Neighbours

The Boxes Were Opened!

~ beetleypete ~ 48 Comments

Some of you were interested in what happened when I opened the boxes containing the new hose reel, and the pressure washer I have had unopened for almost a year. Yesterday afternoon following my walk in the sunshine, I could put it off no longer!

It wasn’t quite ‘Pandora’s Box’, but close!

Both boxes contained ‘Pictogram’ instructions, with no text explaining how to put the things together. I started with the hose. Should be simple enough, right? After unpacking all the pieces, I started by trying to wedge one connector on the wrong way round. (The picture in the leaflet showed it that way, honest) Feeling sure I was destined to break an essential component, I had two choices. 1) List the whole kit for sale online and take the loss. 2) Phone my next-door neighbour and see if he was free.

Luckily he was available, and came round a few minutes after my call.

It made me feel a lot better when he couldn’t immediately work out how to assemble the hose system on its reel. Like me, he was somewhat stymied by the pictogram images that didn’t seem to be very accurate. But after some trial and error, accompanied by huffing and puffing as I looked on helplessly, he got it going. There was a tiny leak at the outside tap, but given that the hose has a plastic fitting going onto a metal tap fitting, neither of us wanted to tighten the connection too much and strip the thread.

I said I could live with the tiny leak.

Then we moved on to the pressure washer. I had bought the same model he owns, in anticipation of his advice on how to set it up. But it turned out that my model (same name and number) was a ‘new and improved’ version, with a completely different setup to the one he has. By that stage, I was all for thanking him for his efforts and selling the thing, but luckily he is made of sterner stuff with gadgets than me, and was determined to get it going.

Struggling with another Pictogram instruction manual, he abandoned that for the ‘if it fits in here it is meant to be here’ approach. So after almost an hour in the afternoon sunshine, he handed me the ‘firing handle’ of the pressure washer and told me to “Give it a go”.

I pressed the trigger, and the pressure washer connector blew off the machine with a loud ‘pop’.

It took us a few minutes to reconnect the thing, followed by another perusal of the almost useless manual. But the next time he told me to “fire it up”, a satisfying stream of water jetted out, and went the complete length of the garden.

Following the successful test run, everything was put away in the shed for future use. I carefully left most of the connections in place, in case I forgot which way round they were next time. So all I have to do is connect the washer to the hose, and I (should be) am good to go.

Good neighbours are worth their weight in gold. Without his help I would still be ouside trying connectors the wrong way round, and wishing the ground could swallow me up.

Mrs Maladette

~ beetleypete ~ 61 Comments

This is a true story from my childhood.

In 1960, we moved into a brand new two bedroom council-built maisonette in Bermondsey, South London. (For readers abroad, a masionette is an apartment with the bedrooms and bathroom upstairs, usually in a block of 10 or more) We were excited to have this brand new property to rent. Ours was on the first floor, which was also the top floor. There were ten maisonettes on the ground floor, ten more directly above.

Over half the tenants had children, although for some reason the council had seen fit to re-house a single woman in a two-bedroom maisonette on her own. She occupied the last maisonette at the end of our landing, and my mum told me her name was Mrs Maladette.

When I saw her, I thought she looked old and grumpy. My mum was 36 years old in 1960, (I was 8) and Mrs Maladette might have been any age between 50 and 70, for all I knew. She wore a headscarf at all times, and a large apron covering her dress. I asked my mum about her unusual name, whch sounded French although the lady was definitely English and had the same London accent as the rest of us. Mum told me she didn’t know anything about her, other than her name. She had tried to be friendly with her, but had been rebuffed.

My first real encounter with her was when I was playing on the long balcony with two smaller boys who lived downstairs. We were running up and down, probably making a lot of noise. She suddenly came out of her front door, shouting at us to “Clear off and shut up!” I told my mum later, and she said we should play on the large communal grass-covered area downstairs, and not annoy Mrs Maladette.

But that wasn’t good enough for our grumpy neighbour.

She came out again and leaned over the railings, once again yelling at us. “Shut up. Go and play in the park if you want to be noisy!”

The park was a 20-minute walk away, and not somewhere we would go on school nights, as we had to be around for dinner. The real trouble started during the school holidays. We would be out playing just after breakfast, staying outside most of the day until we had to be home for the evening meal. There were times when we would go to Southwark Park, or play for hours on the numerous bomb-sites still not cleared since WW2. But other days we would play on the grass area, either football, cricket, or mostly ‘War’. Playing ‘War’ was very noisy. With our toy weapons, we also liked to make the sounds of rifle shots, machine-gun bursts, and grenade explosions.

We were just kids enjoying ourselves, usually in a large group.

Unfortunately, Mrs Maladette rarely went out. So not long after we started playing, she would lean over and shout at us to go away and be quiet. I told my mum, who went to talk to her. She got nowhere explaining that we were children playing, and was accused of not being able to control her son and his friends. So now our parents turned against her, and she was more or less shunned by everyone in the block.

Talking with my friends, we decided to get revenge. We stopped playing, and instead concentrated on making her life a misery. This began by playing ‘Knock and run’, also known as ‘Knock-Down Ginger’. (For some reason) In a small relay team, one of us would run along the balcony to her door, knock loudly on it using her letterbox knocker, then run away downstairs and disappear on the street. After she had answered her door to find nobody there, the next one of us would run along and do the same. We could keep that up for a good hour, until she stopped bothering to answer her door at all.

As a result, she rarely answered to the door to anyone, including the Postman, Milkman, or any genuine callers.

Our next tactic was to post things through her letterbox. Random scraps of paper, old newspapers that had been thrown away, advertising leaflets, in fact anything that could fit through the letterbox, including discarded fish and chip wrappings and empty crisp packets.

By the end of that first year, she no longer shouted at us over the railings, or complained to any of the parents. In fact, I don’t even remember seeing her after that, though others had spotted her in the local corner shop. We considered it a small victory, allowed to play unmolested, and no longer subject to the bad-tempered old grump.

When I was 15 my parents gave up the maisonette, and we moved to our own house in the suburbs. I never knew what happened to Mrs Maladette after that. I was studying for exams, had my first serious girlfriend, and was thinking about when I could pass my driving test at 17. The old woman with the funny French name didn’t enter my thoughts.

Then at the age of 60 in 2012, I move to Norfolk, retire from work, and one morning in 2013 I wake up thinking about Mrs Maladette for the first time in 48 years.

And I felt sorry for her, regretting what we did as children.

Squirrels In The Garden

~ beetleypete ~ 89 Comments

Despite having large Oak trees front and back, we never had any squirrels visiting our garden. For nine years there were only birds seen on the grass, or on the shrubs. I used to think it was because of Ollie, and that he might have chased them away. Then next door got Alfie Cat, and he was often seen prowling under our large hedges.

There were many squirrels to be seen nearby on Beetley Meadows, so I wondered if they were reluctant to cross the road to our house, though it is hardly a ‘busy’ road.

Then one day recently, Julie spotted one sitting in the garden, eating a chunk of bread I had thrown out for the birds. He/she started to visit on a daily basis, so Julie bought some peanuts in shells for him/her.

When the squirrel started to sit on the fence separating our garden from our neighbour’s, the lady who lives next door went out and bought squirrel food. She placed it in small pots on top of the fence posts, and watched as the squirrel enjoyed a feast.

Recently, I began to leave a dish of bird seed out on a small garden table. That proved to be a big hit with the birds, and increased the numbers visiting our garden. Then I saw another squirrel picking up seeds that had fallen onto the grass and eating them, at the same time as the original (larger) squirrel was eating more bread six feet away.

Yesterday, a third squirrel appeared, and we had three feeding at the same time.

I have no way of knowing if the first two are a pair, and the new arrival a youngster they have reared. They could be unrelated, just taking advantage of the easy pickings.

But it is nice to finally have squirrels in the garden.

The Beetley Ferret

~ beetleypete ~ 10 Comments

An early encounter with the different ways of country living, from 2012.

beetleypete

Ferret

This morning, Julie and I were sleeping in, after a late night . At 8.45am, We were awakened by the sound of the doorbell. This may not sound like a big deal, but this is Beetley. There are no Jehovah Witnesses visiting on a regular basis, and we were not expecting a parcel, so the doorbell is always a surprise. I donned my dressing gown, and went to the front door.

There was a neighbour, from the ‘back’ (Spinney Close), accompanied by his grand daughter. I recognised him from a brief meeting, whilst walking Ollie in the nearby meadows. His opening line was, “Have you lost a ferret?”. Now in my former flat in London, this would have been answered with a guffaw, so I had to remember that I was now in Norfolk. ” We have just seen a ferret in our garden, heading your way. It was…

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Thinking Aloud on A Sunday

~ beetleypete ~ 88 Comments

Neighbours.

When I lived in London, neighbours could ruin your life, even though they may or may not have intended to. Selfish people might play loud music, and refuse to answer the door when you went to complain. The authorities were so inundated with such complaints, they just didn’t have enough staff to deal with them. Likewise the Police, overwhelmed by incidents, and no time for what they saw as a petty squabble. Live in a block of flats, as I did for twelve years before coming here, and you can magnify the problems greatly. I had people living above, either side, and below. Working shifts, and trying to sleep at ‘unusual times’ made it all worse, as very few people are considerate enough to turn down televisions, stop home improvement projects, or not have radios blaring at all hours. One next-door neighbour went away for a weekend leaving her smoke alarm blaring, until the battery ran out. I was on the verge of smashing down her door and ripping it off the ceiling, when it suddenly stopped.

City living is hard. And living in a five-storey block of sixty flats housing almost two hundred people makes it even harder.

So I retired to a quiet village in Norfolk. Peace at last. For a while.

Then someone opposite started to run a side business of cutting firewood, stacking it in the area in front of his house, and presumably selling it on. Chainsaws. On cutting days, the petrol-driven chainsaws start around 08:30, and continue relentlessly, often until dark. It is not illegal to make such noise of course, but it is completely inconsiderate. When we moved here six years ago, there were a lot of small children around, and a few houses owned dogs. We didn’t mind that. It was nice to see the children having fun, and we had a dog too. Now those children have noisy motor cycles, noisy souped-up cars, and friends who visit with even more noisy vehicles. And not only does every house but one now own a dog, the house next door has become a ‘dog-sitting’ business, with as many as eight dogs yapping and barking, just over the fence.

Then the boyfriend of the dog-sitter started working on cars, in the driveway close to the side window of our living room. Installing more powerful exhaust sytems, running engines, and constantly hammering parts too. Then he expanded, and friends and customers arrived, so he could make their cars run faster and sound louder too. Once again, it’s not illegal. It’s his hobby, and maybe he makes some spare cash from it, or helps his friends for nothing. But we now have at least four cars outside most days, sometimes six. And being young, just working on the cars in silence is not an option. They also have to have the car music system blaring, usually some sort of Rap, or Hip-Hop. They are not unpleasant people. They are a friendly young couple who will happily take in a parcel for you, and give you a happy greeting as you walk by.

But they are not considerate, and pursue their business and hobbies with scant regard for those of us who live close by. Yesterday, I had to go out and talk to some young men working on cars next door. After almost thirty minutes of revving engines accompanied by deafening pop music, enough was enough. I calmly explained to them that it was very hot, so we had all our windows open. I suggested that they turn the volume down, and remember that people are living a few feet away from their antics. The neighbour wasn’t even around, just letting his pals use his facilities in the garage. They did apologise, and turned off the music. Luckily, this is Beetley, and not London, where I could have risked being beaten up by asking the same thing. But they carried on fixing up the cars, making the most of the fine weather and good light, no doubt.

I was left regretting the move to what we thought was such a peaceful place. As new people move in, the area is bound to change for the worse. I mused over my ‘ideal’ residence, and made a mental check-list.

I would like to live where the nearest neighbour was not visible, even using binoculars.
A moat would be nice, with a drawbridge that can be raised.
Perhaps thicker walls, with the living accommodation higher up.
There would have to be surrounding land which I owned, so that nobody could build nearby.
I realised that I had the perfect solution.

A castle.

Goodbye Mole

~ beetleypete ~ 12 Comments

After many weeks of mole posts, I have to let you know that Mr/Mrs Mole seems to have departed the garden of beetleypete. True to her word, the Mole Lady collected her traps, and levied no charge. We are now almost four weeks clear of mole disturbance, and the lawn is molehill free. Whatever was going on under the patio has ceased, and Ollie is snuffling no more, in search of furry tunnelers.

I may be presumptuous in my farewells, but as it stands, we have to assume that the mole has left for worm-pastures new. I cannot say that I am sorry to see the back of this velvety varmint. The damage was substantial, and the grassed areas are yet to fully recover. As for the paved areas, time will tell if damage needs to be corrected.

I saw my next-door neighbour recently, the one to the west. He was over at the play area with his small children, and he approached me. He asked if I had experienced any problems with moles. I told him the lengthy and sorry tale of our mole experience, and our efforts to eradicate it. He informed me that his once pristine lawn was now a shadow of its former self. Molehills had appeared in abundance, and despite setting a trap, he had been unable to catch the culprit. He was most concerned, as his lawn had been a picture, after a few years of hard work, and diligent attention to the grass.

I had to conclude that his house was now home to ‘our’ mole. It must have moved sideways, after exhausting the food in our poor soil, and trying to avoid the numerous traps installed by the Mole Lady. I wished him well with his efforts, but in truth, could offer little positive advice. I managed a contented sigh of relief, that our mole had chosen to relocate. Someone else’s problem is always theirs.

Goodbye Mole. Don’t hurry back…

Beetley Benefits

~ beetleypete ~ 43 Comments

If you live in a large town or city in the UK, it is unlikely that you would ever be aware of the unseen benefits of living in a Norfolk village, or for that matter, villages all over this country. There are downsides, that I have often mentioned in this blog. Public Transport could be much improved, and there is a scarcity of local shops, and places of entertainment and leisure, that do not involve having to drive to them. Call an ambulance, and you may well have to wait a considerable time for it to turn up; and you are not likely to see a police officer walking the beat locally.

However, the benefits far outweigh these disadvantages. Ask yourself, are you happy to leave your car unlocked where you live? If you went out and realised that you had forgotten to lock the door, would you return home in a panic, expecting to find all your possessions gone, or intruders in your home? When you are out walking around your neighbourhood, do you feel comfortable when you see a group of young men walking towards you? If you ever concern yourself about issues like these, then you really need to think about moving to Beetley, or somewhere just like it.

You would like to order some reasonably expensive item from a company like Amazon. You are unsure if you will be in to receive it, and there is nowhere that it can be left securely. So you get it delivered to where you work, and carry it home. Or it is sent to a relative who is available, and you have to collect it. Here, the solution is simple. You return home to find the item propped up against your front door, in full view. It has been unmolested, undisturbed, and might have been there all day. Nobody would even think about stealing it. Someone might even move it inside your back gate for you, under cover, if it started to rain.

 

It is very icy out. As a former city dweller, you are afraid to drive into town in those conditions, so you set off walking, hoping that rare bus will turn up. Someone you have never met will stop and offer you a lift in their car, as they are used to driving in bad conditions. Forgotten to close a window when you left home? A helpful person will push it closed from outside, to give the relative appearance of security. If you have parked your car in the drive, and left a door ajar, somebody will ring the bell, to let you know, and to save your battery running down, or rain getting in. Go away for a two-week holiday, forgetting to lock a door, or secure windows, and you can return home, safe in the knowledge that you house will be as you left it

This all takes a lot of getting used to, after sixty years in central London. But there’s more.

Tell someone that your dog is unwell, and you will return to find treats or biscuits for him, hanging off your letterbox in a carrier bag. There might even be a get well card enclosed. If your car needs to go in for repair, or service and MOT, somebody will offer to pick you up from the garage, and drop you back again later. Got a parcel to send, or an air-mail letter to post? If a neighbour is going to the post office, they will happily take your mail for you, and sort out the cost later. If an elderly person can no longer drive, or has become unwell, others will come to their aid, even if they hardly know them. They will take them to the shops, or take a list, and get the shopping for them. If dustbin day is looming, they will make sure that the correct bin is wheeled out for them, without even being asked.

Perhaps you are a dog owner, and sometimes you are unable to take the dog for a walk, as you have to attend an appointment, or travel a long distance. No need to worry. One of the local dog owners will take your furry friend out for you, accompanying their own dog. You can even trust them with a key to your house, and if need be, they will not only feed the dog for you, but pop back later to make sure that it is OK, and leave some lights on, for when you come home late. The same goes for feeding your cat, if you have one, or even tropical fish, chickens, or caged birds. Far from being nervous if you see a group of teenagers hanging around, you can actually ask for their help. Maybe you need to shift some wood, look for a lost pet, or assist an elderly person who has fallen. Not only will they help, they will do so willingly, and with enthusiasm.

Walk past any stranger, and they will greet you with a cheerful ‘hello’, or at the very least, a nod of recognition. Ask for directions, and they will walk part of the way with you; or if they are in a car, will offer to take you there. Mention a restaurant, tradesman, or even a garden centre, and they will steer you to the one with the most reliable reputation, and best service. If someone nearby is having a party, or family celebration, they will put notes through doors, apologising in advance for any noise or disruption. If they plan to burn leaves, they will look over the fence first, to see if you have washing hanging on the line.

This all sounds like a figment of my imagination, impossible in the 21st century, I know. But it is everyday life here, a community as it should be. Safe, secure, compassionate and helpful, living in peace, and wishing the same for everyone else. I recommend it, unreservedly.

The Beetley Ferret

~ beetleypete ~ 43 Comments

Ferret

This morning, Julie and I were sleeping in, after a late night . At 8.45am, We were awakened by the sound of the doorbell. This may not sound like a big deal, but this is Beetley. There are no Jehovah Witnesses visiting on a regular basis, and we were not expecting a parcel, so the doorbell is always a surprise. I donned my dressing gown, and went to the front door.

There was a neighbour, from the ‘back’ (Spinney Close), accompanied by his grand daughter. I recognised him from a brief meeting, whilst walking Ollie in the nearby meadows. His opening line was, “Have you lost a ferret?”. Now in my former flat in London, this would have been answered with a guffaw, so I had to remember that I was now in Norfolk. ” We have just seen a ferret in our garden, heading your way. It was this big”, he continued, opening his arms in the way of a boastful angler, indicating a size approximating to a slender fox. “You will have to be careful that it doesn’t attack your dog”, he warned, adding that he remembered Ollie from the encounter in the meadows.

I assured him that I had not seen a ferret, did not own one, and knew of nobody nearby who did. He left, with advice to keep my dog in, in case the said mammalian carnivore should appear on my patio. His bemused grand daughter was texting on her mobile phone throughout, no doubt updating her Facebook status as ‘hunting a ferret’. I went back inside, and told Julie what the excitement was about. We decided to get up and prepare for the day ahead. As I was enjoying my morning drink, the doorbell sounded again. After hearing a commotion, and loud Norfolk accents nearby, we guessed it concerned the ferret.

Julie answered this time, and there was another neighbour, also from Spinney Close, warning us of the roving ferret. This neighbour also recognised Ollie from the meadow, where he had enjoyed a play with her dog, Winston. When Julie told her that the other man had previously warned us, she made her apologies, and left. We later heard loud conversations, and quite a few people out and about (for a Monday), presumably in search of the hapless ferret. To the best of our knowledge, it was never seen again, so presumably made good its escape. (See below, for an update)

This led us to reflect on how different life is in Norfolk. Less than a year ago, in Camden, we could well have had a Police helicopter hovering a hundred feet above our flat, searching for an escaped gunman, or there might have been a door to door inquiry, following a fatal stabbing two hundred yards from our front door. Since living in Beetley, nothing has happened. The incident of the ferret has been the biggest cause of animation among our neighbours, and caused us to receive our only unsolicited callers, in seven months.
It makes me feel glad to have moved here.

Here is an update to the above post. The ferret has appeared! When I was out walking Ollie the next day, Julie spotted the big beige-coloured animal lurking around the back of our leylandii hedge. She went outside to take a photo of it, and it ran towards her. Scared it might bite her, she retreated inside the house, and the ferret went into the shed to investigate. When she had seen it leave the shed sometime later, Julie locked it, and stayed inside the house until I returned.

So there really was a Beetley ferret, and it turned out to be an escaped pet.