There Is Nothing Like A Slide Show

It used to be an important part of my youth. You would go on holiday, take loads of photographs, send them off for processing, get them back through the post in their little plastic boxes, get the slide projector out, darken the front room, and then invite all your long-suffering neighbours and relatives around. It was a distinctly 1950s form of revenge. You had suffered a week camping in Western-Super-Mare, with the rain teaming down and the wind testing the strength of your guy ropes. You'd brewed tea over a camping gas stove and eaten food in which sand was a basic ingredient. You had sacrificed your comforting television and your even more comforting electric blanket. And all the while your friends and relatives had been at home in comparative comfort. It was payback time. Get out the Aldis projector and make them suffer.

In these days of digital PowerPoint presentations I had forgotten about the fun of the old slide show. My father used to make big productions of them with a practiced commentary (honed over many a performance) and a tea-break half way through the programme. My brother and I used to be relatively willing participants in this annual photographic crusade - Roger would move the slide transporter whilst I was allowed to hand him the next slide - except when a particularly embarrassing photograph of us would appear as part of a sequence. Whilst we operated the equipment, my father was free to point out particularly interesting aspects of each slide which he did with a pointer he had fashioned out of a garden cane.

I was reminded of slide shows by coming across one on the BBC website. With the current dominance of the moving image it was pleasurable to find an old-fashioned slide show presentation which allowed you time to soak up the atmosphere of the individual images. The subject of the slide show - at least the current subject as I have a feeling that it might be a regular feature - was the heritage of the Yiddish language in New York. I will not waste space trying to describe it, merely point you in the direction of where you can sample it yourself. It is only three minutes long and well worth a look. 

The subject is, in fact, quite timely as Isobel and I have just returned from a few days break in Prague. Whilst we were there we did a tour of the various historic Synagogues, including the mind-numbing Pinkas Synagogue with its moving Holocaust Memorial and the adjacent Old Jewish Cemetery. As you don't have to send the film away for processing anymore and wait for the plastic box to come back, here is one of the photographs I took of the Cemetery.

Indeed I will download all the photographs I took whilst on holiday and turn them into a slide show and incorporate them into the blog. There is no reason why you shouldn't suffer the boredom our friends and family of old had to put up with. Now where is that garden cane I had...?

A Walk Up Bowling Old Lane

It's always a delight to discover a website that quietly and efficiently provides a mass of information that someone - like me - with more time than direction would find absolutely fascinating. Thus I rejoiced the other day when I discovered a project run by Leicester University and funded by the Lottery Fund which seeks to make local historical trade directories available on the web. Historical Directories is a digital library of local and trade directories for England and Wales, from 1750 to 1919 which contains high quality reproductions of comparatively rare books: the essential tools for research into local and genealogical history. 

Looking for something to test the service out with I tried early twentieth century Bradford and found the 1912 Post Office Directory for Bradford and district. The full text of the Directory is available on the Historical Directories website, and access is free of charge. The detail is wonderful and provides a splendid insight into a northern city in the period just before the First War. All you need to look at is the occupations of the residents of the City. Take this extract which covers Bowling Old Lane between its junctions with St Stephen's Road and Newton Street.

212  Goodhall, W.  warp sizer

214  Woodhead, Mrs Delilah

216  Wood, Joseph,  milliner

218  Hunt, Mrs B. herbalist

220  Hardy, Herbert,  tailor

224  Carter, James,  broker

226  Wainwright, Mrs S. E.  confectioner

228 Old Lane House, G. F. Wraith

244 - 248 Prince of Wales, A Cowling

250  Burnett, Israel,  butcher

258  Broadbent, George H.  chemist

260  Chippendale, William,  grocer

262  Wroe, Joe,  newsagent

264  Kitson, O.  hairdresser

274  Hainsworth, J.  joiner

276  Sunderland, S.  chimney sweep

282  Thornton, Peter, bootmaker

290  Bolton, Joe,  commercial traveller

292  Thornton, Abraham.

294  Thornton, Daniel

There are so many things to notice : the number of shops, the range of trades, the names. The thing that drew my attention to Bowling Old Lane was, of course, the presence of a Burnett (being a digital resource, you can search the database by keyword), and sure enough the shop at 250 was the butchers' shop of my fathers' Uncle Israel. Being somewhat fond of pubs, my attention quickly drifted to the premises next door which was the Prince of Wales Pub. The landlord is listed as being A Cowling, and this must be Albert Cowling who was well known in the Bradford area as both a landlord of several pubs and as a keen supporter of the temperance movement. On his death in 1952, Albert left the sum of £100 from the profits he had made from selling beer and whisky to fund two annual sermons at the local church on the evils of alcohol. With this level of hypocrisy, it came as no great surprise to discover that Albert represented the Bowling Ward on the local authority as a Conservative Councillor.

The Historical Directories website is a fantastic resource. However, if you check out the "News" pages on the website you discover that the project ran out of funding in October 2004. The announcement says that the site will remain available for a further three years, but that takes us up to earlier this year. The danger that such a resource is removed is indeed sad. It needs more funding. Perhaps Albert Cowling's £100 could be put to better use.

Fenders And Hot Spots

A lot can happen in 100 years. The above illustrated Memorandum sheet was issued by Usher Brothers, a firm of ship's fender makers who were based in Liverpool at the beginning of the twentieth century. One of the brothers - and, I assume, one of the figures seated on the massive rope fender in the picture - is Isobel's grandfather, Charles Frederick Usher. Ropeworking was an established trade within the Usher family and there were several ropeworks belonging to Charles Frederick's father and his uncles listed in nineteenth century trade directories.

Trying to date the Memo is tricky, although the inclusion of a telephone number (383 Old Swan) should be a clue. Thus I need to look into the history of the telephone exchanges of Merseyside which should fill out many a cold and gloomy winters' day. Attempting to try and visit the yard shown in the photograph would be a bit of a dead end as Google Earth suggests that the site has been extensively redeveloped and now forms part of Wavertree Technology Park. However, it might be fun to see what has happened to the yard during the last 100 years, so an expedition to Liverpool is called for. One thing I did discover is that Dryden Lane is now listed as being a Wifi hotspot. So when I get to the area where the giant fenders were once made, perhaps I can post an update to the blog. I suspect Charles Frederick and his brothers would have been impressed by that.

A Welcome To Stanley

All this looking into the past could be depressing if it wasn't for the fact families exist in the future as well as the past. On Sunday we had a visit from the very latest member of our family - Stanley Joe Horrocks. I will add him to the Family Tree and I take this opportunity to welcome him.

Don't Get Around Much Anymore

For a change today, Amy and I took our morning walk in Elland. By chance we passed the Elland War Memorial - still clad in poppy tributes - and stopped to have a look. I didn't count the names of those who fell in the Great War, but there were many. What I did notice were a number of familiar names.

Over recent days I have been re-entering much of the information  on our family history having changed software programmes (am I alone in finding Family Tree Maker annoying?) Having decided to try Family Historian, I could - I assume - have simply reloaded the information files from my old copy of FTM, but I decided it would be useful to take the opportunity of tidying the material up. The bit of the family I was involved with last night was Isobel's father (Raymond Holroyd Berry) his father (Kaye Holroyd Berry) and his mother, Sarah Ann Shaw. All three lived all their lives in Elland.

As anyone who has searched through census records for their ancestors will know, you often get a false feeling of success when you identify someone with the name you are looking for listed as living in the village you are looking at. What you tend to forget is that until comparatively recently, people really did not move around at all. When I first saw the list of names on the War Memorial and spotted two Berrys, three Shaws, and four Holroyds, I had visions of endless lines of Isobel's relatives lying dead in the muddy trenches of Northern France. And no doubt these are relatives, but not necessarily close ones.

I will need to do some more digging to try and tie these war dead into the immediate family, but with more and more resources becoming available on-line, that will be an interesting task.

A little later on our walk, we passed Workhouse Lane in West Vale. Street names rarely lie and sure enough we came across a building that could only have been a Workhouse. Again, I need to do a lot more digging to identify the history of this sad building and its inmates. When I eventually find those lists will I again be met with Berrys, Shaws and Holroyds?

Adsense, Nonsense and Harris Tweed

Those readers who are still awake may have noticed that I have now introduced adverts onto the main blog following a successful trial on the Daily Photo Blog. You may think that this is a response to the difficult economic conditions, but no, it is all part of a long-term research project. Earlier this year I decided to investigate whether it is possible to make money on the Internet with a minimum of effort (this is all part of a life-long research project to discover whether it is possible to make money from anything with a minimum of effort). For the current stage of research I decided on three strategies for making my fortune : (i) Establishing my own Internet book shop; (ii) Selling advertising space on my various blogs; and (iii) filling in YouGov public opinion surveys. The introduction of advertising on the News From Nowhere blog - via Google Adsense service - is part of the roll-out of the second strategy. At this early stage, I don't want to give any indication of the likely results of the research : I will issue a press release when properly audited results are available. However, I do feel I should comment on the workings of the Adsense service.

It is quite clever really. The computer programme Google uses searches through the blog posting for some key words and then selects adverts which fit in with the identified words. Thus, currently there is an advert for a landscape gardening service following my last posting which commented upon my brothers' garden which has been opened to the public. The relationship is, however, not always that obvious : the advert currently featuring on my Daily Photo Blog is for Pole Dancing lessons. I have spent some considerable time over recent days, searching through past postings to this blog trying to find the link, but I can't. Perhaps if there is no link it is left to my old friend serendipity.

I have to confess that I have becoming addicted to seeing which advert will emerge following each post. It has become a game between me and the Google computer. Today I set it a challenge by incorporating a nice red herring. Whether it is a smoked herring or a herring-bone Harris Tweed jacket I do not know. Let's see what nonsense, Adsense can come up with.

Website and Family Resemblances

Jane left a comment on yesterday's posting remarking on how much my father in his youth looks like my brother Roger. As soon as I read it, the mystery was solved : I know why I have been thinking of my parents recently. Earlier this week I got an e-mail from my brother - the first in many, many months - and we were able to catch up with each others' news. Thoughts of my brother, who lives on the Caribbean Island of Dominica, led to thoughts of my father and hence, my parents. Janie was quite like - the two of them are remarkably similar.

I e-mailed Roger after I found his new website almost by accident. It neatly outlines all the projects he is involved with at the moment including the usual sculpture and painting and the ever-present house renovation. One thing I did discover when I found the website was that the house on Dominica now has a substantial garden which has become a tourist attraction in its own right (you can book a tour for just $15). Initially, the idea of Roger designing and maintaining a garden surprised me - the Burnett boys were never very accomplished when it came to green fingers - but I soon discovered that the garden project was under the direction of his wife, Denise. Whilst I am a less than enthusiastic gardener, I am always willing to sip a cool beer whilst strolling around a garden so I will start looking for cheap flights to Dominica. 

The second image shows Roger creating a sculpture of my son Alexander, who by co-incidence was 19 yesterday. The sculpture was, in part, a thank-you for the work I did on setting up Roger's original website : a website which still forms an integral part of the new site. 

Gladys And Albert

I don't know why but I have been thinking about my parents today. They have both been dead for a few years now, long enough for the memories of their final months to fade and be overtaken by happier memories of the previous ninety years or so. This photograph must have been taken in the early 1930s. They both look young and full of vital energy : ready for the long life ahead of them. I miss them both.

Our new friend Bill

Not a terribly good picture... but on the left is our new friend, Bill. Eunson (think, as he explained, Johnstone.) New Zealander, MD and chairman of a small basically electrical engineering firm, Motech, in Crawley, W. Sussex. Very pleasant, gentle, thinking, man. Even if he was flying to Edinburgh on Saturday to watch "the Rugby" (I'm told NZ won.)

By pure chance and Google search he'd come across my boat-conversion blog and so decided I might be able to help with his plan to make "off the shelf" diesel-electric hybrid units for boats... and so came to visit last Friday to see how our boat goes.

It did, even through the Sheepwash channel that runs to the river from the canal, against just about the fastest river flow we've ever driven through.

Upshot is that his firm is going to pay me (not fabulously, but, I think, fairly) to act as consultant for their diesel-electric project. I have to write a report of what I think are essential features to include... tricky because there's all sorts of possibly trivial-sounding things are really quite important - especially if the new unit is to be used easily by a normal boater and not a freak like me fascinated to observe all sorts of readings and neurotically check what's happening.

I've never been head-hunted for a hobby before. Well, except that my first D.Phil. offer from the Oxford nuclear physics lab (I chose teaching instead) I reckon all turned on me luckily and rapidly spotting a soldering fault in a bank of electronics equipment during a vacation job... which was not really anything to do with my vast(?) knowledge (long gone) of theoretical physics and had far more to do with my part-time hobby of fiddling with electronic circuits.

So I have an official title again, sort-of. "Consultant to Motech Control Ltd." Perhaps I should run up some headed paper. Or just remember a pleasant half-day meeting Bill... and get on with writing the damn report he wants.

The Hell Where Youth And Laughter Go

It is ninety years since the end of World War I. The television on my desk is showing scenes of the Armistice Day Parade in London. The newspapers are full of special supplements marking the event. Siegfried Sassoon wrote the following poem in 1918. Reproducing it here is probably in contravention of half a dozen copyright laws. But it is my contribution to Armistice Day.

Suicide in the Trenches

I knew a simple soldier boy

Who grinned at life in empty joy,

Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,

And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,

With crumps and lice and lack of rum,

He put a bullet through his brain.

No one spoke of him again.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye

Who cheer when soldier lads march by,

Sneak home and pray you'll never know

The hell where youth and laughter go.

The Spitfire Takes Off

It was like re-living your first day at "big school". We gathered nervously and stayed close to the door, chatting amongst ourselves and casting evaluative glances at the existing customers. Mostly we remained standing, not wanting to impinge on protocol : after all, the chairs we coveted might be the established territory of One-armed Doug, Leggy Lisa, or - even worse - Big Bert. We whispered amongst ourselves, shared our fears. It wouldn't work, it was far too noisy, there was nowhere to sit, they didn't have any malt .... that kind of thing. As the noise from the established clientele (the average age of which mist have been at least 23) grew we each individually plotted the quickest route to an exit. We cursed Cousin Dave.

It was Dave who had planned this Exodus (I am sure he will claim it was me but as the writer of this post I have the right to interpret history as I want). Once the news of the Rock's closure had been announced, he had been allocated the task of finding an alternative location for our Friday night quiz. Considerable research was undertaken and the choice was eventually made. The New Spitfire achieved an Obama-like victory because it had recently re-opened and had no existing quiz and nobody else would have us. Having identified a potential new home for the lost tribe, Dave and Jen jumped on a plane for three weeks in the sun in Spain. Thus the leaderless tribe congregated near the pub door and prayed for snow on the Costa Brava.

But then things began to change. Many of the existing customers left to join a raiding party on nearby Brighouse. Some seats in the far corner became available. A couple of Spitfire customers decided that they would give the quiz a try. A scout discovered that the draught Theakstones was cheap and surprisingly good. So we started our quiz. And when we finished the Landlady brought out a big plate of sandwiches to make the new first-formers feel at home. Smiles all around. We will be back next week.