Alexandra Palace...

 

Trees on Tour: The View from Ally Pally...

 

Marine FC

 Here is their ground.

They are in Tier 8, and have just got through to the 3rd round of the FA Cup. 

Where they have been drawn against the Premier League leaders.

Spurs.

We aren't sure which of the facts above surprises us the most.

Temporary

For a few hours at the weekend, Tottenham were top of the Premier League.  It is rumoured that, emulating Trump, Spurs' Jose Mourinho declared they had won the competition, and called on everyone else to stop playing.

School

William Forster Memories

I was at William Forster School in Tottenham from 1969 (when it was, I suspect, technically still Downhills School; I was taught in the building by Tottenham Green).  I left in 1976 after sixth form, to go to University. 

For the second and third school years most of my year’s time was spent at the lower school site on Downhills Rd, closer to Turnpike Lane, and across Belmont Rd.  From the fourth year onwards, I was in the modernist brand-new building on Langham Rd.

The new school was built on the site of the old Palace Gates railway where it crossed under West Green Rd.  There is a lot to be written about the railway, and the echoes of it in my life, but that is elsewhere.  

I remember that new school building was meant to be a showcase, with a swimming pool, for example, to be built as part of phase two.  But the arrival of Margaret Thatcher, as the new Education Secretary, resulted in the cancellation of all the subsequent phases.

My mother never forgave her for cancelling the second phase of the building.

The general cry at the time was ‘Thatcher, Thatcher, milk snatcher’ because she stopped the supply of school milk, that tried to ensure underprivileged children had sufficient calcium and vitamins.  It was, I think, a hangover from wartime.  I never did like school milk, but even at a relatively young age I could see it was wrong to stop it wholesale.  

My first form teacher was Mr Kekwick (we were form ‘1KK’).  He was a cigarette-smoking French teacher, and taught well.   He was also the first and only person ever to give me the cane.  I can still recall part of the morning register he would call for the class:

‘Barrowclough, Baxter, Beckenham, Burke, Davidson, Driver, Head,…’

In that first year, I can remember the school drama society, where Tony Garwood was the star – playing Scrooge in ‘A Christmas Carol’.   I played Ignorance or Want, revealed from beneath the cloak of the Ghost of Christmas Present.

I tried to learn trumpet, too, in the first year, but struggled.  I couldn’t really practice it at home in our council flat.  

Other teachers I remember were Miss Hull, Mr Fisher (the Head, who seemed never to be around), Mr Francis (the Deputy Head who seemed to actually to run the school), Ms Frances, Miss Flowers (Music), Mr Titchmarsh (who made me re-do my UCAS form to make sure I put Durham second after Cambridge – rather than put Durham last and UEA second, which is what I’d done initially!), Miss Cherry, Mr Crispin & Mr Oakley (PE), Mr Ayres (History – and an enthusiast for local history), Mr Timpson (?), Miss Reeves (who taught me for O Level English Literature – and I really wanted to do it at A level but the school didn’t offer it), and:-

For Chemistry: Mr Jordan and Mr Messi.

For Physics: Mr Gray and Mr May.

For Maths: Mr Hill, Mr O’Driscoll, Mr Taylor and Mr Joshi.

Others have reminded me online about Mr Learner (Woodwork), Miss Sharrow (RE) and others.

I remember Richard Stevens – my best friend in the earlier years, David Kemal, Pauls Davidson, Langridge and Morris, (and others from the Morris clan, such as Pauline and Maxine), Peter Large, Omar Sattaur, Erdjan, Ian Morley, Hilary White, Tracy/Terry Rogers, Linda Brownjohn, Jacqui Thompson, Jackie Clarke, Fred Baxter, Kim Greenham, Robin Barrowclough, Sylvester McKay, Everton Herbert, Winston Silcott, Jill Stubbs, Gillian Stone,  Susan Brown, Nadira Ali, Tony Garwood, Henrik Castello, Paul Somerville, Violet Rustean, Kenny Poulton, Steve Harold, Anna Diaz, Jean Zukabitz, Ralston Maas, Andrew Kyriacou, Faizal Hussain, Konje Hussan, Aldo Oppertelli, Steven Beckenham, Danny Burke, Stephen Driver, June Anthony, Thelma ?, Steve Whitby, Stephen Young, Gary Avis, Val Walker (Locker), Stelios Charalambides.  And many others I’ve failed to mention.

While at the school I was bullied – probably from the 2^nd (or maybe the start of the 3^rd) year to the 5^th year.  This was in the form of teasing, taunts and occasional punches from boys in my class.  Andrew Kyriacou was the worst offender, by far, while others, such as the Pauls, Richard and Ian took no part.  This ended when a teacher finally intervened.  The bullying hurt a lot emotionally; and I suspect in some ways I have never quite got over it.  But, by the end of 5^th year and into 6^th form, it was far better, and we all explored local pubs and clubs (I fear I still owe Mr O’Driscoll a pint).

(As an aside, in new money, year 3 was current year 9).

I really enjoyed classes.  Maths was always fun, and I particularly loved geometry, calculus (thanks to Mr Taylor), and the complex plane.  Euler’s formula! 

Physics and chemistry of course.  I can still remember the struggle to understand the internal resistance of a cell, but always loved Galileo’s equations of motion – what my two sons now call SUVAT.  And enthalpies of reaction, electron orbitals, all that carbon chemistry.  But not just STEM subjects. Also English and English lit in particular.  Austen and Tennyson for ‘O’ Level, I recall.  

I remember playing football on Belmont recreation ground in the mud and rain, the school production of Joseph and the Technicolour Dreamcoat (Richard Stevens as Joseph), and the annual violence of the pupils versus teachers hockey match in Downhills Park (with Mr Hill, suitably armoured-up, in goal).

Overall, I’m surely grateful to WF, and the teachers, and the friends I made there.  I certainly had a different upbringing to many I met at University in the mid-70s.  Many of whom had had a very privileged background by comparison.   In some ways, as a result, I suspect I ended up with a more realistic, or at least a richer, perspective on life.

Finally, a random few pictures gleaned from the InterWeb:

David Hill

School Tie

Blazer badge

And an explanation

Tactical Voting

So I wrote a longish Facebook post, that seemed to go down well, so I sent it in to the paper...

Dining Room

A long, long time ago, as a callow sixth-former in Tottenham, I joined some of the upper sixth who were trying to finish The Guardian's Cryptic Crossword. It was the final clue of a puzzle set by the great Arucaria:
“Begin description of dining room (8)”
I somehow saw it immediately: INITIATE.
And I was hooked.
So when in today's challenge we had 22 across: "They say solver had dinner late, to lose strength (9) - which gave ATTENUATE, although it was a weaker clue, I was joyfully reminded of that moment.
So thanks 'Philistine'!

Champions League Final

So. I first saw a professional football match in, I think, 1963, when my dad took me to see Spurs play Leicester City at White Hart Lane. Spurs won 2-1. That is my memory of a memory, so there are likely to be errors in the details. The back room in our house at the time was plastered with old programmes and pictures of players. I don't think I liked watching the game, and I've no memory of ever going again.

That was also the last professional game of football I ever saw live. That excludes the odd England - or Wales - game on the TV, when broadcast on free-to-air channels.

So most people, including myself, would conclude that I'm not really a football supporter. And I'm comfortable with that.

However, deep inside me, a little voice is saying, just for today:

COYS!

Poem of the Week

The Tournament of Tottenham

Of all thes kene conquerours to carpe it were kynde,
Of fele feghtyng folk ferly we fynde,
The turnament of Totenham have we in mynde.
It were harme sych hardynes were holden byhynde,
In story as we rede,
Of Hawkyn, of Herry,
Of Tomkyn, of Terry,
Of them that were dughty
And stalworth in dede.

It befel in Totenham on a dere day
Ther was mad a schartyng be tho hy-way.
Theder com al the men of tho contray,
Of Hyssylton, of Hygatte, and of Hakenay,
And all the swete swynkers.
Ther hepped Hawkyn,
Ther daunsed Dawkyn,
Ther trumped Tomkyn -
And all were trewe drynkers -

Tyl the day was gon and evynsong past
That thay schuld rekyn ther scot and ther contes cast.
Perkyn tho potter into tho press past,
And sayd: "Rondol tho refe, a doghter thu hast,
Tyb the dere.
Therfor wyt wold I
Whych of all thys bachelery
Were best worthy
To wed hur to hys fere."

Up styrt thos gadelyngys with ther long staves,
And sayd: "Rondol tho refe, lo, thos lad raves!
Baldely amang us thy doghter he craves,
And we er rycher men then he and more god haves
Of catell and corn."
Then sayd Perkyn to Tybbe: "I have hyght
That I schal be alway redy in my ryght,
If that it schuld be thys day sevenyght,
Or ellis yet to-morn."

Then sayd Randolfe the refe: "Ever be he waryed
That about thys carpyng lenger wold be taryed!
I wold not my doghter that scho were myscaryed,
But at hur most worschyp I wold scho were maryed.
Therfor a turnament schal begyn
Thys day sevenyght,
With a flayl for to fyght.
And that ys of most myght
Schall brouke hur with wynne.

Whoso berys hym best in the turnament,
Hym schull be granted the gre be the comon assent,
For to wynne my doghter with dughtyness of dent,
And Coppeld, my brode henne, was broght out of Kent,
And my donnyd kowe.
For no spens wyl I spare,
For no catell wyl I care:
He schal have my gray mare
And my spottyd sowe."

Ther was many bold lad ther bodyes to bede.
Than thay toke thayr leve and homward thay yede,
And all the woke afterward thay graythed ther wede,
Tyll it come to the day that thay suld do ther dede.
Thay armed ham in mattes,
Thay set on ther nollys
(For to kepe ther pollys)
Gode blake bollys,
For batryng of battes.

Thay sowed tham in schepe-skynnes for thay suld not brest;
Ilkon toke a blak hat insted of a crest,
A harow brod as a fanne aboune on ther brest,
And a flayle in ther hande for to fyght prest;
Furth gone thay fare,
Ther was kyd mekyl fors
Who schuld best fond hys cors.
He that had no gode hors
He gat hym a mare.

Sych another gadryng have I not sene oft!
When all the gret company com rydand to the croft
Tyb on a gray mare was set upon loft,
On a sek ful of federys for scho schuld syt soft,
And led hur to tho gap.
For cryeng of al the men
Forther wold not Tyb then,
Tyl scho had hur gode brode-hen
Set in hur lap.

A gay gyrdyl Tyb had on, borwed for the nonys,
And a garland on hur hed, ful of rounde bonys,
And a broche on hur brest, ful of safer stonys,
With tho haly rode tokenyng was wretyn for tho nonys;
No catel was ther spared.7
When joly Gyb saw hur thare,
He gyrd so hys gray mere
That sche lete a faucon fare
At the rereward.

"I vowe to God," quod Herry, "I schal not lefe behende!
May I mete with Bernard on Bayard tho blynde
Ich man kepe hym out of my wynde,
For what-so-ever that he be befor me I fynde,
I wot I schul hym greve."
"Wele sayd," quod Hawkyn,
"And I avow," quod Dawkyn,
"May I mete with Tomkyn
Hys flayl I schal hym refe."

"I vow to God," quod Hud, "Tyb, sone schal thu se
Whych of all this bachelery grant is tho gre.
I schal scomfet thaym all for tho love of thee,
In what place so I come thay schul have dout of me!
Myn armes ar so clere:
I bere a reddyl and a rake,
Poudred with a brenand drake,
And thre cantells of a cake
In ych a cornare."

"I vow to God," quod Hawkyn, "yf I have the gowt,
Al that I fynde in tho felde presand here aboute,
Have I twyes or thryes redyn thurgh the route,
In ych a stede ther thay me se of me thay schal have doute
When I begyn to play.
I make a vow that I ne schall
(But yf Tybbe wyl me call
Or I be thryes doun fall)
Ryght onys com away."

Then sayd Terry and swore be hys crede:
"Saw thu never yong boy forther hys body bede!
For when thay fyght fastest and most ar in drede,
I schal take Tyb by tho hand and hur away lede!
I am armed at the full;
In myn armys I bere wele
A dogh trogh and a pele,
A sadyll withouten a panell,
With a fles of woll."

"I vow to God," quod Dudman, and swor be the stra,
"Whyls me ys left my mere thu getis hur not swa;
For scho ys wele schapen and lyght as the ro,
Ther ys no capul in thys myle befor hur schal go.
Sche wil me noght begyle:
She wyl me bere, I dar wele say,
On a lang somerys day,
Fro Hyssylton to Hakenay,
Noght other half myle."

"I vow to God," quod Perkyn, "thu spekis of cold rost.
I schal wyrch wyselyer, withouten any bost:
Fyve of tho best capullys that ar in thys ost,
I wot I schal thaym wynne and bryng thaym to my cost,
And here I grant tham Tybbe.
Wele, boyes, here ys he
That wyl fyght and not fle,
For I am in my jolyté
With jo for to gybbe."

When thay had ther vowes made, furth gan they hye,
With flayles and hornes and trumpes mad of tre.
Ther were all the bachelerys of that contré;
Thay were dyght in aray as tham selfe wold be.
Thayr baners were ful bryght,
Of an old raton fell;
The cheverone of a plow-mell
And tho schadow of a bell,
Poudred with mone-lyght.

I wot it ys no chyldergame whan thay togedyr met,
When ich a freke in tho feld on hys felay bet,
And layd on styfly, for nothyng wold thay let,
And faght ferly fast tyll ther horses swet,
And fewe wordys spoken.
Ther were flayles al to-slatred,
Ther were scheldys al to-flatred,
Bollys and dysches al to-schatred,
And many hedys brokyn.

Ther was clynkyng of cart-sadellys and clattiryng of connes;
Of fele frekis in tho feld brokyn were ther fannes.
Of sum were the hedys brokyn, of sum tho brayn panes,
And yll ware they be-seyn or thay went thens
With swyppyng of swepyllys.
The boyes were so wery for-fught
That thay myght not fyght mare oloft,
But creped then abaut in the croft,
As they were croked crepyls.

Perkyn was so wery that he began to loute:
"Help, Hud, I am ded in thys ylk rowte!
A hors for forty pens, a gode and a stoute,
That I may lyghtly come of my noye out,
For no cost wyl I spare."
He styrt up as a snayle,
And hent a capul be tho tayle,
And raght Dawkyn hys flayle,
And wan ther a mare.

Perkyn wan fyve and Hud wan twa.
Glad and blythe thay ware that thay had don sa;
Thay wold have tham to Tyb and present hur with tha.
The capull were so wery that thay myght not ga,
But styl gon thay stand.
"Allas," quod Hudde, "my joye I lese.
Me had lever then a ston of chese
That dere Tyb had al these,
And wyst it were my sand."

Perkyn turnyd hym about in that ych thrange;
Among thos wery boyes he wrest and he wrang.
He threw tham doun to tho erth and thrast thaim amang,
When he saw Tyrry away with Tyb fang,
And after hym ran.
Of hys hors he hym drogh
And gaf hym of hys flayl inogh.
"We te-he!" quod Tyb, and lugh,
"Ye er a dughty man!"

Thus thay tugged and rugged tyl yt was nere nyght.
All the wyves of Totenham come to se that syght,
With wyspes and kexis and ryschys ther lyght,
To fech hom ther husbandes that were tham trouth-plyght.
And sum broght gret harwes
Ther husbandes hom for to fech,
Sum on dores and sum on hech,
Som on hyrdyllys and som on crech,
And sum on welebaraws.

Thay gaderyd Perkyn about everych syde,
And grant hym ther the gre, the more was hys pride.
Tyb and he with gret myrthe homward con thay ryde,
And were al nyght togedyr tyl the morntyde,
And thay in fere assent.
So wele hys nedys he has sped
That dere Tyb he had wed.
The pryse folk that hur led
Were of the tornament.

To that ylk fest com many for the nones;
Some come hyphalt and sum tryppand on the stonys,
Sum a staf in hys hand and sum two at onys,
Of sum were the hedys broken, and sum tho schulder-bonys;
With sorow com thay thedyr.
Wo was Hawkyn, wo was Herry,
Wo was Tomkyn, wo was Terry,
And so was al the bachelary,
When thay met togedyr.

At that fest thay were servyd with a ryche aray,
Ever fyve and fyve had a cokenay.
And so thay sat in jolyté al the lang day,
And at the last thay went to bed with ful gret deray.
Mekyl myrth was them amang,
In every corner of the hous
Was melody delycyous,
For to here precyus,
Of six menys sang.

On Tottnum

So. Tottenham, from whence I hail, seems recently to have become the place de jour.  Whatevva that means.
Source of riots. 
Source of rebellion against nasty UK Education minister.
Source of new England footie manager. 
Source of multi award-winning pop artiste. 
What next?