Grannymar

You can blame Gaelikaa it is all her fault. She wrote about a broken zip on her handbag. NO! She did not sent it to me for repair, and I no longer do zips, so thank you very much…. Don’t send them here!

Gaelikaa mentioned something about going shopping for a new one. I would have gone with her so that together we might enjoy a girlie giggle as we browsed and made our purchases.

Now I want a new handbag!

No I don’t.

YES I DO!

Actually I seldom carry one these days, but I do love them….and… Shoes!

BIG SIGH!

This getting old lark means that some of the shoes I like are but a memory now. The cheek of someone, telling me that I should be wearing laced or buckled shoes. Next they will be putting me back in stays! I suppose I should be thankful it is not a straight jacket they suggest. George, hide that last bit from Elly in case she gets ideas!

It made me think of all the handbags that are in my cupboard. I am trying to remember when I last purchased one….. Quite a few years ago, I think. I was in Belfast. Wandering, window shopping and browsing! It was a bright autumn morning and I was enjoying the sunshine warming my bones, and that was part of the reason I spent so long looking in the window of a leather goods shop. Handbags; it was mainly handbags on display. One section was of up to the minute high fashion – sure to be out of date and abandoned the very next week. Then there were bags covered with beads or feathers, “Sure I could make them!” I thought, but I could see why they were asking such a price. Proper beading takes time…. and plenty of it. It is a very precise art.

Next I noticed a display with bags, in the shape of gift bags covered in fabrics and the greatest excuse for fabric roses you ever saw. Now if Elly had come home from Primary school and said she made them I would have been proud and delighted to display the finished product up on the shelf with the Irish cottage ( I’ll show you that another day! ). The roses were very badly made and the bag itself was poorly finished. The price ticket said:- £50. I didn’t believe it was possible so I went inside for further inspection. Who in their right mind would give £50 for such a poor specimen? I did like the simple shape and took a closer look at how it was put together. Once satisfied, I set it back carefully on the shelf and continued my browsing.

There were several leather bags in what I would call classical designs. In fact there were a few I would put to very good use. They too, had a price ticket of £50, good value for real leather I thought. That day I had not set out to look for handbags, so I dragged myself away from temptation.

At this stage I was the only customer and there were two sales assistants, one of whom was on the phone. As I drew close to the door, the assistant replaced the telephone and shouted to the other girl “Everything 50% off!” I stopped in my tracks, with my mind working forty to the dozen. I lifted a bag and pretended to be very interested as I listened to the exchange between the sales ladies. Sure enough word had come down from on high that all goods were to be marked down to half price, effective immediately. So as they busied themselves with writing labels and attaching them to the products, I worked my way back to the classic leather bags. Fifty pounds was actually a good price for a leather handbag… but for two, it was not to be missed.

You guessed it. I bought two handbags, different styles, but in different colours. One was black and the other was navy. I was working back then so a handbag was a necessity for a girl who was away from home all day.

Clockwise from Left:  The black bag with a shoulder strap and the navy double handled one behind it, are both mentioned above.  A handmade patchwork evening bag (more tomorrow), Large tan holdall/handbag.*  Dark Green Tula Leather shoulder bag.**  Black brocade clutch evening bag.  Brown Samsonite Bum-Bag, this gets plenty of use nowadays since it holds the camera, phone keys etc, leaving both my hands free.  Navy clutch bag. and finally in the centre  A Mock Animal Skin Bag with gold trim***

*Large tan holdall/handbag (goes well with my riding boots.  Sigh!  Will ever get my feet into them again?).

**Dark Green Tula Leather shoulder bag (has matching shoes)

***A Mock Animal Skin Bag with gold trim (has matching shoes)

Well that is my stash of bags!  Not bad since most of them are ten or more years old.  I wonder which has my tuppence in it?

The Geek Girl Dinner was terrific on Friday and the chat was wonderful. Alas in the excitment I forgot my camera so I have no new photos at the moment.

Saturday dawned wet and blustery, but we wrapped up well and braved the elements. We were joined by some of the Photo Bloggers for a late lunch and the chat continued until the early evening.

The weather showed no sign of improving so we headed home to Grannymar Gables and enjoyed ‘Hot Ports’ as we warmed our toes around a real fire! Cosy thoughts!

Normal posting will resume shortly in the meantime a little brightness for you:

This photo was taken way back in April this year.

On Saturday I did something new. A FIRST for me. I wormed my way into a Photo walk. I was aware of several going on in Dublin over the past few months, but unfortunately I was never able to attend. Then I heard of one in Belfast….

Following my attempts at photo walking on my own I was given plenty of encouragement to join the boys! So for the second day in a row I was to be found here

I was looking for Toyboys sporting cameras. I wore out the grass walking around the statue of Queen Victoria. Plenty of guys, all with bags but not a camera in sight. Not to be outdone I walked up to a group and said “Are you here for the photo walk”? They smiled politely and said yes. I told them who I was and the smiles grew and I was made very welcome. The group grew and I nearly lost count, now let me see… there was Adam, Andy, Phil, Scott and Stepbar. Oops! That makes five.. Grannymar is losing her touch because there were eight Toyboys. My apologies to those whose names I have missed.

The Continental Fair was in progress again on Saturday so we started there. When we satisfied ourselves with pictures and food the idea was to move on to the Botanic/Queen’s University area, alas the walk that far was outside my energy span so I said my farewells and headed home satisfied with my first effort to be a Flickerer!

If you are interested in seeing some more of my shots they are to be found at belfast flickr meetup

Yesterday I went to town. No, not my town but all the way to Belfast. It was a nice day and there were plenty of people about.

It started off like this:

Then this:

But I got restless and went in search of

Then I found a nice one and hi-jacked him into buying me a coffee. After some sweet talking I I took him for a ride drive. We nearly got lost because I took the wrong way went the picturesque route and we ended up here

But I couldn’t resist so I made him

After that there was only one thing for it…

But we got

Jefferson Davis it was an honour to meet you and I thoroughly enjoyed my time with you. Enjoy the remainder of your holiday and safe journey home to South Carolina.

With thanks to the man from Peru who offered to take this picture.

I was missing for a few hours earlier in the week. I went to town.

On my travels I paid a visit to a couple of ladies well known in the area outside the Europa Buscentre. The wind in this part of Belfast has a habit of whipping around corners, yet these ladies had not a coat between them.

The Monument to the Unknown Woman Worker 1992 by Louise Walsh is a testament to all women workers both paid and unpaid. Various utensils attached to the two women represent their activities and include the shopping basket and the cash register. It is apt that the women appear strong and unshakable, battling on against low wages or no wages at all. Belfast owes its growth to the masses of female workers who built the largest and most famous linen industry in the world. Not to forget other women in factories, shops, and offices who struggled to support their families during the high unemployment caused by the “troubles”. Pause for a moment to admire the heroism of these two women, and who they represent.

This lady has a work worn face, a child’s soother for an earring and cable knitting for hair with a ball of wool for the bun at the nape of her neck.

A water tap is embedded in the shoulder, a cheese grater in the upper arm and the following message:

All women working in the home receive no direct wage.

The fingers on the right hand are clothes pegs and the basket represented the time when women went from shop to shop for food before the days of Supermarkets and on-line shopping.

Women do two-thirds of the world’s work, receive only two per cent of the world’s income and own less than one percent of the world’s assrts.

Across the back of the second lady is a hairdryer and the hair is like hairbrushes they come with the message:

Almost 40% of women working for income in Northern Ireland are part-time workers. These women are almost always badly paid. They work without having benefits, holiday entitlements or pension schemes. Part-time workers are also not represented by trade unions.

La Mon. Two words that send shivers down my back. I was seven months into my new life here in Northern Ireland. A challenge unfolding all around me, the discovery of people, places and the sharing of new love, and new life growing deep inside me.

Twelve people were killed and many more badly burned on 17 February 1978. The bomb turned La Mon House, a small country hotel, in the Castlereagh hills east of Belfast, into a raging inferno. The events surrounding that fateful evening will for ever be imprinted on the minds of the scores of people who escaped from the clutches of death. Some of those injured may well still carry scars and suffer physical pain to this day. Even those fortunate enough to walk away without a physical mark were haunted by the memories of that dreadful night.

It began as a Saturday night of celebration. It was a happy get-together for members of the Irish Collie Club and their friends. They had converged on the hotel from around the Province. They had been allocated a private function room known as the Peacock room.

The terrorists strapped their explosives to two cans of petrol and attached them to the security grille over the windows of the room. They then retreated under the cover of darkness. The massive explosion that resulted sent a sheet of burning petrol through the small function room, incinerating those in its path. In addition, the glass and materials from the explosion shredded the many helpless, innocent and unsuspecting victims. In addition to the many guests in the hotel that evening, there were in the region of 90 staff on the premises.

This was a time of hormonal overdrive for me, newly married, and six months pregnant, no wonder the details seem etched in my brain. There was also the fact that exactly I week later we were to attend the annual dinner for all the staff of the company where Jack worked. It was the quietest week of my life. Nobody wanted to broach the subject. We all worried about attending, yet none of us wanted to be responsible for cancelling the event.

The evening of the Dinner Dance arrived and with it, thick freezing fog. It was impossible to see much further than the nose of the car. We debated whether to cry off or not. I know Jack was worried about me and the safety of our growing baby. We often have bad weather around us and when we travel a few miles south in the direction of Belfast, discover a different climate altogether.

Jack never wanting to let people down decided we would set out and if we found it difficult, we could circle round and come home. The driving condition I hate most of all is fog, never mind freezing fog but I stayed stumb and agreed that we should make an effort to get there. Our destination was Clanbrassil House Hotel, A Georgian Terrace on the sea front at Holywood, Co Down. I think it has since been converted into apartments.

We set forth on our journey, heading for the M2, neither of us wanting to say a word. All concentration was focused on the road and searching for red tail lights ahead. The journey down the M2 southwards into Belfast is lovely on a bright day. On your right Belfast Castle is set into the hillside and peeping through the trees of the Cave Hill. While on the left is the sweep of Belfast Lough glinting in sunshine, forming a natural divide between County Antrim and County Down. Had the night been clear we would have been able to pick out the cluster of lights at Holywood.

That night there was no cluster of lights, we did make out red tail lights of a car in front and tucked well in behind it and followed at a safe speed and distance. Finally reaching the hotel I gave an enormous sigh of relief. I thanked God twice over, once for a safe journey and secondly because there were NO grilles on the windows. We were the first to arrive and Jack found me a comfortable corner and headed to get a warming drink for us. It was only then I realised that my teeth and hands were clenched.

Soon the other members of the party started to arrive and seeing Jack they relaxed. Everyone felt as we did, yet turned out more in support of each other than the desire to party and also not wanting to let terrorism win. We soon had the call to our table. Good food and wine warmed and relaxed everyone. Jack and I shared the good news of our forthcoming event. The band was excellent and we all danced to the wee small hours.

We had a representative over from Head Office, and between the weather that night, and the chat at the table during the meal, he realised the conditions that the staff and particularly those out on the road, had to contend with on a daily basis in Northern Ireland. To give him his due, he picked up the tab for the whole evening!

When the band finally packed up for the night and we said our Goodnights, we headed outside to the car. The fog had cleared and the sky was a mass of stars. Jack and I sang all the way home.

Who would credit the difference a week can make!

One Christmas morning I looked at the gift I was handed and turned over the gift tag.

To Grannymar
With all my love
Jack
I love you from here to….

I carefully removed the gift wrap and discovered the missing word:

Eternity!

It was exactly what I wanted. A Bottle of Eternity Perfume, my favourite.

Only that morning I had squeezed the last dregs from the old bottle. With excited hands I opened the box to have another extravagant spray. Well, it was Christmas day after all! I sprayed and it might as well have been tap water! Plenty of liquid but no perfume! I was so disappointed. I ran and got the empty bottle I had discarded earlier and the scent from it was still so strong after months of use, yet the new one had none.

I asked Jack where he had purchased it. Boots, Donegal Place,” he said (that’s in Belfast).

My next question was “Do you have the receipt?” Alas, Jack was not good at keeping that kind of receipt. “No” he said “But I do have the cheque book stub!”

For several months that year in the run up to Christmas, it was not possible to listen to the Radio or watch TV without hearing warnings about purchasing Perfumes from reputable Dealers. ‘Perfume Shops’ were springing up all over the place and stories bandied about of counterfeit goods being traded. Jack had gone to a reputable dealer and paid full price for the goods. There was no way I would be fobbed off.

Early on the morning of 27^th December armed with the perfume, cheque book and an Elly who was tightly holding Book Tokens for a promised visit to Crane’s Bookshop the Grannymar Clan set off for Belfast to do battle with the Big Boys. The Sales started that day so the streets were thronged with bargain hunters. We made our way to Boots and the Perfumery Dept was almost empty. Now we all know that most Cosmetics manufacturers depend on the three weeks before Christmas to provide them with their profits for the year. Once Christmas is passed the sales slump until Mother’s day in March. The empty Cosmetic shelves in front of us that day were more than proof. Eventually a young lady stopped chatting to come and see to us.

Firstly I asked if she had a sampler bottle of Eternity for me to try. She had, and I did. I was satisfied that it smelt as it should. I then produced my problem bottle and said how disappointed I was and indeed my husband was that the gift he bought for me was not up to the usual standard. I apologised that we did not have the receipt but was able to tell her exactly the day it was bought and showed the check stub. I asked her to try the offending bottle to see if she could smell the difference. The main problem that day was that this sales lady was a temporary employee and the usual Calvin Kline representative was away until after 2^nd January.

I said that with all the publicity that year about counterfeit goods, we had listened and purchased from a reputable supplier. I queried if the goods ordered and paid for by Boots were not the goods supplied. I requested that ‘my’ bottle of perfume be sent back to the manufacturers for testing. I said “I know accidents can happen on conveyer belts” and that I wanted an explanation for the lack of scent in the bottle my husband purchased. I told the young lady that I knew that in no way was she responsible for the problem. My gripe was with her employers or Calvin Kline.

She did take the bottle, my details and phone number. Elly was becoming restless so we headed for Cranes and the wonderland of books. An hour at the book shelves and a refreshing cup of coffee later we were ready for home. We needed to be home at lunchtime as Elly was bound for a party in the afternoon.

During the afternoon I realised I had a dilemma! In my haste to have the Eternity problem sorted I had handed over my evidence and my details but had not received a receipt for it. I located the phone number for the Boots branch that we visited and asked to speak to the Manager. I was told he was on holiday. Worried that my ‘bottle’ might find its way to the garbage bin and my evidence with it, I then phoned the Head Office in Bangor, Co Down. Once again I asked to speak to the Manager but only got as far as his PA. She listened to my tale in full and assured me that she would pass on the information before the close of business that day. Again she took my phone number and said they would call me back.

At 5p.m. that day I had a call from Boots in Bangor. They had checked with the Belfast Store and had requested that the perfume I left would be forwarded to them. I received an apology for my disappointment and for the fact they did not have a replacement for me that day. New stock was not due until after the 6^th January. I was promised a call as soon as it was back in stock. I assured them that my gripe was not with Boots but with Calvin Kline.

2^nd January dawned and my phone began to ring. It was a call from Calvin Kline in London. They wanted to check the details provided to them by Boots. Once again I told my story. By this time I knew it by rote. Never once in all these conversations did I raise my voice. The apologies came my way once more and I kept stressing that I was not on the make but wanted the product sold tested!

On 6^th January I had a call from Boots in Bangor to say the perfume order had arrived and a bottle was set aside with my name on it, in the Belfast branch. The manager in Belfast phoned later in the day to say the same thing and I arranged a suitable time to collect my perfume.

Two weeks later a parcel arrived in the post from Calvin Kline in London with a complimentary replacement bottle of Eternity. Later still near the end of the month when I had forgotten about the episode a third bottle arrived from Calvin Kline USA with their compliments. I never did discover what exactly was wrong with the first bottle, but the three replacements were all as they should be.

I still like Eternity and use it at every opportunity.

Back in February I made a Podcast about the day Nancy came to Town. That day we enjoyed lunch at the Crown Bar in Belfast. This popular bar is the only National Trust-owned pub in Northern Ireland and has been described as the best preserved Victorian pub in the UK.

My podcast inspired Grandad to write about his memories of Belfast.

I see in the Belfast Telegraph Newspaper this evening that the work on restoration of the building is almost complete. The ceiling hidden for years by a thick nicotine layer has been scraped and the restorers are discovering the beautiful colours beneath.

Project manager Claire McGill said booths, ceiling and tiles have all been given a new lease of life. More than 100 mirrored glass pieces from the snugs have been restored and will be reinstalled this month.

Nancy, come October it might be time for another visit to Belfast.

Now I wonder if these restorers working at the Crown Bar, had a little go at Grandad’s lungs what wonderful colours would they uncover?

Yet another story of Elly’s life in Northern Ireland in the early 80’s.

Do we know what our children are up these days? Do we care?