I may be an idiot but I have had a BRILLIANT idea

I have had an utterly brilliant idea ! A pure stroke of genius ! OOPPPSSS the arrogance is showing through. Before I share my genius I had better humble myself and talk about my FAILURE.

My publisher has changed the way book sales are shown. A pie chart replaces the familiar graph. But pie chart or graph look at it.  Things were ticking along Ok, then I started to promote my book THINGS WERE DIFFERENT IN MY DAY and everything bottomed out to zero ! We are now on Day Four of zero, zilch, nothing, nowt sales. That is embarrassing !

 NOBODY has kicked my arse as invited to on Sunday's diary entry.  Have I developed cyber BO or something ? Or am I just crap at what I am trying to do ?

My story The Bridge House is coming along GREAT, I am averaging one thousand words a day and am pleased with the way the draft is going.  ALL royalties and all PATRONS while I work will be donated to Ronald McDonald Houses. I spent a couple of hours this morning setting something up on my YouTube Channel to help promote this book.

NO, this is NOT my brilliant idea - be patient will you !

Chapter One has an Italian folk song, Santa Lucia, running through it. Click the pic and see what I added to YouTube.

I do not lie, within thirty seconds of adding this to YouTube two people posted kind comments. TWO.

I then added Chapter Two.

No comments yet.  early days - I HOPE.

Now if I were one of the big bosses at McDonald I would be saying - this guy is a bit of an idiot !  How can he expect to raise support for Ronald McDonald if he can not even raise support for himself ?

Do me a favour - KICK MY BACKSIDE !

Read Sunday's diary entry and help me out will you ?

Ok what's the BRILLIANT idea ?

Are you sitting comfortably ?  Let me tell you.

The every first teaching job I had was at Chetwynd House Preparatory School for Boys in Sutton Coldfield.  I was in charge of PE and Games. When the school needed a music teacher the headmaster, knowing my love of music, put me in charge of that as well !  I spent two very happy years at Chetwynd House.

The Headmaster was Bill Coldrick who owned the school. Years later it was intended that when he retired I would take over as headmaster but my daughter's illness meant I could not make the commitment. When Bill retired he closed the school, sold the property off to a developer

and a housing estate now sits there. Bill was a graduate of Bristol University, he gave all his money - a couple of million pounds - to the university to buy a radio telescope.

This picture on the left is Bill Coldrich. He came to lunch at our home one Sunday, I remember him bouncing little Rebekah on his knee.

The picture on the right is the W P Coldrich Observatory.

I have often thought I would like to visit the observatory to remember my old boss and friend. My son is also a graduate of Bristol and recently said to me why don't you do it ?

I am spending time in Bristol this summer looking after my granddaughters so while there I intend contacting Bristol University and asking them if I can visit the observatory.

One of Rebekah's friends did something very special in paying for a star to be named after her.  There is now in the Stella Directory Rebekah Deer. How awesome to point the radio telescope at that star ?

WOW !

I am sure Bill Coldrich would approve of that.

Then thinking on I have been wondering how I could use this experience within our project to help Ronald McDonald support families of sick children in hospital. I just could not see how the two could be brought together.

You know I must be thick !  I can't even promote my own stories and I can not see the obvious staring me in the face !  Perhaps my brain is fading with the years.

One of the projects I want to present to Ronald McDonald is called WATCH WITH A STAR.

Quite simply people pay to go to the cinema and then for a burger in McDonald's with a sporting, TV, political, musical star.  If Ronald gives the idea the thumbs up it will be dead easy to make happen.

I take photographs in the W P Coldrich Observatory, I can take the star Rebekah Deer and wind this into the WATCH WITH A STAR project.

I am not explaining this very well am I ?  You possibly think it is a bit silly but honestly it's not and I know it will enhance the project.

Yes, this is the Diary of a SILLY OLD MAN but this isn't silly !

What do you think ?

Help me add a bit of credibility to my genius idea, help me stop looking silly in Ronald's eyes, give my backside a kick.

Go to Amazon. Search for Things Were Different in My Day. Help me get that pie chart of my publisher of the bottom line.

THANKS.

OOPPSS..........just looked at YouTube.....

Those two videos THE BRIDGE HOUSE on YouTube are getting visitors.

See, perhaps I aint quite so silly afer all !

     

Would you please read my teenage autobiography ?

There were three rules in my school.  Three rules which Headmaster Mr W A Simson enforced with a rod of iron. (Actually he enforced them with a rod of bamboo !)

The first was YOU WILL BE COURTEOUS. I was. I did not have a problem with that rule.

The second was YOU WILL USE COMMON SENSE. I observed that rule as well.

Things, however, were different when it came to rule number three. YOU WILL WORK.  I did not bother with that one.  I  wish now so much that Headmaster W A Simson had been clever enough to spot this arrogant teenager breaking his third rule every day of every week throughout the term.

Look at my picture.  That's me in my school uniform.  The arrogance can clearly be seen, it's there in an aura about me.  School uniform did not allow the wearing of a waistcoat. It was shirt, tie and blazer.  I wore, as you can see, a waistcoat.  I was constantly being told to take it off. It came off only briefly before being returned to my body. Sod the school uniform, if I wanted to wear a waistcoat I damn well would !

I am still a very arrogant person aren't I ?  But back to my breaking headmaster W A Simson's third rule.

YOU WILL WORK.  I was in the unfortunate position of being clever enough to be near the top, but not at the very top, of my year group without having to do much work. There were one hundred and twenty boys in my year group.  In the first year I came in third the end of year examinations. Second year fourth. Third year eighth - my parents went spare with me for that result !  Fourth year I was back to third.

When Headmaster W A Simson looked at the results he thought this particular arrogant little sod was doing well. Like hell he was !  I was coasting my way through school.  If only I had been found out, if only Simson had hauled me up and kicked my arse - LITERALLY - I could have done so much more with my life.

Those three school rules have since become part of my personal rules for life. For most of the time I apply them.  I hope that the rule I broke at school I do not break in my now aging adult life.

As I am about to embark on a new phase in my life can I ask you to read my schoolboy autobiography ?  Just go to Amazon and type in THINGS WERE DIFFERENT IN MY DAY.  Can I be very arrogant and ask you to spend one pound ninety-nine pence to buy the e-

book. If you read yesterday's diary entry you will see why it is important to me that you do this. I hope yoiu enjoy the book.


To close this diary entry there was an unwritten rule in my school. YOU SHALL BE ARROGANT.  I never, ever broke that rule and I never will.

Max Robisnon get your sodding arse into gear !

MAX ROBINSON GET YOUR SODDING ARSE INTO GEAR !   No excuses - just do it !

I have promised Ronald McDonald I will raise an extra thirty four thousand pounds for McDonald Houses supporting families of sick children in hospital  I have so many ideas I will soon be sharing with Ronald, finding thirty-four thousand pounds each year for the rest of my life is NOT going to be a problem. Lots of hard work but fun work and an easily achievable target.

I have a problem.

To achieve what I want for Ronald McDonald is going to cost me money, money which I do not have. I think it will cost me between one hundred and two hundred and fifty pounds a week to put fuel in the car, take people out to meetings, but all kinds of bits and pieces. Not one penny of this can come from Ronald McDonald, it all has to come from me.  Nobody must help me out with the cash, to do so would be giving me cash which should go to Ronald.

Where am I going to find the money ?

For goodness sake Max Robinson get your arse into gear and sort it.

Right !  First of all my name is NOT Max, that is my pen name. My real name is David but it is Max's arse that needs to be kicked into gear.

NO that handsome young guy is not me. Well it is but the picture is fifty years old, it was

taken when I first declared my ambition to become a best selling author. This is what I look like these days !  Ugly old bugger aint I ?

So David, The Silly Old Man, you need to start kicking the arse of young Max Robinson and get him to find the money you need. No excuses from Max and no excuses from David for not kicking his arse hard enough.

Every week I get e-.mails from Amazon telling me, encouraging me, to promote my stories and star making money.  But I am not really bothered about making money, I write for fun. I do not need the money.

EXCUSE ME !  You do need the money !  You have just said you need between one hundred and two hundred and fifty pounds a week to run your Ronald McDonald support programme. For goodness sake boy the money is sitting there waiting for you to reach out and get it.       

How hard do you need your arse kicking in order to take it ?

This is what you are going to do.

Every week you take one of your books and make it BOOK OF THE WEEK on your social media.  Start off with your schoolboy autobiography and see how many people will laugh at what you were. All they have to do is go to AMAZON - type into the search THINGS WERE DIFFERENT IN MY DAY then you persuade them to spend one pound ninety-nine pence on the dribble you have written and the royalties start to come in.

For goodness sake Max it aint rocket science is it ?

Now stop talking, stop typing this diary entry, get your arse into gear and make it happen.

CHAOS !

I took my seven year old grandson Adam to school yesterday, seven going on a teenager.

In the company of adults Adam is generally quiet but with his friends he is bubbly and outgoing. When he and I are alone together he adopts this same attitude with me and I thoroughly enjoy his company.

"You look tired Granddad."

"Yeh Adam I have been up all night."

"Watching the politics ?"

"Yeh."

Adam then went on to discuss the results of the general election.  He knew exactly how many seats the tories had won and how many the labour party had. He kept saying he could not understand why anyone would vote for the green party but then said they had just the one seat anyway.

For a seven year old his knowledge of the election result was amazing.

"So Adam, if you had been old enough to have voted which party would you have voted for ?"

"Conservative of course !"

"So when you are older would you like to be a politician ?"

"NO WAY !"

It is a pity that among the younger generation who could vote there were not more eighteen to twenty-five year olds who did not have the common sense thinking of Adam.  Too many were take in by the fairy story manifesto of The Urban Scruffbag aka Jeremy Corbyn who promised anything and everything he thought people would like with no hope of ever being able to deliver on it.

When I was younger you had to be twenty-one years old to vote. I have always considered that to have been a mistake and feel the age of majority should be returned to twenty-one.  Eighteen year olds do not have enough life experience to be able to vote.  However, there are many adults of all ages who do not have enough life experience to be trusted with our nation's destiny. Perhaps there should be some

kind of intelligence test applied before anyone can vote.  Better still some form of common sense test.  If there were then Adam would pass and be able to vote while Jeremy Corbyn would be disenfranchised.   Our country would not be in the mess it is today following the general election chaos of yesterday.

The chaos and uncertainty we currently face are nothing to that it THE BRIDGE HOUSE has now reached.  William has just killed his first enemy, in an operation to capture a German line three quarters of the British force lost their lives or were injured. William killed five enemy soldiers. AT the time it was considered to be a victory, today we would look upon it and wonder if that were true or not.

In my story I am approaching Christmas 1914.  William will receive a gift, as will every soldier and sailor from Princess Mary, King George V's 17 year old granddaughter.

That gift is still in my family, William was my grandfather.

The box contained tobacco and chocolate. William, like all young men of his generation, smoked but the tobacco is still intact. I will in the story explain why he did not open the packet. The chocolate is gone. William did not eat it, his three young sons ate it when he came home from the war.

William's generation was destroyed by war.  My father's generation was destroyed by war. My generation was spared war but we did grow up with the threat of nuclear annihilation ever present. Things were better for my children in their youth. What of Adam's generation ? 

I often wonder what Adam will do in adult life. He says he will not be a politician.  maths is his strongest subject, I do hope he does not become a boring accountant.  What ever he does and what ever chaos he now finds himself within as our country flounders around after the election result Adam will not have to face that his great-great grandfather William had to.

I was a coward and I am ashamed of my cowardice

Yesterday I attended a session to donate a pint of blood.  Staff within the donor system congratulated me for being a regular donor, this was my eighteenth session. 

This I find very, very embarrassing. I am not proud to be a regular blood donor, I am thoroughly ashamed this was only my eighteenth donation.

When I was a student the college matron received a badge for donating fifty pints of blood. She asked we students to become blood donors. I was a pathetic coward and refused to help save lives of people needing transfusions. 

If I had not been such a coward this would have been my 128th pint. That would be something to be proud of. 18th pint, I hand my head in shame.

Three weeks ago my daughter passed away. All of her life, thirty-fours years, she was in and out of hospital and received many blood transplants.

My cowardice prevailed.  I put forward every excuse why I should not become a blood donor.

I want to tell the world what I miserable coward I was.  PLEASE do not be a coward, please do not copy my example.

Eighteen pints, thirty-two pints short of achieving my own personal gold badge. February 2027, I will be 77 years old. 

Are you a blood donor ?

Do not be the coward I was for all those years.

Please donate a paint of blood three times a year.  Please help save lives. Please do not be the miserable coward I was for far too many years.

The direction of my life is about to change

I think the direction of my life is about to change for ever. Yesterday was the funeral of my beloved daughter Rebekah who died suddenly two and a half weeks ago. Rebekah's life had always been filled with medical problems, she was two and a half years old when she was diagnosed to be suffering from chronic renal failure. She had two unsuccessful transplants before a successful operation changed her life. That transplanted kidney came to the end of its life quite recently and she was on dialysis. She did not take to dialysis and her body simply gave up.

I had Rebekah in my life for thirty-four years and wondered how I would cope with the rest of my own life without her.  I will be sixty-seven years old in November, my family has a reputation for longevity so it is possible I may have another thirty-four years to face without her.

No, I will not have her in a physical way but things have moved to a place where I am going to have Beck with me constantly. Gone are the days of being a retired teacher and an amateur author, some very busy days, weeks, months and years are stretching ahead of me.  My life is about to change.  I am presented with a challenge which I can make as big as I wish. Do you have a few moments I can share this with you ?

When Rebekah was a small child and in hospital in London my family would never have managed to cope with life if it had not been for Ronal McDonald House. That original Ronald McDonald House at Guys Hospital was the first in the country and was opened by HM Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother. Ours was one of the first families to benefit from Ronald McDonald House.  There are now fifteen Ronald

McDonald Houses up and down the country supporting families who have children sick in  hospital.  That original house has been replaced by a brand new and bigger Ronald McDonald House which was opened by The Duchess of Cambridge.  Worldwide there are three hundred and sixty-five McDonald Houses in forty different countries of the world.

My family has always supported Ronald McDonald, we never go to the fast food giant without popping coins in the collecting box.  It was Rebekah's wish that we support Ronald McDonald in her memory.

I hoped that we would have thirty, perhaps forty, people at the funeral.  We had more than one hundred !  We planned to have cakes in the garden after the service to celebrate Beck's life.  I was constantly checking all day yesterday the weather forecast which was not good. The rain was heavy but stopped for the duration of the funeral and the time we had in the garden.  We asked people to come back to the house and caused a traffic jam in our little road as people poured in.  We asked that friends bring cakes, more cakes than we could eat.  The plan was the  to take some the next day to schools and hospitals.  We had over two thousand cakes !

I have spent today taking cakes to the nursery where Rebekah worked and to the school where she used to work.  Although she left several years ago so many staff from that school turned up yesterday. There were so many they came in a mini-'bus !  I took cakes to the doctors in my local surgery, the doctors and staff who had known Rebekah as a little girl. I took cakes to the renal ward in our local hospital.  I took boxes of cakes to the chief executive's office and asked they be taken round to some of the wards.  Tomorrow I am driving over to Oxford to take cakes to staff in the renal ward and transplant clinic in The Churchill Hospital.

As I sit typing this diary entry my whole house smells from the flowers friends have given.

Yesterday was a beautiful, beautiful day.  Today was a busy day as will be tomorrow.  It is possible then to think life may become an anticlimax and suddenly feel void without my darling Rebekah.

That is not going to happen.  Quite the reverse.

I am not personally going to start fund raising for Ronald McDonald.  If I did I could possibly raise a few hundred pounds.  Instead I am going to use my organisational skills and ability to open doors to find ways those who are working to support Ronald McDonald can achieve a little more.  I am not setting up an organisation but just doing my bit.  I am setting myself a target to help those on the front line of fund raising generate an extra thirty four thousand pounds a year. One thousand pounds for every year of Rebekah's life.  Do the maths, if I live for another thirty four years - 34,000 x 34 = 1,156,000.  I want to help generate one million pounds before I leave this earth.  When I hit the million I will then think of retirement and NOT before.

I have many ideas as to how I will help those lovely people. My financial year will start on 15th May each year, the date Rebekah passed away.  Keep doing the maths - 34,000 divided by 365 days in the year comes to ninety three pounds fifteen pence.  To start things off I am supporting Rebekah's friends who are taking part in a fun run in the autumn.  Their JustGiving page currently stands at four hundred and sixty-five pounds.  STILL do the Maths - that comes to twenty-one pounds a day.  I need to get my act together !

Don't worry I will be !  I am organising my thoughts on a website which I will soon be publishing.  Tonight I will be sitting up all night watching the results come in from the general election. While watching I will finish the site then offer its draft to Ronal McDonald for his approval and to Rebekah's friends for their comments.

That website has a colour scheme of blue and white, all text is blue on a white background.  Rebekah was a Sheffield Wednesday fan and for those who do not know blue and white are the team colours.  Already Sheffield Wednesday has got behind the effort and will soon be raising the level in our thermometer.

I have many, many ideas which tonight I will add to the OUR REBEKAH website ready to show to Ronald and seek his approval. When he has said yes and no to the content it will be revised and published as a central tool for friends to use to help Ronald's work.

Perhaps I should explain that when I was at school the only subject I failed was ART so designing anything is not a strength.  When it comes to designing and publishing a website I am 100% self-taught.  I use a programme which was originally published in 2001 and ceased to be in general web design use several years ago.  So my websites are functional but not all singing and all dancing.

The websites I write to promote my story writing are in need of revision and are going to have to slot in behind this new Our Rebekah website.

Once this new website is published and Ronald McDonald has said what he is happy with and what he would prefer I did not do, I will unashamedly be exploiting every contact I have to raise support for Ronald McDonald Houses.

People who knew me years ago used to call me Mr Organiser.  I have a reputation for being able to open doors, someone once said that if I knock and the door does not open I just kick it in and walk in anyway !

I will be organising, exploiting, knocking on and kicking in doors like crazy to raise

thirty four thousand pounds for every year Rebekak was alive.  There are a lot of people out there who need to be ready for me to be knocking on their doors.

There is going to be a change in my story writing. A big change.  I am knocking hard on my own front door.

Look at this cool, handsome young man. That's me !  Well it is me fifty years ago.  Over the past year I have developed this old picture of myself as the logo for Max Robinson, the pen name I use for my story writing.

In this image I must have combed my hair for, allow me to show you another youthful me, this is a more accurate view of my appearance back then.

Heck I was good looking wasn't I ?

This is me today. This is the guy behind any stories of Max Robinson you happen to read.

Hardly handsome these days, not even ruggedly handsome !  Ugly ?  Yeh, I'd go along with that. The hair hasn't changed much has it ?  I have no intention of having it cut and will be using it to promote my story writing.  My hair will be my trademark.  Forget Boris or Donald my hair will surpass them both.

My story writing is going to have to change and Max Robinson (My pen-name) is going to have to sell a lot more books and e-books than he does at present.  I want to be very precise and open about my writing,, the money I make and how I intend to exploit my writing to help Ronald and NOT THE OTHER WAY ROUND.  I will say that again - my writing is to help Ronald McDonald, NOT exploiting Ronald to turn me into a famous best-selling author. OK, have you got that ?  Rebekah was not a fan of my story writing, I think if anything it embarrassed her a bit.

When Rebekah was a small child, in and out of hospital, I wrote the book The Wild Adventures of Di Central Eating.  It is not strictly speaking a

book for children, it is an adult's view of a child's life.  Di is fictional but all of his adventures come from things within my own childhood. it was accepted for publication but I never got my act together so that did not happen.

On the left is the original manuscript. Opening the cover there is a dedication saying Rebekah This One Is For You.

Today the story is published on Amazon as an e-book.

Of all my stories, I think I have fourteen e-books currently available, I am always saying that Di Central Eating has the potential to become the biggest seller.  However, before this can happen I believe it needs to be illustrated.

If you take away the illustrations from Roald Dahl's books or from A A Milne and his Winnie The Pooh the text alone does not tell the full story.  I have tried and failed to find illustrations for Di.  However, I now know EXACTLY how I want the illustrations to now happen.  I will be sharing this with Ronald McDonald then if he gives it the thumbs up I will be republishing Di's adventures. ALL royalties from both the e-books and paperback editions will go to Ronald McDonald Houses. Not a single penny will come my way.  My plan is to open a door and make from this book eighty-six thousand three hundred pounds for Ronald's work. Once the new illustrated book is published I will be knocking on YOUR door to buy a copy.

Some time ago, well a month or so anyway, I put on-line a survey asking what genre of story did most people like to read. I thought the answer would come back as Crime Fiction but NO. Overwhelmingly people said they wanted to read Historical

Drama.

I started to write a story The Bridge House which is centred on the life and times of my grandmother Lily. Lily was born in 1890.  She married William who had an older sister Jessie.  William and Lily had three boys. She longed for a little girl but it did not happen.

She then had four grandsons but no granddaughter.

Along came the great-grandchildren. One, two, three boys but no great-granddaughter.  Lily must have given up all hope of seeing a little girl. Eventually there

Rebekah, the first girl to be born in our family since William's older sister Jessie one hundred years earlier.

The story of The Bridge House opens in 1901, shortly after Lily's eleventh birthday, with the death of Queen Victoria.  It is working its way towards the birth of Rebekah. Rebekah will constantly be there in the background.  When Beck died I wondered if I could continue writing.  If I stopped that would be the end of a hobby I have enjoyed for fifty years.  I shared this thought with my wife who suggested I should write the story for Rebekah.  That is exactly what I am doing.

One of Rebekah's friends paid to have a star named after her.  One of my former students who knew Beck as a little girl said look up into the sky and look for the brightest star, that is Rebekah.  I have woven that into the story of The Bridge House.

Ronald McDonald is now in the story disguised as twins Bobby and Violet McDonald.

Sheffield Wednesday will be making an appearance within the next few thousand words.

Another of Beck's friends gave us seeds for a rose named after her.  It just so happens that Harry Wheatcroft, the celebrity rose grower from the 1960's was a cousin of Lily.  That will be written into the story.

When I write anything I have a plan but that plan is usually in my head. For The Bridge House I have written it down in some detail and am having great fun working through it all. The Bridge House will be published in October.

As with Di Central Eating every penny will be going to Ronald McDonald.

My other stories are going to have to start making me money. I am going to have to put a smile on the face of my publisher and promote them.  I am not a poor man by a very long way but to do the work I want to do for Rebekah and Ronald I am going to have to find an extra few hundred pounds a week. I will have to travel both by train and car to meet people.  I will need to take people out for a meal as I seek to persuade them to help, Those meals will be in McDonalds but I will not be asking Ronald to pay for a single burger. There will be the need to buy business cards, pay for printing, stamps, envelopes, phone calls and loads of other things.  These will all have to be paid for.  Selling my stories beyond The Wild Adventures of Di Central Eating and The Bridge House are going to have to fund that money.

So here I am approaching my sixty-seventh birthday and about to enter an entirely new stage of my life. The next thirty-four years will be very busy, very busy indeed. Bye bye retirement.

Well I guess I had better shut up and start working !

A night of high drama

Another extract from my book published way back in 1994 featuring the various newspaper and magazine articles I wrote under the pen-name of Jonathan Flie.

It was a filthy night. The wind was battering the side of our house and rain hitting the ground so hard it was bouncing up again for several inches. I hate winter afternoons when it becomes prematurely dark, on this day it felt as if it had been dark since lunch time. I had gone out in the car to meet my son's school 'bus and save him the drenching walking home would have given him.

As I pulled up in front of my home my wife was standing there waiting to meet me. "Valley Medical has just phoned, can you go with a driver to Heathrow Airport ?  There's a baby being flown in from Ireland for a transplant in London."

A quick snatch for my camera, notebook and some money before I too was standing in the driveway waiting for the car. I heard the siren well before it pulled up, its blue lights flashing and illuminating the entire street. A night of high drama was about to unfold.

London Heathrow is not the most accessible place on earth and hardly user friendly. On a stormy night with extensive roadworks on the M1 it was going to be difficult. It was the time when that extra lane was being added between the section of road from Luton to the A5 with the contractors thinking it would be fun to close most of the access roads onto the motorway.

The kidney is an organ that will tolerate being out of the body for quite some time but the shorter the period between donor and recipient the better.

The identity of the donor is kept strictly confidential so this particular organ could have come from anywhere in the country, indeed Northern Europe. there was no way we could know the time scale involved but we did know that Valley medical had been charged with getting the patient from the airport to the hospital as quickly as possible.

With the frustration of the motorway roadworks we decided to opt for the A5.  My job was to sit in the passenger seat and work the siren leaving the drive free to concentrate fully on the road. I have to confess to a certain thrill and sense of power as a flick of the switch screamed the cars ahead of us out of the way. But it was a terrific responsibility, not only was it important to get through as quickly as possible but safety had to be preserved not only for ourselves but also for every other road user.

Valley Medical's office had faxed every police force along our route to advise the of our movements. On the M25 officers in a police Range Rover waved and gave us the thumbs up as we passed.

The weather was steadily worsening with gales battering the car.  A severe weather warning was in force and we could not help thinking of our infant charge high up above the Irish Sea. What kind of flight was he having ?

At Terminal One the police were waiting for us and directed car to a reserved place right outside the Aer Lingus gate. It was the first time I have never had any difficulties parking at Heathrow.

Inside Aer Lingus staff were trying hard to cope with the worst night for flying all year.  Many aircraft had been unable to take off from smaller Irish airfields and our flight from Dublin had been delayed. There was nothing to do but wait.

The airline staff were brilliant.  the patient was highlighted on the passenger computer and a special escort detailed to meet him and his mother once the plane was on the ground. Heathrow's police then liaised with customs and immigration to ensure no delay but first the aircraft had to land.

I am afraid I may have made something of a nuisance of myself as I pestered Aer Lingus staff for updates on the aircraft's progress.

"It's just twenty minutes away Sir."

"It's holding in the stack, shouldn't be too long now."

Then, just as we were about to suggest we ask air traffic control if they could run up a ladder and bring everyone down, came the news we wanted. "They are on final approach now."

"The aircraft's on the ground, shouldn't be much longer."

Eventually young Jamie and his Mum emerged. Into the car and we were off down the M4 towards London.

It was two weeks before Christmas and the lights of Harrods shone more brightly than those on the car. We covered the distance from Heathrow to Guys Hospital in just half an hour delivering young Jamie in time for his transplant. Another successful mission for Valley Medical Transport.

That was how my newspaper feature appeared.

Jamie's mother was far away from home and the rest of her family, away over Christmas.

She stayed at Ronald McDonald House in the grounds of Guys Hospital. Later, when my own daughter Rebekah received her transplant my family was to live in Ronald McDonald House for several weeks.  It was also Valley Medical Transport that took her to hospital.  That is another story I will tell later.

My daughter passed away on Friday 19th May aged 34 years.  Tomorrow is her funeral.  She and my family have always supported Ronald McDonald and it is her wish that tomorrow we acknowledge the incredible work Ronald does for families like our and Jamie's.  In the days, weeks and months ahead my diary is going to talk a lot about Ronald.

My daughter's friends are taking part in a FUN RUN in her memory and to support Ronald. They want to raise £1,000.  I am determined it will be £10,000.  Tomorrow everyone celebrating Rebekah's life will be wearing a Ronald McDonald Badge.

NOT THE CONCRETE COWS - Leon Bridge

In 1994 my book NOT THE CONCRETE COWS was published.  It was a kaleidoscope of newspaper and magazine articles I had written about the new City of Milton Keynes. In those days I wrote using the pen name of Jonathan Flie

I am not proposing to republish the book but I am going to take some of the articles and reproduce them in my diary and on Blogger.

Let me start with LEON'S BRIDGE.

Every day thousands upon thousands of rail passengers thunder over it and hundreds of cars, vans and lorries pass underneath it, even the odd pedestrian still walks along its footpath, yet few realise its significance. Officially it is the Denbigh Hall Railway Bridge but to those who know its story it will always be Leon's Bridge.

In 1882, at the age of thirty-two, Herbert Samuel Leon brought his new wife, Fanny, to Bletchley and went about setting himself up as the local squire. he purchased Bletchley park together with the adjoining properties of Home Farm and Denbigh Hall Farm.  His land extended over much of present day Bletchley, from Shenley Road to Watling Street and from Church Green Road to the railway.

He was determined to make and leave his mark on the area, both of which he succeeded in. At the extreme south of Milton Keynes one of our schools still bears his name, n area of ground in Fenny Stratford is still known as Leon Rec and then there are Leon Cottages and Leon Avenue. But he did not confine his activities to Bletchley in what is now South Milton Keynes. He was a director of The Wolverton Tram Company, Justice of the Peace and Liberal Member of Parliament for North Buckinghamshire from 1891 to 1895.

Where Leon could make his mark locally he seized the opportunity as he laid down the foundations for a dynasty to rule Bletchley as his personal kingdom. (In face the dynasty lasted only for his generation as his son, George, sold all of the family's Milton Keynes properties in 1933 but that is another story.)   One place where he literally carved his name was on the Denbigh Hall railway Bridge. 

Approach the bridge from the South and upon its right hand side upright, a little obscured by the undergrowth - BR get your shears out, you will find engraved:

PRIOR TO SEPTEMBER 1838 THE SOUTHERN PART OF THIS RAILWAY TERMINATED AT THIS BRIDGE WHENCE PASSENGERS WERE CONVEYED BY COACH TO RUGBY WHERE THEY REJOINED THE RAILWAY TO BIRMINGHAM. THIS COMMEMORATION BY SIR HERBERT LEON BART OF BLETCHLEY PARK BY KIND PERMISSION OF LRNW RAILWAY AUGUST 1920

"Kind permission" is a little interesting for Leon and the railway were not best of friends. Some years earlier he had taken the company to court in a civil action for depositing soot from their steam engines on his land. The court found in his favour but awarded damages of just one shilling ! (5p in today's money.)

But thanks to Leon this important part of railway history and the role of Milton Keynes is preserved.

A railway journey from London to Birmingham in 1838 was more than a little different to that of today. No Intercity 125's in those days, gliding along at speeds of up to 125 miles an hour. Te line from London Euston to Denbigh Hall and from Rugby to Birmingham were opened on 9th April 1938. Two obstacles prevents a continuous railway journey. The first was a viaduct to cross The River Ouse at Wolverton and the second the construction of a tunnel at Kilsby. Both were monumental projects even by the side of the rest of the line and forced a five month delay to completion during which time coaches carried passengers on the four hour hour journey between stations. 

Denbigh Hall was chosen as the terminus because it was there that the railway crossed Watling Street but no proper facilities were installed for the passengers. There was no sanitation, no proper accommodation, tents often being the only overnight shelter and mud everywhere. Railway construction workers were billeted at Denbigh Hall and drunken brawls were commonplace.  One passenger described Bletchley as, "a small miserable village where those disappointed at getting from Denbigh Hall must not expect to find accommodation, even for their dog !

The only place to take any refreshment was the Denbigh Hall Inn which had a terrible reputation for previously harbouring highwaymen and criminals and generally for being a bawdy house.  at least three murders took place in the locality, which two centuries earlier had been the site for the local gallows.

All these pleasantries must have spurred the railway company to complete the line as quickly as possible.

But all this took place twenty years before Herbert Leon was born and fifty years before her brought his family to Bletchley. Had he been around at the time perhaps the passengers would have enjoyed a slightly better time, not only from Leon's philanthropic nature but also by way of his careful eye to the profit that could have been made out of entertaining the passengers.

I WILL SHARE SOME MORE EXTRACTS FROM NOT THE CONCRETE COWS OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS - Check out my latest writing project at www.lilybedson.com 

David