery just now." And he launched into this terrible story about his wife who is in a nursing home because a mugger outside their council flat attacked her. He was quite animated in his acting out of the attack demonstrating how the man had held a knife concealed in a newspaper to his wife's throat. His rage was still evident in his eyes. As a result of the attack, his wife had become withdrawn and had had a nervous breakdown. She was taken into a nursing home, which they had to pay for, because they had savings. “One hundred and thirty five pounds a week it used to cost us. Now we ain't got no savings, so now it's on the council." His wife has become institutionalised and Gerry goes to see her every day. She can come home for days but prefers to be back in the nursing home before nightfall. Sometimes he goes to visit her at the home in the evening when they have social events. "Black Forest cake they had there last Halloween. I had a huge slice, pre-sliced it was actually so you had to take all of it." Then he came home to his empty flat alone. Is this what we work all our lives for?
Two recitals, although they were both on the subject of Camden Town. “I see them brass beds are making a comeback. There's a shop in Royal College Street. Near there anyhow. Pratt Street it is. Only a hundred yards long. The bus goes on down Albany Street. You can cut through an alleyway there into Regents Park. Me and the Missus used to go there and listen to the bands on a summer's afternoon. Blown 'im up though now. Stocky little bloke he was, waving his arms about. They filled the space under the stage with Semtex. Same day as that other one in Hyde Park, more or less. Horses all over the road. They had to shoot them. No they've filled in that space under the bandstand now. Can't get explosives in there no more. Yeah stocky little bloke that bandleader, full of himself he was."
"I've never seen anyone go into that new club in Royal College Street. All chrome it is. Says cafe and restaurant, but I've never seen no one in there. Bouncers on the door, you see sometimes. But you don't see anyone popping in for a cup of tea, like in the Turkish cafe across the road. I see they shot down one of them stealth planes last night. Pilot was rescued. Funny how they can find the money for all them rockets and they can't find it for hospitals. Three million each of them costs - the ones that they launch from the ships. I can imagine who's going to end up paying for all this. Us. Some things never change."
Some considerable absence. It is now March ‘99 and I have only seen our man once. However my Scottish companion has seen him and heard tales of firemen entertaining other swimmers with diving exhibitions at Hornsea baths. And covers being drawn over the pool at the old Caledonian Road pool and boxing taking place on the newly assembled stage. I wondered whether a joint ticket was available for swimming and boxing. If only I'd been there to hear about it.
"Welwyn used to be just two factories. I remember when it was Shredded Wheat. Now it's Nabisco whatever that means. The other was the Welwyn stores. I used to deliver toys there once. When you come out of the station there's a big fountain splashing all over the place. Twenty minutes from Finsbury Park on the train it is. One of them new towns built after the war. My sister in law used to live out that way. Just two factories and some houses it was."
"Have you been watching John Glenn? How old is he? Seventy-seven you say? Yeah he's one year younger than me. He's grown three inches up there. I could do with some of that.... Listen here's a Christmas joke for you... Bloke says he's going away for Christmas and would you mind looking after this parrot for me. So the other bloke says all right. But the parrot wouldn't stop talking so he locks it in a cupboard. And it still chatters away so he locks it in the freezer. After a while it stops and the bloke opens the door. The parrot says 'All right I'll be good. What had that turkey done wrong?'"
"I see that Slobodan Milosewhatsit has got away with it. They all do them bleeders. Saddam Hussein was the same. Just when it was getting interesting what with them B-52's arriving." I asked if he had seen Saving Private Ryan yet. "No. My daughter went last weekend, said it was marvelous. Could have taken me with her. They shot a lot of it round Henley. Built an artificial lake and a bombed-out church like. No I haven't seen it yet. They all back down them bleeders."
"Never did like that Sinatra. He's dead now of course. Like that other bloke what's his name. Buddy Holly. He died. But it was an airplane crash that killed him. Dean Martin. He's dead too isn't he?"
"... Ice cold water it was running out of the ground alongside the road. Someone said 'go on, put your hand in that'. It was like ice. Fresh spring water." I had just entered from the showers, and keen to hear this nugget I asked, "where was that, Islington?" " They'd be bottling it if it was," said the Scotsman. Gerry didn't hear and continued his tale, revealing the location. "One time when we went to Weymouth, we went with this young couple. The wife stayed in the hotel and the three of us went up Lulworth Cove. Up sandy cliffs and down valleys. I was clinging on by my fingernails. The water was as clear as anything below. Who needs the bleedin' Mediterranean? There's one of them holiday camps up on top there. Warners or Pontins, one of the big ones. That bloke from Lawrence of Arabia comes from round there." "Omar Sharif?" suggested the Scot. "No the other one. O'Toole. Peter O'Toole. Someone said he comes from round Lulworth way. The fishermen were pulling great crabs out of the bay. Octopus crabs they called them."
"...One of the ropes broke and left the other geezer dangling in the cradle. His mate must be on the way to Heaven by now. Fell thirty floors into a car park. When I get up there...." "What makes you think you're going up?" said the Triathlete "They'll hand me a bleedin' shovel. Start digging, they'll say." He wandered off to the door. "Any of you going Hornsea way...?"
"They're not renewing the license on that Bar whatsit club. The Barzart. Greek or Turkish it is. In Camden Road. I picked up a couple of free local papers yesterday and it said they weren't renewing it after that stabbing. Killed one bloke and another was wounded. The police say they're no nearer to finding out who did it. So they're not renewing the license. Barzart or some such it's called. Wine bar it is. I've never been in there myself."
"Will you be going for a Valentine's run then?" said Gerry to the Triathlete who had just completed at least forty blistering lengths of crawl. "Do they set a load of women off and you have to catch them?" said another wag. "I'd like to see that," said Gerry. As I left he was pulling on his socks, dreaming of a horde of scantily clad women running into the woods, giggling. He was singing, "It was an itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka dot bikini...."
I emerged from the showers to hear a heated debate on the United Nations' failure to act in Iraq. "Do you actually know what the United Nations stands for? Do you?" It was a rather pompous, sixty year old bloke looking ridiculous, debating in his swimming trunks. Gerry looked beaten by the tirade, his head sunk on his chest. "I just think they ought to go in there and sort it out." "Have you heard the Secretary General of the UN say anything of the sort? Have you...well?" "No." "You won't. He needs the mandate of the people to support him. Otherwise it'll be like the League of Nations all over again." With a haughty 'pshaw' he strutted off toward the pool. Silence fell as we all towelled down, feeling somewhat crushed as a result of all this upper class hectoring. A political bully in the changing rooms. Out of the blue..."Do Sainsbury's still sell that bread and butter pudding? Silence pervades the locker room. Someone giggles, then there is singing in the showers.
Just isolated snippets of information now coming through like a radio signal through static, either because of me arriving as he's leaving, or other locker room chatter drowning him out. Or maybe the transmission is getting fainter as he mumbles these recollections to himself more than his audience. "...Hornsea Baths. You’d get a towel and a bag of pine needles for tuppence. Black line round the bath there was. No taps. Bloke with a big lever would turn the water on from where he sat. Up to the line. Sprinkled your pine needles in. If you wanted more water, you'd shout, 'more hot in number 4'. I used to need it. I was on a collier in the Channel. Filthy work. I used to come home black as tar."
"Bread Puddn' she called it. Buy a farthing loaf and leave it to stand in fruit juice, soaking up the flavour then she'd add dried fruit. Yes ...Bread Puddn'... and saveloys on Mondays from the pie 'n' mash. Penny a saveloy. I was worried at first when the wife come home for a visit that she wouldn't want to go back, but come quarter to five she says 'better be getting back'. They do a good job in there, the nursing home."
"...All them ballcocks are orange plastic nowadays. Used to be brass, but now they are all orange plastic. Screw on they do. Cost £35 to get a bloke out to fix one. Can't cost more than a shilling to make..."
I'm standing in the showers at Highbury Pool. I've just swum twenty-four lengths, my usual Tuesday morning bout. The water this July was cost-cuttingly cold. However the shower is almost scalding by comparison. I've wriggled out of my soggy trunks and I'm nipping in and out of the jet of number three shower's sputtering deluge. A pool attendant enters the shower area with a mop and chucks a bucket of filthy water across the number one shower area, splashing up the tiles some way. After a moment's pause I said, "glad I wasn't standing under that one". "Man that give you good bonus", he replied helpfully.
I asked Gerry if he had been in the Navy, what with his tattoos and ship's wheel on his swimming trunks. "In the Atlantic convoys I was. Bleedin' cold." "Did you get sunk?" "Just the once off Canada. They were more concerned - the Canadians - about saving the ship than getting us out of the water. They had tugboats trying to pull the ship into the harbour. Hit by a U-Boat we were. Torpedoed. I remember they eventually fished us out and wrapped us in blankets. Somewhere in Nova Scotia it was. They had all this money the Canadians. We played them at cards for days in this huge warehouse. They give us pineapple juice to drink. Never had it before."
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"Having a proper sit-down toilet was what posh people had. In their country 'ouses." I had come in at the end of what sounded like a promising series of observations again. "I remember going to my Gran's house out in the country. Bungalow it was. She used to have a rain butt at both ends of the house to collect their water in. They used to ladle it out for washing. Used to have one type of soap, not like nowadays where there's a different soap for every bleedin' thing. White Winter it was called. She'd go to the shops and buy a big cake of it and cut bits off it, as she needed it. They used to keep pigs and chickens. I remember riding on a pony and trap into Bishop's Stortford to sell some pigs.... They had a good living out of it. Small holding it was. It's one of them big International stores now, where it stood." There's been a long silence. I think the trials and inevitable disappointment of having his wife home over Christmas and her doubtless prompt return to the safety of the ward must have been something of a downer for our man. However he broke his silence today. The usual snippets of topical news. "I see that MP for Reigate's been slung out for calling John Major a puppet." And, "one good thing about joining that European money business is our pension should go up. We've got the lowest pensions in Europe here."
I mentioned that I'd read that the oldest cinema in Britain is still standing in Islington. "What the Blue 'All? Round the back of the Drill Hall?" "It's now called Dome Antiques." "Used to have a statue of a girl of top holding an illuminated globe. I saw Max Miller there and Donald Peers and all sorts. Vera Lynn. Used to have blokes tap dancing outside to entertain the queues. Playing banjos. One bloke used to balance an egg on the edge of a razor. Sixpence it was in the gallery. Dalton's peanuts, a penny a bag. There was two kinds, salted or roasted. I saw them all there. One bloke did the sand dance in a great box. Max Wall played there." "I thought it was a cinema?" "You'd get a film as well. Those were the days. There were three cinemas in Islington. The Blue 'All, originally the Electric, the Empress and the Angel. And the Bedford in Camden. Finsbury Park Astoria too. They've all gone now." Just for a moment, we were swept up in the cheery, jostling crowd out on a night in North London before the war.
"Bunches of 'em, the bleeders. They come in bunches. Five at one time." Gerry is once again holding forth on the subject of the irregularity of London Transport. "Yesterday I was standing waiting for the 49 from Nags Head and five of 'em come together all full of people going to work. Didn't get to the baths till quarter past nine. Mind you last week I caught one to Waterloo at nine o'clock and I was on the front at Leigh-on-Sea by quarter to eleven. Wonderful cockles - Osborne's down the end of the huts. Cockles, whelks. Mussels. Mind you I've never had mussels. Or jellied eels come to that. Slimy things wriggling about in one of them plastic trays with a lip round it so they can't get out. I've seen people catching 'em up the Lea. They get wrapped round your line. And crab sticks. Those pink and white things. Can't be much crab in them. About ten per cent I should think. The rest is just fish. Yeah Ivy Osborne's it is. Down the end. Nice cup of tea and a plate of cockles on the front."
"Bleedin' cyclists round Highbury Corner. Hundreds of the bleeders, every morning." I heard Gerry muttering behind the lockers. Obviously he'd had a near accident with one near the crossing. "And all them cones up the Holloway Road. What do they need them for. Makes no sense if you ask me. Can't walk anywhere. I remember when the Agricultural Halls were full of cattle and farmers and such. Used to drive them down Liverpool Road and down to the slaughterhouse in Caledonian Road. We used to come out of school and see them, wearing their white smocks and chewing on a piece of hay. They used to have circuses and things in the Agricultural Hall. Bertram Mills. One year they were going to have spear throwing and we all went, but they said they'd had to cancel it because there were so many children there. It's the only reason we went, to see the spear throwers. From Somalia they were. Now it's the Business Design Centre."
There have been no sightings of the old sea dog for almost a year now. But then this. It may be his last log.
As I was toweling down, I was on the point of asking him what he thought of that bishop and his secret fifteen-year-old son, when he spontaneously began with a comment on yesterday's downpour. He went out got caught in it. Did some shopping till it was over then came out and got caught in it again on the way home. "There was lightening crashing about all over the place. I heard on the news that someone got struck by it down in Kent." A few minutes silence, then a gem. "You know that pie and mash shop in College Street? There's a bloke got some trousers like that in the shop window next door." He was referring to the camouflage trousers another swimmer was pulling on. "Got pockets in them on the side. Only eleven pounds ninety-five. I've seen them in a shop down Camden Town for twenty-five ninety-five. A card in the window described them as drawstring. So I suppose they had a lace round the bottom to fit over combat boots." With that, he was off in search of the number 74. "See you next week."
I never saw Gerry again after that. The Triathlete said he heard he'd moved into a nursing home off the Holloway Road. I meant to go round and see if I could find him there, but I regret to say I never did.
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