Burcot
Grange (above) built in 1890 and my home for a while as a young
child.
It's
Memorial Day here; Memorial Day Weekend with the actual 'day' being
on Monday and who do I remember? I remember lots of people as I am
fortunate to have a good memory. On a site in the UK called Friends
Reunited I
looked at the people in my class at school and there were just a few;
one or two of them got in touch with me, the
memory man,
and one or two wrote to me that I had forgotten; so not too much of
memory man after all. All the things I write on here are from memory
and sometimes I look on the Internet for some details like the road
where such and such happened; one guy I wrote to, wrote back and said
he couldn't remember anything about school at all. If you mention his
name to anyone from my class they certainly would remember him as he
would sit back on his chair in full view of the rest of the class and
. . . well maybe if I put that in it will be picked up as a metatag
and draw porn readers to the site – so he forgot all about school
did he? The teacher (male) of the class must have seen him but what
could he do? What could he say? **** put that thing away? That boy is
probably a grandad now and what would his grandchildren think? A year
or two before that, a boy at school suddenly stopped coming to
school; nobody said anything and we didn't notice that his name had
been taken off the register; his name was Michael Holmes. He came to
our house to play a couple of times and I got to know his sisters
later on; after a few weeks we found out that he had fallen into the
canal and drowned. It was a shock but the school didn't let us know;
I don't know what age we were but I would guess around eight or nine;
I was in the Junior School in any case – Clifton Road Junior
School. Now I don't need memorial day to remember Michael as he
springs into my mind quite often. What happens here this weekend is
the same in Britain only in Britain this weekend it will bank holiday
weekend – I think it was called Whitsun at one time and on this
American Heathen word processor on this computer it comes out as a
spelling mistake – there now I've added the word to the dictionary
so it's officially in. In Britain remembrance day is in November and
people wear poppies to signify the ending of the first world war at
11/11. That's when Britain remember their heroes. The heroes they
remember, of course, are the dead from wars. I think they go back to
World War One which started in 1914 and ended in 1918 and there is
hardly anybody left who actually fought in that war – the great war
the war to end wars. I heard recently that the last one died either
here or in the UK. The other world war started in 1939 and ended in
1945; I have to put those dates as some people here have different
dates when the Americans joined in; here they might say 1941-1945 and
1917-1918 – I have heard both and, indeed, people just might not
know. I hate the idea of war as it has always been young men fighting
old men's battles and even though I had a small amount of military
service war heroes have never been my heroes; they are everybody's
heroes and should be; they paid the ultimate sacrifice and they
should never ever be forgotten - but my heroes have always been
pioneers and not necessarily people who fight. I am more impressed by
ideas and most of the long conversations I have are about ideas; once
a week I meet a pal for breakfast who majored in philosophy and we
have many an interesting tête-à-tête and I have read books by
Nietzsche for example as a result of our meetings; I have another
friend I meet once a week for lunch to talk about politics; I talk
British politics and he responds with the American version. I feel
quite privileged that I have experienced both worlds and can't think
what I would have done without that knowledge; I would never have
written my novel, for one, and I don't think I would have started my
one man Irish show in the theatre – A
Bit of Irish. But
I have always been curious; I watched a film once called The
Land That Time Forgot and
I remember one line from it - Plato
was right and
I wondered who Plato was and researched it; I put this curiosity down
to my lack of formal education so when I look back I don't regret
anything about my education or experience. But the four men I admire
the most (no not the Father, Son and Holy Ghost) are Muhammad Ali,
John Lennon, Bob Dylan and Roger Bannister. I really admired the way
Ali stood up to authority, forfeited his world championship for his
beliefs and finally, in the end, won. A lot of people disagreed with
him including Jackie Robinson who was also a black pioneer in
baseball – his own business, of course, but I know very little
about him. John Lennon was just a hero because he was a singer; I
stood within three feet of him once in a bar after seeing the Beatles
at the Ritz Ballroom, King's Heath, Birmingham. Looking at him then,
and you could see the Beatles were destined for something, I wasn't
sure if he knew what was going on; The Beatles came from a middle
class background; John wanted to be a 'working class hero' but he was
middle class; they were art students and up to that time art students
– students in general in Britain – liked jazz. When I say
students I mean mature ones as the Americans tend to call everybody
at school students as opposed to pupils in the UK. When I was a
student – a mature one – we liked The Beatles. Later on John
might have been misguided by Yoko Ono but I think he was a man that
did more for peace than is generally realised; I know Beatles fans
dislike Yoko and he loved her but I love my wife; I wouldn't take her
to work. Bob Dylan I just find the most talented poet I have ever
heard or read; I like lyrics by Chuck Berry and John Lennon but Dylan
has so much imagery in his work - just look at any of his lyrics –
look at these I ran into the fortune-teller, who said beware of
lightning that might strike I haven't known peace and quiet for so
long I can't remember what it's like. There's a lone soldier on the
cross, smoke pourin' out of a boxcar door, You didn't know it, you
didn't think it could be done, in the final end he won the wars After
losin' every battle. I woke up on the roadside, daydreamin' 'bout the
way things sometimes are Visions of your chestnut mare shoot through
my head and are makin' me see stars. You hurt the ones that I love
best and cover up the truth with lies. One day you'll be in the
ditch, flies buzzin' around your eyes, Blood on your saddle. I have
been more influenced by Buddy Holly and Eddie Cochran when I know, as
an actor, it should be Marlon Brando and Laurence Olivier. So who
have I left out? Ah!! Roger Bannister.
Roger
Bannister broke the 4 minute mile barrier in May 1954; I was a little
boy watching my friend nearly drown at Moseley Road Swimming Baths
and finding out that another friend had died. I lost a lot of time at
school as I suffered from conjunctivitis (in the eyes) which
developed into ulcers; I remember seeing the horrible white things on
the blue of my eyes and I was told that this was because I rubbed
them; I couldn't face the light and water would consistently run from
my eyes.
So
that was the end of my education as I failed the secondary exams -
but that's only an excuse as I can clearly remember sitting to do a
paper for the 11+ and not putting anything at all on to the sheet of
paper.
Then
one day on the TV, the news came on and it said that the 4 minute
mile had been achieved; the race came on and there were only 3
runners in the race; the other 3 were invisible. Christopher Brasher
was ahead with Bannister behind up to about half a mile and then
Chris Chataway took the lead with Bannister second to him up to half
way around the final lap and then on the final lap Bannister took the
lead and made history; to a ten year old boy this was like an orgasm.
Later in the year the Bannister/Landy Miracle mile and that was the
best mile race I have ever seen – do yourself a favour and look for
both races on YouTube. I won't give you the result of the latter race
but John Landy of New Zealand broke the world record after Bannister
and then they had to meet in the Empire Games. Have a look - it will
bring a tear to your eye and a lump to your throat.
So
I had to go a place called Burcot Grange - above; this is a very
large house in Bromsgrove, Worcestershire. It is a very large
Victorian House and had been donated to the Birmingham Eye Hospital
by its owners giving prolonged treatment of children suffering from
inflammatory conditions of the eye associated with harsh city life.
It was also a place where squint operations were performed and a lot
of the other children had lost an eye. It was at Burcot Grange that I
was introduced to elevenses which was a snack at eleven-o-clock;
maybe a biscuit (cookie) and some orange squash. It was like being
let loose as there were 5 acres of grounds; so we played cowboys with
real hills, valley and bushes to hide behind. The other thing I did
was run; I was going to be a Roger Bannister and I ran around those
acres every day. My mother came to see me with a tear in her eye, and
encouraging one in my infected ones, every week and I cried when she
left and then forgot her for a while. Of course one of the nurses was
my girl friend; she was nurse Hollingshead and maybe 15 years older
than me. She wrote to me for quite some time after I left and when I
did they presented me with a book by Enid Blyton called, something
like, Around the Year. It was a nature book and they wrote in the
inside cover to
Christopher with lots of love from Burcot Grange.
I still have the book which is at my daughter's in Suffolk. As we sat
there in the sun the nurses would 'time' me as I ran around the
grounds. I remember I could get around in about three minutes; one
day one of the nurses, who had timed me, called another nurse and
said 'Hey! Is it the four minute mile or the four mile minute.'
I
can just imagine the four mile minute. When I got home I would run
around the block – where we lived – and I managed to get a sucker
to beat. He was Roger and looked more like Roger Bannister than I did
and I would let him run ahead of me so I could run along the back
straight which ended just by the lane where we lived in South View
Terrace on Moseley Road. So Roger Bannister is my hero; he ran for
many years after that to keep fit although he retired from
competitive racing early after the 'Golden Mile' to continue his
studies to be a doctor where he worked at Northwick Park Hospital as
a neurologist and later as Director of the National Hospital for
Nervous Diseases in London and a trustee-delegate of St. Mary's
Hospital Medical School in Paddington. A few years ago I bought his
book called The Four Minute Mile, of course, and just as I was coming
up to the Golden mile on page 224 about the Empire Games, where he
met Landy, I found the page was blank. The next page was there and
from there till the end of the book many pages were missing and there
was only an intermittent report from that section. I called Amazon,
where I had bought it, and they referred me to the publishers, The
Lyons Press, and when I called them they hung up on me. So there we
are – there are my memories on this memorial day; I wonder what
yours are?
Landy and Bannister Statue in Vancouver; the scene of the Miracle Mile.
Burcot Grange (above) built in 1890 and my home for a while as a young child.
Roger Bannister broke the 4 minute mile barrier in May 1954; I was a little boy watching my friend nearly drown at Moseley Road Swimming Baths and finding out that another friend had died.
I lost a lot of time at school as I suffered from conjunctivitis (in the eyes) which developed into ulcers; I remember seeing the horrible white things on the blue of my eyes and I was told that this was because I rubbed them; I couldn't face the light and water would consistently run from my eyes.
Landy and Bannister Statue in Vancouver; the scene of the Miracle Mile.
