JUBILEE PICTURE SPECIAL

Margaret Kettle (right) greets a visitor

It was grim weather we all admitted but the village has seen far worse when flags and bunting are unfolded on grand occasions. Goostrey parish council, not to be fazed by the prospect of rain, organised a splendid event for the Queen's Diamond Jubilee and I think the members are owed a big thank you, as well as the uniformed organisations who kept us all warm with a steady supply of tea and coffee, burgers and hot dogs!   The Queen was engaged elsewhere but she sent her greetings and Margaret Kettle proved to be a great understudy for Her Majesty. Not to be outdone, Margaret wore a crown and I noted that she also managed a little jig during one of the lively tunes played by Silk Brass Band of Macclesfield. Parish councillors said they were delighted with the support of the village and I guess, the only downside is they had to dig into funds to hire a tent to shelter the band!
*Click on the pictures for a larger image

Everyone had a brolly-good time

The make a crown contest was a Royal success

Margaret Kettle with Adrian Hugh and Joe

And the band played !

THE TALE OF THE HEDGE IS A REAL TREASURE

I’ve been a little bothered with an irritating eye infection. So writing has been out of the question. But now I feel motivated – given some medication – to resume where I left off a couple of months ago.  Like most would-be bloggers inspiration is the spur. And it has come from an unlikely source – a book about hedges. I know it doesn’t appear a subject to inspire. Like the author Hugh Barker, however, I’ve had a lifelong obsession for hedgerows that straddle the British countryside!  And when Hugh’s book was abridged on BBC4  last week I just had to get a copy for myself.

I was not disappointed. I’ve barely put Hedge Britannia down since it came by courier this week. Its highly readable text has reminded of boyhood when many an hour was spent following the line of hedgerows dividing the fields near where we lived. They were the source of adventure and I guess an all too vivid imagination in wartime Britain of what might lurk or be hidden among their roots. I once found a cache of coins (not ancient sadly) but the few half crowns and shillings were a fortune to a nine-year-old! How they got there I could only guess; possibly the proceeds of a robbery or, more likely, slipped from the pocket of a toiling labourer as he ate his “snap” protected from the heat of the day by the hedge canopy. I’ve no recollection what I did with the hoard. I reckon I must have spent it!

Many years later in Goostrey I made an exciting discovery (well, it was to me) in the hedge of my bottom field. There, firmly gripped between two ancient branches, was a large, old fashioned beer bottle. I can imagine some labourer long since dead would have left it there perhaps a century ago as he cleared the hedge bottom. Having released it with some difficulty from the grip of the hedge, it is now among the collection of broken pottery, bits of old iron, bottles and horseshoes that I’ve rooted up from the land (and now helped by two enthusiastic grandchildren) in search of treasure !

Since last in blog mode, the village has been pleased to see The Crown reopen under new managers – and by all accounts (and a brief visit) five or six types of real ale and a new menu are now on offer. Little has been done in the way of refurbishment, much to the relief of regulars who fear for its character, but word has it that eventually it is likely to become more of a pub grub establishment than at present.

Goostrey is poised to celebrate the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee this week-end with a Big Jubilee Picnic on Sunday at the Pavilion Field, Booth Bed Lane
. It promises to be a jolly village affair with brass band, barbecue, balloon race and presentation of jubilee medals to local children. Let it be a rain free day!

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Gerry's funeral at St Luke's Church

                                           
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Gerry and Cynthia soon after they took over the Crown

GERRY’S REIGN AT THE CROWN ENDS TRAGICALLY


 I can’t imagine anyone in Goostrey who was not stunned and saddened by the sudden death of Gerry Bridgwood. So soon after he and his wife, Cynthia, said their farewells at the Crown, Gerry died of a heart attack. Their sudden decision to call last orders and shut the pub and restaurant left villagers shell-shocked. And to a band of loyal regulars its closure was unthinkable, if not entirely unexpected. Like so many country inns, the Crown has suffered from soaring costs, competition from home drinking fuelled by cheap alcohol sold in supermarkets, plus the recession. It became just too much for the couple to continue. Their final night at the pub was like Christmas and New Year rolled into one. The pumps ran dry, bottles of beer flew off the shelves and by midnight there was barely a drop of wine or even champagne to be had in the house. But few of us in this convivial party atmosphere could have foretold in reality it had been Gerry’s wake. The high regard in which they are held was marked when an impromptu whip-round in the pub produced £1,000 as a parting gift. Then only 48 hours or so later Gerry went downstairs to fetch the paper and suffered the fatal heart attack, said the vicar, the Rev Ian Godfrey, at the funeral service in St Luke’s church – so packed with mourners that upwards of 100 more had to stand outside. The former footballer with Stoke City in the era of the great Stanley Matthews, was already a celebrity (his good looks once earned him the title of the best looking player in the first division) when he and Cynthia took over the pub. His humour and sense of fun behind the bar was legendry. “He was fantastic fun,” said one of his old pals. “If you were going to see Gerry, you knew you were going to have a good time.” Another said: “Gerry was a genuine man who loved a laugh. He could go anywhere and make anybody laugh, whatever the company he was in.” The Crown, as much as the Red Lion a short distance away, has lived in the hearts of the Goostrey community for generations. Many newcomers to the village confess that its very existence was the factor that drew them here in the first place. Youngsters who cut their social teeth at the bar have been known to return from across the world for a pint at this most hospitable of inns as their first port of call. Gerry and Cynthia ran the Crown for 20 years in the finest traditions of an English village pub, and they earned recognition for their work in the licensed trade from CAMRA, the campaign for real ale. When Cheshire became fashionable in the fifties for dining out, the Goostrey pubs were among those to lead the way. Thus the Crown still remained under Cynthia’s stewardship of the kitchen, but in recent years not without I suspect some cost to the couple themselves, Marston’s, the brewers, say it will re-open soon. At least three independent pub-restaurant owners are in the bidding to take over. We can only plea that any changes will not be too drastic as to destroy that special place, the Crown at Goostrey.

MARGARET’S SON ROBERT TACKLES POST OFFICE RAIDERS

I guess most will have heard by now of the appalling raid on Margaret Kettle’s store in the village. Her shop is also the Post Office and no doubt this attracted the unwanted attentions of  three mindless morons – as plainly there is really nothing of great value on the premises to steal! But like a previous raid just before Christmas, Margaret was left shaken by this latest episode during the middle of the night. It was fortunate that on this occasion her son, Robert, was on hand and managed to tackle the intruders sans most of his clothes and sent them fleeing. He was left with a very blooded and swollen eye but we can only speculate the outcome if he had not been present. Apparently two torches were stolen as well as Margaret’s handbag from her bedside and it can be hoped that police forensics will lead to their capture. The bag has been recovered in Liverpool.

Given age her age of 89 and slight build, Margaret must have been very alarmed by the experience but some hours later as police sealed off the premises in search of clues, she gave no hint of being traumatised as a result. She appeared outside her shop to assure well-wishers that she was unscathed but Robert had suffered injury.

It was probably the same trio who carried out the previous robbery on what is a Goostrey institution, known far and wide as an “Aladdin’s” cave for the range of items, mostly of low value that Margaret sells, more as a service to the community than for profit. Those of a certain age in the village will remember when Margaret and her late husband, George, ran Goostrey’s postal services. Not only did they manage the sub-post office but they sorted the mail behind the shop in Main Road and employed the posties! It was a real rural service and I doubt if a letter was ever incorrectly delivered. I was always aware when George delivered the post – the smell of the smoke from his ever present cigarette wafted up the stairs through the letter box! In recent times it was Margaret who came to the rescue of the post office. When it was threatened with closure she volunteered a corner of her shop for its relocation as a branch of Plumley village post office. Let us hope this latest incident will not end the association.

I’ve ranted in the past about the condition of the village’s roads. After yet another protest about Church Bank and Blackden Lane, I see a patch team from the council’s highways department made a fleeting visit the other day to fill in a few holes. I have it on good authority that unless potholes are more than four inches deep their repair is not regarded as urgent. And who said that size doesn’t matter! A member of the gang confided that it was a waste of time and some of the village’s roads needed resurfacing but there was no money in the kitty. He said it was up to residents to keep banging on about it. Something that I intend  to do in view of the continued shaking and rattling of the house from vehicles hitting potholes in the lane. As I told the council man I lived through the Manchester blitz and it was never as bad as this “bombardment” from the road.

It was another sad occasion almost a week ago when, with others from the area, I attended a service of thanksgiving for the life of Ken Albutt in the Cotswold village of Painswick. Ken and his wife, Jane, moved some five years ago from Cranage to Edge near Painswick, to be close to their children. The packed St Mary’s church was a reflection of the high regard and the love and affection in which Ken was held by his many friends

FATHER CHRISMAS HAS A DIGGER RIVAL

It’s been some weeks since I put a pen to a blog. But that doesn’t mean I’ve been idle.  The luxury of being retired, or as I like to think semi-retired, is to thank the lord there is no-one to kick the rear end.

Now in the festive season I feel I have to shift myself, if only to send Christmas cards and cruise round the shops in search of presents for the grandchildren. I’d planned to send something by snailmail to Christopher and Sarah in Oz but I see I’ve already missed the slot for final posting.  Sadly they will have to wait until the New Year. I did, however, manage to get my international greetings cards off in time. Well, I hope they got there for Christmas.

As for Hugh and Joseph here in Goostrey, that’s another tale. They are now of an age when Father Christmas is the real thing. This is the first year they have become aware of the whiskered old codger so it will be all systems go, I guess, on the 25^th tomorrow. Hugh is anxious that we have carrots and milk to leave for FC’s reindeers. His Dad suggested he should also put out a tipple for the man himself!

I saw a report the other day that even toddlers are showing an interest in computers, and this year they are actually being manufactured for kids barely out of the crawling stage. All in the name of early learning, of course!

My nursery aged grandchild toddlers are no exception but their passion is for diggers and tractors. Young Hugh however managed to switch my system on the other day. He and his brother were well into a You Tube item about a giant digger climbing a tower in Germany when discovered.

 Since then You Tub diggers and tractors have become their favourite viewing. But you have to monitor what they watch – there are some very lurid things on You Tube, I’ve discovered! The mind boggles how some ladies dress to handle diggers !

The festive season is the time when the Christmas cracker comes into its own. I don’t know if I am an exception, I don't seem able to get the wretched things to crack. I was dining on turkey and Christmas pud with Richard and Sylvia at a little eatery in the Staffordshire moorlands earlier this month when I tried my first for the season. Yes, like it always does, it just went “phut” when it was pulled instead of a healthy crack. Same happened to two out of the three on the table.

I was delighted as a way of compensation to find a leaflet inside informing me that at least the cracker is a British invention, with a little input from the French.

It seems a gentleman called Tom Smith is credited with its invention following a trip to Paris in 1840 when he discovered locally produced sugared almonds wrapped in a twist of tissue paper.  It wasn’t long(  only seven years or so) before he hit on the idea of including a love motto in the tissues, then came the cracking mechanism and finally his son Walter added the gift. Just hope they were a bit better than the pointless plastic toys included these days!

Now all I have left to say is A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to one and all!