Eric and ‘Erbie

Dear Reader, inspired by a recent conversation with the JenEus Burger woman, in comments at the LoL last week, I thought I’d delve once more into Mother’s family remembrances of war.

This post will be about Herbert, my grandfather, and my great uncle Eric. He was born in Germany, but let’s start with some photo/images of Grandad Packer, Herbert… ‘Erbie…

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The lad Herbert Stephen James Packer ran away to fight in WW1
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Capt. Herbert S.J. Packer wearing a fez in Egypt in WW2
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Mr H.S.J. Packer Importer/Exporter until he retired
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Grandad Packer, with pipe, entertaining his grandaughter Roobee some time after 1967 and before 1977

Extract from ‘A Family History for Ruth and Julia (Gawd ‘Elp Us!)’, a.k.a. ‘The Ma Papers’ by Judith Eileen Newton (formerly Shewan, née Packer)

I do not know when or how Aunt Anne met Eric because she had been engaged before, but she met him and brought him home for tea. What a shock for Poppy Alger! He did not like strangers at the best of times, but when Eric arrived, and he turned out to be German, well for God’s sake…  Although we were not at war at that point, Poppy still remembering the First World War, and had not altered his opinion that the only good German was a dead one.

And Eric was very Germanic, he would click his heels when he shook your hand. There was even a strong suspicion that he was Jewish. It appeared that when Eric’s mother and father, on realising what was happening in Germany with the Black Shirts and the like, wanted to get Eric out. They sent him to England, to an aunt, when he was in his teens and she had brought him up.

He could speak English and German, of course, and was very upper crust. At this point Nanny Packer had not yet met Grandad, and I suppose that when she did meet him, Ann and Eric were the only people that knew that Grandad was already married. They set up a close friendship between them and used to go on holiday together. They were often in Switzerland and Germany.

On one trip to Germany in the thirties, they were all of them having dinner in a restaurant when the doors burst open and in marched a bunch of Black Shirts demanding everyone’s papers. They were all petrified because although Eric had changed his name from Erich Zonningfeld to Eric Summerfield, they were scared that someone would smell a rat – Eric had been speaking in German to the waiter. But, as luck would have it, the Black Shirts were only interested in checking passports; they believed the family four were all British and left them alone. However, none of them visited Germany again until after the war.

Eric joined the army and fought for the British. It was very important that he held a British passport – it would have been suicide to fight for England with a German passport. Grandad Packer said he worked in intelligence and translation, but we never did find out what exactly he did.

Anne and Eric got married in September 1939 on the day war broke out. The air raid sirens actually went off during the reception.

By this time, Grandad Packer was technically too old to fight as he was born in 1903, but because he had fought in the First World War and he was an army reservist officer, they asked him to come back as they were desperate for experienced soldiers to train the new soldiers. He re-enlisted and they had him training troops and other things to do with Intelligence.

He was a very intelligent man and trying to get information from Grandad Packer was very hard; to say he was a silent man was an understatement. My biggest regret is that when he was alive I did not talk to him enough. Basically I really was not interested, but now, of course, that it is too late, I would like to know everything.

Dear Reader, I searched through the Huntley & Palmers biscuit tin containing all the photos and papers that came to me following Mother’s death last year, but could find scant information and no images of Eric in his salad days…

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Local news announcement of Anne & Eric Ruby Wedding Anniversary
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Notice of Eric’s Death
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Eric’s final resting place

Have a Song…

 

Stormy Whether or Knot…

Thoughtful Man just rang me from work.

“We’re gonna be hit by a storm tonight. It’s all over the news,” his voice crackled down the line.

Some light key tapping revealed the worst. “Oh, you’re not going to continue working in that are you?”

“Probably not. Hardly anyone out anyway. Pay day is a week away and then there’s Christmas to think about,” he said. He sounded cold and lonely; in these days of Uber-bollocks, hospitality business-busting smoking bans and a surfeit of surly fares on drug-fuelled jollies, a cabby’s lot is not a happy one.

“Okay, baby. If it gets too bad, just come home.”

Loopy looked at me intently, craning his neck away from his game as I finished the call. “What’s up with dad?”

“Nothing,” I reassured him, “apparently we’ve got a storm on the way.”

“A storm? Will the internet go down?” Nice to see Thing 1 has his priorities straight */rolls eyes…*

angry-angus
CLICKY for LINKY

*Knot in the mood for much tonight, Clicky… slightly fucked off with others that really should know better… /sigh… Come, cheer me up…*

*/:D Ah you are a good assistant… /settles back and pats snout…*

Dear Reader… Have a Song…

 

Meeting Midnight

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*Clicky? …/shakes head and places finger on lips…*

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CLICKY: Have a Song

meeting (n.) “action of coming together,” Old English gemeting, verbal noun from meet (v.). Meaning “gathering of people for discussion, etc.” is from 1510s. In 17c., it was applied generally to worship assemblies of nonconformists, but this now is retained mostly by Quakers

As it happened, Dear Reader, I spent quite a bit of time this afternoon pondering a devastatingly good blog post by Anna Raccoon…

https://twitter.com/AnnaRaccoon1/status/799281443683737600

Please, use Clicky and read it for yourself… I dare you not to be touched by this wonderful woman’s words. Take your time; I’ll wait…

owl-2

*******

I spent this morning in the Blue Universe…

With first Brexit, and now Trump, I have the sense that a spirit of revolt is spreading across the West. I’m looking forward to seeing a bushfire of similar revolts spreading across Europe. Revolts against authority, revolts against top-down control, revolts against social engineering, revolts against the entrenched political elites. These things are catching: when people see other people doing something, they’re inclined to think that they could do it too. It gives them ideas.

Well, we are at Le Crunch point in regards to the ‘Crisis’ Winter season, the Fourth Turning…

*Excellent timing, Clicky! New in from The Rev?… Sparkling stuff! …/thinks… Why don’t you give Dear Reader a Song, whilst I go an indulge myself. There’s a good Clicky… /pats snout…*

A horse, I’m hoarse… */cough…*

Dear Reader, Apols! Butt I am laid a little low, with a bug, brought in off the street by a Healthy visitor…

*Clicky, that’s watt everyone says to me… /coughs into fist… ‘Scuse, me for that, Click… /wipes hand on trouser leg…*

*/lights fag… Don’t look at me like that… smoking helps… /small hack… helps to get the shit up and off…*

*******

First remembrance of a horse… I was five and our class went on a visit to the local Nick… and there were stables, and this horse… It was the biggest, whitest thing I’d ever seen… and a policeman picked me up from the straw-covered floor, and on put me on it’s back… Magnificent horsey stood placidly, with gentle snorts and tail-flicks whilst a wiggling, giggling slip of a girl stroked its velvety neck, and burying her face deep in it’s silky mane… All the other kids played with batons and badges, but I stayed in the stable… And I cried when it was time to leave, to go home…

*******

“Like Shadowfax?” Kit-Kat said with a cocky grin. We were standing in the Kit Chinwag room of the house (the place of food). He was damp and ruddy-faced from the rain-sodden walk home from school.

I stopped and looked up at Thing 2, who now towers over me “Who?”

He stripped off his school tie from around his neck and looked at me with a faint look of disgust. “Gandalf’s horse? Shadowfax… Oh do come on Mater!”

*If you like, Clicky… though I doubt Gandalf was employed as a Brixton Bobby in 1972…/small cough with side order of squint… What you trying to suggest?*

*Oh course I’m fucking decent? What sort of question is that?!*

*Ah… yeah… I don’t actually want to hang the Righteous fuckers… I just fink they’re a bit… /taps temple… mentally ill-like… ‘cos of their phobia toward smoke… /drags some more… Nuffin’ wrong with letting them accumulate rope, though… We’ve knot had much luck in stopping ’em with that particular pursuit…*

*******

Other best remembrance of a horse… In Barbados on holiday in the early 90s. Thoughtful Man and I decided to explore the Highlands… on horseback, as you doo, even though neither of us had ridden a horse before… I was on this big chestnut-coloured creature, with a shaggy, blond mane… sitting ram-rod with fear at the sheer power of the muscles quivering beneath my legs… No crash-helmets provided but worn, leather reins to grip… We set off, follow the leader… he seemed to know where he was going… Well it was his turf, so I just let him do his thing… And then, once in sight of the final destination, he opened up and galloped… And I squealed with delight at the rush, and lost my headband, whipped away by the cool but oh so warm air streaming over me…

*******

“We also went horse-riding in Antigua,” Thoughtful Man reminded me. “But that was shit though because of all the rubbish on the beach.”

“Yeah that wasn’t as good,” I replied, “And then in Arizona, but that was just too hot and cactussy to go any faster.”

Thoughtful Man agreed and turned back to his PC. He was putting Clicky through his paces tending to his Arse-about-Facebook ‘Kingdom’; his favourite game, all neat and full of surprises.

“And don’t forget we owned shares in a horse once,” he said. “That was fun.”

*My first ring-tone, Clicky… I loved that phone, it opened up, like wings, for the qwerty keyboard… /clears throat… I need a sweetie, Clicky… /hold up hand… No, I’ll get ’em… you stay there and… /gets up… Have a Song…*

*/jumps about… Ore that other one, Clicky… Both are good…*

 

A C.R.O.N.Y… Mmm…

Dear Reader, following the death of Grandad, yesterday I had the sad duty of posting */knot-eyes* on MEROVEE of the death of U.N.C.L.E  Mr Napoleon Solo… You know, Han :D’s twinnish bro…

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Click for ‘Love Trumps Hate’

*/taps feet and whistles… Ah, butt as I was telling Leggy at the time, Click, I always fancied Illya Kuryakin...*

 

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Click for TV Intro to The Invisible Man

*Wild Swans… /scratches chin… Clicky that’s another weird sync ‘cos I mentioned swans to the Texan Okie Devil, Cade, just today…*

wet-and-dry-ties
Click for the The Five Doctors Who Have Ties That Bind

*Yeah, the boys’ blazers are black, so the swan motif on the pocket is, essentially, a black swan, outlined in white thread…*

*Ha! Yeah, ‘cos he sent me that Song overnight and my bedwear was kinda… Soviet…*

roobs-nightwear-front
Click for back view

*/Slaps forehead… Again!? FFS, Clicky, watt is it with you and posting embarrassing photos of me? …/folds arms and taps foot sternly… I mean… Why, for Gawd’s sake? …/turns in exasperation…*

*Butt, I’m Roobee… /:O… You’re trying to tuffen me up? …/squints… Oh Doo Foxtrot Oscar!!*

Dear Reader, we interrupt this LoL post for the precise, technical reason that my bleedin’ dolphin assistant needs a clip round the ear.

Please accept the following Song */nods thanks…*

*******

rawr

CLICK5 Special: Wanna Dance?

clicky-says-hello

Extract from ‘A Family History for Ruth and Julia (Gawd ‘Elp Us!)’, a.k.a. ‘The Ma Papers’ by Judith Eileen Newton (formerly Shewan, née Packer)

The worse part of being a girl was that if your mate was prettier than you she would be asked to dance and this would leave you on your own if you weren’t. You felt embarrassed and even though you both agreed at the beginning of the evening that one would not dance and leave the other alone, when the crunch came ‘all’s fair in love and war’.

It was on one of these memorable occasions when Daddy ambled up to me and it all started. Margaret and I were dancing when the boys came upstairs and I saw these two blokes eyeing us up. I said to Margaret, “There are two boys coming over. Say No.” Terry asked Margaret to dance and she said, “Yes”. Daddy asked me and I said “No.” Margaret waltzed off with Terry and Daddy said to me, “I have just walked the whole length of this dance floor to ask you to dance. Don’t make me look like a fool now.” I danced and your lives began.

v-for-victory

Can I recommend a book to you, Margo? It might explain this period in time to you. It did for me:

http://www.fourthturning.com/

Basically, during the Crisis (Winter) Season, i.e. now, a Gray Champion arises from the masses, to galvanize the younger generation, generally to war. FDR was the last one. However, in this digital, electronic age we live in (h/tip Marshal McLuhan), it’s not just one ‘Gray Champion’ but the collective ‘gray people’, i.e. Old Uns.

And in the case of this particular blog: Stop behaving like Nazis and let us enjoy our pint in the pub with a smoke. We’re the Allies. We’re not the call to go to war this time, we’re actually the Voice of Reason.

I’ve written some posts about it:

https://roobeedoo2.wordpress.com/?s=the+fourth+turning

rbd2

*/smokes whilst waiting…*

shining-twins

*/sparks up and offers light to others…*

tobacco-control-science

*/keeps on smoking and waiting…*

roob-x-kubrix

*/mental facepalm with rolling eyes…FFS, Clicky go give yourself a Song…*

Dunn and Dusted…

Sad news today, folks: Grandad has passed on to the great butchers shop in the sky…

*Knot 19, Clicky, he was 92…*

*/lights up and smokes… I ain’t panicking, gno… Well, it had to ‘appen, Clicky... Everybody goes eventually…*

*/nods sagely… That’s true… /sniffs… Ooh, smells like dinner’s nearly ready – fancy a Song, Clicky?*

 

Apols! Breaking NOOZ Flash…

*/squints… All you need to doo to enjoy IT… is clique yore fingers… Ore ‘ave little legs ;)*