THE PHOENIX

Summer 2017

The Annual Magazine of Brecon University of The Third Age

No. 70

Editor: David Mitchell

Editorial Team: Elaine Starling, Mike Ingram, Trevor Jones

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Contents

Editorial 3 Chairman’s Comments 4 Gadfly 6 Accommodating Gadfly’s Friends 7 Doris Bowring – a Tribute Elaine Starling 8 The Pirates of Hong Kong John Davies 11 A Shelf of Books Betty Meeres 14 History of a Family in a Few Objects Poppy Weston 15 “Brecon Remembers” Elaine Starling 21 Don’t Touch Martin smith 23 The Cat and the Snake 24 Through the Eye of a Needle Phillip Dey 25 How I Didn’t Join the Circus Fiona Clai Brown 27 Anecdotes of the Second World War Peter Starling 30 The Password Game Suzi Rice 32 Money? Now there’s a good Idea Richard Walker 33 The Gift Rosalind Davies 35 Early One Morning Margaret Blake 37 The Demise of the Plastic Bag Gill Roberts 39 ‘Oxymoronic!’ 40 Fear of Failing an Examination Phillip Dey 41 The Wye from My Window Rosalind Pulvertaft 43 For your own Safety 45 Satire – The Ultimate (?) Weapon ‘Machiavelli’ 46

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The second section below demonstrates the enthusiastic contribution of our Special Interest

Group Leaders to the enjoyment of our U3A

Architecture and Landscape Mervyn Bramley 48 Bookshelf Jean Hosie 51 Contemporary Creative Crafts Pat Woolford 54 Creative Writing and Classical Literature Elaine Starling 56 Family History and Art Appreciation Mike Ingram 57 Film Glenys Norris 59 …and more film news Joan Evans 59 Gardening Group Visits 2017 Pat Wilkie 61 Geology David Mitchell 64 Mah Jong Kate Bosset 66 Literature, Theology and Philosophy Richard Walker 67 Poetry Joan Stanesby 69 Scrabble and Playreading Jean Hosie 70 News and Views from the Travel Desk Joan Millard 72 Strollers Pat Wilbud 74 Strollers Plus Kath Hopkins 74 Wildlife Gill Evans 75 The Great Debate David Mitchell 76 Using the Brecon U3A Website Mike Ingram 77

Archaeology Elaine Starling 47

Photo Competition 80Stop Press! 81

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Editorial

Having edited the Phoenix for four years, I regret that it is time to lay down my computer and pass on the editorship. Mike Ingram has most generously offered to take my place and I wish him every success. He will be supported by the editorial team, of which I will remain a member, and will, I trust continue to receive a plethora of lively contributions from our members. Contributions arrive in all forms from handwritten to digital . Non digital contributions are then rewritten in word or a similar format, edited if required, proof read and converted into PDF format, which effectively ‘freezes’ them for printing. Apart from a few human failures most of any difficulties arise from Microsoft. Different editions of Office Word often have a compatibility problem and the current edition is loaded with masses of ambiguous tool options – most of which one never needs!

It is hardly surprising that many of our generation eschew computers altogether. This is hard, particularly as dependence on the digital world continues to increase.

Not all is gloom however, if us oldies can ‘have a go’. For the

infirm or disabled a minimum of computer literacy brings a world of communication, information, entertainment, music, books, art, shopping, security and much more. A tablet such as the iPad is perfectly adequate for the average person and easy to handle. Even a smartphone can do amazing things.

I know that many of our members are experienced computer users and I hope that they will always be ready to help a beginner.

Our Brecon website is still very underused but there is a very helpful

article

at

the end of this magazine to help those unfamiliar with it.

Mind

you,

I love

the

comfort

and feel

of

a good

book whilst I

can

still see

to

read

easily. If I

cannot,

my

computer

can

enlarge

the

print

of

downloaded books or even read them out to me. It can also do what I ask it! These facilities are rapidly improving and are very useful to us when we cannot find our reading glasses!

And finally, A HUGE THANKS TO CONTRIBUTORS PAST AND PRESENT AND TO THE SUPPORTING EDITORIAL TEAM!

Chairman’s Comments

A recent visitor to Brecon U3A commented “What a busy U3A we

are!”

It is only when you undertake a review of what has been achieved

this year that you realise how true that statement is.

Brecon U3A has many talented members who make our

organisation very special. They are prepared to give of their time freely and volunteer to ensure the successful running of this U3A. I thank them all on your behalf.

We have many new members this year. We welcome them and hope that as they find their feet, they will volunteer to give their time and support. One of the areas all members can contribute to is the Magazine. We thank all those members who have contributed to the Magazine and hope they may continue to do so. Age is no excuse!

Every year, the Special Interest Groups leaders give an indication in the Magazine of their groups’

involvement with Brecon U3A.

The magazine gives an indication of their breadth and diversity. So, if you wish to develop

a Special Interest group,

we are, as an organisation

looking for new ideas for groups. Please speak to the Secretary,

currently Richard

Walker,

Trevor

Jones

or

myself.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank “The New” Travel Group Team, Pat and Margaret Blake, Joan Millard

and Jenny Miller

for

the comprehensive and successful

programme they have already delivered.

Earlier this year, we were very sorry to lose our Vice Chair, Sheila Williams to an illness which she fought most bravely . With her death, a void was felt in various parts of the organisation. Sheila was part of the Travel Team, a member of the Contemporary Craft Group.

and a

one- time leader of the Ramblers and member of the

Walking Group.

She had also been a respected member of the Committee, serving as Treasurer and responsible for introducing Brecon U3A’s first website.

She is sadly missed.

At the time of writing,

I have yet to see this year’s Magazine but

I am assured that the quality of the articles will be as good as previous

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years. May I take the opportunity of thanking David Mitchell, the editor for his diligent care and editing of 'THE PHOENIX'. Recently as a new venture, Mike Ingram has put the last two editions of the Magazine on the website. I would urge you all to use the website. We have many earlier copies of the Magazine which are now archived thanks to Gill Evans’s meticulous management of this

resource. A cursory glance at the Archive tells us a lot about past members and the history of our U3A which has been in existence since 1984. If you have anything to add to the Archive, please let Gill have copy. She particularly likes photographs with dates and the names of members who attended events . On behalf of all members, I thank the contributors to this magazine. Have an enjoyable read.

Elaine Starling Chairman of Brecon U3A.

Lino

cut

by

Virginia

Rowbotham

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Gadfly "What is this Brexit?" asked Gadfly. "I've heard of Weetabix and Cornflakes and

Shredded Wheat but I've never heard of Brexit, is it nice?"

"I don't know", answered his cousin Barfly, "there are so many breakfast foods about nowadays. Every time I go down to the supermarket there seems to be a new one."

"Well everybody seems to be talking about it," said Gadfly. "I heard some wasps discussing it and they said it was a sort of gooey mess."

"I don't like the sound of that at all." "Me neither, I can't stand anything gooey early in the morning." At that moment Wibblefly entered.

"Hey chaps have you heard about Brexit?" "Oh! Not you as well! All we have heard about it is that it's a

gooey mess." "Well it's not really gooey it's more sticky, very sticky, in fact it's

so sticky that anyone who gets involved with it finds themselves totally stuck in it," said Wibblefly. “A lot of insects first thought it was a breakfast food and then they thought, because it was rumoured to be sticky, that it was some kind of trap like flypaper, but in fact it is not anything at all, it is a totally abstract thing that loads of insect colonies belong to."

"Do we belong to it?" asked Gadfly. "Well yes, we do seem to be in it, right in it!" "I can't see that this is a problem if it’s only an abstract thing.

Surely we can just ignore it and it will go away." "It is not quite as simple as that, you see although it is abstract

there is still a lot of flypaper involved in administering it, that is the sticky bit. You see the flypaper is necessary to ensure that there is a record of how the sticky may be unstuck as it is likely to stick around for a few years yet."

"Is there no way out?" asked Wibblefly. "Well there is a rumour going round that our Queen Bee thinks

that pouring honeydew on it will get rid of the sticky bit but the problem

6

is that a lot of the other insect colonies do not like honeydew and they do not want it seeping into their territory. This is because they still prefer to be stuck in the sticky and if the honeydew dissolves it they will find themselves on their own!” "We could just pour honeydew over our own territory," said Gadfly, “and that would get us unstuck very quickly."

"That could be a problem. The other colonies reckon that if we became unstuck and they remained in the sticky their positions could be compromised by a weakening of the remaining adhesive bonds."

"Well that explains everything with incredible clarity," said Barfly. "Now I suggest we all go down to the pub and drink a toast to the abstract fly papers of Brexit!”

Accommodating Gadfly’s Friends An insect ‘Hotel’ could be

the answer. For small gardens where there is little in the way of insect refuge, except for greenfly which will always find a comfortable spot on the roses! Many insects are very beneficial, particularly bees, lacewings, hoverflies and ladybirds. An ‘Hotel’ or ‘Bug Box can be bought ready-made or constructed from a bundle of short bamboo canes about two inches long. This will provide a hibernation or breeding refuge over the winter.

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Doris Bowering – a Tribute

This year, 2017, a number of our notable members have died. John Bolingbroke for whom there was an Obituary in Third Age Matters made a significant contribution to the development of The University of the Third Age, both in Brecon and Nationwide. Sheila Williams was our current vice-chair, whose “Travels around the World” were recorded in a booklet which was sold for Charity and archived.

We don’t usually publish eulogies, however, one of the funerals I attended was for Doris

Bowering. The early years were recorded by her son John at the funeral and made such an interesting story that it was thought worth repeating. So, the following is an abridged version of that eulogy. Doris Bowering was the wife of Richard Bowering who was an early Chairman of Brecknock Gardening Club and an active member of Brecon U3A.

Doris Vera Bowering was born in Tottenham , Middlesex

to Alice and George Laxton in 1924. Alice was always a housewife but George was a “Jolly Jack Tar” with the accent on the “Jolly”. Jack had joined the Merchant Navy at the age of 16 at the start of the 1st

World War.

Tottenham,

in

those

days

was

a

relatively

poor

community,

but

the

family

considered

themselves

well

off

because

they

were

one

of

the

few with

an

inside

toilet.

George

was

known

as

the

party

organiser

and had

many

street

parties

to

his

name.

Doris

and

her

two

younger

sisters,

Sylvia

and

Gil,

were

often

the

stars

of

the

parties.

Later,

Sylvia

married

her

cousin.

Gillian,

the

youngest,

was

nicknamed

“The

Duchess

of

Gil”

after

the

initials

stamped

on

her

navy

kit

bag.

In

the

1950’s,

The

Duchess

bought

a

£10

ticket

and

chased

an

Australian

Naval

Petty

Officer

down

under.

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At the age of 11, Doris won a rare scholarship to a private girls’ school called Tottenham High. She matriculated at 17, top of her class, much to the astonishment of those who considered themselves her superiors.

In 1939, at the beginning of the war, she was placed in charge of her younger sisters and evacuated to Saffron Walden, where they worked in the “big house”. Sylvia ran away and found her way back to Tottenham.

At the age of 18, in 1942, Doris joined the navy and specialised in Radio and radar. She met Richard, her future husband in Scotland where he was also in the navy. However, he was a lowly rating, and it was a joke on the base that he had to salute her.

One of Doris’s close colleagues was Peter Scott, the son of Scott of the Antarctic. He had a significant influence on her life as he was a well known painter, who encouraged her. She, herself, became an artist and photographer.

After the War, in July 1945, Richard married Doris in Tottenham. Richard, at the time, was at Wiseley, finishing his Horticulture Training. When training was finished, Doris and George moved to Fuchaswen Fach in Talsarnau, George’s mother’s house.

Doris moved to the heart of Welsh speaking North Wales. She never learnt to speak Welsh but Richard bridged the gap. In those days, the gentry, such as Lord Harlech, always imported their senior staff from England. George’s father was Lord Harlech’s Head Gardener. This entitled him to wear a bowler hat and keep his hands clean.

After some time, Doris and Richard moved to Towyn. Richard became the local horticultural adviser. Towyn in those days was a major army base with thousands of mainly English troops stationed at Torfanau. Naturally, Doris and Richard had many friends in the Military. The family lived there for about seven years where three sons were born.

Then came the big move to Dolgellau. This was Welsh Nationalist Country. They lived next door to the local mental hospital and across the road from the Slaughterhouse. The local shopkeepers would not speak to Doris unless she spoke in Welsh, so her sons did much of the shopping. Whilst there, her daughter Sylvia was born. Doris often went on excursions to London to stay with her sister. Eventually, ‘Nain’ moved from Fuchaswen Fach to live with the family where she lived until she died.

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Eventually, Richard was appointed as Horticultural adviser to

Breconshire and they moved to Aberhonddu. This turned out to be an equally challenging environment for different reasons. Housing was in short supply and they rented The Tythe Barn down on the Prom., not the extended Tythe Barn of today but a pretty down-at-heal unused cottage with no running water and no inside toilet or kitchen. With family and friends, Doris set to to make the house habitable. Doris’s brother in law arranged to electrically pump water from the well.

The family integrated into the community even getting involved in the harvest at Pencrug with the Prices who became good friends. Another great help was the Kelly family who had a wool store by the river. Subsequently they became friendly with Jack Walters, which resulted in their buying one of his building plots called ‘Deildy’ at Sunnybank.

Life was then further complicated by Richard becoming heavily involved with Television and Radio. The BBC used ‘Deildy’ for a sequence of programmes on how to plan and develop a garden from a building site. This went on for years and pretty well disrupted life at the house on a weekly basis.

Their youngest son Richard was born in 1975, some considerable time after the rest of the family. Doris died aged 92 in January 2017. [Abridged by Elaine Starling from notes supplied by John Bowering]

The 'Prom' at Brecon

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The Pirates of Hong Kong John Davies

When I was a lieutenant in 42 Commando Royal Marines, I led several small parties of Marines up through the New Territories of Hong Kong, an area from Kowloon on the mainland, stretching 25 miles up to the border with China. Many of the villages were accessible only by mountain foot paths. Possibly, we were the first Westerners whom the villagers had seen since the Japanese occupation. I was charged with conducting rudimentary census returns for the Hong Kong authorities, which I did with help from the village

headmen. Then I had a lucky break. The naval dockyard in Hong Kong had acquired a pre-war twin

screw motor cruiser, about 40 feet long. Because I had had training in coastal pilotage I was given command of the boat and to join larger craft in antipiracy patrol.

My crew consisted of 10 Marines, including a sergeant, lance corporal, radioman and marine medical orderly, plus a Chinese interpreter and two Chinese engine men.

I was to patrol the coast up to the border and seek pirates. Whilst leaving Hong Kong harbour, a large junk cut across the bow of our boat.

asked When I the interpreter why that had happened he explained that large junks acquire a following of devils which frolic in the wake! By sailing across the bow of another vessel the Devils are cut off and are transferred to the other boat. I had accumulated some Chinese devils to mix with!

Admiralty charts had not yet been reissued, leastways not to small boats. I had to navigate with land maps which were useful but did not show submerged rocks or shallows! The boat was not equipped with echo depth sounding gear which meant we occasionally had to use basic lead weight and line.

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We did not have to wait long for an incident. On the second day,

whilst patrolling

northwards

along

the

coast,

I noticed

a junk

moored

in a

small

cove

with

its

sails

aloft.

That

was

unusual

and

suspicious.

Was

it rigged for a quick getaway? I altered course and finding no one on the

junk, made to disembark. There was no beach at the bottom of the wooded dry ravine, only big rocks. We landed by nosing up to a rock and jumping.

We soon

came across a Chinese family, all

bound hand and

foot. Detailing a marine to stay with them, we carried on up the galley, which opened out onto bare mountainside and we saw the quarry disappearing over the crest. They were really out of range but I ordered

“Open fire”! Pursuit would be useless so we went back down to attend to the captives. When released, they offered me live chickens and piglets which I refused.

Reporting the event by radio to commando base, I was instructed to take the junk and the freed captives in tow to a rendezvous up the coast where transport would be waiting to take the personnel, including the interpreter, to Hong Kong.

The rendezvous turned out to be a submarine moored in a small bay with a nearby access road. The sub had good radio communication but as an antipiracy vessel it would have been useless. The handover went smoothly, but I had expected a marine officer or a police official to have come out with the transport to interview me, but no one came. I could not have left the boat without jeopardising the continuation of the patrol so we stayed overnight. The sergeant remained in charge of the boat whilst I slept ashore on a borrowed camp bed.

Before sleep I reviewed the events of the day with some disquiet. Was my command to open fire justified? They had not resisted and were fleeing. However if we had hit one they could not later have claimed injustice. To have done so would have admitted that they were pirates.

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Another point; where was the pirate's small boat? Perhaps the

they had hidden it in a nearby cove? Perhaps the interpreter may have learned something on the journey to Hong Kong.

If

so,

I

will

never

know!

Hong Kong was a very different place then!

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A Shelf of Books

There they stand so modestly

Clad in blue and brown and grey,

Never pushing on ahead,

Always waiting to be read.

And what can they offer you?

Stories old and poems new;

Come, Oh come and take your choice;

Turn their pages, hear their voice.

Do not leave them all alone:

Take and make them all your own.

If you leave your books unread,

Then it is that they are dead!

This poem written by Betty Meeres in 1957. Betty was one of the founder members of Brecon U3A. It has been submitted by her daughter, Cathy Sims, as a reflection of the continuance of educational enquiry and pleasure that is the hallmark of U3A Ed.

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History of a Family in a Few Objects

When I downsized and moved from Bridlington (East Yorks) to

Brecon in 2015, it was more a question of stringent selection – identifying what I saw as really significant – than merely decluttering. This applied particularly to family stuff – more than anything, the residue from my father’s forebears, repeatedly reduced over the 20th century, as the estate was sold, and life took over. I clearly remember, one wet summer in my own student years, unearthing a pile of letters sent to my grandmother in WWI by young men at the Front, which had been sitting in this oak chest ever since, as it travelled over time from Yorkshire to a Devon farmhouse. So I have chosen just a few objects to describe here, things which have survived the winnowing and which may have wider interest.

1. Breeches bible Just another family bible –

nothing very unusual in that. But this rather battered (or you could say, well-used) example, which does indeed have family entries, is older than many: it was published in 1589, 22 years before the King James Authorised Version of 1611. The photo of the frontispiece shows that my ancestor, Henry Athorpe acquired it in 1603 or 1604. I’ve learned that the committee set up to

produce the AV leaned very heavily on earlier translations created during the upheavals of the reformation years. All English translations are based largely on the work of the protestant Tyndale (in fact an analysis has shown that about 80% of the AV comes from the Tyndale translation) but ‘my’ bible is known in the trade as a Geneva bible, put together by

scholars who had fled to the continent in Mary’s reign, and had input

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Poppy Weston

from Calvin and others. The reason it became known as the ‘Breeches’

Bible is that in the story of Adam and Eve they were said to have used the fig leaves to fashion themselves breeches to cover their nakedness. Much more significantly, the bible contains marginal notes, mostly of a distinctly Calvinist flavour. Although Elizabeth I and her bishops were not happy about this, the Geneva bible went through 30 editions in her reign after its first appearance in 1560. As was common practice, this copy also contains Cranmer’s prayer book (Elizabethan version). The family chose the only blank page they could find to record births and deaths.

2. Falcon’s Hood, Falconer and Heraldry

Now this is a bit of a mystery tale. I inherited two objects linked (apparently) to a family crest which included a peregrine falcon. The two objects were a portrait of a falconer and a falcon’s hood dating from the 17C or possibly

earlier – tooled leather and velvet with the stub of its original feathered plume. The family tale was that the picture was a portrait of an ancestor who had been falconer to James I,

and the assumption was that the hood had been his, and perhaps the heraldic falcon was also something to do with him. Over the last 10 years, some of those assumptions have been blown apart and much of the mystery remains. The portrait, painted in oils on wood, was shown on Antiques Roadshow when they came to Bridlington in 2008. It seemed an excellent opportunity to find out more about it: was it the date we assumed, how could we find out more… and so

on. The lovely Rupert Maas was the expert – although he mainly works on more contemporary art. He was able to confirm the date as about 1610-20 and noted that this was ‘a person of substance’ because

of his staff and gold fittings on the belt. All rather

16

good, I thought. But of course public exposure can have consequences. A few weeks after the TV programme was aired, I received a communication via the BBC from someone who said she had an identical picture and knew who it was. Another letter wondered if this could be the ‘lost’ portrait of someone from her

family who had indeed been royal falconer. All very confusing. Over the next few years, I learned that indeed there might be copies – if someone of substance had their portrait painted, it was quite usual for them to order copies

to be made to send to patrons and anyone else they wanted to impress (PR is nothing new.) But mine was either the original or a ‘good’ copy.

My very modest investigations turned up no evidence that my ancestor was a royal falconer or worked in the royal mews - the point being that only the royal household or the higher nobility were allowed to own and hunt with peregrine falcons, and there are no barons or earls in our background!

When I was preparing for the move here, I had a valuation carried out, since I knew furniture and some pictures would need to be sold. The expert who did this contacted me later to say that she had seen yet another version of ‘my’ picture in a recent London auction, and that indeed this had to be the original since the quality was so much better. From my point of view this was both fascinating and a bit of a shock, because the key finding was that in the pre-sale research the subject of the portrait had been identified: it was indeed the royal falconer to James I, and that was Sir Thomas Monson, whose descendants still live in Lincolnshire. So that settled it: not my ancestor, not the original. Disappointing you could say, but in a way a relief – I didn’t have to worry

about it. However, new questions arose: why -and when -had my family acquired this (good) copy? And of course, why the falcon crest, and the original hood? Well, this is where the mystery still lies. So far I have not been able to find when the original grant of arms was made, so if there

17

are any heraldry buffs out there, please get in touch! But there is a postscript to the story of the picture. I was put in touch through trusted contacts with a London gallery owner specialising in portraits of this era. He was very keen to come and see it, and tell me more about it. He confirmed the date and the original quality, although there had been quite a bit of water damage. At some stage, and it had apparently been incorrectly reframed in the 19C. Perhaps it was then (when the Athorpe family was doing quite well) that they had acquired it, because it went well with the falcon? Full restoration would cost around £5000. So, when he made a generous offer for it (and he would have a lot of work to do before he could sell it) I and my children decided it was probably best to let it go. But I still have a fine photo version hanging on the stairs!

3. Armada chest This is another Roadshow exhibit, but much less controversial. It’s about the same date as the portrait (I think) with the Spanish Armada. Similar chests can be found in churches and large houses across the country, and they were generally used to store valuables. The sheer weight of it means it would certainly be impractical as a travelling trunk. Again, there was

a family story – that it was an 18C German construction. But the AR expert – the irrepressible Tim Wonnacot – was certain that it was English and early 17C. Of course I can’t prove how long it’s been in the family, but I like to think it was always around. If you come to my house you will see it has been ‘repurposed’ as a coffee table – a brilliant idea of my granddaughter’s – with a thick sheet of glass protecting the top and the small paintings still just about visible – there are more on the sides. The chief interest of the chest is the amazingly complex and effective locking system under the lid, covered with elaborately etched steelwork. Not to be messed with!

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4. Chatsworth token

Now we’re moving on to the 19C. My father’s (b 1904) full name

was ‘Marmaduke Carver Middleton

Athorpe’, reflecting the various

families – Athorpe, Carver and Middleton – which had intermarried in the 18 and 19C. The Middleton family, who seemed more solid than

the others, lived in the first half of the 19C at Leam Hall in Derbyshire, a modest set up (I think there are still some ruins) not too far from Chatsworth. If you think back to your Jane Austen reading, you will remember that it was quite the thing to pay visits to stately homes by special arrangement when the family were not in residence, and perhaps be shown round by the housekeeper or whoever. In this case it seems that neighbours of these estates who were seen to pass some social test were given regular privileged access, at least to the grounds. But please note the Token was ‘not transferable’ – again, nothing much changes! But I like to think of Mr and Mrs M. taking a Sunday constitutional in the spacious grounds of the Chatsworth estate.

5. Midshipman Athorpe and the Crimean War

One of the Middleton’s sons, John

Carver Middleton, married the daughter of a Yorkshire family, the Athorpes, who had run out of male heirs; the condition was that JC would adopt the Athorpe surname. JC and his father maintained a regular correspondence, and quite often travelled the 25 miles between Leam and Dinnington in the West Riding

19

to see each other. JC and his wife had thirteen surviving children, as you did, but most of the boys did not live to any ripe old age. The subject here is Henry, who must have joined the navy as a boy, and by the time of his death at 15 was a midshipman on HMS Odin. I certainly didn’t

know that when we were busy fighting Russia in the Crimean War – clue is in the name – we were also manoeuvring at Russia’s backdoor in the

Baltic.

Here is an abbreviated version of what happened to Midshipman Henry Athorpe:

Henry (b 1837) was the third son and joined the Royal Navy at 13 or 14. He was serving on the steam frigate HMS Odin which was part of a British fleet sent to the Baltic in 1854 to stop the Russian fleet from threatening English coasts. Overall the campaign was a success, bottling up the Russian fleet in the Gulf of Finland (Finland itself was part of the Russian empire). But Henry was caught up on one of those foolhardy incidents that occur in most campaigns. The ship was ordered to approach a Finnish town (now Kokkola), but was delayed by bad weather. This allowed Russian reinforcements to arrive and occupy an old fort. The shallow water meant landing craft type boats had to be launched for what was intended to be a negotiation with the town authorities and Midshipman Henry was in one of these boats. But the Finns soon refused terms and the British were ambushed by the Russians in the fort. In Henry’s boat the lieutenant, the mate and three

sailors were killed outright. Henry was wounded in the chest and abdomen, but made it back to the Odin. The ship’s surgeon wrote in his

report that ‘poor little Athorpe’ was crying out all night and died at 8am the following morning. He was 17.

HMS Odin Launched 1846

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“Brecon Remembers” Elaine Starling

In November 2016, “The Family History Group of Brecon U3A” with the help of

Lottery Funding published their research on the Men of Brecon who had died in the First World War.

In order to create a piece of work which was both meaningful and useful, a brief biography of all the Brecon Men who fell in that war as listed on the Town’s memorial were

researched. As the project progressed, it was recognised by the Group that for various reasons, some men with Brecon connections were not listed on the War Memorial. Endeavours were then made to include as many men as possible, though there still may be errors and omissions.

Altogether, 180 men were researched and their details are included in the publication and on the website;

www.breconremembers.co.uk The launch event took place at the Guild Hall in Brecon in

November 2016. Many invited guests had relatives who are commemorated in the book. Indeed, many of them had supplied information about their family members. The diligent research undertaken by the team uncovered many stories that were unknown before.

There was a distribution of the book both locally and nationally. For example, The Imperial War Museum in London, the National Archive at Kew, The National Library of Wales, the Various Welsh Regiments, The Firing Line in Cardiff together with the University of Cardiff have all accepted copies for their libraries. Every primary and secondary school in the Brecon area has been given a copy. Thanks must go Agi Yates for safe delivery.

21

It has received an overwhelming number of plaudits from History

Groups, Family History Groups and individual family members who have expressed delight at seeing the names of their relatives in print. One lady wrote that her 93 year old mother had enjoyed reading it but was saddened by the number of men and boys who had died from Brecon. At the launch, one of the contributors to the book said by 1918, ‘The Watton was a street full of widows working hard often doing manual jobs to bring food home to feed their children’.

The work carries on. At the present moment, with the aid of a number of U3A Members, a map is being put together which will go on the website to show which part of Brecon these men came from.

The U3A Committee would like to thank the original members of the group for doing the research. They are Helen Brooker, Margaret Davis, Rosemary Dean, Bruce Hosie, Pam Hussin, Steve Morris, Barbara Westerbury, Pat Wilbud and Sheila Williams. Some special thanks must go to Mike Ingram and Trevor Jones for the format and editing of the final publication.

If you have not received a copy of the book, there are still some available on request.

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Don’t Touch

Martin Smith At four years of age everything is interesting. Knowledge is

sought with every movement and experience is gained every second. The brain is a sponge soaking up new information recording it for future occasions. Then seeking more and more in a never ending odyssey.

The creature that had entered my world was interesting. It was new to me, it was brightly coloured, and it made an interesting sound. I wanted to explore its world; to see what it was seeing. I wanted to understand it. Would it be my friend? Why was it different from me? Could I go where it went? Was I as attractive to it as it was to me? How could I tell? I could not ignore this creature that seemed to be speaking to me. I had to explore this wonder that had entered my life.

I watched, fascinated, as the creature moved about its business. I so wanted this creature to be part of my life, I wanted it as a friend. It was hot in the garden. The sun shone down brightly in the afternoon sky. The silky grey colours of spider webs hanging from the verdant lushness of the shrubs contrasted with the golden yellow of the dandelions. I knelt on the rough grass amongst the mauve and white coloured clover as if in supplication to my new discovery and extended my hand into the jungle of flowers standing aloof and expectant in the border. My act of innocence searching out friendship and communion with the creature.

A voice cried out in the distance…....”Don’t touch that”

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Too late! My curiosity was fully aroused. My hand was on the colourful flower searching into its secret petal suppository, pollen rubbing from its stamen and drifting up to my face, now so close to the plant as I explored for the answers for which I had no questions. I touched the creature’s warm, soft, velvety-like black body; I felt the gossamer tickle of its wings on my newly minted skin. Then in an instant, as swift as a flash of light, it moved and was gone and I was lifted by powerful arms away from the adventure, never knowing what new knowledge I might have gained. Wondering if I returned to the grass with its dusty seed-filled scents and the soft rustle of clover flowers on my cheek would the creature return. The Cat and the Snake It has been a tradition with the Phoenix to include a cat feature on the supposition that any periodical or painting will be more successful if such is included. The cat this year is resident in Datça in Southwest Turkey, is called Cleo, and was recently photographed thus: Cleo is of course a cat of wide historical knowledge and realising the fate of her namesake just across the Mediterranean in 30BC, knows full well that this is not an asp or of any other poisonous variety. As no animals must be harmed in the production of the Phoenix, readers will be pleased to know that the snake was rescued and returned to its native habitat. Thus was a catastrophe averted! Photograph by kind permission of the editor’s daughter, Juliet

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Through the Eye of a Needle

Phillip Dey

A button came off the neck of my shirt. From my late wife’s sewing box I took out a needle, a length of cotton and a button. To sew the button to the shirt the most important task is to thread the cotton

through the eye of the needle. I moistened one end of the cotton and with my fingers rolled it stiff and offered it to the eye of the needle. Everything looked perfect, the cotton is ready to enter the eye. I bring the cotton and the eye close together but entrance does not take place, the eye and the cotton are off line. I attempt again but no success. And this goes on for ten or twelve times till I give up. I am 94 years old and it seems my age has affected my binocular vision.

Next day my home help Pearl, who is quite a few years younger than me,

sewed the button to the shirt. She suggested I buy a gadget which enables the cotton to be drawn through the eye of the needle.

I bought the needle threader from the shop “The Button” on the Bulwark at Brecon for £1-25 for a packet of three. The threader consists

of a rhomboid shaped loop of very fine and stiff wire attached to a key shaped piece of metal. To thread a needle, the loop is placed on the middle of a suitable sized needle, slid towards the eye and very slowly pushed into the hole until the loop has gone through to the

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other side of the needle. The sewing cotton is threaded through the loop which is then pulled backwards through the eye, thus threading the needle.

That my problem of sewing buttons has been resolved. reminded me of the saying of Jesus about a camel to pass through the eye of a needle. With the help of the internet I decided to explore the subject a little and came across a vast amount of literature, arguments, explanations and so on. Below are extracts from the three Abrahamic religions which I found quite interesting. CHRISTIANITY Matthew “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God.” Gate (Wikipedia) “The Eye of the Needle” has been claimed to be a gate in Jerusalem

which opened after the main gate was closed at night. A camel could only pass through the smaller gate if it was stooped and had its baggage removed. The story has been put forth since at least the 15th century and possibly as far back as the 9th century. However there is no widely accepted evidence of such a gate. The Free Dictionary (Wikipedia) Camel through the eye of a needle is used as part of a comparison to indicate that something is impossible or extremely difficult to accomplish. JUDAISM Talmudic literature uses a similar aphorism to Mathew about an elephant passing through the eye of a needle implying the unlikely or impossible. “They do not show a man a palm tree of gold, nor an elephant going through the eye of a needle”. ISLAM According to the English interpretation of the Quran: “To those who reject our signs and treat them with arrogance no opening will be there of the gates of heaven, nor will they enter the garden until the camel can pass through the eyes of the needle” Although my research on “Through the Eyes of a Needle” was limited I was expecting something similar to the above in the eastern religions viz., Hinduism, Buddhism and Confucianism. I could not find any.

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How I Didn't Join the Circus Fiona Clai Brown In that long ago time of my childhood I had a book called 'Crazy Quilt' with the most accomplished illustrations of a circus family and their animals. There was a spotted Apaloosan pony, a wolfhound and a mule. During their shows the audience would be challenged to try riding the mule and sticking on it for over one minute- Nobody ever could; but the dad, the 'clown', would get on backwards - arms clutching round the belly and legs round the neck of the mule. And that stuck with me as the way to ride a bucking bronco. I never had the chance to try it out until one day many years later. I was living near one of those tiny, tangled villages perched precariously on the steep, friable puddingstone slopes of the Maritime Alps in the hinterland of Nice in the South of France; in a studio garret over a barn; with the most marvellous view over the valley of the Var and beyond to the sea. How lovely a place it was and how seriously uncomfortable... that's another story- I sometimes wish myself back there but there's no point in wishing retrospectively is there? That way lies La-La Land indeed; better simply to revisit the memory with some contentment. One day, during this halcyon period, a circus came to another village further up the mountain and spread their 'big top' on a terrace in an olive grove and everyone from miles around crowded in to see what fun would transpire. It was a family affair and pretty rough. They tumbled and juggled and wobbled over the high wires and crudely clowned around and terrified us all with their trapeze work! It was all in the dark as I remember, with flickering torches for lighting and the whole show accompanied by a fiddle player, a drum and piano accordion with a squawky sort of primitive oboe, who didn't so much play musical sequences or tunes as noisily punctuated the acts with great presentational chords, shrieks and drum rolls.

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And then they brought on this little donkey upon whom, it was alleged, no one could sit for one whole minute. Armed with my secret learning, this was a challenge I had to meet! So, to the surprise of all the villagers, I stepped over and into the arena.

In those days I was pretty shy and out of my depth linguistically with the local French/Italian dialect and very aware of a certain envious antipathy felt by the locals towards the artistic invaders who seemed to live lives of unrestrained freedom and bohemian excess; so when I was actually out there in the bright space, in my jeans and fisherman's smock belted with a bright sash, I heard the murmur of curiosity and expectation and a feeling of numbness and detachment came over me like I was in a dream, and someone else's dream at that!

But there was the donkey and the grand old bearded father ringmaster made as though to heave me up onto its back and I had to contradict him and gently slid myself on facing backwards. Amazement all around! Now I had to go through with it. My legs sought to twist round under the donkey's neck and my arms round his belly but they hardly reached round at all. It did not feel as though I was re-enacting the illustration as I remembered in the book. It did not feel as secure as I had imagined. Hairy, hard and alien with a remarkably sharp backbone……….

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No time to contemplate - we were let loose and that donkey sure could buck!! It scampered and twisted and skipped this way and that, round and round, up and down, zig zagging and kicking his hind legs in the air for all he was worth. I just managed to hang on like a limpet. It seemed to go on forever. Suddenly the donkey stopped still, breathing heavily. Then it simply crumpled onto its knees and I had to get off with alacrity as it rolled over and the audience erupted in resounding cheers and whistles! I had lasted the minute but the donkey had the last laugh! After the show, the old boss man called me aside and offered me a job on the spot. I was thrilled! what a turn of events!

Whatever next? For a split second I felt ready for anything. Nothing could phaze me- I was taken into a wooden caravan which had seen better days, full of holes I noticed. Then the boss man went out, leaving me with his eldest son, who explained to me that he had to inspect my legs if you please. I felt like a horse as he felt me up from the fetlocks, the knees, the thighs! Enough!

I reacted against that grasping heavy hand and I heard giggles from outside and suddenly understood the trap I'd got myself into! I made it very clear to them all that I had to get out immediately. My angry indignation knew no bounds and then they suddenly became perfect gentlemen and seemed offended and let me go, but as I retreated into the dark night I heard many a lurid guffaw of laughter. What a lucky escape I thought. But what a shame, I was disappointed but also relieved... So much for facing life 'en arriere'!

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