The death of a Wolsley Hornet

It was a rainy Sunday morning in 1977...we (me and my first wife) were trying to decorate a room at our house at Inglewhite in Skelmersdale, Lancashire. Tempers were flaring because I was (and probably still am) not the person to be around when complicated items like wallpaper and painting apparatus are about. She asked me to drive to the petrol station to get some cigarettes - so I rushed out, not in the best of moods (as I didn't like her smoking) to the Shell gas station on the dual carriageway up by the M58, got her some cigs then drove back. The roads were a bit slippery and on the main corner negotiating the Skelmersdale Concourse I lost control and slammed into the concrete banking thus reinforcing my idea that wallpapering and life don't mix too well.

I was draped through the windscreen opening, the windscreen had fortunately been knocked completely out by the top of my bonce and lay on the bonnet in one piece, I had a cut on my forehead from the rear view mirror and the fact that it was raining, combined with the white shirt I had on, made me look a right mess. I tried to start the car again (not realising that the engine had been pushed back about 10 inches - in a Wolseley Hornet that is significant!) when two policemen walked around the side of the police station (The concrete banking was part of that fine establishment).

They ran over, took one look at the situation and the blood spattered remains of this poor person who was obviously in a bad way, then dragged me out and rushed me over to the station...(I was in fact quite unhurt aside from this cut to my forehead) they rinsed my head and put a huge bandage around from their first aid kit (If it had been serious I'd have been a gonner, they had a bandage, a tube of Savlon, some band aids and a box of corn plasters). The ambulance came three minutes later (the ambulance station was next to the police station which was rather convenient).

On the way to Ormskirk hospital we had to pass by Inglewhite, I asked the driver to take me home so I could explain to the missus what had happened, reluctantly he let me. I knocked on the door, (complete with head bandage and blood ravished shirt) looking like an Indian survivor of a terrorist attack, presented the wife with her cigs and briefly explained the situation.

I think I got out of doing any more wallpapering that day.

Back to the start....

An older blog of mine "The Fool on the Hill" is in danger of fading into even more oblivion than it already is, I'll take this chance to change direction and include some relevant stories from that blog :

When I was a baby the first thing I think I remember was a window, Looking out of my pram and seeing a sash window. as I said, at least that's what I think I remember as it is my lifetime ago and the mind is a minefield with marshy patches – I often wonder if that type of image will be the last thing I ever see in some bright hospital room or nursing home somewhere!

Full circle.

I picked up some prints that I had developed from negatives discovered in a box in mum and dads garage in North Wales, one of them, previously unseen, shows a one year old me, with my grandad, in front of that very window.


I look at this picture of me when I was a baby, half a century ago and I am now as old as Jack Edwards who is holding me there,

I am now almost a 52 year old man and I realise that we are the same yet not the same. I have my grandads DNA, some of his passed on memories and experiences, and a duty to record them somewhere. As for the baby, well, my bones have grown and the skin has a lot more weathering now, lines drawn on the canvas of life and great memories of what a special life it has been.

I've focused up to now on a single year of my life, but I think there is a lot more to tell, along the way, the puzzle pieces will grow and perhaps reflect the story as seen from this side of the eyeballs.

Postnote : The Fool on the Hill blog has been transferred to a sustainable one, see link on right.