Hertford hygeine, hierarchies and heartache (from CH Forum)
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Hey hey, we're the Monkees!
The fun-loving,wacky tune-filled TV-show-world of the Monkees!
Even in our sealed world, the craze had reached us! I was in the LV at the time - that must have been 1967? Most afflicted were the LIV.
The Monkees were an American manufactured group, put together in a Dick Lesterish sort of way. It must have been a srt of apres Hard Days Night US answer to the Beatles. There was lugubrious Mike Naismith, always wearing a woolly hat; slightly Scandinavian Peter Tork the blonde one; Davey Jones, cute and dark, the little English one from Lytham St Annes, and Mickey Dolenz, slightly familiar from being in an American series called "Circus Boy", in which he rode weekly on an elephant. Only now he was bigger and had swapped the elephant for doing a group walk, down the street, getting the funniest looksfrom, everyone they might meet! Hey hey! etc.
Week after week, the foursome rescued each other from floods, appeared to not be able to make the gig on time, fell in love with the same beautiful girl. did speeded up antics on beaches - sometimes with surfboards involved.
We in the LV had sufficiently abandoned our more senior dignity to pin up the centrefold from Rave Magazine on the form noticeboard by the door, in order to swoon as we entered or left the formroom. Chemi-T, our form mistress, never noticed, being morosely preoccupied with the gloomy intricacies of her malodorous subject. Neither did Miss Blench, as she arrived and departed with the delicate purposeful tiptoe tread of a raptor off to meet another raptor. On the other hand , Miss Morrison paused to inspect the pin-up, and produced the dry chuckle that caused her bosom to quiver under her sensible jumper. "Very fetching!" she said. We breathed a sigh of relief. Our pin-up was safe!
But it was in Sixes where the Monkees had their very, very greatest fan. Let us call her "S". S was completely, utterly swooningly smitten by the Monkees - especially the romantic one, little dark-eyed Davey Jones, who was good at gazing into the camera and singing to That One Special Girl.
I found S sitting on the radiator at the front of the dayroom. She was dreamily masticating a toffee as she gazed at a full size portrait of Davey Jones. (I rather think it was from Jackie. From where had she obtained a copy?)
"Hi" I said, inspecting the soft-focus perfection of her idol.
"Mrumph, mrumph, mrumph!"
"What?"
"Davey Jones!" she said more clearly, shifting the toffee to the other side of her mouth. "Some day he'll come and take me away... away from all this... to a special place... where we'll be alone together..."
I thought it unlikely, but said nothing. Who was I to ruin somebody's romantic dream?
But a crisis was looming. For some reason which I can't now remember, we were going to be unable to watch the Monkees TV show. The only hope was to be ill and in the Infirmary, where there was a television in Long Ward. But how to be ill absolutely on time?
S had made a plan, sure enough. In order to be taken up t'Imf, she drank Bluebell, that noxious metal polish which blighted our mornings and stained our index fingers. Right on time she was carried away to the Infirmary! But the plan misfired. The Bluebell made her so ill that her temperature soared, she became delirious and the Monkees show played on with its principal fan too sick to watch. Disaster.
The passion for the Monkees died away in time. "We're too busy singing - to put anybody down!" as the words went. It seemed that the Monkees weren't busy singing at all. They couldn't sing. They had been dubbed over by appropriate voices. Our pin-ups came down and they were quickly forgotten. Rave magazine showed new centrefolds.
Alas!
Love, Munch
Even in our sealed world, the craze had reached us! I was in the LV at the time - that must have been 1967? Most afflicted were the LIV.
The Monkees were an American manufactured group, put together in a Dick Lesterish sort of way. It must have been a srt of apres Hard Days Night US answer to the Beatles. There was lugubrious Mike Naismith, always wearing a woolly hat; slightly Scandinavian Peter Tork the blonde one; Davey Jones, cute and dark, the little English one from Lytham St Annes, and Mickey Dolenz, slightly familiar from being in an American series called "Circus Boy", in which he rode weekly on an elephant. Only now he was bigger and had swapped the elephant for doing a group walk, down the street, getting the funniest looksfrom, everyone they might meet! Hey hey! etc.
Week after week, the foursome rescued each other from floods, appeared to not be able to make the gig on time, fell in love with the same beautiful girl. did speeded up antics on beaches - sometimes with surfboards involved.
We in the LV had sufficiently abandoned our more senior dignity to pin up the centrefold from Rave Magazine on the form noticeboard by the door, in order to swoon as we entered or left the formroom. Chemi-T, our form mistress, never noticed, being morosely preoccupied with the gloomy intricacies of her malodorous subject. Neither did Miss Blench, as she arrived and departed with the delicate purposeful tiptoe tread of a raptor off to meet another raptor. On the other hand , Miss Morrison paused to inspect the pin-up, and produced the dry chuckle that caused her bosom to quiver under her sensible jumper. "Very fetching!" she said. We breathed a sigh of relief. Our pin-up was safe!
But it was in Sixes where the Monkees had their very, very greatest fan. Let us call her "S". S was completely, utterly swooningly smitten by the Monkees - especially the romantic one, little dark-eyed Davey Jones, who was good at gazing into the camera and singing to That One Special Girl.
I found S sitting on the radiator at the front of the dayroom. She was dreamily masticating a toffee as she gazed at a full size portrait of Davey Jones. (I rather think it was from Jackie. From where had she obtained a copy?)
"Hi" I said, inspecting the soft-focus perfection of her idol.
"Mrumph, mrumph, mrumph!"
"What?"
"Davey Jones!" she said more clearly, shifting the toffee to the other side of her mouth. "Some day he'll come and take me away... away from all this... to a special place... where we'll be alone together..."
I thought it unlikely, but said nothing. Who was I to ruin somebody's romantic dream?
But a crisis was looming. For some reason which I can't now remember, we were going to be unable to watch the Monkees TV show. The only hope was to be ill and in the Infirmary, where there was a television in Long Ward. But how to be ill absolutely on time?
S had made a plan, sure enough. In order to be taken up t'Imf, she drank Bluebell, that noxious metal polish which blighted our mornings and stained our index fingers. Right on time she was carried away to the Infirmary! But the plan misfired. The Bluebell made her so ill that her temperature soared, she became delirious and the Monkees show played on with its principal fan too sick to watch. Disaster.
The passion for the Monkees died away in time. "We're too busy singing - to put anybody down!" as the words went. It seemed that the Monkees weren't busy singing at all. They couldn't sing. They had been dubbed over by appropriate voices. Our pin-ups came down and they were quickly forgotten. Rave magazine showed new centrefolds.
Alas!
Love, Munch
- J.R.
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Arr - The Monkee's, young Munch.
I was courting a girl at the time who was also infatuated with the said band. They produced a weekly, or monthly (?) fan magazine which I HAD to collect for her from the newsagent opposite where I lived at the time with my Mum.
There was a very interesting programme about this manufactured band on the box not so long ago. Very good for 'anoraks'.
Of course, Davey Jones started life as a youth actor, his first major role playing, I believe, Grand-Son of the fearsome Ena Sharples, (the late Violet Carson), in 'Coronation Street'. He was/is also a very accomplished horse rider and could have had a great career as a jockey before opting for acting.
Micky Dolenz went on to become a T.V. director/producer and was the brains behind the kids T.V. programme 'Metal Mickey', which if memory serves, had the also, late great Irene Handl in the cast. I'm not sure if Mr Dolenz still lives in the U.K. or not.
They have also, on occasions reformed to go on stage.
I was courting a girl at the time who was also infatuated with the said band. They produced a weekly, or monthly (?) fan magazine which I HAD to collect for her from the newsagent opposite where I lived at the time with my Mum.
There was a very interesting programme about this manufactured band on the box not so long ago. Very good for 'anoraks'.
Of course, Davey Jones started life as a youth actor, his first major role playing, I believe, Grand-Son of the fearsome Ena Sharples, (the late Violet Carson), in 'Coronation Street'. He was/is also a very accomplished horse rider and could have had a great career as a jockey before opting for acting.
Micky Dolenz went on to become a T.V. director/producer and was the brains behind the kids T.V. programme 'Metal Mickey', which if memory serves, had the also, late great Irene Handl in the cast. I'm not sure if Mr Dolenz still lives in the U.K. or not.
They have also, on occasions reformed to go on stage.
John Rutley. Prep B & Coleridge B. 1958-1963.
- englishangel
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Munch if you had been in 2's that person swooning on the radiator would have been "M" unfortunately. Davy Jones and Len (Chip) Hawkes of the Tremoloes (Silence is Golden, Golden, but my eyes still see....in a falsetto)
Ahhh happy days.
My daughter was a big fan of 'Sabrina the Teenage Witch' and in one of the shows a spell was cast in which everything that was said was taken literally. Sabrina was in a teenage mood and one of her aunts said she must have a 'monkey on your back'. Cue a very surprised Davy Jones riding on Sabrina's back.
Ahhh happy days.
My daughter was a big fan of 'Sabrina the Teenage Witch' and in one of the shows a spell was cast in which everything that was said was taken literally. Sabrina was in a teenage mood and one of her aunts said she must have a 'monkey on your back'. Cue a very surprised Davy Jones riding on Sabrina's back.
"If a man speaks, and there isn't a woman to hear him, is he still wrong?"
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Davey Jones - his inspiration!
Chip Hawkes of the Tremoloes, indeed! I've now started off singing Silence is Golden - I foretell it will be with me for days!englishangel wrote:Munch if you had been in 2's that person swooning on the radiator would have been "M" unfortunately. Davy Jones and Len (Chip) Hawkes of the Tremoloes (Silence is Golden, Golden, but my eyes still see....in a falsetto)
Ahhh happy days.
My daughter was a big fan of 'Sabrina the Teenage Witch' and in one of the shows a spell was cast in which everything that was said was taken literally. Sabrina was in a teenage mood and one of her aunts said she must have a 'monkey on your back'. Cue a very surprised Davy Jones riding on Sabrina's back.
But! This must be how Davey Jones got additional riding experience! and went on to more glorious equestrian exploits! (See JR post) Perhaps the teenage witch cast a spell on him.
I was surprised that, of all the Hertford Girls, the one who had an amazing knowledge of the Monkees should have been JR.
Love, Munch
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- icomefromalanddownunder
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Re: Davey Jones - his inspiration!
Munch, you are priceless , but I must request that you, please, sing 'Silence Is Golden' a la The Band ('B' side of The Weight, if I remember correctly). After hearing their version, and thinking that it was a truly beautiful song, I could no longer bear to listen to The Tremoloes version.Angela Woodford wrote:Chip Hawkes of the Tremoloes, indeed! I've now started off singing Silence is Golden - I foretell it will be with me for days!
Love, Munch
Drinking Bluebell - blimey. Why didn't she just try the old sniffing salty water trick? Did Dr Fumble Fingers diagnose the problem? Did S confess?
Want to get the tune of SisG out of your head?
Scroll down:
Fa la lankydowndilly.
Love
Caroline
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Thanks Caroline....
bl**dy hell Caroline, now what have you done. I'd got Sir Eglamore out of my head at last and now you've put him back in! !icomefromalanddownunder wrote:Munch, you are priceless , but I must request that you, please, sing 'Silence Is Golden' a la The Band ('B' side of The Weight, if I remember correctly). After hearing their version, and thinking that it was a truly beautiful song, I could no longer bear to listen to The Tremoloes version.Angela Woodford wrote:Chip Hawkes of the Tremoloes, indeed! I've now started off singing Silence is Golden - I foretell it will be with me for days!
Love, Munch
Drinking Bluebell - blimey. Why didn't she just try the old sniffing salty water trick? Did Dr Fumble Fingers diagnose the problem? Did S confess?
Want to get the tune of SisG out of your head?
Scroll down:
Fa la lankydowndilly.
Love
Caroline
I don't know what happened to S once she'd gone up t'Imf. You never did know what had happened to people In There. The only way was the risky business of smuggling a note in and out. And who could bear the Infirmarygate of getting caught by that great big fierce Sister Summers?
Sister was given many retirement presents when at last her days of tyranny were ended. One of the pressies was a floral garden lounger on delicate metal tubular legs. Guess what went through my head?
Love Munch
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Sister
Kerren, you seem to have a wonderful ability to see "hearts of gold"!kerrensimmonds wrote:Audrey Garrard? She was an Old Girl. Actually they both had a heart of gold...
Sister Summers' home made lemonade was to die for.
Sister Summers was a dragon, really! When I remember her thundering pronouncements of doom when I had sucked my Bradasol too quickly...
And funnily enough, I don't remember her doing any actual nursing. Lemonade? What lemonade?
The Sister who came after her seemed a kinder person.
Think I feel one of my headaches coming on. Might need to have a nice lie down.
Love, Munch
- icomefromalanddownunder
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Re: Thanks Caroline....
LoveAngela Woodford wrote:bl**dy hell Caroline, now what have you done. I'd got Sir Eglamore out of my head at last and now you've put him back in! !
Mission accomplished - but, alas, at a price. I, of course, have it reverberating around my head once more
Sister was given many retirement presents when at last her days of tyranny were ended. One of the pressies was a floral garden lounger on delicate metal tubular legs. Guess what went through my head?
Probably the same wicked thoughts that are going through mine
Love Munch
Caroline
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Re: Sister
LoveAngela Woodford wrote:Kerren, you seem to have a wonderful ability to see "hearts of gold"!kerrensimmonds wrote:Audrey Garrard? She was an Old Girl. Actually they both had a heart of gold...
Sister Summers' home made lemonade was to die for.
Sister Summers was a dragon, really! When I remember her thundering pronouncements of doom when I had sucked my Bradasol too quickly...
And funnily enough, I don't remember her doing any actual nursing.
I think that I remember her being present during a medical with Dr Fumble Fingers, but my most vivid memories are of a Nurse who came complete with toddler son. She used to sing 'Knives and forks and spoons' as she wandered about the Infirmary with child on hip and meals to dispense. I still sing it to myself as I put cutlery away - so sad, the things that do stick in my head
I don't remember homemade lemonade, but I do remember the evening dose of Milo, made with cold milk so that I could scoop the crunchy bits off the top.
Love, Munch
Caroline
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In my day it was definitely Sister Summers who made the lemonade....maybe she passed on the recipe! My other memories of the Infirmary (apart from the polished floors, Long Ward, the ticking of the clock, well-used books.....) relate to the treatments for illness. Firstly the marmalade jars in which generations of doses of Friar's Balsam had been dissolved in boiling water, and over which you stuck your head covered with a scratchy white towel, for 'inhalation'; secondly the barbaric device for lowering a temperature....stripping you off, giving you a powder mixed in water, then wrapping you like a mummy in itchy blankets and leaving you on your bed, bound tight, to 'sweat out the temperature'.
Kerren Simmonds
5's and 2's Hertford, 1957-1966
5's and 2's Hertford, 1957-1966