Every Picture Tells A Story
Images we see on television or in newspapers and magazines usually come with an explanation that puts them into context. The old saying that every picture tells a story may be true but wouldn’t it be nice to find out from the author the real story behind the photograph. This series attempts to do just that.
York is a fantastic place to go people watching. We had just been released from lockdown when these photographs were taken so even outdoors many people were still nervous about contact with others. I was attracted by this jewellers in the shambles and liked the balance of blues across the photograph. A couple walked past and the lady was immediately attracted to the jewellery in the window. Her husband has no interest at all and is desperately looking around to find something else to spend his money on. By the doorway an old couple look confused. I realise there are two subjects of interest to me here.
Shopping Blues
Lost In York
After the couple in blue had moved on to look at other shops the old couple were still standing there with their face visors looking at a street map of York. He looked one way then another and pointed a finger in several directions. After a full fifteen minutes I did think about going across the street but I decided they would probably work it out for themselves. Which they did……….Eventually!
The Mad Hatter
Meet John Richmond. He told me he was 86 years of age when I first met him in 2021. He’s the owner of Richmonds stall on Fleetwood Market which sells ladies and gents fashion hats and gloves. He told me he’d been on the market for 70 years selling hats, His father started the business in 1947 and he would help out before he took over the stall in 1971. I said he didn’t look his age and with a wry smile he replied that he owed his good looks to the women in his life feeding him good food.
He donned one of his most expensive hats, a burgundy Homburg priced at £110 and with a ticket on it ‘as worn by Churchill’. I said I couldn’t see Churchill wearing that colour and it looked more like a hat Boy George would wear. I like the Australian leather hats but having tried on several styles I could not find one that was a perfect fit. John then proceeded to tell me I had an unusual shaped head “Like an Egg”. I thanked him for that comment and he quickly turned to a pile of cord Breton caps. A large size with a deep brim seemed to fit my ‘egg shaped head’ perfectly and he sensed a sale was in the offing. The Mad Hatter then seized on my liking of waxed caps and soon a second sale was made.
He told me his son was a photographer and a travel writer who had made a video about his father ‘The Mad Hatter’. When I got home I found the video on YouTube which showed his father trying on various hats on the stall.
You are a lovely man John and a very good salesman. I know I’m going to have to come back soon and try on one of those trilby hats. I wonder if they will fit my ‘egg shaped head?’
How About A Fedora?
Today I’m back on Fleetwood market visiting Richmonds hat stall. John ‘The Mad Hatter’ is there to greet me. I’m wearing the Breton Hat I bought on my last visit. I remind John that last time he said I had an odd shaped head “Like an egg”. Thinking about that comment, doesn’t everyones head look like an egg? John is quick to bring out a beautiful new range of Fedoras in blue and grey which according to him attract sales from artists and celebrities. I must admit they are fabulous but they also have a celebrity price tag to go with them. I turn to the humble trilby which I do think quite suits me. However he didn’t have the size to snugly fit my ‘egg head’ in the colour I wanted and I felt black was rather funereal. At my age I’m likely to be going to more funerals but I don’t want to be in mourning every day. I do spot a bright red Fedora high up in the top of the stall which would be fabulous to wear but I don’t think I could take the sniggers and stares from the Lancashire public wondering which care home I had escaped from. So I then try on a slimline trilby in a tweed fabric, which with a bit of foam padding under the brim from John, fits the ‘egg’ perfectly. I agree to the sale providing he lets me take a few photos of him wearing those fabulous Fedoras.
Kenzie Takes A Walk
We have just stepped out of the Pier Cafe. I’ve had my morning coffee and Ben has had his daily sausage. We are ready for our walk and ball play on the beach when we spot an elderly couple with a small dog.
This lovely couple were having a day out with their 2 year old Westie named Kenzie. They live in Blackpool and had decided to come down to St. Anne’s for a quiet walk along the promenade after experiencing a difficult week. He explained how he had decided to drive to the shops but was involved in an accident. His first in 70 years of driving. I was amazed to hear he was 90 years of age. The car was a write-off and the airbags had deployed as he hit a stationary car. Fortunately the airbags had saved him from injury but it has understandably shaken him so he’s decided to give up the driving. I told him I thought it was a wise move.
Kenzie also loves playing ball and seemed to be looking longingly towards the beach. My dog Ben usually takes an instant dislike to Westies but on this occasion they just looked at each other with a mutual respect like two professional footballers at the end of a match.
The beach was calling…………Game On!
We Could Have Gone To Benidorm
A miserable wet day in November. The sea mist is rolling in and the few people who have decided to venture out on the promenade have congregated in the shelters. This is St. Anne’s On The Sea. A wonderful place to live and visit for a traditional British holiday. Although not on a day like this. He was looking out across the beach and to the pier as she was engrossed with her tablet. The bright glow from the screen perhaps showing foreign holidays where the sun always shines. Their matching trainers made we wonder if they were both having the same thoughts. “We could have gone to Benidorm”
Walking The Cat
It’s Sunday morning on the seafront in St. Anne’s. There’s nothing like dressing up in your smart clothes and doing a bit of promenading. Coming towards me was a very smartly dressed lady pushing a pram with a basket in it. I thought it might be a little disabled dog getting some fresh air, so I asked if it was a Chihuahua in the basket. “No it’s my cat “ came the reply. “Where I live I don’t have any outside space so I bring her out in the pram as a treat.”
I couldn’t help noticing that the pram perfectly matched her outfit and I said what a lovely pram it was. She told me she had got it from the charity shop. All the time we talked there was no movement from the pram or the basket within. The thick mesh preventing me from seeing anything of what lurked inside. I wondered what the cat could see from inside that basket. I suppose he could smell the sea air and perhaps dream of fish dinners and playing on the beach.
I asked if I could take a couple of photographs and wished them a good day. As she walked away there was still no movement from that pram.
2 months later……….
We have just crossed the road from the pier when who do I spot but a smartly dressed lady with an equally smart pram. It is Jean and her mysterious cat. Today it’s the middle of August and we are bathed in glorious northern sunshine. Jean is dressed in a lovely white outfit with large buttons. I look to the pram and see the basket is now open revealing a large well fed feline by the name of Ginnie. So she does exist. In fact by the look and size of her she is living her best life. Obviously getting well fed without the need to exercise and being pushed around St. Anne’s in a gold chariot with a bunch of pink plastic roses.
I took a couple of photos to prove Jean was indeed ‘Walking The Cat’
Jean, Ginnie and the Swimming Pool Cafe
I’m in the swimming pool cafe at lunchtime when Jean comes in with Ginnie. She is the smartly dressed lady with an equally smart pram with a cat basket containing a well fed and seemingly very contented ginger moggie in residence. She sits at the table next to me.
A woman comes over and says to Jean in an abrupt manner “Anyone sitting there” and points to the chair on the opposite side of her small table. I think to myself that it might have been nice for her to ask if she minded sharing her table but she sits down before Jean can reply. She plonks a water bottle and handbag on the table, immediately producing a handkerchief and vigorously blowing her nose into it. Jean is trying to drink her coffee and eat a very nice looking flapjack affair. She looks over to me and makes a little grimace. I feel for her.
The occupants of two other tables prepare to leave and the woman, with handkerchief still wafting in the air, immediately makes her move. She begins by pushing the two tables together and then the chair hunt begins. With handbag and water bottle placed she returns to Jean’s table to grab a chair. Soon another woman appears from the direction of the toilets. She puts her handbag on a chair she is told to go and get another. Jean is sitting quietly at her table eating her cake with Ginnie in the pram beside her when this woman says “I want that chair” and Jean has to move the pram to let her take the only remaining free chair.
So now the two women have two tables pushed together surrounded by four chairs. While this version of musical chairs is unfolding the woman with the handkerchief fends off a request from newcomers for a place to sit by saying “No these seats are all taken”
Two women, two tables and four chairs are finally in place. They sit diagonally facing each other, one on one table, the other across on the second table. I naturally think their long suffering husbands will soon be joining them. Probably having a peaceful walk along the promenade and discussing whether they could join a Mens Shed to improve their mental health. No, these women were alone. There is a quick wipe down of the second table that the waitress apparently hadn’t cleaned and so the talk begins. In loud voices:
“ How are you feeling now Margaret?’
“Well I went to the Spa on Thursday and it’s been all downhill since then”
Now I don’t know if she went to the Spa for exercise and relaxation or the SPAR shop for medicine? I fear the latter.
“It’s not Covid I’ve done another test this morning”
There is more rigorous use of her handkerchief which means I fail to hear what treatment Margaret has been trying.
“The other woman says “Well I’ve not been too good either so I’ll keep well away from you”
I’m now beginning to understand the reason for the table arrangement and can’t help glancing across to Jean who’s giving Ginnie a stroke in her basket. Ginnie has to be in the safest place at the moment. Jean looks my way and raises her eyes skyward. She looks so vulnerable sitting at her table with no other chairs and just Ginnie the big fat ginger cat in her pram.
Meanwhile there is more talk of “You can get that drug on prescription if you try hard enough” but I’ve heard enough. I’ve had my coffee, eaten the teacake which was very nice but didn’t come with a knife to cut it into more manageable pieces and Ben has had a few treats. Time to go. Jean is still sitting there but not near enough to the unhealthy ones to have heard their conversation, only able to observe the musical chairs. I feel I have to say something to her on our way out.
“I think you’ve had a lucky escape, Apparently she’s not well. Neither of them are well. The good thing is she’s done another test this morning and it’s not Covid. Try and enjoy the rest of your day”
Jean looks shocked and immediately zips up Ginnie’s basket. As we leave I glance over at their tables which they ‘claimed’ over twenty minutes ago and I notice there is no food or drink. Just two women, two tables and four chairs. We pass by quickly and I hold my breath. Once outside I say to Ben “Well at least it’s not Covid”
