From PO Telecoms days and more!
Created by Dominic 7 years agoI have been reflecting on the nature of friendship and love, and more than that. It has been a rather gruelling few months as I've lost six friends almost monthly since July 2016. Some of an age (84) and others not (53), and some close friends (the 84 year old I'd known for 42 years and been friends for 40), others not.
Peter characteristically was sort of in-between - and could be a very good friend. And characteristically he could be out of touch for years and then pop up - most vividly from Brighton when he phoned my sister in Durham (God knows why he had kept or or how he found her number - it's been unlisted since she went into social work in the 1980s) to ask where I was then living and make contact. I dunno, that must have been at least 10 years ago.
But that's to start the story in the middle. And as I can't sleep - the lingering low level flu perhaps, since early November, and stress :-) - I really must do this properly.
Peter did like a good yarn, but it's not quite it was a dark and stormy night. No, it was on or around mid-July 1980 that I first came across Peter in the main office of the Motor Transport Division in River Plate House, Finsbury Circus. I'm not sure that I clocked him as he was a few rows of desks away, at least not immediately. But as we were all members of the tea club and took our turn to make tea and take it around most people it wasn't long. And thru him I met Sarah Waterson - still good friends - in the 'IT' side who always seemed to carry around stacks of computer print-outs. We must have got on well as there was the occasional foray out to the wine bar (eschewing the more regular staff bar - the Dial Bar - that was the regular lunch-hour + hangout for most of us, tho' Peter was never too keen), with all three of us for a dish of prawns or two, and a good bottle of wine. And he reminded me the weekend I got down to Frome in mid-December that we had occasionally done to 'death' several bottles of Barbera, or Montepulciano d'Abruzzo. Happier days - and we were pretty well all smokers - some more heavier than others - and Peter and his boss Ken always had one on the go, whether a rolly or a real fag!
Something must have clicked 'cos when I and a few friends from Newcastle rented a house in Willesden Green, Peter was part of that. It was a rollocking six months - involving a first day trip to Calais (by train and ferry), his introducing me to Suze, and a delayed return with supplies for a big party back at the house. I seem to remember something about he, Stacey, and the registrar at Newcastle Roy Butler ending up in a tree in the back garden ....... Peter was invariably late for work and I'd have to explain why (!).
Then it was on to Rodenhurst Road in late 1981 I think......... we shared with five others that changed over the years - including Julia, Judi Popplewell, Simon Smith, Chris Scott-Wilson, Chris Ashford, Henry Stein, and more. And weren't there so many memorable parties? Barbecuing in the snow - so handy for putting the white wine and beers on ice - and in the pouring rain (we rigged a temporary roof). And mad drives with Peter, but not the maddest (in the MG Metro) when he drove down to Brighton in the middle of the night to Madge and drove over the roundabout at the end of the A23!
I think I was the last of the original five to leave in 1991, when I bought a flat in Old Town Clapham. Peter had moved on by then - and had not stayed the course at PO Telecoms then BT beyond a year or so. He'd mucked around with his yellow ex-PO Telecoms Commer Van (a PB I think), chock full of his book stock, and his stall at Camden. And I'd already introduced him to my old schoolmate Stephen Hill and I guess Hazel through Stephen and John.
It's a bit hazy but I do remember lots of tenpin bowling in Streatham with and without Joyce from 88, and then she and I without Peter, and then up at Tolworth Bowl near to where he was living with another girlfriend - Anna. There was a succession - never quick - of some lovely women (poise and personality) in Peter's life tho' he never really settled. Neither did I. I'm looking out pix - some prints already found to scan and I'm sure I've slides as well. There should be ones of Gail, Madge maybe, Jill of course, and maybe more ....... These will go up as soon as I can do the finding and scanning.
There were and had been visits to watch the planes at Heathrow - one of Peter's fascinations tho' he preferred, save for their deadly nature, the slim elegance of fighter aircraft; we used to get out for day walks - one memorably on the Seven Sisters and another in East Anglia near Bradwell power station. There must have been more. And he introduced me to sailing a bit, practising his coaching skills (he was on a course at Thames Young Mariners and never completed it) on me on the river Thames. There was the semi-pro am-dram at the Stanhope Institute, for which I still have a programme or two. Wonderful stuff!
And then he worked at Reffolds near Sloan Square, and I'd be up there on the bus from Clapham on a Saturday, and we'd be off around the corner to the wine bar, and another bottle of Barbera would bite the dust :-). And I've missed out perhaps when he travelled in fastners etc for the rag trade, an outfit based on Clapham High Street. And then he was back in bookselling for (Dillons?) in Richmond, then Hatchards, one (was it Waterstones by then?) in Oxford Street, Kings Road Chelsea (and Monica was the manager?) and also a good local wine bar, and in the Bentall Centre in Kingston. And it was about then that he then went off to Brighton, dropped out of contact, and when I was in Brighton a couple of years later I popped into Waterstones tho' he wasn't working that day, left a message for him, and heard no more.
And then my sister phoned late '90s (?) to say did I know a Peter Oakes who had called, and here was his number.
It was like old times ........ I'd get down to Brighton first from my house in rural NE Oxfordshire, and then Covent Garden, and go for a weekend in his palatial high ceilinged pad just east of Kemptown. We'd have long discussions about everything, watch movies or TV series (Brideshead, John Le Carre) - anything he had goty on tape or later DVD; reading - his vast collection many first and signed editions; and walks - along the sea front to Hove to the Italian cafe he enjoyed the coffee at; and even with me on the bus for good day walks up on to the Downs, or up the river to Lewes from Newhaven. He'd get tickets for concerts locally, or in the Brighton Festival .......... but rarely did he travel, for this I think must have been around when he burnt out from working for Waterstones doing store development and opening. He was at Asda in the marina, but the tills got to him and he did stock replenishment. And the last summer he had a very happy time working at the marina, with his great love boats, and locking sailboats in and out.
There's many a time he would say that there was so much of both of us that was similar - tho' I never took to his faves Nardini grappa (and that was after an eveil night of it in the house with him at Rodenhurst Road), nor Campari, and certainly not Punt e Mes. But we would rub along well - a same black sense of humour, a lot of shared music - tho' I never really learned to play anything well (other than the recorder at school and in recorder groups; Peter tried everything pretty well - the flute, violin, guitar ... and even when he was most stressed and not going out of the flat much there'd be a welcome, a beer in the fridge, and I'd bring some wine. And as he recovered a bit we went out for a walk in the country park up at Falmer; and he even ventured though doubtful to a performance I think it might have been St Matthew Passion, possibly St John Passion, as part of the festival around 4 or 5 years ago. The summer of 2014 he talked about a possible move to Frome, and then I heard no more 'til out of the blue in March 2015 the phone goes and it was Peter - yes he had moved, six months before, and when was I coming down? He was in a hurry and it was perhaps two weeks later I was there, and it was a whirlwind of concerts (Bradford on Avon - we saw a kingfisher that really thrilled us both - and one back in Frome), a visit to Mells and the enclosed gardens, and notably to the East Somerset Railway, I had to reluctantly and exhaustedly leave Sunday night, and promises that I'd be down again before long.
There was the occasional e-mail of course - these by and large were intermittent but had continued off and on for a long while - the latest lecture he'd found, or wonderful music, on youtube, and more! And then nothing much, and no response to the occasional card, phone message and mail. 'Til he called in November, and told me the bad news. I got down the weekend as soon as I could, and spent a few hours on both Saturday and Sunday, and we talked and talked - well, Peter did. As usual it was difficult to get a word in edgeways. It was about everything, including his condition, the treatment, pain management, his DVT arm - the man with the golden arm we joked. And his bucket shop list ........ what I called his 1000 and 1 things to do before you know you're dying. And you had to larf, and it didn;t hurt only when I larf. Peter was good at literary allusions (Len Deighton should anyone wish to know), and voracious in his reading - the Gospel according to St John was one - very weird was his verdict. And with several inspirations I promised to look out some books and get them to him asap. I'd also - we'd had a long chat on the phone - got some supplies in. Though he said he couldn't really drink he could have a snif(ter) :-) so I'd brought down a good port, a manzanilla sherry, and a bottle of Punt e Mes. I drew the line at grappa, which he could quite understand :-)
And I was slated to stop the week after, on my way to Durham for Christmas on Dec 20th. Not quite on the direct route but hey what's a few miles. And I'd sorted out stopping at Fordhall organic farm (1 farmer, 8,000 owners of which I am one) in Shropshire to pick up supplies for Christmas dinner ....... but it was not to be.
The lingering image is of Peter outside in the sun on the Sunday morning, having his coffee and bun (and posing, stuffing an eccles cake in his gob) - a good sense of the absurd, the ridiculous, and of not taking yourself too seriously ....... and it has been these last weeks that I've appreciated just how his loss - possibly on top of the others - has affected me.
But it won't deter me from essaying at least some of his bucket shop - an engine driver's course on a steam railway; a flight in an open cockpit biplane (Gloucester Gladiator or equivalent); a trip to the Riksmuseum possibly by train or Rolls Royce, and to build a large-scale Hawker Hurricane model. And to do it if not with Peter with a good friend with at least half of Peter's personality and sense of humour, and with his spirit and ability to find fun.
Any takers?
Peter characteristically was sort of in-between - and could be a very good friend. And characteristically he could be out of touch for years and then pop up - most vividly from Brighton when he phoned my sister in Durham (God knows why he had kept or or how he found her number - it's been unlisted since she went into social work in the 1980s) to ask where I was then living and make contact. I dunno, that must have been at least 10 years ago.
But that's to start the story in the middle. And as I can't sleep - the lingering low level flu perhaps, since early November, and stress :-) - I really must do this properly.
Peter did like a good yarn, but it's not quite it was a dark and stormy night. No, it was on or around mid-July 1980 that I first came across Peter in the main office of the Motor Transport Division in River Plate House, Finsbury Circus. I'm not sure that I clocked him as he was a few rows of desks away, at least not immediately. But as we were all members of the tea club and took our turn to make tea and take it around most people it wasn't long. And thru him I met Sarah Waterson - still good friends - in the 'IT' side who always seemed to carry around stacks of computer print-outs. We must have got on well as there was the occasional foray out to the wine bar (eschewing the more regular staff bar - the Dial Bar - that was the regular lunch-hour + hangout for most of us, tho' Peter was never too keen), with all three of us for a dish of prawns or two, and a good bottle of wine. And he reminded me the weekend I got down to Frome in mid-December that we had occasionally done to 'death' several bottles of Barbera, or Montepulciano d'Abruzzo. Happier days - and we were pretty well all smokers - some more heavier than others - and Peter and his boss Ken always had one on the go, whether a rolly or a real fag!
Something must have clicked 'cos when I and a few friends from Newcastle rented a house in Willesden Green, Peter was part of that. It was a rollocking six months - involving a first day trip to Calais (by train and ferry), his introducing me to Suze, and a delayed return with supplies for a big party back at the house. I seem to remember something about he, Stacey, and the registrar at Newcastle Roy Butler ending up in a tree in the back garden ....... Peter was invariably late for work and I'd have to explain why (!).
Then it was on to Rodenhurst Road in late 1981 I think......... we shared with five others that changed over the years - including Julia, Judi Popplewell, Simon Smith, Chris Scott-Wilson, Chris Ashford, Henry Stein, and more. And weren't there so many memorable parties? Barbecuing in the snow - so handy for putting the white wine and beers on ice - and in the pouring rain (we rigged a temporary roof). And mad drives with Peter, but not the maddest (in the MG Metro) when he drove down to Brighton in the middle of the night to Madge and drove over the roundabout at the end of the A23!
I think I was the last of the original five to leave in 1991, when I bought a flat in Old Town Clapham. Peter had moved on by then - and had not stayed the course at PO Telecoms then BT beyond a year or so. He'd mucked around with his yellow ex-PO Telecoms Commer Van (a PB I think), chock full of his book stock, and his stall at Camden. And I'd already introduced him to my old schoolmate Stephen Hill and I guess Hazel through Stephen and John.
It's a bit hazy but I do remember lots of tenpin bowling in Streatham with and without Joyce from 88, and then she and I without Peter, and then up at Tolworth Bowl near to where he was living with another girlfriend - Anna. There was a succession - never quick - of some lovely women (poise and personality) in Peter's life tho' he never really settled. Neither did I. I'm looking out pix - some prints already found to scan and I'm sure I've slides as well. There should be ones of Gail, Madge maybe, Jill of course, and maybe more ....... These will go up as soon as I can do the finding and scanning.
There were and had been visits to watch the planes at Heathrow - one of Peter's fascinations tho' he preferred, save for their deadly nature, the slim elegance of fighter aircraft; we used to get out for day walks - one memorably on the Seven Sisters and another in East Anglia near Bradwell power station. There must have been more. And he introduced me to sailing a bit, practising his coaching skills (he was on a course at Thames Young Mariners and never completed it) on me on the river Thames. There was the semi-pro am-dram at the Stanhope Institute, for which I still have a programme or two. Wonderful stuff!
And then he worked at Reffolds near Sloan Square, and I'd be up there on the bus from Clapham on a Saturday, and we'd be off around the corner to the wine bar, and another bottle of Barbera would bite the dust :-). And I've missed out perhaps when he travelled in fastners etc for the rag trade, an outfit based on Clapham High Street. And then he was back in bookselling for (Dillons?) in Richmond, then Hatchards, one (was it Waterstones by then?) in Oxford Street, Kings Road Chelsea (and Monica was the manager?) and also a good local wine bar, and in the Bentall Centre in Kingston. And it was about then that he then went off to Brighton, dropped out of contact, and when I was in Brighton a couple of years later I popped into Waterstones tho' he wasn't working that day, left a message for him, and heard no more.
And then my sister phoned late '90s (?) to say did I know a Peter Oakes who had called, and here was his number.
It was like old times ........ I'd get down to Brighton first from my house in rural NE Oxfordshire, and then Covent Garden, and go for a weekend in his palatial high ceilinged pad just east of Kemptown. We'd have long discussions about everything, watch movies or TV series (Brideshead, John Le Carre) - anything he had goty on tape or later DVD; reading - his vast collection many first and signed editions; and walks - along the sea front to Hove to the Italian cafe he enjoyed the coffee at; and even with me on the bus for good day walks up on to the Downs, or up the river to Lewes from Newhaven. He'd get tickets for concerts locally, or in the Brighton Festival .......... but rarely did he travel, for this I think must have been around when he burnt out from working for Waterstones doing store development and opening. He was at Asda in the marina, but the tills got to him and he did stock replenishment. And the last summer he had a very happy time working at the marina, with his great love boats, and locking sailboats in and out.
There's many a time he would say that there was so much of both of us that was similar - tho' I never took to his faves Nardini grappa (and that was after an eveil night of it in the house with him at Rodenhurst Road), nor Campari, and certainly not Punt e Mes. But we would rub along well - a same black sense of humour, a lot of shared music - tho' I never really learned to play anything well (other than the recorder at school and in recorder groups; Peter tried everything pretty well - the flute, violin, guitar ... and even when he was most stressed and not going out of the flat much there'd be a welcome, a beer in the fridge, and I'd bring some wine. And as he recovered a bit we went out for a walk in the country park up at Falmer; and he even ventured though doubtful to a performance I think it might have been St Matthew Passion, possibly St John Passion, as part of the festival around 4 or 5 years ago. The summer of 2014 he talked about a possible move to Frome, and then I heard no more 'til out of the blue in March 2015 the phone goes and it was Peter - yes he had moved, six months before, and when was I coming down? He was in a hurry and it was perhaps two weeks later I was there, and it was a whirlwind of concerts (Bradford on Avon - we saw a kingfisher that really thrilled us both - and one back in Frome), a visit to Mells and the enclosed gardens, and notably to the East Somerset Railway, I had to reluctantly and exhaustedly leave Sunday night, and promises that I'd be down again before long.
There was the occasional e-mail of course - these by and large were intermittent but had continued off and on for a long while - the latest lecture he'd found, or wonderful music, on youtube, and more! And then nothing much, and no response to the occasional card, phone message and mail. 'Til he called in November, and told me the bad news. I got down the weekend as soon as I could, and spent a few hours on both Saturday and Sunday, and we talked and talked - well, Peter did. As usual it was difficult to get a word in edgeways. It was about everything, including his condition, the treatment, pain management, his DVT arm - the man with the golden arm we joked. And his bucket shop list ........ what I called his 1000 and 1 things to do before you know you're dying. And you had to larf, and it didn;t hurt only when I larf. Peter was good at literary allusions (Len Deighton should anyone wish to know), and voracious in his reading - the Gospel according to St John was one - very weird was his verdict. And with several inspirations I promised to look out some books and get them to him asap. I'd also - we'd had a long chat on the phone - got some supplies in. Though he said he couldn't really drink he could have a snif(ter) :-) so I'd brought down a good port, a manzanilla sherry, and a bottle of Punt e Mes. I drew the line at grappa, which he could quite understand :-)
And I was slated to stop the week after, on my way to Durham for Christmas on Dec 20th. Not quite on the direct route but hey what's a few miles. And I'd sorted out stopping at Fordhall organic farm (1 farmer, 8,000 owners of which I am one) in Shropshire to pick up supplies for Christmas dinner ....... but it was not to be.
The lingering image is of Peter outside in the sun on the Sunday morning, having his coffee and bun (and posing, stuffing an eccles cake in his gob) - a good sense of the absurd, the ridiculous, and of not taking yourself too seriously ....... and it has been these last weeks that I've appreciated just how his loss - possibly on top of the others - has affected me.
But it won't deter me from essaying at least some of his bucket shop - an engine driver's course on a steam railway; a flight in an open cockpit biplane (Gloucester Gladiator or equivalent); a trip to the Riksmuseum possibly by train or Rolls Royce, and to build a large-scale Hawker Hurricane model. And to do it if not with Peter with a good friend with at least half of Peter's personality and sense of humour, and with his spirit and ability to find fun.
Any takers?
Pictures
Eccles RUH 03 11-Dec-16
