WHISPERING SMITH: I was in a real pickle recalling my old teacher
A Lancaster bomber – there should have been two, but the Canadian plane had engine trouble – and two Spitfires, one with D-Day markings, flew low overhead. Many an adult, including myself, shed a tear.
And who among the appreciative crowd was not moved by the appearance of Sally B, the last US Flying Fortress and our own magnificent Vulcan – how does it stay up there and manoeuvre with such grace?
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Hide AdA lovely day, so much to see and do for all ages. Happy to spot so many Littlehampton faces among the spectators.
Wound up the day by joining the RAF Police Association, my old mob, and listening to Annie Riley and Le’arna Ashleigh singing swing, thanks for the many memories, girls.
DESPERATE to remember the name of the Connaught Road School music teacher. I spent days brooding over it, wondering how it would be if I traced another old boy and asked him, a question out of the blue, after 50 years.
Then, just like that, this morning, while spreading Branston Pickle (thin cut) on a piece of burned toast, the name just popped into my head. Mr Cottrill. Where did that come from and why this morning and what does the teacher’s name have to do with toast and pickle?
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Hide AdI see this as a big headline for the Daily Express…’Forget statins and five-a-day, Branston Pickle may help restore memory loss and delay the onset of dementia…’ Then again, perhaps not.
There are other things to worry about this morning, like why do I suddenly long for a cigarette after years of abstaining, why do mismatched socks suddenly become a problem or why does my toaster frazzle my bread? It is the name thing that puzzles me most but the toaster, I am certain, is malfunctioning.
HAPPY to report that ‘Stormin’ Norman is alive and well, gone to a local rest home for old cockerels… I may join him shortly.