February 19, 2005

• Clown From Clowne.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Some of the eccentrics I have worked with. Part one.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  I worked with some amazing people on the newspaper. Here are a few.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  William, the compositor.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  William was a retiree who was one of the first British soldiers to discover the horrors of a concertration camp. He said that that experience had deranged him a little, and though he was a good husband and father, it was true, he was slighty deranged.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  William was a keen gardener, but about the only thing he ever grew was what he called “cowcumbers”. Each of us on the paper must have had a fridge load of rotting cucumbers, and on location our loved ones always gave us cucumber sandwiches in a desperate bid to use them up. I used to give the cucumbers to old ladies, one of whom told me where to stick it.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  William was great at half-told stories, for example, he’d ramble on about something, stop and tried to think who had told him the story, by the time he had worked that one out, he had forgotten the story or finished the wrong story. “Another few minutes off my life!” I sighed to him once.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  The last I heard, William was still going strong at the age of ninety and his local shop stocked all fruit and veg bar cucumbers as there was a glut of them in his village.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  Winnie, the cleaner.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Winnie was a female cleaner who was scruffy, rude and awkward, even her union refused to acknowledge her. Her retarded daughter walked into the offices from time to time to eat and drink our meals and raid our fridge. We tolerated Winnie for a couple of months until another daughter arrived with her five year old daughter.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Winnie and her daughter soon fell out, after rowing over money, and the women started fist-fighting each other. The poor child had hysterics.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Of course Winnie got the sack then, but we often saw her in Chesterfield calling one or other of her grand-daughters a little cow, a little bitch and even a little c… Loving grandmother she was not.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

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  Gordon, the picture editor.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Gordon was also a retiree, though he retired at 53. He was a former GP, who actually was still a qualified doctor. Gordon had a nervous breakdown when he diagnosed his nephew as having a cold three days before the boy died of meningitis.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  A good photographer and cartoonist, Gordon was a pain in the neck at times, he had a dread, a phobia of medicine. And woe to anyone who titled him “doctor”, he would not find pictures for anything medical, nor anything to do with hospitals. Gordon was always in the editor’s office being threatened with dismissal, but of course we all felt a little sorry for him, a bachelor, he seemed to have no interest in either sex, and lived in a flat that was like a pig-sty.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

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  More another time, but there is one eccentric reporter I won’t cover, he also wrote the children’s page, was the religious expert (though an athiest) and was the science “spokesman” (having a first in physics.) He also took on other jobs, all these under assumed names so as to keep the NUJ happy For example the gardening columnist never got his copy in on time and was always demanding more money. William took it over but all he ever seemed to write about was cowcumbers. So in came to pass that the reporter-donkey ended up the gardening expert too.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  I wondered what happened to Terence?
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

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  Terry Cuthbert.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  __________________
  

  
  

  My user name Bob Smartass started off as a pee-take on
  

  
  

  an awful poet called Terry Smart. At communal poetry
  

  
  

  readings he used to read a children’s comic (and laugh
  

  
  

  out loud) whilst other people were reading, then read
  

  
  

  his stuff (the only lines of his I remember were two I
  

  
  

  stole “He made love to his girl/Till the cows came
  

  
  

  home”.)
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  As soon as he read his stuff he went (so we put him on
  

  
  

  first, and all turned up five minutes late!) I soon
  

  
  

  started to make fun of his crap poetry which was all
  

  
  

  about sex and contained a lot of f and c type words,
  

  
  

  the trouble was I could not write true crap and my Bob
  

  
  

  Smartass poems were entertaining, one night he had
  

  
  

  left his comic behind, returned, and heard me recite and
  

  
  

  realising I was taking the pee out of him walked on
  

  
  

  stage and thumped me on the nose!
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Later “Bob Smartass” became successful on the punk circuit and I mixed with some famous punk rockers!
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  ___________
  

  
  

  The Metro thingie is a waste of time, everyone I contact that lives near me either do not reply or give a kurt sarcastic reply, even the fellow poets. Oxford Xanga writers NEVER reply though I try to be as nice as possible, for example for the under 18′s stressing my age so they don’t fear me a preditor. Even the Oxford University students never reply to me!
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  ____________
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  One final thing. Ben asked about pubs with funny names. I grew up in Clowne opposite a pub (now sadly long gone) called the “Pig & Whistle”. It had three bars, “The Pig” “The Whistle” and “The Ampersand”. The landlord had two alsations (german shepherds) and at closing time used to cry “get the dogs out” (the modern pop song reminded me of him!) The two alsations used to snarl and froth at the mouth and people ran out of the pub. In the afternoons my sister and I used to play ball with the dogs, they would not hurt us, but they turned flipping nasty if anyone else (including our parents) got too near them!
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Another Derbyshire pub (still open) is “The Quiet Woman” in Rev Toby’s neck of the woods. The swinging post deplicts a woman with no head!

  
  

   

  
  

  Terry.

  
  

   

  
  

  ___________

  
  

  As I am not sure when I’ll have time updating my Lord Pineapple site, here is a poem to go on with.

  
  

   

  
  

  At the funeral of a child.
  

  
  

  _____________________
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Another soul has passed away
  

  
  

  On a cold and forgetful day.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  And all that’s left with the loss
  

  
  

  Is another windswept cross.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  And he who was a child at play
  

  
  

  Will not see in another day.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  For God alone will atone
  

  
  

  He who was once flesh and bone.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Jacques du Lumière
  

  
  

   

  
  

  ________________

  
  

  
  

  hahahahaha. Keep up the brilliant replies! I’ll get to visit you all after I’ve wrote the next “Clowne from Clown” blog-entry. It contains an angel and a message, don’t let my “weird mind” go to waste, use it for my own type of writing, write how I have ALWAYS thought, with asides and dispassages. They loved me on the paper, I only kept the job because (a) I was a charmer, with old people and old women including the bosses Jewish mother who escaped the holocaust with her children by knocking out the soldier leading them to the train to death.

  
  

  Oh, and (b) I could write like anyone from Shakespeare to the bosses Mother! The Boss feared if I left, the boss’s mother and myself will get their revenge on the boss who hated his bullying mother with a fear that sent him into being a nervous wreck!

  
  

  Who says this world is boring? Now of course eccentricness is going from us Brits, and so is the fun out of life. I knew a man who collected pictures of man-hole covers, so I copied him, couldn’t help it, I was a mimic of lousy ideas! Bet I have as many pictures of man-hole covers (metal designs some quite beautiful, others with names of long lost iron firms and builders yards) as that other dotty man.

  
  

  Better shut up! See yer!

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  • 9:57 am
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