It's cold and it's damp!

A thought bubbles up to the surface and demands attention. A sweet memory from 1950. Willy Hall who had the rooms opposite mine that year on Univ’s Kitchen Stair. His favourite gramophone record. Nellie Lutcher singing “Hates California. It’s cold and it’s damp. That’s why the lady is a tramp.”

I know what prompted this excursion to the outside world. 

Its the 2nd of AUGUST, for goodness’ sake. It’s cold and it’s damp. I’ve just been driven to turn the central heating on. 

AUGUST. Bah, humbug!

When I was in California it wasn’t damp but it was distinctly chilly. In the City of the Angels it was Holy Week 1965. Outside a church in Spanish Town, a group of women were weaving palm crosses for Sunday’s faithful. Fran & Sam were lavish hosts. We went to the Oceanarium, Knott’s Berry Farm, Forest Lawn, Disneyland. 

On Maundy Thursday I flew to New York. On Good Friday I made my obligations at St Patrick’s Roman Catholic Cathedral. (Then I bought a lovely 35mm lens for my Leica.)

In the evening I was with Harold Ax - my wonderful Jewish host - and his family at their farmhouse in New Jersey. “We always have an extra place at table,” he explained. “In case Elijah is passing by.” It was one of those very rare years when Good Friday coincided with Pesach, the Feast of the Passover (which we learned about in our morning Scripture lessons at St Mary’s (Church of England) Elementary School in that very different world of Harcourt Street in the 1930s.)

fc oxen 2017 august 2nd Tuesday