Hello Again

Sir Wilfred Photo of Grenfell from autobiography published in 1912

One of the joys about visiting the Arcade is you do not know what you might find.  I have often found things that I never knew existed.

That was the case today when I found a small book called The Fisherman’s Saint which was an account of an address given by Sir Wilfred Grenfell at St Andrews University in November 1929 and whilst researching this article, I also discovered details of the greatest accidental loss of life in film production history.

To be honest, the reason that I purchased the book was that it was signed by Wilfred Grenfell (it might have been his own copy).  I knew nothing about this memorable man and that is what made this all the more interesting.

Wilfred was born in Parkgate in Cheshire on the 28th February 1865 and moved to London in 1882.

He enrolled at the London Hospital Medical College to study medicine and graduated in 1888.

Four years later in 1892, he was sent as a missionary by The Royal National Mission to Deep Sea Fishermen to try to improve the lot of the coastal inhabitants and fishermen in Newfoundland.

He soon recruited two doctors and two nurses to help him in the hospital at Indian Harbour and soon after, more cottage hospitals were being opened along the coast of Labrador.  The whole venture was a success and soon exceeded its initial mandate.

NEWFOUNDLAND – CIRCA 1941: A stamp printed by NEWFOUNDLAND shows image portrait of medical missionary Sir Wilfred Grenfell – founder of Grenfell Mission, circa 1941 By Sergey Goryachev (Royalty Free)

Interestingly, one the children that was helped was an Inuit girl called Kirkina Mucko (1890-1970) a double amputee who later in 1908 worked at the Grenfell Mission and after losing family members in the 1918 Spanish Flu pandemic, trained to be a nurse and a midwife.  She was much loved and served her community for many years.

In 1908, Wilfred was travelling to a medical emergency in a Newfoundland village when he was caught on a slob (soft ice) and was forced to sacrifice some of his dogs to enable him to make a warm fur coat for himself.

He drifted for some days without fresh food or water before being rescued by some villagers.

Wilfred was so grateful to the dogs that died that he raised a plaque in their memory.

Royalty-free stock photo ID: 71840755 CANADA – CIRCA 1960s: A stamp printed by Canada devoted to 100th Anniversary of Birth of Sir Wilfred Grenfell – a medical missionary to Newfoundland and Labrador, circa 1960s By Oleg Golovnev

Wilfred was subsequently knighted in 1927 for all his good work in Canada.

In 1931, Wilfred accepted a small speaking role in the movie, The Viking as the narrator and also summarised in a brief statement the tragic circumstances of the worst known accident in film production history.

The films producer was a chap named Varick Frissell (1903-1931) and the movie was essentially an adventure film about sealing in Newfoundland.

It might have been forgotten as many films of the era were, but for an horrific accident caused by the dynamite that was being carried on board igniting (it was used to break the ship clear of ice pans and the like).

The explosion destroyed the stern of the ship causing it to sink killing Varick and twenty-seven other poor souls.  There were survivors who were subsequently rescued, but the number of people killed during this single incident has thankfully never been surpassed in the history of movies.

A documentary about Varick’s life called White Thunder was released in 2002.

After a lifetime of good work, Wilfred retired to Charlotte in Vermont and it was here that he died on the 9th of October 1940.

Yet, I had not heard of him or his missionary work in Canada and as I have noted.  I only purchased the book as it looked interesting and it was signed.

But what an iceberg (forgive the pun) I pulled up when I researched the life of this remarkable man.

You occasionally find books and pamphlets that have recorded lectures at universities and other institutions at the Arcade and initially, this one looked no different.

Yet, I was wrong and I have had the pleasure of writing this short article about Wilfred’s life.

Happy Hunting

Stuart Miller-Osborne

Hello Again,

Long Rock – Great Western Railways

I was travelling on one of the GWR’s brand new trains the other day when it broke down for a while much to the amusement (or not) of my fellow passengers.   Like many people, I think a lot on trains and this journey was no exception.

Who would Chelsea sign in the transfer window?

Would I ever learn to cook successfully?

Why were these wonderful but brittle trains not built in the UK rather than overseas?

Rasbak [CC BY-SA (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/)]

But by far the most interesting thought I had was what has changed since the 1970s?   I did not have to think hard about this.  There are no longer children bouncing around on space hoppers and flying to other planets, (pity).

We corresponded with each other then instead of hanging out on mobile phones.  Trolls were rather cute dolls that came from Denmark.  Trains from Hungerford actually travelled west.  The Labour Party was still electable.

There were only three television channels unlike the two million and three we enjoy today.  And one could walk down any street in any town and find a Poodle Parlour.

The last thought detained me as I could not recall the last time that I had passed one of these places of canine misery.  When I lived in Ealing in the 1970s there was one not far from Hanwell Railway Station (I think it was called Bettina Poodle).

I often watched the poodles being marched out by their rather odd owners wondering why they now resembled a cream puff from the local bakery.

Gorgeous Poodle Smile CC0 Public Domain

Poodles are very intelligent dogs second only, I believe, to Border Collies in the Wittgenstein Scale and I shared their pain as they walked towards the Uxbridge Road with their street cred shot to zero.

I have never in my adult years kept a dog as it was not practical and cats are much  easier.  You do not have to walk cats and they do not give a fig whether you are alive or dead as long as you feed them and buy them those cute toys at Christmas.

We have a cat called Ike who is sixteen on Valentines Day.  He is very loving when he bites and scratches you and his behaviors make George the Third look sane.  But, Caron and I love him especially when he screams in our sleeping ears at three in the morning asking to go out.

But, this very short article is not about cats or poodle parlours but about an unusual find at the

Fear not, the Arcade has not taken it into its head to sell poodles or any of our canine friends.

But yes, I did purchase a poodle at the Arcade a few days ago.  Was it stuffed and placed into a glass case by one of our Victorian ancestors so it could look miserable for eternity (no).

Was it one those darling little Wade models with Bognor Regis printed on its bum (no).

Was it a children’s toy dating from around 1910 with glass eyes and a real leather collar (yes).

I actually passed it as I walked up the left hand passage although, I was vaguely aware of its presence.  As with many people, I lightly collect Victorian and Edwardian soft toys and when I passed the poodle again, I caught its glance.  Those liquid canine eyes seduced me and the poodle was almost saying to me that it was over one hundred years old and it deserved a loving home (yuk).

I picked it up noting that is was advertised as being well loved and indeed, there were bare patches where darling children had tortured it before it was time to listen to the Night Garden on the wireless.

As I held it I swear it rubbed its threadbare paws on my frozen fingers as a gesture of love (or it might have been that I was trying not to drop the pears that I had previously purchased).  And by the time I passed Don’s stall, we were an item and were discussing first names as I paid for my new friend at the counter.

On a serious note, I was very pleased to have found this Edwardian/Georgian soft toy. The last thing that I expected to find when I entered the Arcade was a rather beautiful poodle.

It is the first poodle that I have ever seen in the Arcade in over a decade.  I have seen a lot of bears and the occasional cat but no poodles to speak of.

Meerkats are so yesterday and I will not give house room to zebras or unicorns.  But, the poodle hit the right spot and since my purchase, we have been planning our future together.

As we all know they are hunting dogs who swim very well and can be relied on to fetch the unfortunate ducks and other birds that the hunters have needlessly murdered.

Although these poor dogs can be dyed pink and made to resemble the unthinkable, they are very loyal dogs who do not mind roughing it in the most awful of conditions.

As I have noted, I am in no rush to keep a dog but this antique stuffed poodle will do.  My granddaughter has already said it was manky when I sent her a photo on my phone (children are so honest) and I know that Caron might be less than impressed with me (nothing new).  But, the poor poodle needed a home and I hope that our loving care will help it pass the next few years in peace.

Happy Hunting

Stuart Miller-Osborne

Hungerford Arcade loves to celebrate special occasions with our customers whenever we can.  Today, a beautiful young lady, Faye Buller came in with her rather camera shy mother, Nikki.  Faye asked to see the jewellery in unit 133 and when we got there, she tried on various rings, sapphire and diamonds, diamond clusters, art deco before chosing the perfect one for her.

As Faye tried on the rings I could not help notice her beautiful hands with long slender fingers and the rings she was already wearing.  I must have seen thousands of hands in my time but Faye’s just struck me as being perfect.  She could wear any ring and it would look a million dollars (unlike my short stumps!).

Faye chose a beautiful ring and when we got back to the counter, her mother, Vikki bought it for her.  I asked if it was a special occasion and it was.  It was Faye’s birthday.  Arcade co-owner, Adrian Gilmour took the lead and everyone around the counter began to sing happy birthday to her.  Faye thought it was hilarious!   Have a look at the photograph below as Faye enjoys her birthday present.

         Beautiful Faye on her Birthday at Hungerford Arcade with Rita. Mum, Vikki has just bought Faye a beautiful ring to celebrate!

Hungerford Arcade was buzzing with excitement when, Rita, Ian, Chula, Sarah, Brenda and Cathy set off to Hungerford Railway Station, on their way to the 25th National Television Awards.  

We got off the train at Paddington and made our way to the Colombia Hotel at Bayswater  (fabulous place).  We dropped off our bags, crossed the road and were immediately in Kensington Gardens, looking over at Kensington Palace.

A short walk further on and we were at the Albert Memorial, opposite the Royal Albert Hall.  It was all fabulous.  The sun shone down like a spotlight bringing all the amazing attractions to life.

We called in at a lovely pub and enjoyed a hearty lunch with a nice drink to finish it off!

We were soon back at the hotel getting ready for the Television Awards at the 02.  The taxi came and all six of us travelled for just over an hour in comfort (it was rush hour!) to the arena and what an amazing experience it was.

I have put together a few photographs to give you an idea of what it was like.

                    Top Row L-R Cathy, Ian and Rita Bottom Row L-R Chula, Sarah and Brenda

                 Ant and Dec Winning two of the National Television Awards

       02 Arena on the 25th National Television Awards January 2020

Hello Again.

Over the Christmas holiday I found myself in Deal as my daughter had invited my wife and I to spend Christmas with them.  She lives five minutes from the sea and the bracing sea air was very welcome as was the magical light associated with the area.

Turner one said that The skies over Thanet are the loveliest in all Europe.

One must remember that JMW visited Venice and its special light so this is some recommendation.  I have visited Venice and do not dispute this.

Indeed we all had Christmas Lunch on the beach in Deal which was magical as the light was pure white.  However, whilst I was in Deal I decided to visit Margate to look at the nominated Turner Prize artists at the Contemporary.  I knew that I would be disappointed and with the exception of one of the exhibits, I was not proved wrong.

When I was a little younger a lot of my time was taken up in the name of modem art and I would go to jail rather than dismiss Carl Andre’s bricks and would become resident in Tracy’s unmade bed until she kicked me out.

Art like the universe does not possess boundaries that is quite simple.

But my overriding feeling was that the artists were ripping off the punters and existed within their own selfish boundaries.  I gave all four of the artists time, but felt that they had been selected with a certain degree of correctness in mind and wondered if JMW had submitted one of his own works would it have been considered, (I think not).

The exhibition of Tai Shani’s work was stunning to look at because of its colour and the texture of the exhibits.

I am sure that JMW would have liked it as its use of vivid and pale pinks was eye watering and I spend quite a bit of time just sitting in the hall floating, as I do when looking at Rothko’s in the Tate.

But the artist then spoilt it all by noting the work was about feminine subjectivity and the experience beyond traditional gender constructs or some allied nonsense.  There was also a seven hour narrative that accompanied the sculpture (praise Marx and pass the  headphones).  The sculpture itself was quite beautiful and the artist should have left it in its mystery instead of running off into La La Land and beyond.

However, a few days before, I was lucky enough to purchase an equally beautiful watercolour from the Arcade.  It was much damaged (damp) and was unframed, but the work was exquisite.  The subject matter was quite simple and showed two women (sisters/friends) in an idealized garden.  Looking at the costumes, it appears to recreate a scene that Gainsborough would have been familiar with.  Yet according to the artists signature (Mannering/Mainwaring) it had been painted in 1850.

I immediately looked up the artist but found no reference on the internet or elsewhere and I therefore drew the conclusion that the obscure artist was just a very gifted amateur.

During Victorian times one quite often found this type of person who lived and died in obscurity, but in my view, were the equal of many celebrated poets and artists.  Quite often these were women who after marriage found that (depending on their social circumstances) found that they had a great deal of time on their hands so they followed these and other artistic pursuits.

The artist who created my little watercolour was very talented and the dexterity of their work is superb.  One can almost feel the texture of the clothing from the plush velvets to the rapid silks.  The trees and plants have been carefully created and although secondary to the figures just add to the theatre of the work.

As I have noted, the painting has suffered from the damp (I cannot change that easily) but there is enough to preserve and I have plans to frame it so it is good for the next one hundred and seventy years.  That is my small contribution and I would like to think that the artist is looking down with the trace of a smile on their lips.

In another one hundred and seventy years, who will remember the four artists who in the finish democratically shared the Turner Prize?

I adore art, but God gave me a talent with my pen and not a brush so in a small way, I try to teach people to see (my children, my grandchildren or anybody else who has time and interest to listen to my thoughts).

In a way as with a poem, I like people to feel what they are looking at and believe it or not, I often close my eyes whilst sitting in galleries (especially with some of the Abstract Expressionists) and view and feel what I have just seen.  Odd behavior maybe but it does work.

Do not take my word for it and try it for a short while.

The Tai Shani sculptures worked for me, but her pseudo feminist nonsense did not and sadly, that is the case with a number of artists these days.  They find an ice cream cone and call it art (it may be, who am I to say) and tack on some ridiculous narrative noting that it is the decline of our modern consumer society (sorry, that is the best that I can do).

There are a large number of good artists out there, but there are a large number of poor artists out there also.

The trouble is that in space nobody can hear you scream as space is infinite.

If Fred Bloggs and his ice cream cone is appreciated as modern art by the event snobs and Guardian readers of today, then who am I to argue as everybody is entitled to their opinion.  But deep down I think it is a case of the Emperors New Clothes, nothing more.

Who knows you might find a copy of the story by Hans Christian Andersen in the Arcade as his books do pass through and if you look hard enough, you will find really lovely watercolours under its roof and these are normally for sale at quite reasonable prices.  I do not collect them (no room), but felt that I need to rescue my work as I thought it was very near to its final journey.

Even though I appreciate modern art (long live Banksy), I am a conservative at heart and am astounded by the sheer skill of some of the artists I have seen.

Turner is my God as like Gerard Manley Hopkins, he was a genius in his immediate field.  I have taken my eldest granddaughter to see some of his works and I never tire in explaining his descent into abstraction (she listens for a while but then asks where the café is).

The light we have here in Hungerford is great and our immediate geography plays a great number of subtle games on us, if we only bother to look up.  What JMW would have made of it is open to question, but I think that he would have enjoyed it.

If this rather personal (and maybe tiresome) article has inspired you to visit our small town, then please come.  Who knows, you might find the painting you desire in the Arcade or elsewhere in the town (I hope you do), but do take the time to look up and visit the West Berkshire skies.

I promise you that you will not be disappointed.

If Margate calls then do please visit the Turner Contemporary and you will not be disappointed, as for every ice cream cornet exhibition there is another which you will enjoy.

The beach either at dawn or in the latter hours of the day is magical and believe it or not, Margate is improving its image.  In the 1980/90s it was something like Gotham City on Sea, but now it has turned very arty in parts and has a number of antique shops and the like.

When I was in the town in December, there were a few watercolours for sale which on the whole were a tad more expensive than you would expect to pay at the Arcade, but hey ho if you like it, what is money?

By the time of my visit, I had protected my small work and felt pleased that I had preserved a small piece of our past.  Mind you, if I had found one of Tracy’s drawings tucked away (this would not happen), then I would purchase it and probably hang it near my Victorian watercolour.

Men can be such fickle creatures.

Happy Hunting

Stuart Miller-Osborne

Hungerford Arcade have a wonderful customer base for both antiques and collectables.  This beautiful lady with her gorgeous baby collects teapots and was really excited to find this beautiful cottage to add to her collection.  Not only that, she also uses them which I think is wonderful.

Hungerford Arcade love our four legged friends and give them all a big fuss and a very warm welcome and if allowed, a treat or two!

These three beauties, Scoot, Harley and Eve were brought in over Christmas with their mum and dad, Vicki and Peter Gladdish.  Vicki told me that all three were rescue dogs and that they loved being dressed up in their outfits.  They really enjoyed the attention and having their photos taken nearly as much as we enjoyed having them.

                               L-R Scoot, Harley, & Eve

Crazy Horses was the only song of the Osmonds that I ever liked and I think that their wholesome songs and music sent me directly into the nihilistic world of Punk much sooner than I might have done if I had stuck to David Cassidy and Judy Collins.

MGM Records [Public domain]

If it was a choice between Puppy Love and Anarchy in the UK, then I know where I would stand.  But then again, I like French Rap and Hip Hop which is not seen cool when one is middle aged.

Yet on looking back on the Osmonds, there is something very clean about them and because of it they, in different shapes, have floated through the decades without fuss.  Indeed, Donny and Marie have just finished an eleven year stint in Vegas which is longer than Elvis and Celine combined.

They show up on American chat shows and no matter how they are teased (or worse), they remain the same people, which is nice.  This said, I would rather go to see Susan Boyle than attend an Osmonds show.  As with Ed Sheeran today, their music just irritates my ears.

I first met my lovely wife in late 1976 (I stole her Kit Kat when she was not looking) and we got together soon after.  It was then that I found out that she was a huge Osmonds fan and liked Donny in particular.  We agreed to differ as we do on most things and that is why I think we have been together for such a long time.

I loved my French stuff and Caron liked her 70s retro music and we drew an invisible border between Terry Jacks and H Magnum and others.  And then I made a big mistake whilst waiting in Tesco’s a few weeks ago.

The Tesco’s in Hungerford, as with a lot of supermarkets, has a charity bookcase and interesting books such as first editions can be found.

But, on that fateful day, I did not find a first edition but a copy of the Osmonds World annual dating from 1977.  It was full of the usual confectionary from Marie’s Agony Aunt column to Mother Osmonds recipes (yuk).  There were zillions of photographs of the boys and Marie and after skimming through it, I felt that I needed a stiff drink.

I casually gave it to Caron over the carrots and cucumbers and to my surprise, it was as if I had given her a diamond ring or had offered to wash up or hoover.

She was so pleased with this retro gift and believe it or not, I found a Donny retro keyring on the Isle of Wight a couple of weeks later which added considerably to my Brownie Points.

This simple annual had taken her back to the seemingly more innocent days of the 1970s and although I had purchased it as a joke, it was gratefully received.

But what of these annuals you may ask?

Can I get them in the Arcade?  Well the answer is yes and although I have not seen any Osmonds annuals, I frequently see annuals from the 1970s/1980s for sale at reasonable prices.

The Man from Uncle and The Girl from Uncle (both 1960s) were there when I last looked and you frequently see Top of the Pops annuals and other tie ins.

ABC Television [Public domain]

Obviously, the annuals of comics (Beano, Dandy, Eagle) are easy to find and I even found an annual tie in of the TV series Daktari which featured Clarence the Cross Eyed Lion.

There are football annuals and the occasional annual for the little ones (Pinky and Perky, The Magic Roundabout) as well as Thunderbirds and Joe 90 and my beloved Captain Scarlet.   If you look, there are many annuals to be found given time and luck.

As with anything, some older annuals can be quite rare and prices (as with comics and superhero comics) can reflect this but most will only set you back a couple of quid.

I have the odd football annual from the 1980s which I occasionally read (these were normally presents from dottie aunts who thought you had a thing for Gary Lineker) and I have not really got around to giving them to my grandchildren to eat.

Fast forward thirty or so years and you would have found me in WH Smith in Hungerford looking for presents.  And guess what I found?  Annuals and more annuals, although my joy was halted when I found that the dreaded Gary was on the Match of the Day annual.

I quickly purchased a couple of million In the Night Garden annuals and made a quick escape (and yes I did keep one for myself as I do not tire of the show or its haunting maritime ending – am I the only one who sees Coleridge’s poem in it?)

Caron is still reading her Osmonds annual and occasionally chats about her pre me years when she would listen to Puppy Love and other songs whilst looking at her collection of teddy bears sitting on the arm of her bedroom chair.

I had not planned to do it, (I would have fouled it up if I had) but this simple purchase brought much happiness.

Thank You Donny and all the others

You still bring happiness to many people (except me).

Stuart Miller-Osborne