by admin
on Aug 3rd, 2015

NOT FORGOTTEN

I have not visited my site for a long period, not due to any particular reason, just a suspicion no one really wants to read the ramblings of an aging extrovert. I want any readers to know that I intend to carry on writing until my fingers can no longer type, or my brain gives out before my body.

To up-date you, I remain shackled to my long-standing girfriend, I have told her to sit down, and continue to enjoy my long retirement. I now act as a kind of chief advisor/taxi to my grand children, which helps keep me sane, and continually listen to their jokes like - ” granddad, I ate a watch yesterday, I had a hard time swallowing it”. You get the idea.

My mind still wonders back to those golden years of the 50-60’s, when youth was REALLY FREE to live their own lives as they desired. I constantly recall Pat Weightman with her long ginger hair and pleasant personality, a treasure I clearly missed out on sharing my live with such a sensible, charming, lady of good looks and thrilling charisma.

The first mistake of my long life, full of mistakes.

I know I am getting old because last night I whatched Babe Station, a french maid was hovering her bosses flat in a ver skimpy outfit, she bends over showing her rear end, and her low-cut top provides ample views of her upper-regions, and my thoughts were - I had a hover like that once!

My grandchildren call me “SPIDER MAN” - I don’t have super powers, I just cannot get out of the bath! The trouble is at my age there is no “peer Pressure” now. My memory is not as sharp as it used to be, and, my memory is not as sharp as it used to be.

I often wonder why society appears to “write-off” the elderly, why they waste all this life experience instead of finding methods of harnessing this expertise to the betterment of man kind. I have a wealth of life expertise, I can predict outcomes based on it, yet it lays dormant for the best of time, although I do run an Advocacy Service helping other people with problems, but this will not change National thinking at Government level.

I can forsee, as most people of Britain can, that this immigrant crisis in France is going to go pear shaped before long, and that the French will not cope with the numbers seeking British sanctuary for benefit purposes The whole system will become a tsuarmi this year, and Britain will be flooded with immigrants not seeking genuine asylum, but financial gain and free housing, that will impact on the British population who will become second-hand occupiers of this island, What is wrong with this Government, it appears unable to plan anything other than its constant desire to rob the indiginous population of any rights they have, including the right to be protected from abuses of migration and abuses of the taxes we pay.

And employment - the Employers are now gifted ultimate powers to just treat employees like “gangmasters”, slave owners who will tell you what you can and cannot do, where you can work regarding second jobs, how you WILL work, and treat their employees like children rather than a contractual equal. Employment contracts are now so complicated and long winded, employees never read them, but the employer breaches them constantly anyway. What happened to the once powerful Trade Unions?

In my day if it was not negotiated it did not happen, now employers covertly put up barriers to tade unions in their workplaces, and current Laws do not seem to bar this practice. EMPLOYEES - YOU HAVE RIGHTS, EXERCISE THEM, GET EVERYTHING IN WRITING, DO NOT PUT UP WITH BEING A SLAVE TO YOUR WORKPLACE OR YOUR MANAGER, ENFORCE THE CONDITIONS OF YOUR EMPLOYMENT CONTRACT.

Well thats my rant of the day, and I hear my dearly beloved gently calling to me - “coming dear”.

by admin
on Aug 3rd, 2015


by admin
on Apr 7th, 2012

A NEW LEASE ON LIFE

Been sometime since I contributed more of my life to this blogg, but I suppose that this is due to life itself being so full of activity and the need to help others, my grandchildren and my adult children, not to mention my girlfriend Emmerson who dutifully abides by me and enriches my life so much by ensuring I do not need to worry about money because she can spend it all without help from me.

I cannot help but to dwell more and more in my past. I constantly escape my present life despite its comforts and no money worries, to dream once more of Pat Wightman and those idilic summer days in Saltwell Park, those stolen kisses from this beautiful ginger-headed lass that now has me spellbound in recalling my wonderful youth with those wonderful people who shared it with me.I feel now the real love I had, and still have for Pat Wightman, but like all young people, we never realise it until its far too late. Everything we wanted was everything we had, but never recognised it. Ah the folly of youth.
I was never lucky in life though. Some people are born lucky - but not me. I could never win anything. I once felt very depressed so I phoned the Samaritans - they hung up on me.

I recall how my choice of females were never good enough for my mother. I remember taking home this girl from Lobbly Hill who spoke geordie, smoked and spat, and ate her meals with her fingers, which was difficult when it came to the soup. We had tea at my house which consisted of dripping and bread, one cup of tea and a fish-cake made fresh from the goldfish bowl. When my girfriend went home I asked my mother what she thought of her.

My mother said, ” Common as muck, what a tramp, no manners and ugly to boot, don’t bring her here again”! The following week I brought another girl home. She was well educated, she could write and speak in a very posh tone, she had grace, wit and manners. She was born and raised in Low Fell. After tea I asked my mother what she thought of this girl. She replied, ” Toffy-nosed trollope, looking down her nose at my chips and beans, don’t bring her here again”!

Angry at my mother I went to the Mayfair dance hall and picked up a girl who looked like my mother, walked like my mother, talked like my mother and dressed like my mother - now my father hates her - I cannot win.

I am now a young 65 year old with two pensions coming in. My house is paid for and I have no debt. I own my vehicle. So why am I saddened by how I conducted my life? Why do I feel I mistreat people in my youth? Why are my thoughts habitually returning to Pat Wightman and Saltwell Park instead of how best to enjoy my remaining years?

I am fit and healthy. I have lost wight and feel great about it, full of energy and desire, but I constantly return to my past and this illusional girl called Pat.

If I had a wish in life it would be to see my grandchildren, my son Danny’s kids, but they live in London so this makes it difficult. I take great pride that my son Danny and his beautiful wife Charley are both very intelligent people, totally reliable and trustworthy and more than capable of raising my two grandchildren in a manner that will encourage their creativity and produce two upstanding citizens of the future. I have no worries about how these two will reach adulthood, I know they will be well looked after and proudly nutured into good people - but I do miss the contact with them.

I received contact from a boyhood friend a few months ago, from my life in Springwell Estate. I recall him well and was extremely pleased to hear from him, he filled in many gaps in my memory. It is alway good to hear how passed friends have made out in life. His name - Andrew Kinniburgh. I wish you well Andrew.

by admin
on Mar 2nd, 2011

REFLECTIVE RELATIONSHIPS

If readers care to read more about me they should see the FRANCIS FRITH MEMORIES site in which I unfold parts of my life from the day I was dumped by a blind stork into a rat infested, semi-derelict house, occupied by some bloke who never stopped working and his wife who never tried, instead of the Mansion in the countryside somewhere. This stork just muttered and muttered. I could not tell his talk from his mutter.

In one story called A BOY FROM THE SLUMS, I bring to mind  past girlfriends in the light of the wonderful contributions they made to my life, the joy of their attentions, their great personalities that I recall some 50 years later.

Two of these prominent in my thoughts were Pat Wightman, whose second name I had forgotten, and Liz Iveson, both Gateshead girls.

Low and behold I received a contact from a lovely woman called Linda, who knew Pat, and informed me that her second name was Wightman. Two days later this same lady again contacted me to tell me all about Liz Iveson as well. This female Sherlock Holmes has been a Godsend in filling in the gaps in my memory and bringing me up-to-date with my past. I thank her with all my heart. Keep it coming Linda!!.Without a past we have no future.

Today I changed a light bulb. Later on I crossed the road into a pub with an Englishman, an Irishman and a Scotsman. My life’s a joke.

My next door neighbours, both females were talking the other day over the garden fence. They must be at least 7 feet tall. One said to the other, “I’m going to have a boob job done”. The other reiterated with, ” I’m going to have my asshole bleached”. The first one retorted, “I cannot imagine your husband as a blond”?

Like my old dad used to say - “If I had all the money I spent on drink - I would buy drinks with it”.

Is a gunman with multi-personalities and bent on suicide a hostage situation?

I am now trying to trace another girl I was engaged to way back in 1900 and frozen to death. I think her first name was Betty, she worked at OZRAM light factory on Team Valley Trading Estate in Gateshead. Anyone got a good memory?

Another is Carol Clayton fron Springwell Estate in Gateshead. Her brother Peter was part of our local group. Another was Jean Starr whose brother Stan was also among my friends. Then there is Laura, I cannot remember her second name, but she was a great lass who I courted whilst I worked as a Bus conductor for Gateshead Bus Company in 1965.

Where are all the girls I went out with from the naughty girls home just off Coatsworth Road in Gateshead. Get in touch!

When I was a bus driver for Newcastle Corperation I had a clippie called Renee. Would love to hear from her again.

My current partner, Kerry Emmerson, I just call her “Emmerson”, is due home shortly and is looking forward to a “stormy night” - so I will have to feign another headache, or get the umbrella out.

by admin
on Aug 6th, 2010

quick fit

During my life I married twice. When my first marriage broke up I got custody of my three children which I hail as a great step forward for men as this was in the 70’s.I remarried and had another three children. On my second divorce I got custody of these three as well. This has to be the rarist custody decisions in the history of divorce. I raised the lot single handed as well as remaining fully employed. Man, how my kids looked forward to fried piza and black chips.

I held my first marriage in a garage - so I could back-out easily.

I remember walking down a road in Newcastles West end and this young woman approached me. She said, ” do you want to buy a good time”? I said, “How much”? “£100″ came the reply. I said, “I don’t have that kind of money, I’ll give you ten quid”. She uttered something about being a French skinflint and left. Later that week I was walking down that same street with my second wife. Low and behold the same prostitute approached me again, smiled and said, ” see what you get for ten quid”!!

All my life I have had a dog, no not the same dog, many dogs who I kept all their lives.Today my girlfriend and I have three Labradors. They are all over-weight - not the girlfriend - the dogs. My girlfriend and I took one of them to the vets yesterday because of her weight, the dogs not the girlfriends. The vet did several examinations by various methods, then finally said, “I will need to put his dog down”. Well!!! my girlfriend started crying and nearly passed out with shock.”Why do ou have o put her down” I said crossly, “because its bloody heavy”, said the vet.

Today I got complemented on my driving by someone who left a note to this effect on my windscreen. It said “Parking Fine”.

by admin
on Aug 4th, 2010

MENMORIES

You know i was actually invited to the Queens Garden Party. This was seen as a recognition of me work for the Royal College of Nursing as a union steward.It was a grand experience mind you. This was after Booby Thopmson knew Prince Philip of course, but I knew they both raced pigions though.
I turned up at the Palace in my monkey suit hired from “Bona Hire” in Newcastle, a shop run by Julian and his friend Sandy. My, how they trolled together.

Anyhoo, I was met by the Warrant Officer, the doorman who questioned everyone in detail before he let them in. He said, “where you from”? “Newcastle Mate”, I replied. Turned out he was a Geordie as well - no bother getting in.

I was then shown to the tents and food tables and told to help myself. So I did. My God the sandwhiches were small, you needed about 50 of them to form one slice of bread, then they were covered in Gorgi fur. No corned beef or dripping here mates. All fancy cheeses and fish spread thinly into this small area of bread.

This bloke comes up to me and introduces himself, carn’t remember his name now. Turned out he was a Lawyer. He had his wife with him, an intelligent women she was, I knew this because her first words were, “A man once told me”.

This Lawyer said to me, You know she is a constant nag, nag, nag. For two years ever since we met, she has done nothing but nag, nag, nag. Now she wants to know my name!. She’s a dietician you know, she discovered a food that deminishes your sex drive - it’s wedding cake”. “She critices everything about me, always my big feet. I tell her the reason she has small feet compared to mine is so she can fit closer to the kitchen sink”.

“Last week she broke her watch and asked me to repair it. Not likely I said - there’s a clock on the cooker?”

They were hilarious, they should have done a double act.

Mind you I always know when a Lawyer is lying - their lips move.

Everyone lined up for some reason. When I worked it out it was for formal introduction to some member of the Royal Family. The Royalties walked down this formed line saying what they thought appropriate to each visitor they spoke to. They got it right everytime but some of the guests got it badly wrong, making jokes about Di, princes of Wales.

Such lines as

How did Di meet her end - carpool tunnel syndrome

Di does not have a halo - its a sterring wheel on her head.

Thats what happens to a Princess out after 12 midnight - she turns into a concrete pillor

Wipe that merc of your face and Di was on a “crash diet”.
and so on - some people have no taste and no respect for where they are.

Anyway, as a Royal Loyalist I thoroughly enjoyed the day. On the way back my girfriend pointed out vans with funny adverts on them, like

on a builders van - “We Repair what your husband fixed”

That reminds me of the entrance into the labour ward at the Hospital I worked at. On the door it said - Push Push Push.

by admin
on Jul 23rd, 2010

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I have lived for 63 years now. During my life my mind has gathered many jokes, life stories and experiences from many other people. Unfortunately I cannot remember who told me what joke or how I knew of others. Many of my jokes and experiences are all my own work of course, but some belong to other contributers to my life. I attempt here to acknowledge these educators to my vast experiences but I simply cannot remember them all. Those I remember are……

THE DIXIELANDERS - FABULOUS LOCAL COMEDY DUO. BOBBY THOMPSON - THE FINIST AND MOST REMEMBERED OF GEORDIE COMICS, I SIMPLY LOVED THIS MAN. BOBBY KNOXHALL, ANOTHER GREAT LOCAL COMEDY LEGEND. MORCOMBE & WISE OF COURSE. BENNY HILL. ALL THE ACTS FROM THE FABULOUS “THE COMEDIANS” SHOW RUN BY BERNARD MANNING. JASPER CARROT. ROY “CHUBBY” BROWN. MAX MILLER, THE ONE AND ONLY. ROUND THE HORN WITH KENNETH HORN, HUE PADDOCK AND KENNETH WILLIAMS. ALL THOSE FABULOUS COMEDY WRITERS ON “I’M SORRY I’LL READ THAT AGAIN - HUMPHRY LITTLETON, GRAHAM GARDEN, BILL ODDY WITH HIS FABULOUS SINGING VOICE, BARRY CRYER - FABULOUS COMEDY WRITER, TIM-BROOKE TAYLOR, JOHN GLEESE, DAVID HATCH AND THE INVISIBLE “SAMANTHA”. JIMMY CLITHEROE. LES DAWSON, THE MONTY PYTHON TEAM. FRANKIE BOYLE. THE TWO COMEDIANS ON THE “NOW” SHOW HUE & PUNT. CHESNY ALAN. BUD FLANNIGAN. BOB HOPE.  LES DENNIS. GEORGE BURNS. BRUCE FORSYTH. JIMMY EDWARDS. DICK BENTLY. THE GOONS. THE FABULOUSLY TALENTED JUNE WHITFIELD. HATTY JAKES. ALL THE CARRY ON TEAM. ELSIE AND DORIS WATERS FROM “FLOG IT”. THE TWO RONNIES BARKER & CORBETT. JIMMY DURANTY. CANNON AND BALL. PETER COOK & DUDLEY MOOR. ALL THE STARS OF ” BEYOND THE FRINGE”. ALL THE STARS FROM “ON THE BUSES” IN PARTICULAR REG VARDY. STEPHEN FRY. TED RAY IN “RAYS A LAUGH”. ALL THE STARS FROM ” NOT THE NINE O’CLOCK NEWS”. AGNUS DEACON FROM HIS SATIRE SHOW OF YEARS AGO.KEN DOD THE KING OF COMEDIANS. JIMMY JAMES-THE MAN WITH ACUTE TIMING ABILITY.BOBBY PATTINSON
I cannot remember them all, but as I do I will pay my respective homage and acknowledge their jokes . Without those listed above, who told what joke I cannot remember, I sincerely acknowledge that all of you contributed to my life greatly and I hope my acknowledgement of your jokes and stories is enough to keep your names alive to the public.If any professional comic feels I am using his jokes, just contact me and I will add your name without hessitation.

by admin
on Jul 18th, 2010

When I was seventeen I remember being introduced to a girlfriends dad. That was a day to remember. They lived in a small flat off Coatsworth Road in Gateshead. At that time I lived in a rented room not far away in Granville Street. We had some tea her mother had made, sardine and lemon curd sandwiches I think it was. After tea her mother cleared away and ushered her daughter into the kitchen leaving me and her dad in the sitting room. He was a lazy bloke. In the winter he was a deck chair attendent and in the summer he was a snow-plough driver, you know the type. He said “will you marry our Doris”, “not likely”, I said. He went mad, shouting “you’ll marry our Doris or else”. I said, “lets have a look at your Else then , she has to be better than your Doris”. He threw me out.

by admin
on Jul 17th, 2010

Viva Retirement

Its been a while since I last wrote on my blogg, despite my great love of writing. I have spent more than a year recovering from multipil fractures of my left arm. Thats the last time I offer to carry Ian Hantons wallet.

In this phase of my life, I’m so old they have discontinued my blood group, I have plenty time to recall my experiences of many things. There are odd times though that memory fails me. I’m sure I suffer from amnesia and deja-vu at the same time - times when I think I’ve forgoton this before. But still, live is good. I have two larg big screen TV’s, a new car, a nice house, money enough - but I still have to sleep with a fity-year-old woman, which does’nt seem fair.

Science has moved on a pace since my day. Pills to stop you getting fat, pills to stop you going senile, pills that stop you taking pills. They now make Viagra in powder form. I put it in my tea - it stops the biscuits going soft.

Still , I can now use a computer that will do all the hard work of recording my life, much better than the old type writers. This newly aquired skill gives me hours of pleasure and new knowledge. But I am what I am, a poor boy from the slums of Gateshead, way back when if you had three jam jars you had half a tea-set. Times when your only toy was an old tyre you “booled” along the road and you ran along side it. If you had a stick to hit it with you were seen as posh.

I remember one day my brother and my pals “booled” our tyres all the way from the Teams right up to Newcastle so we could play in Exhibition Park. My -  what a place it was, full of Geordie drunks. There always in two’s arn’t they. One does all the talking and the other all the listening. The only word you ever hear the listener saying is “definately” - you must have heard them, “I canna see my house says one - “Definately” says the other. You can always tell Geordie drunks - they all have green shoes and rusty zips.
When we finished playing we came back for our tyres but my brothers had a puncture so he had to walk home. I can still remember the tears in his eyes as I “booled” off, how sad I was because I could’nt give him a lift.

by admin
on Jun 16th, 2008

Memories for Eighton Banks

Year: 1952

My School Years

I started at Eighton Banks Primary School in 1952 aged five, having been moved from the slum clearance of the Teams, Gateshead. To be in open countryside after the lung-choking life of the industrial Teams was absolute heaven.

The headmistress was Miss Smith. My teacher was called Miss Forster, I believe. I loved playing on the old camp at the back of the school, (before the school became an animal shelter) with my good friends George Harrison who lived on Longbank in a detached stone house, his mother and father were very good to me, she would give me food and clothing, Tim Shield who lived in Springfield Avenue, Eighton Banks, (his mother was a teacher at the school), someone called Michael, a girl called Violet who lived in a bungalow off Wrekenton �Long Bank�, Angela Belford Catrine Cook and many more.

The school was first established in two cottages in 1832 as a �Charitable� school, called Barrington Charitable school, then in 1867 the existing building was built, still called Barrington Charitable School, after it�s founder, Bishop Barrington, of Durham. It became known as Eighton Banks school when it was taken over by the Education Board, under the Education Act.

My sister, brother and I attended daily to ensure we got fed at least one free meal daily, otherwise food was not usually forthcoming in our house. I attended St. Thomas�s Church at Harvest Festivals. I well remember Carol Cook, my brothers girlfriend. the Farm was a working farm right next to the school, the smell was awful, but the animals got used to us.

School dinners were delivered in an old Morris Estate truck. There were pigs in the field attached to the school. You could walk over fields starting at the Church, and a lane that ran between the Church and Chapel House, all the way down past a row of disused terraced houses once home to quarrymens families, passing the Quarrymans pub, down a steep incline and into Mrs Kitts sweet shop in Wrekenton, to buy a penny chew. What a lovely lady she was. From the back of the school we walked over the old Roman camp to my house in the new estate, built right on top of a tip!

They were halcyon days indeed.

From St. Thomas’s Church walking south we would walk up the hill, passing the council houses on the right where Carol Cook lived, up to the Wagon Inn and the streets of terraced houses where Angela Belford lived, where we played under the hangmans arch that led to the little chapel.

Coming out of the school, turning right we would walk up past the old row of houses to the bend, then down Galloping Green to the old house at Wrekenton, probably part of Wrekento House, it had a wall all aroung it, now long gone, but I remember it. I recall the Minors Institute next to Dr. Pothilwaites, (? spelling), surgery.

I left Eighton Banks school age 11yrs in 1958, having failed my 11+ exam, to go to secondary schooling firstly at South Street Boys School then into the new comprehensive education system introduced in 1960, by a whole school moved into the brand new school called Greenweel Lane, in Beacon Lough.
How I miss those great, hot long summers, the friends I played with both as a child and later as a teenager.

I return to this memorial place each year, my children and grandchildren know all about it, but have never lived there. My dead brothers ashes are scattered there as was his dying wish.

My fondest life memories are of this wonderous village and a pace and style of life now gone forever.

History is a thing of the past.

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