The Redhouse

The photo was taken a couple of days ago. It shows the rear of McKecknies from the canal.

Whenever as a child I replied to the question 'Where yow frum' with 'Aldridge' I was usually met with a finger brush to turn the nose up and the response 'Yam posh then aye ya'. I never considered that I was posh a possibility as I lived in a council house on the Redhouse and the Redhouse was seen as a bit of a dump to everyone else that lived in Aldridge and yet, although it was a council estate I could never see why the good burghers of the rest of Aldridge should see it as a dump. We sent more than our fair share of children to the Queen Mary's Schools in Walsall and also to Aldridge Grammar, there was even the odd university student so I always saw the estate as filled with decent hard working class people some of whom had aspirations.

Virtually every home on the estate had connections with one or more of the three enormous factories on the adjacent industrial estate; Birlec, where my own Mother worked as a secretary, BRD or McKechnies. All three are long gone now. The old Birlec factory now sorts and recycles all our green bin rubbish. BRD latterly GKN is closed and McKecknies having gone through several name changes/takeovers/buy-outs is largely mothballed although a small number of people are employed within the huge caverns that once employed thousands.

As a child I used to sit at my Mother's bedroom window and watch people from the estate scurry to work for the appointed shift. The men would often carry small women's shopping bags or maybe a duffel bag containing their flask and lunches if on a late or night shift. All would be wearing a cap on their heads, women a headscarf and they were smart. Men who only every saw the dirt and filth of an assembly line wore blue shirts and a tie and a decent pair of functional trousers. No jeans, they were for those student hippy types not decent working class men. Three times in 24 hours I would hear the siren signalling the change of shifts at 6am, 2pm and 10pm and additionally at 8am for the day shift. Thinking back that siren must have been a left over from World War 2 as it had the distinct tones of an all clear sign.

The three factories all provided additional facilities for their workers and staff. Both the BRD and McKechnies had thriving sports and social clubs and a playing field. All three had canteens and all three provided their employees children with a brilliant Christmas party. I only ever attended those for the Birlec but was always envious of those who had families with feet in every camp and attended all three. Good party food, sausage rolls, cheese and ham triangular sandwiches, crisps and treat of treats fairy cakes followed by jelly and ice cream. Father Christmas would arrive towards the end of the party and dish out the presents and I was thrilled when reaching my teenage years to discover that the present was a WH Smith's voucher, which meant I could add to my book collection.

Those three factories provided work and an identity for many on the Redhouse. They also provided a social cohesion because every man who wanted and could work would find a job, even the so called yampy lads would be found some menial job on the shop floor. There was pride and there was graft and wages weren't always brilliant but they were a life blood of that estate.

I'm not sure when the sirens fell silent. Certainly by the end of the 1970s 24 hour working had long since ceased and gradually the work force became depleted. Birlec was the first to close following the collapse of the steel industry for whom they had supplied furnaces.

A walk around the industrial estate now is a quiet experience. No sirens, no sounds of heavy industry, few cars and a sign of the times in that the bus stops outside the BRD and McKechnies are no longer in use. The old canteen at McKecknies with its large windows seems filled with ghosts from my childhood. The times I walked passed as a child and would find myself waving to someone inside that I knew. They would be balancing a tray laden with what looked like delicious food. Then there were the dinner/dances on Saturday nights when the stage would be dusted off and used to house the musicians. Now through the grimy windows you can still tables and chairs, some upended, some stacked untidily. The curtains on the stage look forlorn, dirty and dusty, faded relics of a time long gone. There are even trays scattered about.

We often look at the past through rose tinted spectacles. Times weren't always good back then but we have lost something that was good in the 60s and early 70s; full employment. For me that was something worth paying for. The pride and social cohesion that existed on the Redhouse back then disappeared when they closed the factories down.

A Plea for a little of your Money!

I've now set up my Just Giving page for my first 100 mile cycle ride at the beginning of May. The ride is for Macmillan Cancer Support Services and I'm really hoping that some of my readers will be kind and generous in helping me to raise at least £100 in sponsorship money.

For more details of the ride please click here

To sponsor me and help me raise funds for this really necessary and important cause then click here

I'm doing the ride because all of us have been affected in one way or another by cancer and so the work that Macmillan does touches us all.

Cycling Update

I thought it might be a wise idea not to bore you all to death with cycling minutia and so I'm now micro blogging about my exploits here. Hope to see you there.

This Year I'll Mostly Be Biking

It had been well over a month since my last ride. I got a nasty cold and then there were all the preparations for Christmas, the weather was truly appalling and so the bike stayed in the shed gathering concrete dust but that's another story. So yesterday morning, a stone heavier than I was a month ago, I dusted the concrete off the saddle and wheeled my trusty steed out of isolation.

Being sensible a short sharp ride appealed but as I left the road and joined the canal towpath, where peace and serenity greeted me I was tempted to change my mind. The sun was glistening on the water and although it was cold and I really needed those liner gloves I'd purchased during the week, my heart soared. It was so good to feel the wind rushing past my ears again.

Things have changed since my last ride. All the leaves had finally gone from the trees and shrubs and so I could glimpse things through the wood that had previously been hidden to me, so I slowed down in order to have a better look around at what winter time offered. After a few minutes I realised that my mind had wondered off at tangents all on its own. Previously this has only happened when out walking and never whilst cycling for I have to admit my first forays on my own although enjoyable, were often fraught as I came to grips with biking etiquette and with the dangers of riding on the roads. That moment of realisation gave me such a buzz and as I went along I asked myself why had I left it so long.

I made my way back pumping my little legs hard, so hard that when I dismounted at home I got the wobbles and couldn't walk. I was however exhilarated. Good job too because I have two big rides to train for! In a moment of madness I agreed with my wonderful S.O to sign up for two 100 milers charity; first the MacRide from Windsor to Stratford-on-Avon at the beginning of May and secondly Wolverhampton to Aberdovey for local charities and organised by West Midlands Police at the end of June.

The MacRide is my starter. Forty miles on the Saturday, overnight rest in a B&B and then 60 miles on the Sunday. The Aberdovey ride is 100 miles all in one day. I have to admit that the Aberdovey ride is a daunting prospect but if I can do it then there is hope for the human race! Considering that just two months ago I was a total novice to cycling and a very ancient novice too, it looks as though I've given myself a steep learning curve but then I never was one for doing something half heartedly. My longest ride to date has been 18 miles so a serious training schedule is the order of the year. I've been pouring over maps this afternoon plotting ever increasing distances.

This morning was bright and cold so off I went again and was pleasantly surprised to note that not only was double the distance from yesterday no problem at all but that I'm approaching double figures in terms of miles per hour. I wonder what I'll be achieving by my 50th birthday in April? My aim is not be an embarrassment to S.O when we tackle these charity rides. That will involve keeping my mouth shut as well as pedalling hard, long and fast...but that's another blog!

Christmas - past and present

It is interesting how attitudes towards particular seasons can be so diverse in just one family, let alone a country and the Christmas season is a good example and my own family an example within that example.

My maternal Grandmother didn't like Christmas and it wasn't difficult to understand why. So many people whom she had loved died around this time of the year including her sister, brother and her mother who died early in a new year when my Grandmother had already lost her Father to World War 1 and she was still a child of 12. I often wonder if it was almost a deliberate thing that she died on 14th December being unable to face another Christmas. Having said that the date appears to be an eventful one for my family; I have a sister and a niece born on that date and one Uncle suffered a heart attack on that date too. It's with relief that I awake on the 15th not having endured some momentous event on the previous day!

My Mother loved Christmas but then as I've said before she had a true Christian faith and so it was natural for her to find joy in the celebrations of her Saviour's birth. Mom made Christmas special for us when we were children. She was a decent cook so Christmas Day lunch was always something to savour and enjoy. She always put the turkey in the oven to cook as she went to bed on the Eve and so my memories of Christmas Day mornings are of getting up to a warm downstairs because the oven had been on all night (no central heating back then) and the smell of the cooked turkey making me ravenous and ready for lunch at 8am!

I'm not sure who started the tradition of no stockings but Mom always packed all of our presents, well except for the really big ones such as the bicycle I got one year, into a pillow case and this was left at the bottom of our beds by Father Christmas (he was never Santa in our house) and his helpful elves. This made for some very early starts in Aldridge as who could resist opening presents when they were there in your bedroom? It also meant that Mom was never really sure which Aunty had given what present because in the frenzy of opening we never read the labels, so the much hated but necessary task of thank you letters was a fraught one.

We always had to have lunch over by 3pm so that we could watch the Queen. We were not allowed to talk during our Sovereign's address to us and the Commonwealth, well except Mom who was allowed a running commentary on how young/old Queenie was looking and whether her dress suited her or not.

It wouldn't be long afterwards that Tea would be prepared. Cold turkey, salad, bread and pickles. Oh how I adored Christmas tea and it's never ending supply of pickled onions and cabbage! And then trifle and home made mince pies, a yule log, Christmas Cake, it was all to die for.

My most treasured memories of Christmas past are of my Mother singing. She sang all the time, all year through but at Christmas she sang even more. She had a beautiful soprano singing voice and during her life she sang in many choirs but for quite a few years when I was a child every Christmas we would travel around local authority homes for the elderly in Birmingham with my Uncle (whom I think was responsible for organising this) Aunt, their friends, my parents and siblings on a Sunday afternoon and evening, singing carols to the residents. It was an experience I always enjoyed. I can still see my Mom's face as she sang, joyful and happy.

This Christmas is my first without Mom and my eighteenth without my Grandmother. Two women who have done more to shape me than anyone else alive and yet with such diverse feelings about this time of the year. I still miss my Grandmother and her little pearls of wisdom and my Mother? Well this is going to be a strange Christmas without her because it's always been such a fun and full time of the year with her. I've no doubt there will be tears shed but because this time of the year meant so much to her I shall feel obliged not to cry too much and to enjoy it because she loved it so much.

Where ever you are, what ever faith you follow or do not, I wish you joy and peace this Christmas time, with experiences that will provide good memories in the years ahead. Enjoy the company of your loved ones, be they friends or family. To anyone who is alone not through choice, I wish you the comfort of happy memories and contentment with life.

Mistletoe and Wine

There are two things guaranteed to happen at this time of the year and both annoy me with equal intensity. I try not to let them, not good for my karma but Zen is sometimes hard to achieve when there are bloody-minded people on this planet!

There have been festivities in Mid Winter for as long as humankind has walked the planet. Yule and Saturnalia amongst a plethora of festivals, predate the Christian tradition by millennia and many traditions from these ancient winter festivals were adopted by the Christian Church when it decided in the 4^th century to make the 25^th December the date that Jesus Christ’s birth was to be celebrated, despite the fact that nobody really knows when he was born.

Mistletoe, wreaths, Yule logs, community singing and feasting are all traditions we continue today as our pagan ancestors did in the days of yore. These festivities grew up around the time of the winter solstice to celebrate rebirth and renewal. Ok so in the middle of a bleak midwinter it sometimes feels that springtime is a long way off but following the solstice the days start to draw out once again signalling renewal. Of course we now celebrate these days on what are effectively vastly different days from our ancestors due to the shift from the Julian to the Gregorian calendar. Which adds more arrows to my bow…..

If as a non-church goer you dare in this season to venture inside a church to participate in a little community singing and enjoy some Christmas type spirit you would be forgiven for thinking that you were going to hell in a handcart. The vicar or priest will stand there delivering the well worn phrases that I’ve heard since my childhood of how the real meaning of this festival has been lost; lost to commercialisation and to those of no faith who have the temerity to only turn up to church once a year! Talk about a warm welcome, well no, they don’t or at least in my experience they don’t.

It annoys me that the Christian Church thinks it has a monopoly on celebrations at this time of the year when let’s face it, they were the interlopers. This brings me to the second thing that annoys me. It’s all over social media now, Facebook, twitter et al. In the days before these inventions it would be discussions on the radio or TV or even letters to the newspaper. It’s the “I’m not going to wish you happy holidays, cos it’s Christmas. It’s not winterval, it’s Christmas.” You know the sort of thing. It usually ends with a xenophobic type statement along the lines of “if you don’t like it and our traditions then go back to where you came from”.

Now this annoys me on so many levels I don’t even know where to start! Firstly, the media in whatever form has hoodwinked most of the people that post this sort of rubbish, that there are people who object to Christmas. This amazes me. Anyone of true faith has total respect for the faith of others and his or her festivals and celebrations and holy days. I’ve worked in very multi-cultural offices in various parts of the country and the only group of people who didn’t send Christmas cards and give Christmas presents or participate in any way whatsoever were the witness of Jehovah! Yes that’s right; the Hindu’s, Sikhs, Muslims, Buddhists all appeared to participate in Christmas and in the traditions associated with it including feasting, present and card giving and parties! Most went home and put up Christmas trees too. It strikes me that a few well meaning but misguided liberals way back in the 1980s tried a few renaming/rebranding exercises and thereby started these myths that perpetuate and grow to this day. Whenever you challenge someone who has posted such rubbish to come up with some evidence of where in the UK Christmas is banned, they never can. Simple really, they can’t because it hasn’t. What annoys me even more is the point that so few of those who think like this will actually attend a church or celebrate the day in a Christian manner. Sure they’ll be celebrating, as the majority will but not in the way those vicars and priests I mentioned at the beginning would like them to, which rather brings me full circle.

I can never understand why people just don’t live and let live. Whatever your beliefs or reasons for celebrating at this time of the year or not as the case may be, just enjoy the time that is available to spend with your loved ones, indulging in traditions and rituals that have been around for centuries and looking forward to longer days and the renewal of life. I shall take a spoon of my own advice now and stop getting annoyed….

Wheels on Fire

Walking became a needful thing for me four years ago when my Ex announced his impending departure from our life together. It became my time; my time to think, to breathe, to revel once again in the simple pleasures of life such as watching wildlife, admiring the bounty that Mother Nature offers up for free, sniffing the flowers so to speak. I rediscovered my love of woods and trees, of flowers, of streams, ponds, lakes, the humble canals. How had I come to abandon such simple pleasures for so long? Walking in effect, saved me, gave me purpose beyond the normal day to day activities we all so often merely endure rather than enjoy.

As my walks became longer and more frequent I often thought how nice it would be to cycle. My thought process was along the lines of being able to cover greater distances but still be able to admire the beauty all around me. My problem was that I knew nothing of bikes and less of actually cycling. Apart from doing silly stuff on the cycles of young children my last ride on a bike was in my early teens. And so, without having access to advice from someone who did know all about bikes and cycling and whom I could trust, my thoughts of purchasing a bike and actually doing some riding were shelved.

Then I met a wonderful man, a keen cyclist and someone I can trust! At the age of 49 and no, I don't mind admitting to age, it is a fact and a number and has no bearing whatsoever on the baggage within and how she feels (there's still a teenager in there fighting like mad to be heard!) I finally purchased a bike last week and have since embarked on what I think may become a rival for my walking!

My first ride consisted of riding around and around some garages. Next came a little excursion around the block so to speak, several times, I even threw in a hill. Method in my madness there, I had never ridden a bike with gears before and so I needed to learn how they worked! I fell off, which for those who know me well, will not come as a surprise as I'm as clumsy as they come, spent many years of my childhood in A&E and/or fracture clinics. The next day I went out with my lovely man for my first proper ride of 9.6 miles and I loved it. The joy of pedalling along, managing the gears and then free-wheeling down hills was unbridled. Realising that it doesn't matter from which direction you approach Aldridge, it involves a climb was not so joyful! On Saturday I went out on my own for the first time and managed 12.25 miles and saw parts of Brownhills I had never known existed along the canal up towards Chasewater and delightful they were too.

My ride on Sunday a mere 5.9 miles did not go so well but I blame myself for pushing a little too hard too soon. This poor experience has not put me off at all. I am looking forward to exploring both on my own and with my partner and I'm also looking forward to putting some miles into my legs and enjoying the simple things so important to me from a slightly different angle. There are new challenges ahead and I embrace them as passionately as I've approached my walking.

The saying goes that you can't teach an old dog new tricks. Tosh!