Mortimer- In the Beginning

 On 1st May 2022, our Christmas card list got one name less. Although it has been a while since we visited, I feel the need to record and share our happy memories of Mortimer before they slip away beyond reach. That will inevitably lead on to all the friends we made with Mortimer & our stays at Mannix Point, County Kerry & Ireland. As it will mean scanning boxes of photos and searching papers, this may take some time. It will take many posts and they won't be in chronological order, but just as I find them.

Mortimer was teaching "Special Needs" at Langold Dyscarr school, at the time, one of the most difficult jobs in Nottinghamshire Education Authority and I was at College House, the other end of the spectrum. We met when we were both providers in the early days of BBC B Computers being thrust on every school. Teachers hid them, ignored them, hoped they would go away & worst of all feared them. Our evening job at the "computer centre" after a day's teaching was to help other teachers accept them them, use them and adapt their practice. I'm not sure why they chose me as a provider, except that having read the Eagle comic in my youth, where Dan Dare had a computer in his space ship that he could talk to, I had a strange notion that we were heading that way. It was easy to see why Mortimer was doing it. He had a flare for easing people into things they thought might be difficult and his disarming gentle manner made him a popular provider for "in-service"  training courses.

On one such course, he was wooing a group of nervous teachers into venturing into the realms of ICT in their primary classrooms. It was his practice to demonstrate how innocuous a BBC B was by picking it up casually and handling it comfortably while explaining that it wouldn't bite, explode or give electric shock. As he was explaining this he grabbed the machine in front of him, but didn't realise that it was Stan's machine. Stan was the head of the computer centre and was forever swapping chips around in his machine and as devices that allowed this to happen easily had not yet been invented, he left the lid unscrewed. As Mortimer picked it up the lid fell off and the machine slipped out of his fingers onto the bench. Only Mortimer could have completed the session and still convinced the group that BBC Bs were harmless objects and could in fact be very useful in a classroom. As the legend of this incident spread, Mortimer & I became friends, working on many courses together including weekends at Eaton Hall & In-service days in schools around the county. They mostly had him introducing the nervous "beginners" and me trying to open up a vision of the future for teachers working in inner city or rural schools without alienating them or undoing Mortimer's hard work.

Along the way we discovered a shared love of good whiskey and walking together with Stan. We both also loved outdoor life and nature. On one trip to Kinder Scout in pouring rain, surrounded by near liquid peat,  he mentioned that he had a piece of bog on the edge of his home town in County Kerry.

Mortimer on the edge of Kinder Scout circa 1982

 Well I was already travelling to County Clare to surf during the summers so Mortimer did his best to convince me to venture over the Shannon by bringing photos of his piece of bog every time we met. Finally I agreed to visit for a few days before moving on to Clare. We never got to Clare and never went anywhere else during the summer after that. Mannix Point had soaked into our bloodstream and called us back every year.

Mannix Point was nothing like the camper's paradise of today. The cottage was usable for an office/reception, the road was rough and stony, while only the very top of the site, just inside the gate was usable for our 1973 air-cooled Type 2 VW to be on a flat surface. 

Mortimer stayed at his mum's or in a caravan while he sorted things out.

Kath and I made friends, explored, surfed at St Finian's Bay & wiled away the evenings with Mortimer, a glass and a guitar.

Me, Willem & Robin ... I'd never jammed with a fiddler before.

By 1988 Mortimer had transferred some of the beach onto the bog for a sort of "road" from the cottage to the cordyline palms at the point and wrestled his little caravan down there.

The caravan just shows on the right of the sketch I did from the van window.

They're Back

Fluttering in the guttering,

Rustling on the roof,

Chirping round the chimney, 

As if you needed proof,

That sparrows are back.

George

 

George Oliver 1948 – 2020

It is with great sadness that we bring you news of the death of George, long term member of Nottingham Kayak Club and friend to paddlers all over the country and abroad.

He came to Nottingham as a cabinet maker at Stag in 1970, joining the club in the autumn of that year. He was already a paddler, having sea canoed in the North East.

On joining the club he took particular interest in Long Distance Racing, now known as Marathon. However his interest in other branches of the sport remained and he brought his skill in boat building to designs in sea boats, canoes, racing kayaks, polo and slalom boats. Up until his death in February this year he was still working on new designs for both outriggers and marathon canoes.

Without George, Nottingham Kayak Club would not be the club it is today. With his help, we were able to develop a fleet of racing kayaks and canoes, general purpose and canoe polo boats. Club members also benefitted from George’s guidance in making their own boats. Income generated by the club under George’s guidance allowed developments way beyond anything the existing members could have managed, including a replacement for old wooden boat-racks and a crumbling wooden shed, with our current building.

George worked at a number of jobs including as a laminator for a local plastics company, building much bigger boats than canoes. Meanwhile he continued to develop his coaching skills and paddling prowess including winning Liffey Descent in K2, DW Canadian Trophy and DW Mixed K2 & Home Built Boat. Many paddlers in several disciplines owe their success to coaching from George over the years. George also went to Eaton Hall College, Retford and qualified as a teacher although young people in canoeing benefitted from that more than those in classrooms or workshops.

The wider canoeing world also benefitted from his skills in coaching and from his organisational ability. In 1980 George took on the role of Administrator to Canoe 81 Nottingham, the Sprint World Championships. After this very successful event had taken place, he took the job of Canoe Coaching and Development Officer for Nottinghamshire County Council, giving support and help to schools and clubs all over Nottinghamshire, allowing many to become successful in their chosen paddling activities. He kept this role until the funding for Leisure Services dwindled and ceased when he retired. He had also travelled abroad with the national sprint and marathon teams, and it was in 1982 at the sprint World Championships in Belgrade that he met his wife, Radmila.

However throughout his involvement in other areas of paddlesport, George continued to support NKC through funding generated in the club workshop and produced entry level racing boats over an extended period of the clubs existence. Few paddlers at events like DW or Watersides can have failed to spot the multitude of boats made by George. All have his trademark ridge along the centre of both front and back deck. The “stable K2” started life as a slightly longer version specifically for DW, but as they were very limited to what races they could be used in, the standard K2 length version emerged soon afterwards and remains popular to this day, for those wanting a stable K2. Trimmer also remains popular as a stable K1.

Many paddlers in the UK have a great deal to thank him for, often unaware of his support for paddling in disciplines other than their own. Sea canoeists, slalom paddlers, sprint, marathon, freestyle, polo …. the list goes on, but George made contributions to the development of most disciplines. It didn’t matter if you had known him 5 days or 50 years, George offered his skills, guidance and friendship in his own, quiet, unassuming way.

Although dogged by health issues over the past few years he remained an active paddler at NKC and continued to do some of those “hidden” jobs that make up a club’s existence. The weekly “Clifton Race” in its current form is mainly a legacy of his and he contributed to timing it until the week he went into hospital.

In recent years his main support has been to canoe developments and outrigger boats. Most outrigger paddlers in this country using his 01 boats know little of his legacy to the rest of the paddling world.

Over the years he collected many awards: Nottingham City Citizen of the Month; Bravery (for rescuing people from the Trent;) Volunteer Awards; Lifetime Achievement Awards, but more important than those, without his guidance, support and friendship, many developments in our sport would not have taken place when and how they did, and as tributes to him attest, many of our lives would have been completely different. We owe him a great deal.

Mick N - February 2020

George and Kath about to start DW

For Abi

For Abi

Won’t complain about fairness,

She never asked for that.

Won’t ask, “Why?”

There were so many reasons.

Won’t think about the tough bits,

Most of it was.

Won’t wonder about “what if,”

It isn’t.

But I think about the loneliness,

And the pain and the fear,

And the unhappiness.

And I remember the strength

And the courage and the trying

And the friendship …

I lost a friend yesterday – had only text chatted with her the day before. Everything about her life was a monumental uphill struggle and her body gave up! She leaves a mother, 2 sisters & a brother … and a 12 year old daughter. Few others will mourn her passing … few will even notice. Can’t stop thinking about a lonely lady, dying alone … 

Full Flood

Full Flood

The river, a wild animal,

Tears at its banks to be loosed of restriction,

Snarling round bridges,

Charging ferociously, hungry for prey.

The lamb; the kitten of summer,

Is grown to full size,

No more the gentle swirl, the playful trickle.

It lashes at trees, tearing them,

Throwing debris to the side,

As it gouges its way to freedom,

Its fearful strength untamed,

Its destructive nature unleashed.

Mick

25/11/12

I Wish

I wish

I wish that we could see the way,
That every hour of every day,
That every we time we turn to say,
“I wish,” we meant “I will…”

I wish intending good would really turn,
And with the saying hearts would burn
To do those things for which we yearn,
And so “I wish” becomes, “I will.”

I wish that love or peace were something more,
That wishing only stands outside the door,
But open wide our hearts and more,
We help to turn “I wish,” into “I will!”

November 2010

Old Friends

I’m saddened, how I overlook the love that I once held so dear.
As if to lose a precious thing and glimpse it through the mist,
And then on meeting, feel the aching hurt and shed a tear,
For love that’s lost and tender lips unkissed.

Lost poem

When my old web site sank gently out of sight, it took with it some rather provocative social, moral, legal & political "Ponderings." I don't feel very provocative these days, but it was a shame to lose the banner from the page, so here it is.

"Mick Pondering"
by Adrian Richardson (Watercolour & Ink)

When all around is turmoil,
And life a little bleak,
I creep into the garden,
And take a little peek,
At what goes on around us.

Under stones and in the leaves,
The richly teeming life.
Webs and grubs and eggs and bones,
Distracts us from the strife,
That usually surrounds us.

But in the pond, a wonderland,
A world of gloom and still,
Where creatures lurk and stare at us,
And marvel at the ills,
That easily confound us.

New Year thoughts

.
.
.
.
.
.







And then one day
When all is said and little done,
We’ll just stand still and count the cost,
And see what’s gained and what is lost,
And what is left to do.

And then we’ll see
The stones unturned and furrows still unploughed,
The chances that we’ve had and missed,
The smiles unmoved, the lips unkissed,
The gentle words unsaid.

We have the chance
To see the things we should have tried, but failed,
We’ll take the vow to make amends,
The jobs undone, neglected friend,
And try again.

But at that time
If there is nothing left to think or do or say,
Then p’raps it’s time for us to fade away …

Finally

Finally 

 Is the mountain still too steep? 

I think not, my step is light. 

Can I see the peak from here? 

Does it really matter? T

he scene below breath-taking! 

The climb lifts me to a different height. 

 Have I reached the top? 

Who can tell? 

Not I! 

Is this the peak I searched for? 

Or has the perspective changed the shape? 

How can I know? 

Do I need to? 

 The importance is the journey. 

This one done. 

This one finally complete. 

Do I need to tread this way again, 

Or seek this path, 

Or brave these rocky crags? 

 No, I think not, 

But there are other peaks 

With other views, 

With different ends, 

With easier tracks, 

Or harder. 

 From here the possibilities expand, 

To tread a thousand peaks, 

And tracks and rocks and valleys. 

The challenges forever there, 

But I can choose this route, 

Or that.

 Never again? 

Finally? 

Well that matters not at all. 

The journey beckons, 

The adventure, the exploration, 

And they will always call. 

And if the path leads to the top then … So it will. 

 For Dee

(Later addition ...  the power of the internet - this poem brought Mortimer back to us ... see his comment ... my blog is worthwhile after all ...)