WßD ~ Chapter 24 All Change : Full Circle (Revised Edition)

Windsor Street Days

Chapter Twenty-Four

All Change ~ Full Circle

Part I

IT IS TIME to change direction, to change platforms, and settle down to the final journey. I’ve no idea how long the train journey is, but I’ve a very comfortable window seat, a small table upon which to write and also rest the always present coffee or iced tea.

The views are spectacular as we race through the countryside … a journey that also seems to take me down seven decades, and a journey in the mind’s eye that is not hindered by the shores of these beautiful islands.

Written as Diary 30 (that entry remains unchanged) Ismile to find that this is the twenty-fifth chapter of Windsor Street Days. Some would say coincidence. Some would say synchronicity. Either way suits me.

Living close to Windsor Street and Pittville Mount Park, to Prestbury Road and to the impressive Pittville Gates just across the road where the composer Gustav Holst - of Planets fame - grew up, is where I find myself heading most days. I have gone full circle. Not unlike the steam locomotives that would be rolled onto the turn-plate to line up with the rails, or to go back from whence they came without having to travel backwards.

Part II

I have enjoyed writing under the pseudonym but it’s time, now, to write in my own name.

The website will have a slight change, the logo, as you see, remains the same - the hands of the clock set to 11:04 - but moving from Ian Bradley Marshall to settle nicely upon who I really am, Ken Webb, Ken Webb Jr, formally and very proudly, Kenneth Thomas Webb.

I do this also because a pseudonym can quietly remove one’s identity from one’s family. In writing, as in acting, one is often saddled with two names.

But won’t Ian Bradley Marshall run alongside? I mean, we know you as that!

Part III

Sure. But in a word, no. I am retiring IBM. He’s done his job. He served his purpose well. And to be known for well nigh twenty years by my mother’s maiden name was an enormous privilege, granted by Mum, but only after presenting a cast-iron case, as Dad put it, and not easily obtained.

Mum grew up in the war and has always had an enormous sense of humour. Mum could also stop one dead in one’s tracks at 30 paces. And when I got too full of myself at one gathering back around 1995, I saw mum socialising and smiling, standing there in her two piece suit and mid length heels, chatting away to all … and then suddenly, still smiling and engaging her friends, a slight turn of the head, those Scandinavian-Northumberland dazzling blue eyes, and then the briefest of hand movements across the lips … a silent ventriloquist!

Ken, zip it!

Part IV

Ruddy hell! Yes Mum.

I caught dad’s eye and talk about a united front; but also the look of huge amusement that said, oh yes! I really did enjoy that. I didn’t have to say a word!

Those two were a party-piece.

Mum and Dad were also the bedrock of our family and they saw us all through calm and storm, many times over.

It is as if my parents are standing close by … I can almost see them … In my small home, I certainly sense their presence in every room simply because I’m presently entrusted with the family archive which, working on a document yesterday, has my late cousin reminding me that my father’s middle name, Budd, (Dad’s Mum’s maiden name) can be traced back to circa 900 AD (CE), as the name was in use in the village where the Budds lived for around 800 years and before the church was built, which thus, would take us to 900.

… and they’re saying …

… come along Ken, it’s time to come home.
You’ve got a lot to do, but we’d prefer it now
to see you take up your name
rather than living a sort of side-by-side life.
That’s no good for anyone.

Part V

Just now, I came back in from my mid-evening walk. It is pleasant. Slightly damp. The leaves are rustling and Autumn is burgeoning forth in thousands upon thousands of varying shades and hues.

As I opened the front door I caught a glimpse of the piano. I have not played it in a very long time because I have a painless hand condition [i] which is causing the hands to close again. More ops! That’s a darned nuisance, because I can no longer stretch the octave. Dad had the same condition but persevered by playing this piano every day. But it’s not always a case of ‘like father like son’.

I could quite easily dismantle Dad’s carburettor on his motor cycle, but could I put it together? Could I ever? Desks, books and pens are my forte!

Mind you, I could build mightily impressive fortifications with Mum’s clothes pegs! But Mum wasn’t always able to keep to my perfectly timed plans of attack. I’m sorry Ken, but those storm clouds are looming, and I must get the washing pegged out and dried. Come along. You can help me fold the sheets!

I actually used to enjoy that, because the radio was always on, music was always playing - this is in the 1950s and early 1960s - and as I stood at the one end and Mum quartered along the length of the sheet towards me along the full length of the room, I’d see the smile and suddenly the town-hall dance for which Mum was famous. I’m not quite sure what I was doing with my hips but blow the pegs, blow the fort, this is fun!

Wonderful memories.

Part VI

Dupytrens has also affected my ‘touch-typist’ ability that I first learned - if Dad can do the Pitman’s touch-typing course then so can I - aged eleven - wait for it - back in 1964, i.e. still 30 years before the arrival of the computer as we know it today. I add this line just for those born this century, who presume that life in the last century was the same as this century. Nope! It wasn’t. They are light years apart, and sometimes, the present isn’t anywhere near the past in sophistication. But that’s just me.

Now, I reasoned, that by negotiating with Dad and Mum then surely, if Dad let me use his ‘do not touch’ Imperial Typewriter when he’s on nights, and if I type in the kitchen with the door closed in the mornings as that’s the furthest point from Mum and Dad’s bedroom, then

(a) I won’t disturb Dad until I take him his on-the-dot one-o-clock cup of tea, and

(b) I get to do something constructive.

Like what, Ken?

Well, I’ve got this book about the Battle of Britain. I want to copy it.

That clinched it. It also clinched my own life’s journey, for sure!

Part VII

As I took my shoes off in the hall I remembered again that today it is October 6. Blimey. Mum would be 93! A myriad memories over 68 years came flooding by, almost like a whoosh.

I wonder?!?

I came into the study. I stood there. Pondered. The ambience is good! That’s a start. There is peace here. But before I return to the desk, I wonder …

Now Mum, please be patient. I don’t even remember the key … ah yes! That’s it. G!!

🎼 🎹Happy Birthday to you … happy birthday to you …🎶

I managed it, though that last octave was, well, … ‘stretching it’ is not an exaggeration. It felt so good to hear the family piano again. As beautiful as ever.

I sat down at the desk. So what if it sounded like a cat’s chorus?!! The french doors were closed!!

Part VIII

Yes, Ian Bradley Marshall gives way to Kenneth Thomas Webb.

In true military style, he steps back, clicks the heels, a staccato note, pauses,

‘Over to you Sir.’

The accompanying compliment is classic Royal Air Force longest way up shortest way down salute.

I take the furled ensign. I have a special place for this important ensign.

Thank you, carry on please. (Shortest way up, shortest way down!)

What do you call that?!?

You’ve forgotten, I commanded three squadrons, and we COs sort of develop a shortened version, and then forget all about Queen’s Regulations.

Typical! You always were a rebel, Webb!

Part IX

Now, to the person who’s just asked, ‘How can you do this?!’

Simple. It’s called Family Life. I use upper case deliberately.

In Stockbridge runs the beautiful River Test.

This discombobulation - some would say, disquiet - has been afoot for a year or more. As the website has grown, so has my own sense of imbalance. It all comes back to I am who I am. I must move on.

When my niece and her husband made their vows on the banks of the River Test in Hampshire on July 24, and seeing almost all of the family gathered, I knew that I was hugely privileged to be asked to read a poem.

Even more so, though, because from my vantage point, I had a perfect view of Suzie on her father’s arm (my brother-in-law Steve) waiting to make the long procession along the bank.

My sisters Carol and Vanessa - ‘we three’ - were in front of me, each with their large families … a joy to behold, each independent, and each doing so well, and then me - nephew and nieces and great nephews and spouses all, and it resonated deep within.

A metaphorical tap on the shoulder from behind …

You are indeed privileged, Ken.

You stand as the last Webb in your father’s shoes.

It is time.

Part X

I am thrilled that this is akin to changing marks on a successful aircraft design.

My first website with Squarespace was known as M5. The website rebuilt and launched by Armin Braunsberger Media Digital of Austria is M7. Armin has now produced exactly that which I envisioned and so M8 will literally step in place.

I will, therefore, close the Facebook account and, in due course, I will create a page, although, to be frank, trying to set up anything with Facebook takes us into the nightmare of chaotic algorithms! I will, however, see if I can change the names and data without losing the page. Fingers crossed.

One step at a time.

This just flags up; so if you wish to stay in touch, send me a private message so we can have e-mail contact. My website e-mail also remains webbkenneth402@gmail.com and that is the email you should use. That might be easier.

We have also created a YouTube Account so I can use this to make regular broadcasts. Ha-Ha! Look at that! He really does wear a pin-stripe suit!

Part XI

Goodness. We must now be doing well over 120 mph. We’re on a long curve overland, not the viaduct, and our carriages are all at an angle. This is the way for me.

Footnote

[i] Dupytrens Contracture

23 April 2024
All Rights Reserved


LIVERPOOL


© Kenneth Thomas Webb 2023

First written 25 October 2021

Last published 7 May 2022