My Triumph Motorcycle
by admin on Feb.07, 2010, under Articles
I am now going backmore than 50 years!. (1950’s)
The youth of the country at that time, really only had one chance to take to the road, it was the motor cycle. Dads buying cars for their sons never happened. Dad most probably did not have a car anyway. Walk along the street and not all drives had a car in them. So it was the day of the motorcycle and scooter rider. Getting the first motorbike was a milestone in my life. Albeit, I had an old BSA bike to start with. It was old and very temperamental not always starting on first kick. KICK? Yes the day of the electric starter was a long way off and never happened until after my motorcycling years. We stood astride the machine and kick started them. Many time an aching leg would force a stop while the carb and spark plug were adjusted and cleaned before the engine would burst into life. The engineering of the engine was after all very basic at that time.
But when it did go, we entered a different world, we were mobile, at 16 years old we could discover a new world. Places where we had never been before, and sights we had only read about. We were oblivious to danger. We screwed the throttle back to max on every gearchange, fitted silencers that didn’t silence, and showed everybody how brilliant we were. I don’t think that first BSA could reach 60mph!. But who cares, I had a bike, I was mobile, and I could show off with the lads.
There were no safety rules or laws regarding crash helmets, hardly anyone wore one, partly because of the danger of being called a wimp. A flat cap or ratting hat as they were called, was standard headgear, and you could be upmarket with MkV111 (Mark flying goggles. Many still used the gasmask goggles that were issued during the 2nd world war. They were in plentiful supply.
But we all suffered the same desire as many do today, we wanted faster, bigger and better machines. England was the choice of the world for a while. with the BSA’s, Matchless, Aerial, HRD Vincent, Norton and of course Triumph. (There were many more, but you know what my memory is like!) Japan was only at the edge of our world. It wasn’t until later that Kawsaki’s and Honda, Yamaha etc. came to the front. It was also the era of the scooter, Lambretta’s and Vespa’s led the way.
But back to my Triumph, there it was sitting in the showroom, second hand, but perfect showroom condition. It had to be mine. As a young motor mechanic earning just £3.00 per week, it was out of my money range, so it was a case of selling my soul to my father, and promising the earth, that led to him letting me have the big deposit. The total price was £150 .00 a fortune for me, (and my father), but winging prevailed and I was soon wheeling it out of the showroom. Now I could go where the old BSA could not. I had to learn to ride all over again, it was heavier, faster and so responsive, that I took a couple of weeks to really be at one with the machine. It would pass anything on the road, and it would do just 100 mph. the white line in the middle of the road was my road. (they were painted in those days so none of the thick raised ones). I could go from Basing stoke to Salisbury (50miles) in 30 minutes. It was fantastic. But remember there was not the traffic to contend with then and many miles were just clear. Motorways were not built then.
I needed to have sparks come from my footrest, otherwise I knew I had not taken the corner right, and had not impressed anyone. They were such fun days, and looking back I realise I was lucky to survive on that bike. Inevitably I got so “good” and was king of the road, when I started to fall of it!. Now performing daring stunts and riding out smiling the other end is an ego boost, but fall off, and where do you hide. I can tell you that coming off at 60 plus mph, you don’t actually remember leaving the bike and hitting the ground. Having started this silly falling off game, I believe I actually got sensible and thought for the first time about the dangers I was putting myself into. It was so bad I even thought about buying a crash helmet, but of course I couldn’t loose face on that one! Once you see all the dangers of riding a motorbike, you have that little bee in your bonnet, that says give it up before it’s to late. So a sad day for me when I advertised it.
It was a reluctant sale that saw the Triumph go out of my drive and out of my life. But a chapter in it that was worth every bruise. Michael Chalke.
My Market Stall in Spain
by admin on Feb.07, 2010, under Articles
DO THE SPANISH EAT DONUTS?
During one phase of my long life, I was a Market Trader. I sold many different products and travelled hundreds of miles all over the South of England attending markets. It was hard work, but a lot of fun. I worked as I have so many times with my wife Joyce, and we made a great team.
We worked at various times in Hampshire, Berkshire, Dorset, Wiltshire and as far as the Midlands. We looked forward to the Summer, Markets in Devon. With many tourists travelling to that county, it was a lucrative area to work in. Apart from our ”regular” markets our ears were always open to hear of other good ones.
It was on the Devon Markets that we heard tale of Traders going to Spain for the winter to escape the conditions here. It’s no joke standing in the rain, wind and snow. It’s even worse having to get up out of your warm bed to go to the market on freezing roads, often for very little money. Apart from the Christmas run up, where business picks up, winter markets are not the nicest place to be in England !
Devon was the place that drastically changed our way of marketing and our life. It was where I met and became friends with a Trader and his wife, John and Val. They told us that they went to Spain each winter, not as Market Traders but just for a long holiday. Our conversations turned to markets in Spain, and we learned that many of the traders from England would go and work on the Spanish markets in the Sunny Winter.
They now had my attention! How many times had I dug snow out of a pitch, in freezing temperatures, just to get my stall set up!
They told us how they based themselves in Benidorm, on a Campsite within ten minutes walk to the centre of town. Right on the Mediterranean Sea
Well that was enough for us to start to plan, with their help, a trip to Spain.. There were Markets all around the Benidorm area, and apart from some Markets being for the Spanish Traders only, most other European nationals, were free to work on markets because of the new European rules . With this information I pestered them for all the information I could about the Markets and about Spain itself.
I had only one problem -I had never been to Spain!,
Well with-out the long story, my wife and I decided to go on this adventure. What would we sell? I had a Donut Machine which we were currently using, and thought, why not! So our plans were made to leave the country, I had a Transit Van, a large Caravan, and enough stock to last for six months. That consisted of about half a ton of donut mix. Gas and cooking oil for the machine and all the rest of the stall and related items for that plus all the things we would need for our personal well being.
Wow! were we loaded, and we had a thousand miles to go!
It was that after our summer markets had finished, our friends agreed to “Show us the way to Spain,” The day arrived for us all to set off, heavily loaded , even the Transit seemed eager to go. We boarded the ferry at Portsmouth and it was to take us to Santander via the notorious Bay of Biscay . Luckily the passage was smooth, and two days later saw us embarking onto Spanish soil. And the Sun was shining ! We followed our friends with their car and caravan to Benidorm, and it was nice to have company on this our very first venture into Spain.
We arrived in Benidorm three days later, after a long journey only stopping at Motorway Stations and for fill ups, We were both anxious to get to the destination, but still a little wary of this new adventure. We arrived at a campsite called La Torreta, and got settled in. It was only just a ten minute walk to the centre of Benidorm, just as they had told us, and the beach with the Mediterranean lapping at the sand.
But first priority was to book in for my first market. Now if you want to get on a market in Spain, and you’ve never been there before and you don’t know any Spanish language. That’s a pretty daunting task. Remember I had never been to Spain before!.
My phrase book gave me two words, and I knew por favor, (please). Well most people do! I spotted the words Plaza and Domingo, and decided this was all I had to remember. Hm.. not much you can do with that in a conversation! But it might work. So it was a trip to the Town Hall, and find the market office.
Ok here goes, “Plaza, Domingo, por favor”
Well I must have hit the right words as an official looked at me for a second and much to my relief, a pad was produced and The Man rattled off some Spanish at me and thrust a paper with a pitch number and the cost towards me. I paid hurriedly and left.
The market was just outside Benidorm, and I had a pitch in La Nucia where the town hall was.
Oh and my Spanish words? Plaza, Domingo, por favor.( Pitch, Sunday, Please.)
I am glad to say that the people at the market on Sunday were a real mixture, seemingly most had come to Spain from England to avoid the winter there. And they all liked donuts! The Traders were Spanish, English, Dutch and German, and we got on well with them all.
We joined other markets and it was not long before we started using Spanish words and understanding maybe more than we knew. Three markets a week was enough to keep us in Spain from October till May. What a wonderful time we had. working just three days a week and the rest of the time enjoying the Sun and finding our way round Spain. Eventually of course, we had to return to do our regular and summer markets. But this journey, thanks to our friends, was a real adventure and holiday in one.
This was in 1995 and for the next six years we went to Spain for the Winter. with the lovely weather, Christmases in the hot sun and a new host of camping friends and traders welcoming us back.
We still go to see friends in Spain, but have long since given up the Market life. We look back and say, it was some of the best times of our life. My point to this story (if there is a point) is that sometimes you just have to get up and go, even if you don’t know what’s on the other side.
That’s why as a pensioner now, I am attempting to do a bit of blogging. I may not get it right, but I’m going to have fun trying.
Can You Look Back?
by admin on Feb.07, 2010, under Articles
Can You Look Back?
Can you think of a time when you did not have a television? No I thought not ! That got me thinking about the things that have happened in my lifetime, and some of the things that my Father would never have believed.
Can you think of a time when you did not have a television? No I thought not ! That got me thinking about the things that have happened in my lifetime, and some of the things that my Father would never have believed.
He was born at the turn of the century (not this one – the last one), and it was a time when the motorcar was the latest invention, probably only a few hundred in the country at that time. He has long gone now, and I am 71 yrs old, so it suddenly dawned on me that I could look back through my father and myself, more than a Hundred years. Wow! a sobering thought.
What has gone on in that time? Try telling the youth of today that their best form of transport was their legs, and no TV, computer, mobile phones, iPods (or even McDonalds), I am sure they would take a while to digest this, and probably think I was nuts.
Could my father believe that one day a man would land on the Moon? No, I think not, that would have been just to much for him to imagine. But we slowly grow up with these major milestones in our lives, and just don’t realise the change that’s happening and what speed it’s happening.
How far have we come from the first telephone call from America, or the first Radio signal. We now have the Internet that can contact anyone anywhere in the world, at any time. How scary is that.
My childhood was a playtime with a difference, walk to school, no “Mums Runs”. (whoever heard of a woman driver then?) This was something to run home and tell Dad you had seen a woman driver! And playtime was PLAY time, we climbed trees, made bows and arrows, and had sword fights. (with sticks of course), and we were actors of scenes that involved cowboys and Indians, enemies, and armies. Great battles were fought in the fields and in our minds. Sometimes we argued, and a fight was started, but the unwritten rules were that the first boy to have a bloody nose or knocked down was the looser. We didn’t kick or stamp or stab anyone.
The Summers were long and hot. But we had few holidays. Lucky if we ever saw the sea, it was more likely we would stay with “Auntie or Uncle”, always the family.
Now most of you reading this, could never ever visualise the world as it was then, no instant news round the world, except the Pathe News at a cinema. This is the only view we had of the outside world. Some difference now!.
So I have seen the changes and had to adapt to them or get left behind, and as time goes on it gets even harder to remember when we didn’t have all this technology. Where is it all going? You tell me, I am enjoying my later years playing with this technology and writing useless blogs like this, but it keeps me happy. I would love to come back for a couple of hours in a hundred more years time just to see what I am going to miss. Well maybe not, i’ll let my imagination roam around like I did when I was young. By this century, I feel the world should be an easier place to live in, we know so much and have all the tools, but I am saddened by the apparent deterioration in many areas of peace and harmony, which we should all be enjoying from the fruits of this technology. But that’s Political and another story and I’m not going there. Thanks for reading. Michael Chalke. http://bloggingnewbies.com
Welcome the Burglar
by admin on Jan.26, 2010, under Articles
“Come on in and take what you want!”
Yes, you may as well invite them in and maybe give a hand filling their swag-bag. Don’t even think about stopping them! Oh no, they will sue you if you injure them, and of course the Police will arrest you immediately, put you in handcuffs and stick you in jail for the night.
How dare you hit that burglar with a baseball bat. Which of course you have because you fear for you life. Whoops, not allowed to protect yourself if you use more that reasonable force. Reasonable force, now how on earth do you define reasonable force? Do I just grab hold of him and hope I can restrain him, I have to use one arm to detain him, and with the other I can phone the police!. Hmm, Now that seems simple enough, but oh dear, he has got away and now has a knife. What on earth can I do now?
Ah, reasonable force, now how hard should I hit him with my fist. I just don’t want a medical bill for his broken teeth!
He is getting a bit closer, well to hell with the reasonable force, I am not going to let him beat me up or kick me to death, it has to be the baseball bat.
Wham! Lucky me a direct hit, the police will be pleased I did not use my full strength. They may congratulate me for detaining a known burglar with 27 previous convictions.
But NO you loose. You are not allowed to defend you home.
You will be assessed for mental state, and misdemeanors in the past, (driving fines?) and all collated to see if your actions were deliberate and planed, (You had a baseball bat). It seems as though the whole of the police force is against you and on your case, while the burglar has hospital and sympathy treatment, with court appearance next day, where he will be cautioned and bailed, now he can go and frighten someone else if he wishes.
I get a criminal record for actual bodily harm and he gets community service order!
Now you may think I am being a bit cynical, but this is happening time and time again because the burglar has rights! Never mind your rights.
It seems every day the thugs are getting younger, schoolboys (if they go to school) are mob handed and any confrontation to stop your car getting damaged, will as we have seen on many occasions, result in death. These yobs show no mercy at all, each one wanting to get that hard kick in and cause as much injury as possible. They don’t care at all about whether the victim lives or dies. They are heroes, and have one more conquest to brag about. The grief of victims families does not even enter their minds.
We are helpless to retaliate and be protected by the law. When they are caught, and they usually are, they have nothing to fear, nothing to shock them into remorse, nothing to deter them in the future. We sentence a 16 year old to life, and then let him out in 10 years. He is 26 and ready for a long life in front of him, while the victim lays as dead as ever, and the family living with out their loved one.
But killing another human is not really any problem if you didn’t mean it! Manslaughter is the opt out clause to get you only 3 or 4 years. What a word, Manslaughter, the Slaughter of a Man. How does this work? If you get in the way of a drunken yob, and he hits you and knocks you out, you hit the ground and your head explodes and you die, he is OK because he didn’t mean to kill you. He only slaughtered you. Well that’s alright then isn’t it? You still end up dead.
My only point to all this is, when are the courts and judges and laws going to be changed to allow people to once more go out at night, knowing that the deterrents in place will fit the crime, and the whole street you live in is a normal family street.
Ok it’s a dream, but lets hope politicians stop just talking about it, and actually DO something for us that will allow us to be the winners, and not the victims.
M.C.
Heart Stopping Stuff
by admin on Jan.25, 2010, under Articles
“You will have to have an operation to replace or repair your heart valve”, said the consultant. Now that was the diagnosis expected, but still my mind was hoping for a different answer, even though I knew this is what the answer would be. We live in hope that this is not really happening to me, yet inside you just know it is. You have no escape, it’s real.
I felt like many people before me, and no doubt like m
any more will feel in the future. You want a cure but without the pain of an operation, hospital stays, recovery time, pills and the physiotherapy to get you “working” again. Yet you do want to be cured.
Can they really put me right? I don’t know, I get told of all the people who are back at work leading normal lives after this surgery. But that is them and not me! I am always the unlucky one and it’s bound to go wrong! But what’s the alternative. Just carry on with no energy and only walking just a few yards and stopping to get your breath back, or just having to watch, and not be able to do. You know it will not get better, and you will eventually die without treatment. This alone should make you keen to go ahead with the treatment, but the nagging negative thought stays right at the front of your thinking. You could die on the operating table…Heads you don’t win, Tails you loose. But the coin still could balance on it’s edge, or could it?
The choice has to be made. Stay as I am, be useless and unable to do anything, or give your life to the Surgeon an ask him to do his best. There is really no contest. It has to be done. So now you get the leaflets with all the pro’s and con’s of the operation, and if you have the computer, well, you are on the websites looking at all the information you can glean. The end result is that you are now really confused, and have probably got in a state of panic. Further to that, all the people who know you have to have this operation, will for certain know someone who has had similar, and how wonderful they are now! But this doesn’t help too much as you feel they are a bit patronizing, and just embellishing the story of “George”, who can run in the marathon now.
THE DAY RELENTLESSLY APPROACHES AND HERE YOU ARE- BOOKING INTO THE WARD.
You are then among some other patients, who like you will be having a similar operation. Surprisingly the mood is buoyant, and many just can’t wait to have their heart repaired. They have, just like you, suffered enough.
A time is set and you watch the clock, but to your rescue, the pre-med injection saves all. The dosy feeling it leaves you with, eliminates all fears, and you vaguely remember going to the theater.
Slowly things start to move through the mists, and the realization slowly enters your mind that it is all over and you have survived! But where is the pain? The thought of massive pain before you went in was something that you were not looking forward to, but miracles do happen, you are controlled with pain killers, and there is no pain. Over the next few days you are fully awake, and out of bed (but nurse, I’ve just had a heart operation) it doesn’t work, you will walk, you will do the exercises, and you will get better.
Seven days later you cannot believe that you are now on the outside of the hospital, being taken home to start your final stage of recovery. And you walked out on your own, but better still you did not get out of breath! This all happened to me, in 2007, Thanks to all the staff, the Surgeon and his team, and ALL the people involved in changing my life, in fact MY HEARTFELT THANKS.
Hello world!
by admin on Jan.04, 2010, under Articles
Welcome to WordPress. This is your first post. Edit or delete it, then start blogging!
