MONITOR  - January 2012

As I remarked last month none of us can predict what will happen when a new year rears its head except, of course, for a whacking load of bills being shoved through our letter boxes. Some of those bills invariably arrive interspersed with junk mail so, at least for a few seconds, we are led to believe that we have escaped the terrifying notices which will probably blight our lives the next couple of months. And then something unexpected can happen to cheer us up and, as the songs say, the dark clouds roll away and you discover there’s a silver lining popping up from behind them. Even though we have been bombarded - and will probably continue to be - with dire warnings about shortages of money, I hope that silver lining will reveal itself to anyone who needs it in the coming year.

I’ve had a couple of surprises recently. I suppose one can be explained as coincidence (as many surprises are when they cannot be fully explained). It happened when I was in casual conversation with a comparatively new arrival in Mayfield. The name of a Cumberland newspaper was mentioned and I said I knew a reporter who once worked for it. It was akin to saying I knew someone in New York and asking if my friend knew him. “What was his name?” my Mayfield friend asked. “Jim”, and added the surname with only a vague expectation that it would help. “I knew Jim,” he said casually as if he knew everyone but the Pope. “How is he?” “I haven’t seen him for 60-odd years. We were in the army together.”
In short my new acquaintance offered to find out where Jim was and what he was doing. A long-shot, I thought. But a week later he produced a thumbnail sketch of what Jim had been up to since I last met him. A month later I received a phone call from my old army chum inviting me to lunch.
He was in London on a visit from his home in Canada. It transpired that Jim, in addition to being a poet, had climbed the ladder into the top echelons of British television - and still is, in Europe. It was clear that his experiences in life were a far cry from the 1951 RAMC barracks in Crookham, Hampshire where I out-ranked him as a non-substantive, acting unpaid lance corporal.

Friendships, however far off they are or were, are worth a great deal and I regret to say there are many people who have few, if any, and those who have friends they are not always aware of, almost as if they are frightened they might give something away. Over the years I have recently been offered the friendship of people I have known only from a smile or the acknowledgement of a nod of the head, yet they have gone out of their way to help me, primarily with technical problems (notably computers which require a language of their own or a television set that refuses to produce a picture).

Unexpected help recently came from a quarter I thought I would never need, yet it has been staring me in the face for years: Citizens Advice Bureau. I became slightly involved with the organisation years ago while I was a reporter and its office was next door to mine. A representative of CAB (as it is popularly known) now comes to Mayfield every Wednesday 9.30 - 11.30am and is offering advice to anyone who is facing problems which (they think) are just about insoluble. The representative is not standing at the door handing out £5 notes but is happy to discuss domestic or business matters in confidence. What impressed me was the friendship and confidence of the people who work there and the comfort of the office (fitted carpets, etc.) where interviews are conducted. It is a long way in style from the unemployment bureau (the “buroo” as it was called by those who had difficulty pronouncing bureau). The office, named “Open Door”, is at London House in the High Street.

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Victor Briggs