In Mrs. Mallum's Store

Her eyes are dim she cannot see
She dropped her false teeth in her tea
She dropped her false teeth in her tea!
Sung to the tune of the Quartermaster's Store
We called it Mrs. Mallum's Store. Mrs Mallum was small and gnarly and wore an apron and a turbin. There was always a half finished cig hanging off the end of her lower lip. She had a nasty way of squinting at you. We hated her. She was the head cook at my school when I was a lowly adolescent and was responsible for some amazingly horrid recipes that resulted in some astoundingly horrible meals.
Every day of the week had it's specials . That is you knew it was Monday because come dinnertime you would be looking down at a plate of boiled fish, boiled potato and stewed tomato, completely bereft of anything but salt and very little of that! To follow would be semolina pud, a tasty concoction of wheat boiled in skim milk with a micro dot of red jam plopped in the middle.
Funny thing was we ate this stuff and some took seconds. Hunger will do that to you. The meal we waited for all week was pies, peas and chips, with sponge pud and custard for afters. We would sneak the little pies down the row of girls and hide them under our jerseys for later in the day. That hunger thing again! This meal was really good. The chips were wonderful and the sponge pud absolute stultifying heaven. We would line up for seconds! We would be so stuffed we could hardly walk. Mrs. Mallum in looking back, seems now to be an idiot savant. Four days of the week you ate to live and Tuesdays you lived to eat.
The nuns would sit at their own table eating the same muck but perhaps they were using it as a penance. The lay teachers sat at their own table too but they wouldn't eat it. They would slop it about on their plates then hare out to the staff room to light up. That would kill the hunger pangs I guess. They all reeked of cigs but then, in those far off days, most people did. That was Mrs. Mallum's secret ingredient. The ash off her ciggie. Well you know what they say. What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger.

Donald Again

For those of you who care here is wee Donald again.

Ah jus cum doon fra the Isle of Skye
Ah'm awfy wee an Ah'm kinda shy
The lassies shout as Ah gan by
Donald wheer's yer troosers?

Let the wind bla high
Let the wind bla low
Through the streets in ma kilt Ah'll go
All the lassies shout hullo!
Donald wheer's yer troosers?

There are more verses about wee Donald and posh girls with plummy accents but I don't remember them. Andy Stewart used to sing this when I was a kid. He was a wee Scot. If you want the tune you can call and I will sing. Poor you.

Waiting for Ike

Having a very peaceful day waiting for Hurricane Ike to pay a call. We are to get masses of rain and lots of wind. Right now it feels like the inside of a wet sock so I for one will be glad to see the back of Ike. It has brought back memories of the time we had a real hurricane.
In 1954 I think it was. We had just moved to our new home in Scarborough from London. We still had no phone. I remember my Dad driving us to the pay phone up the road. It was raining very hard. My Mum called my Gran who lived a few miles north of us to warn them I guess about the coming storm. I don't know for sure but my Dad was always keen on letting you know when trouble might be coming your way. We then went home and listened to the wind roar all night. The next day we went out to see what the world looked like after Hazel and there was Ma's telephone booth off it's moorings and yards down the road on it's side. My sister and I were electrified! Mummy might have blown away!!! We were little don't forget. Had we been ten years older we would have seen it as a lost opportunity. Teenagers....aaaargh. The sad part came later when I read in the papers how so many people drowned. Many in the Humber River and lots in the Holland Marsh. Those poor souls had resettled in Canada after the terrible floods in Holland in 1953. Little did they know the Marsh was even deadlier than home.
I think I will pack it in now. The thought of Ike is beginning to get me rattled. Time to get out the paper and pencils and settle down to something soothing.
"Let the wind blow high
Let the wind blow low
Through the streets in ma kilt ah'll go
All the lassies shout hullo
Donald! weer's yer troosers? "

Up Up and Away 2008

We are off again on our annual holiday for a thrilling two weeks by the lake. As long as it doesn't snow or flood I will be happy. It's the usual low key holiday (we are saving the whoop de doo for February). The place has a private beach that is huge and in September very quiet. The weather reports don't look too great but one can walk along the shore under an umbrella. The town is a short walk away and there is also a fine library and a cinema. What more do you need?
We have little Jakey's birthday bunfight tomorrow and thank goodness the sun will shine on that though I think it may be a bit nippy for water sports. We do have Ronny the Robot to terrorize the kiddiewinks and a rebounder for those that feel the need to slip the surly bonds but I am dubious about the pool. It certainly is chilly today. Perhaps it will warm up for tomorrow. After the birthday boy has departed we hop in our Rav and hit the road, third gear all the way!It's all go around here! See you in two weeks and lang may your lum reek!