Category Archives: History

The Schooner

The Schooner is a very nice pub. Currently playing a bit of Ska. 

Although I’m only here because of a breakdown in communications between myself and my second in command. 

I planned to meet her from work, and communicated my intentions, but for some unknown reason, she left me waiting in the Split Chimp while she went home. 

So I left to go home too, only to find that my second in command had set off (an hour late) to meet me. 

Anyway, I’ve had a nice walk; a walk I’d not done in ages. Through a cool, but newly defaced (I took no pictures of such things) cemetary. 

There would be other pictures, but I have a rubbish signal and can’t be bothered to look for the wifi code. 

I’m assuming that the railings were removed and melted down during WWII, but I bet the place looked great a hundred years ago. 

Concrete

Today was spent digging concrete out of the garden. A task made more arduous by a huge tree root wrapped around one lump. However, I have successfully excavated the various layers of concrete archeology from our garden. 

In doing so, I found the base of the old extension, demolished in the early 80s.

Currency

Seriously, Scottish notes are much better on the eye. 

More effort seems to have gone into the design. Darwin still takes a bit of beating though. 

Sodhouse Bank

Our street has quite a bit of history. William the Conqueror once had a bit of a run in with Malcolm III of Scotland (it didn’t end well for Malcolm), pretty much just outside our house. And, for a few hundred years there was an annual procession up the street. 

This procession would stop for refreshment at a pub down the road, the Old Cannon. While a nice building, the times haven’t been kind to the Cannon. I’ve only called in twice and found the pub to be pretty run down and struggling to survive. Something of a shame when you consider its past. 

Inevitably, the pub closed and attempts to reopen an turn it into a realistic business failed. It’s soon to reopen as a Chinese restaurant. 

At least the building is remaining largely unchanged. Unlike the nearby Queens Head, which closed more recently. It’s to be converted into bedsits. 

Should a ghostly Sheriff of Gateshead still be travelling the route, at least he’d be able to find a meal and a bed for the night. 

The Station

Today, while escorting my second in command’s father to his train, I noticed something in Central Station. 

I’ve read about these, but hadn’t seen them before today. Just a few years ago, this would have been unimaginable in Newcastle. Hell, I remember being regarded as different in my early days of vegetarianism  seriously think that vegetarians/vegans will one day dominate the world. Naturally, anyone who resists will be fed to cats. And, speaking of which, I need to purchase a chair, a white long haired cat and a pair of black (faux) leather gloves. 

Also in Central Station, on the same theme, was a shop. 

Finally, while having a pre-second-in-command’s-dad-train Erdinger, I found that the Station Hotel  is likely to reopen soon. 

While only the facia has been retained, I’m looking forward to the reopening. 

The Glastonbury flower

Our garden has an almost dead flower. I buy random packets of bulbs and failed to make a note of the name. Along with a companion (sadly cut down with a trimmer a month ago), it’s been part of our garden for a few years. 

In the absence of a formal name, it’s been known as the Glastonbury flower, because I’ve only ever seen some growing by Bella’s bridge. 

Named after Arabella Spencer-Churchill.

Windows II

We now have a new living room window, after the original was (according to the Police) broken, along with those of 14 other houses in Sheriff Hill\Low Fell, by travellers. 

Unfortunately, this means that we now have one clean window. 

And, since one window absolutely had to be replaced, we thought we’d do something about the kitchen window, less badly broken by a rabid ex wife a few years ago. 

A Conclusion

My father’s funeral is being (or, most likely, has been) held today. One of three siblings has attended; while not a million miles from my current location, I couldn’t bring myself to go. 

I don’t feel any loss; a little sadness perhaps, but that relates more to the concept of a father than reality. I do still feel an element of relief too. 

I probably won’t feel the need to mention my father again. One final message for him though, if he’s listening, Dad, you were a bit of a bastard, you know.