Half the season now completed, we were playing the Serengeti for the second time this year. Following a sub-optimal result against Cottagecore the previous week, I had summoned the players to a training night on the Monday so that we were prepared. I spent some time considering what Brian Clough would have done in the circumstances and concluded that he would almost certainly have called an additional bar billiards practice session in a Norwich pub. The parallels between us are becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
My highly motivated team were clearly energised, focused and transformed by this intensive preparation, as we promptly lost the first two games. There are occasions when coaching takes a little while to filter through.
Then PJ put us on winning form.
Ivan, against whom I now refuse to hear a single word, followed with another victory. I never doubted him, other than during several earlier matches and most of the previous week.
I bought myself a drink to celebrate the emergence of my new star player. Ivan received the considerably greater reward of knowing that he had briefly earned my approval.
Then the bar snacks appeared. I managed to beat Wes which meant that it was 3-3 going into the doubles part of the evening.
The dream team of myself and Vaughan put us 4-3 up, then Ivan and PJ lost (for anyone checking the results sheet, we played a game out of order) which meant that Terri and Luke had the final game. And this marvellous partnership eased to victory so we won 5-4.
The Serengeti are my former team and remain a marvellous group of people. Roy is the calmest and most gentlemanly of captains, an approach I have studied carefully before deciding not to adopt any of it. It was a lovely evening and an exceptionally close match, and I hope they do really well in the cup this year. I also missed my friend Emma, of course, as the Serengeti are never quite the same without her. They are noticeably quieter, for one thing.
Another great night and thanks to everyone, I had a most lovely time. But, my rule is that I go to the King’s Head afterwards if we win, so here are.
And Oscar was there too from the Lionhearts, which leads me neatly to my next post.
I have to admit that I’ve been quite remiss in keeping this blog updated with the performance of the Artichoke Hearts, so that means that my two loyal blog readers will now have the sheer excitement of three bar billiards posts in a row. I’d also note that as this game was a few days after the London Craft Beer Festival I was drinking non-alcohol beer and I now regret that decision, as I was bloody dismal. Scientific evidence linking these two facts remains limited, but I have nevertheless reached my conclusion and won’t be repeating that mistake again.
Assiduous readers will note that half the regulars weren’t there as they were at Latitude Festival playing in the mud. I did wonder at this stage if anything could possibly go wrong, but I knew that I had a new secret weapon, Ivan. He told me that he was a champion player and that he was one of the winners of the cup when it was held at the Rosary. Fortunately for Ivan, the pub closed more than a decade ago and every surviving piece of documentary evidence confirming his achievements appears to have vanished with it.
For the first time in the season, I actually brought my own cue along. It’s not a very good cue, but I thought that it might bring me good luck, along with 0% Guinness and Prawn McCoys. Bar billiards is largely about psychology, with a modest amount of skill occasionally intruding, so I was quietly confident that this carefully assembled collection of sporting equipment and savoury snacks would transform my performance.
Vaughan won his game, still unaware of the unfolding tragedy.
The half-time snacks arrive, many thanks to the wonderful staff at the Artichoke.
I don’t know what Ivan has to smile about, I agree with Vaughan and PJ here.
Here’s Judd Trump at the table. His performance turned out to be rather closer to Donald Trump, although I retained enough captaincy judgement not to mention this at the time.
Stupid bloody game.
The final score was 6-3 to the Cottagecore and they deserved that victory, which was their first of the season in the league. I don’t deny that they deserved some points, but I’d rather they didn’t get them against us, but there we go.
Spot the actual lipstick. There was precious little else worth spotting on our scorecard.
Anyway, I have now decided that my cue will not be attending any more matches. It was given a fair opportunity to justify its place in the team and produced what can only be described as a sub-optimal performance. Still, it is only a game, Cottagecore were excellent company and everyone had a lovely evening, which I’m told is the important part. I’m not entirely sure that Luke was surprised and delighted when he heard the result, but he is pragmatic and understands the value of not dwelling on defeat. This is particularly useful when captaining the Artichoke Hearts.
I should add that I was genuinely grateful to Ivan for stepping in and playing. However, I had made it perfectly clear beforehand that this did not mean I would have to be nice about him, and those were the contractual terms on which he agreed to join us. He has since become a regular member of the team and I’m very pleased about that, although naturally I have no intention of telling him to his face. Standards must be maintained.
This article appeared in the Norwich Mercury 200 years ago this week and relates to the court cases that had been heard in Walsingham. I can’t find out anything about Rose Crask, she doesn’t appear in any records that I can find.
As for the details of this case, this was a period of different moral values, although the court cases at the time show that breaches were not uncommon. At the time a woman described or charged as a “lewd woman” was usually being treated as sexually immoral, disorderly or involved in prostitution, although it can relate to any of them.
The label might be applied to a woman found soliciting, keeping company with known prostitutes or criminals, living outside accepted domestic arrangements, behaving indecently in public or repeatedly coming to the attention of parish officers and magistrates. It was a broad and highly moralistic description, reflecting a period when poor and unmarried women were closely policed and could be punished as much for their reputation and way of life as for any clearly identified criminal act. Indeed women in general at this time could be invisible, which has transpired to be the case for finding out anything more about Rose.
After a little break in proceedings, and I would like the pun there to be properly acknowledged, it was time for another league match and we were playing the International Brigade in the sauna area of the King’s Head. We had a new strategy that we were deploying, namely Ivan, to beat them thoroughly in practice so that their confidence was damaged. Our advanced sporting psychology is what will set us apart from the other teams in the league, although the results so far have been reluctant to support that theory.
The teams had arrived, so it was time to think about doing the draw.
Somehow we managed to have PJ kicking off proceedings for us again, this seems to be a regular thing.
And off we go!
Cool, calm and confident. Anyway, we lost that game.
I was up second so thought I’d better get a quick pint to ensure that I was at peak performance levels in the sauna area.
It was a close second game and I decided to do a very brave 200 shot in the middle of the game as I kept sitting just a bit behind. I saw Luke’s face of horror and that wasn’t quite the look of encouragement I had wanted. But my thunderbolt shot worked so I surprised and delighted myself, before reminding myself I would now just settle for 10s. It remained close though, going down to the final ball which I’m pleased to note I got in, but the peg wobbled just a little more than I would have liked.
Ivan, our new head coach, came over with marshmallows that we could allocate to all the players fairly. I ate most of them if I’m being honest, but leadership sometimes requires difficult resource decisions. Ivan was also the referee for two games and he was entirely competent, not smashing up the table like he did last time he was referreeing.
Here’s me waiting to referee whilst hoping the marshmallows didn’t melt in the extreme heat. I queried with Oli that perhaps, as a team captain, she could have made a contribution towards getting air conditioning in the King’s Head, especially as she’s one of the top four staff members that they have. She shouted back in a jovial manner that she didn’t feel obliged to pay for air conditioning. This was disappointing, although at least the pub’s climate policy is now clear.
Luke found himself 900 down after the first shot, which is a sub-optimal place to be.
It was Luke’s birthday this week (the same night as Julian hit 70, although Luke didn’t fall over) and so we celebrated with cake and strawberries. We had assumed that John would arrange to throw some of the games to allow Luke to have an enjoyable birthday, but he didn’t. Luke and I didn’t say anything of course about this lack of sporting behaviour.
Let’s just say that we were 5-1 down after the singles, so we had lost the match. I had a little sit down outside for the fourth time to cool down and reflect on whether we just didn’t have enough chalk. There is always a technical explanation available……
Back to the doubles, and Vaughan and I were successful in a very good game, so I was hopeful of turning this round to be a loss of just 5-4.
We lost 7-2, but look at those scores, but Luke put up a valiant performance against big shot Marcel, with Kirsty and Terri getting closer than their score looks. But losing 7-2 is not that bad in such hostile weather and I was saddened not to be able to take Ivan up on his offer of a game, but I had to rush to the Weaver’s to check that Julian didn’t have another fall. I’ve very much realised that bar billiards captaincy does sometimes involve wider pastoral responsibilities.
But, the main thing about all of this is having fun and it was a very enjoyable evening and the International Brigade are a lovely team. No game next week, but then we have two in a row after that in the Artichoke, so what could possibly go wrong?
And, in other news, we have our next cup game confirmed, which is against the Lionhearts. Nathan, their captain, and I would never comment on this ourselves as we’re very modest and entirely free from competitive vanity, but it is hard to deny the evidence that this will be a game featuring the two best captains in the league. Between us, we have certainly had enough experience of challenging bar billiards encounters so this is a proper battle of the titans and I know there’s a chance of it being a major motion picture on YouTube. And, I might have mentioned, I’ve beaten Dave Brewer so I’m ready to take on Oscar as I have a score to settle. But, it’s just a game obviously, although I’m hoping Nathan is bringing his worst players.
I’ve been thinking more about the west frontage of Norwich Cathedral, although I suppose there are worse things to overthink. Some people worry about careers, pensions and the long-term future of civilisation, but I have been thinking about where the spirelets of Norwich Cathedral have gone. The problem began when I found Daniel King’s seventeenth-century print of the west front, which shows a much more elegant and symmetrical arrangement than the one visible today.
I therefore asked AI to help create a modern photographic impression of what the cathedral might look like if the frontage had retained more of the arrangement shown in King’s engraving. This took a little persuasion. AI understood “Gothic cathedral” very confidently, but was rather less enthusiastic about counting statues correctly, which is a minor drawback when the entire point is having two figures on each side of the doorway. Several attempts produced one statue either side, extra figures in odd places or something that looked like a confident cathedral that most certainly wasn’t from Norwich. It still has the main portal wrong as the door has been shrunk right down, but there’s a limit to how much time I want to spend debating the matter.
I’ve decided I definitely like it more as it was. But I feel that I’ve exhausted this line of worry now and I’ll just have to accept what’s there.
This is a photo of the west frontage of Norwich Cathedral that I took in May 2020, but it’s a view that I’ve seen thousands of times over the last few decades. And I’ve thought on many occasions that the design feels quite odd in places, but I’ve never given it much more thought than that because apparently even I have limits on how much time I can spend worrying about medieval masonry. Those limits have now been tested.
I’ve now found this image which is of the west frontage and although the date isn’t known, it’s between 1655 and 1725 and is from a print by Daniel King. This has surprised and delighted me, because this is in my view a much more beautiful frontage than what we have now.
I’ve pondered before, as I obviously don’t have enough sensible things to worry about in life, about why the windows in the flanking pillars aren’t symmetrical, but they originally were. And there were once two statues under the main window, but they knocked one of those out on each side when widening the pillar which means that the portal looks quite chunky. Inside the cathedral though, there are still two niches either side of the main door so they haven’t changed that.
And, both sides of the flanking towers were once similar designs, but they’ve faffed about with one of them. Not to mention where the nice little spirelets have gone. Probably the same way as Sheringham bus shelter, but that’s a different matter.
All told, I’m reassured that the designers of the original building had attention to detail and liked symmetry. I can’t work out exactly when they mauled the frontage about as there have been a few periods of change, but I’m going to blame the Victorians. This may not be entirely fair as some of the changes do predate that period, but I’ve found that it is often a productive starting point.
I rather liked this advertisement which was placed in the Norwich Mercury 200 years ago this month. It reads:
“TO THE LOVERS OF THE FINE ARTS.
THE Nobility, Gentry, and Public of Norwich and Norfolk, are respectfully informed, that a
Splendid Collection of ANCIENT PICTURES
Will be opened for Exhibition during the Assize Week and a short time succeeding, at the Assembly Rooms, Norwich.
The Paintings are selected from the Works of the most esteemed Masters of the Italian, Dutch, and Flemish Schools. — Among the former will be found a splendid Picture by Titian, in his early style, with others by Caracci, Pietro da Cortona, Canaletti, &c. &c. The latter will include fine Specimens of the most pleasing character, and of Cabinet size, of the following Masters: — Rubens, Rembrandt, Both, Pynacker, Netscher, Cuyp, Decker, Zorg, Schweikhart, B. Gael, P. Potter, Poelemburg, Stoik, Snyers, De Vlieger, &c. &c.
The Exhibition will be opened from Ten in the morning till Four in the afternoon.
ADMITTANCE — ONE SHILLING.”
The exhibition was aimed at “the Nobility, Gentry, and Public of Norwich and Norfolk” and I think it’s evident that they were expecting really only people from what they might have called at the time the educated and wealthy classes. And even within that the nobility came first, the gentry were safely in the middle and the public were graciously permitted to bring up the rear, provided they had a shilling and behaved themselves near the Titian.
This feels like an early art gallery type set-up, there are some quite impressive artists in that list and the Assembly Rooms would have been quite the cultural hotspot that week. A shilling would have been approximately the equivalent of £7 today. I also went to look into the etymology of the word ‘ancient’ and have ascertained that in the art world of the time, it just meant ‘Old Masters‘ as the paintings weren’t that old at the time.
The Assembly Rooms are still there and they have long been part of the city’s cultural centres, so in that respect not much has changed. It’s a shame I can’t find a list of what artworks were displayed though, it all sounds rather decadent.
The below article appeared in the Norwich Mercury 200 years ago.
“Doctrines of the New Jerusalem Church.
ON Sunday, July 9th, THREE DISCOURSES will be delivered at Crook’s Place Chapel, by the Rev. W. Mason, in which it will be shewn what are the views of the New Church in regard to the Quality of that Faith which justifies, and the true nature of Justification — Who the Lord’s Sheep are, and the Goats contrasted with them — and The Nature of the Christian’s Conquest, and the Rewards promised to the Conqueror.
Service to commence in the morning at half-past Ten, Afternoon at half-past Two, and Evening at half-past Six o’clock.”
The New Jerusalem Church was the Swedenborgianism religion and some of this story links to the St Mary the Less church on Queen Street which I’ve written about before. In short, that church was closed during the Reformation, then given to the religious refugees from the Netherlands to use as a cloth hall, with the building being used for services given in French until 1832. It was then leased to the New Jerusalem church of Swedenborgians who remained here until 1852 and they then moved to Park Lane to a building constructed for them. The church was already though in decline at this stage which is rarely the ideal moment to embark on a new building project and in the 1920s they transferred the building to the Mormons and although it was used by another religious group, it was then sold to become a private residential building. It was never fully converted into a home but is no longer used for religious purposes.
This article from 200 years ago tells a little of the story before the Swedenborgians moved to St Mary the Less, it appears that they were using Crook’s Place Chapel. This is in an area of the city that was changed heavily following the Second World War, but Crook’s Place Chapel appears to have been demolished in the 1880s. And back to the article, it’s an interesting look back that there would have been three services held that day for those interested in finding out more about the church. Those attending would have been no doubt fascinated by the discussions about faith, sheep, goats and conquest, but they probably got to have a nice little sit down.
There were concerns nationally about the stability of the Church of England, with the Church Building Acts of 1818 and 1824 trying to fund new Anglican churches. The Norwich Mercury article captures quite nicely this period of religious competition and general anxiety about picking the right religion.
200 years ago this week the Norwich Mercury printed this article:
“On Monday, during the election, Samuel Chenery, a lad of 16, was detected in picking the pocket of a gentleman, in the market, and lodged in the Vagrant Room in the Hall, where he soon after cut his throat. He was conveyed to the Hospital, and died on Wednesday morning.—Verdict, insanity.”
I’ve written numerous times about how Norwich 200 years ago was a city troubled with crime, poverty and mental instability. I assume that he was taken to St. Andrew’s Hall, which was the city’s workhouse at this time, which is where Samuel Chenery killed himself.
The lad was Samuel Haywood Chenery who was born on 19 March 1810, the son of Thomas Chenery and Elizabeth Chenery (nee Haywood). He was baptised on 25 March 1810 at St. Paul’s church in the city, a war damaged building unnecessarily pulled down in the 1970s for the flyover.
Samuel was buried at St. Augustine’s Church in Norwich on 25 June 1826, although those who died through suicide often weren’t buried in Church of England graveyards. I’m not entirely sure that there would have been a grave to him if the family were poor, but if there was, it’s not there now. Samuel’s Dad, Thomas, died on 12 April 1821 at the age of just 49 and is also buried at St. Augustine’s Church. Samuel’s Mum, Elizabeth, died on 16 May 1852 at the age of 80 and is also buried at the same church.
I do wonder how many times Samuel has been thought of over the last 200 years, whether he has been included in other family trees or his memory has been recorded elsewhere. But it appears from the information available that he was desperate financially and was unable to cope with what life had given him. At 16 years old, he was just a child.
The late night arrival of my flight meant that I knew I’d have to stay at Luton Airport for a couple of hours and then cross over to Stansted Airport by coach before getting a direct train to Norwich. That was the cheapest option and Pret was clean, warm and had power points. Thanks to the staff member for giving me a decadent coffee for a price of a filter coffee, much appreciated.
I was very tempted to book this, all I would have to do is go through security and then a few hours later I’d be in the great city of Tallinn. I showed enormous restraint not to book this £8.99 flight as it would have been easy to get muddled up.
I went outside to look at the coach station and it was still there.
The Stansted Airport coach pulls in.
It was a slightly odd arrangement, the driver said hello and disappeared into the coach. He seems surprised I was still obediently waiting at the door a few minutes later and he didn’t bother checking tickets. This rather made the whole operation feel less like formal transport and more like a man with a coach had agreed to take us somewhere broadly useful, but I’m easy going (well, generally) and so I didn’t query him.
I have a theory that National Express is going into a permanent decline, this service was a third full and was one of the busiest I’ve been on in a while. I looked at some of their prices, and they’re charging ridiculous amounts in some cases where they have a monopoly. That’s great for a while, but Flixbus is going to steal that trade and I can’t see how they’ll get it back. National Express also have fiercely uncomfortable seats with very limited leg room, it’s fortunate that they do shuttle about nearly empty a lot of the time. Incidentally, I didn’t get my usual emergency exit row seat here, which is likely why I forgot about how poor the leg room was in the other seats. Nothing says ‘premium national transport network’ like quietly folding a passenger into a seating position not found in nature, but we shall see what the future holds…..
Safely at Stansted Airport.
I had a few hours to kill so I went looking for bargains and found some in Boots. Note the number of reduced prawn sandwiches which is either a sign of my impeccable timing or a troubling commentary on airport seafood confidence.
Another breakfast of champions. The quality of Boots Meal Deal has declined a lot over the years, that’s another example of greed and then noticing that rivals have stolen a march on them. Still, it was edible, portable and reduced, which is sometimes the holy trinity of travel catering.
I then went down to Stansted Airport’s railway station to get the direct rail service to Norwich. There were no delays which meant no delay repay, but at least I’d be getting home in a timely manner. Punctuality is good, but it’s also rather lovely to have a little financial gesture when things go slightly wrong.
It was relatively quiet all the way to Norwich.
Cambridge South had opened the previous day and it was rather lovely to see it in operation, even if only from the passing train, which is exactly the sort of niche infrastructure excitement that keeps my two loyal blog readers on edge.
I, and the rest of the train, arrived back into Norwich on time and that’s another journey finished. I may or may not post more random stuff about the trip, I’ll leave that as a surprise because suspense is important in travel writing.
Incidentally, it was too hot in Norwich when I arrived.
