Time for a Cuppa!

The Magazine

For all the Family

Have a Cuppa! with Mike

Counter Data.com

website traffic company Counter

In memory to a wonderful man with great recall and wonderful stories

Bill sadly passed away May 2007

Bill Hawksford

His memories of the rural Drax area of Yorkshire in 1947 and the army Return Stores Depot, RSD are great to read.

Bill Hawksford 1947

Banjo Story
By
Bill Hawksford

It was Friday night and I remembered the advertisement I had cut out of the local newspaper advertising The Long Island Banjo Society, who now performs regularly every Friday night in the next town. The add indicated that the not-for-profit organization has been providing long Islanders with Old-Time Banjo Music for more than 40 years and everyone was welcome to listen, sing and dance to the banjo music at the Veterans hall.

These musicians who play for their own entertainment are very talented and were responsible for inspiring me to play the banjo, which I never mastered, but always enjoyed. Most of the audience at these functions comprise of the musicians' relatives and friends, who welcome visitors in a friendly atmosphere.

It was time for me to get back in the swing of things and I ventured out alone after my wife Molly protested that it would be full of old fogies and it was too cold to go out anyway.

Arriving at the location, I found few changed that couldn't be explained by the passing years, since the band played at the Legion Hall in my hometown. During that period I sometimes stopped in when returning home late from work and participated in a little libation to the sound of the stimulating string instruments.

There has never been an entrance fee and a snack is usually provided. An open bar dispenses drinks at reasonable prices, which is an offer you can't beat with a big stick and a distinct improvement over singing for my supper at a church in 1946 and receiving a slice of dry bread.

A steep flight of stairs led to the basement, where Mabel, who was a frail little lady with white hair and a sparkling personality, greeted me at the entrance with a smile and introduced her self. After informing me that she was in charge, she enquired if I had been there before. I told her that the last time I listened to the band was when they played in Amityville. “ That was 20 years ago,” Mabel announced to my surprise. How time flies!

“Come and sit down inside,” Mabel suggested, pointing to the larger room where the entertainment was in progress. “No, I think I'll sit here at the bar and have a drink,” said I, after surveying the crowd with a disproportionate amount of females, many of them deeply involved in knitting projects, unlike any fun evenings I could recall in the past.

An amiable bar tender poured me a drink and enquired if I was a veteran, explaining that veteran's drinks are half price. He accepted my credentials as a British veteran without question, but didn't hesitate to inform me that they didn't apply, extracting full price for the beer.

No doubt in an attempt to compensate me, the purveyor of alcoholic beverages pointed out that all the ladies at the table where Mabel was seated were single, which appeared to amuse him as his head went to one side, twitching an eye in a knowing fashion.

For a while everything was hokey-dory nursing my beer until a man sat down at the bar and lit a cigarette.

Mabel noticed me putting on my coat and again suggested that I sit down inside, where smoking was not allowed and I could enjoy the music and drink in comfort.

The bar tender carried my drink and with the same evil twitch in his eye, sat me down at the single ladies table. Mabel introduced me to the other females and I settled in for a night of entertainment.

Twelve members of the band, who were seasoned musicians, played excellent renditions of old tenor banjo music, such as By By Black Bird, which is one of my favorites and the only tune I managed to play, which was recognizable.

Periodically some of the men appeared on the floor with the more agile females and swayed from one foot to the other, occasionally in time to the music.

It wasn't difficult for my mind to wander back to the dances in England during WW11, when the American GI s of the generation in the room, taught the girls to Jitter Bug and literally threw bodies around in time to the big band music, provided by luminaries like Tommy Dorsey, Benny Goodman and Harry James. Could these have been some of the same soldiers who effortlessly whirled and twirled away all night on the dance floor after the pubs closed? Who knows, maybe Mable cut a mean rug in those days. And I realized that we were all fortunate to have experienced that era!

At one time Mabel temporarily unnerved me a little by moving her seat closer and whispering in my ear, but it was all very innocent and she only wanted to sell me some raffle tickets.

The evening's entertainment was a pleasant change from the normal routine and fortified with a couple of Heinekens, I decided to excuse myself after the results of the raffle and steal away into the night.

“Don't go now,” Mabel announced, “the pizza has just arrived.”

Well, “come back again” she said, which was repeated on the way out by the bartender with the affliction in his eye.

Carrying my faithful travel companion, an oxygen cylinder, up the stairs, necessitated a rest in the lobby where pictures of servicemen adorned the walls and glass cases proudly displayed trophies and memorabilia. A poignant reminder that I probably owed my existence to the intervention of the American troops during WW11. A period so eloquently described by Sir Winston Churchill as “ Britain's Darkest Hour.”

A reminder, lest we forget!

Bill Hawksford

Note: No part of this story can be reproduced in any way without the author's written permission. All rights remain with the author.

Bill Hawsford's long lost true love

(Bill Hawsford,) The Banjo Story

(Bill Hawsford's war time memories,) In the beginning

(Bill Hawsford's war time memories,) Kempston Barracks

(Bill Hawsford's war time memories,) Yeovil Somerset

(Bill Hawsford's war time memories,) Sing for your supper

(Bill Hawsford's war time memories,) Excused Boots

*****

Sign my GuestBook - Read my GuestBook