Iders' legs have started a huge fan club, and even Tuscs commented on the apparel, so this is a subject where I'm going to bound in, and swing my arms about!
These legs (shown with huge plaster casts c1955), have had the following atrocities visited on them...
1) Op as above (both broken and re-pinned to cease OLDS (One Legged Duck Syndrome). Seven massive stitches in each one, plus eight scaffolding pin holes big enough to hide a small garden implement.
2) Broken knee cap from crashing Lambretta in 1965. (My fault, but it was raining).
3) Torn cruciate ligaments, (rugby injury while falling in hole on Lewes RFC's first's pitch).
4) Two stitches after bad cut on a hop bine ground anchor, while playing hide and seek years ago...
5) Several stitches in each knee from same Lambretta incident.
6) Schlatters disease in one of them (can't remember which one), meaning six weeks in plaster and much ridicule! (Also a bit of a pong, as I couldn't shower...)
7) Varicose vein repair, when they used to stick them with some gunk and keep you swathed in a tight stocking for six weeks, and make you walk three miles a day).
8) Trendelenburg 'rip-out' of said veins when the glueing didn't work...
9) Septicaemia from an unknown invasion of something or other again after a rugby game, probably at St Mary's field, Bexhill; it was built on an old tip...
10 Lacerations (bloody great long ones) from yet another rugby game at The Polegrove, Bexhill, during the hottest autumn in living memory.
and...
11) Two nipped toes courtesy of JRT, who gets a bit excited when I'm wandering about in sandals...
So, you can see that the title, to commemorate what could well be an historic day's cricket, coupled with a few anecdotes from the Scrob archives, is the most apt for the moment. I couldn't think of anything else...
26 comments:
Oh Scrobbers, what trials your poor legs have suffered! I don't understand rugby players and their willingness to maim themselves for life.
Aww Scrobs, apart from being an adorable little boy your legs really have had a hard time (very hard when swathed in plaster). I'm amazed you played rugby with such fearless abandon but then rugby players know no fear.
Ermmmm...I cut my knees a few times, that's it I'm afraid.
Perhaps we should rename you Hopalong Scrobaly?
Without in any way wishing to dominate this conversation, I still have the little indent on the inside of my left knee which was the result of a heavy meeting twixt knee and road when I was learning to ride my first two-wheeler at the age of six (or thereabouts). Scarred for life, you know....
Yup Lils...but I never complain...
As for rugby, it was really proof that they got both legs right though, my Dad used to be tickled pink watching the club games!
Thanks Pips, there was a time when a yelp of fear was on the bruised and battered lips, but in those circumstances, one puts his head and shoulder down, and it hurt him more than it hurt me...
Don't forget though that we're not talking Twickers stuff here, much more provincial, but the beer was better; as was the singing, because we had a concert pianist as captain;0)
Thudders, any chance of blood everywhere?
Reevers, those dents are trophies!
I saw a little lad who'd fallen over near my station recently, and his poor little knees were a bit of a mess.
He was a brave lad though, and it just happened that I had some Elastoplast in the kit, so he was well sorted...
I am delighted that my legs are the object of a fan club, scrobs, but I fear you overstate the case. Elby's levers are considerably rangier.
Commander Idle and his chain saw once brought a very springy pine tree down on my right ankle shortly after I left school, and I have broken a handful of toes over the years, mostly sporting, but apart from that, I have survived quite well. Army yomping left me unscathed. Even a season of rugby on Hong Kong's rock-hard grounds avoided knee damage.
You, on the other hand, are a veritable Barry Sheene.
Forgive me but..
a yelp of fear was on the bruised and battered lips, but in those circumstances, one puts his head and shoulder down, and it hurt him more than it hurt me...
my definition of a Man ;-))
Iders, Barry Sheene was a man of steel, literally, and implanted in many sections of his body...
I was actually very sad when he succumbed to what he called 'this shitty disease' as he didn't deserve any of that after all he'd been through.
Your Hong Kong escapades must have been fun, and you were certainly fitter than I would have ever been from carrying that pack around as well...
Pips, it didn't half hurt my shoulder though...
(I didn't mention that...)
Yes I remember landing a good left hook on some chap who slapped me, I hopped around going ARGHH! and holding my hand at the wrist - I hit him so hard I thought I'd broken it. Bless him, when he picked himself up off the floor he was really concerned and got me a cold compress. I suppose it was all forgotton for you, Scrobs. But one thing has always puzzledme: forgive me, dearest but why do rugby players insist on bathing together? Can't you shower? What's so great about jumping in Rugby-player-soup? Don't tell me; it's tradition.
Pips, we always had showers, and only the bigger clubs had baths, and yes, you're right, it does become a bit murky...
It must be the continuing cameraderie of rugby players which continues after the game, but I've never found out what happens in soccer clubs.
There is something quite pleasant about lying in a bath of hot dirty water, then having a shower to wash it all off!
Incidentally, at Twickenham, there are three huge baths to each changing room - ordinary shape like you or I have, but about seven feet long. When they refurbished and rebuilt the stands about 12 years ago, I went to the West Stand opening, as a guest of the contractor, and we were advised that although the baths were pretty ancient, everyone wanted to keep them!
Ando so they're still there!
Only room for one still, you'd think that could change wouldn't you...
At prep school in Oxford (a very big prep of 550) we had a magnificent Victorian tiled bath called The Plunge. It was designed not just for two rugby teams, but approx 16. I would describe it as a cross between an industrial sheep dip and one of those bubbling mud pools in New Zealand. One of my favourite places, ever.
At my next school, we had lines of individual shower heads, beneath each of which on the floor were small rectangular porcelain basins, known as 'toe-pans', in which one would (uncomfortably) sit, renewing hot water as necessary, whilst discussing miss-moves, scissors, and how useless Radley were at rugger with one's mates.
Anyone who learned the sport in such an environment is unlikely to find privacy, showergel, conditioner or moisturiser necessary.
Aftershave was strictly for drinking by the props.
Thanks, Scrobs.
Aftershave was strictly for drinking by the props. - hee hee.
PS: hey, Scrobs, everyone's doing jokes and comic stuff at the mo but no-one's listened to my offering some days ago it seems. If you get time, listen to the vid entitled 'here's your sign'. It's not jokes as such but saying stupid things and you have to listen to the rev-up before the one at the end. Well, laugh? I nearly cried.
I hope you like it.
Sounds like the place where much of the design work was by a certain John Marsh Iders?
My early years were near The Valleys, not close to Elbey, the other end actually, but as he's so tall, we had no problem in seeing him...
Agree about the cosmetics. I used to frown on pints before showers though, the linament tended to pall the taste buds; but a Gold Leaf was the best way to get one's breath back!
Pips, it's great!
Love the bloke flying a kite - 'fishing for birds'!
What a brave little chap you must have been, to hobble around with both legs in plaster Scrob, and such an endearing smile too.
I did have a fine pair of pins when I was younger, but sadly as with most, age shortens most!
Mind you I do 'scrub up well', or so, I'm told by DT.
Such love and loyalty does make a girl feel good.
Well, they do say 'love is blind'!
I'm just about to start writing about my Cavern days and the sixties, as per your request.
Di.x
Di
Trubes; you're very kind...
It was no big deal actually, especially as I was only eight, and these things just happened!
Good Man DT too - it shouldn't be difficult to say to anyone "You look great"!
That way two people get something out of it!
Can't wait for your Cavern post - if you do, I'll try and find a pic of me and two chums at school, when we knew every song they'd ever done!
No, it shouldn't be difficult, Scrobs. In his new book Peter Hitchens tells us that “Women have robbed themselves, by choosing easily available sex, of the great bargaining power which they used to possess during a few short, desirable years.”. A few short desirable years eh? And then what? You stay with your wife; chief cook and bottle washer for the good of the children and have sex with her through altruism? How very noble of you, Sir. She must be thrilled.
I love the way he tries to defend women: "“Horribly, the grotesque, distressing practice of plastic surgery – once the last resort of Hollywood beauties trying to stay in business – is becoming commonplace. Women living in suburbs get Botox or worse.
Yet nobody in the great feminist movement seems interested. Surely they should be outraged ... They’re not. I think this is because they, like me, have worked out that it is the direct result of their own demands – the abolition of lifelong marriage, combined with the conscription of women into lifelong wage-slavery.
Both these changes force women to try to appear young as long as possible, so as to avoid ending up alone and destitute. “ "
So if we're not pretty enough to persuade a man (who pays the rent?) to stay married to us we automatically end up destitute - and this has nothing to do with the mens behaviour? Hm, gender prejudice in the workplace which was the platform for this twisted opinion? Right. No male prejudice there then?
PH doesn't bother to find out the trends in plastic surgery are towards younger people, not just women. And that the trends in divorce are towards older people, mostly women, who have reared the children and had enough and prefer to be without a man rather than stay sleeping with the 'landlord'. Men usually have another lover/maid lined up. A man needs a maid. (we know a song about that don't we?)
But hey, do columnists let reality get in the way of a good story? This annoys me because they, HE, could do so much better. If only they pulled their head out of their arse there is such a LOT of work to do in defending the public from this bloody awful administration. And this is what we get, which is better than silly Liz Jones. HOW MUCH IS SHE PAID?
When I read her crass comment about Guantanamo bay I could only wonder how much she is paid. And why?
(last rant before hols, Scrobs - serenity is calling)
Darling Scrobs, I've just posted your requested info about Truubiedoos life in Liverpool in t'sixies.x
Dear Pippy I totally agree with all you say about Liz Jones...She is a bloody dope, and I shall not buy the DM or the SM ever again.
Amen.
Sister Trubes.xxx
Goodness me Scrobs! That sounds awful! Especially the cruciate ligaments, if they live up to their name. I'd have given up walking after all that! My knees haven't had a graze on them for about 6 months (maybe they are growing up) and they feel very lonely and naked.
we had a magnificent Victorian tiled bath called The Plunge. It was designed not just for two rugby teams, but approx 16. I would describe it as a cross between an industrial sheep dip and one of those bubbling mud pools in New Zealand.
Ahh, 'Foot Tosh'! The boys at my prep literally did get a sheep dip to run through after rugger, and the girls had Victorian baths to sit on the edge of*. They got pretty yucky after "All In The Woods" games. The last person in was meant to clean them out, but the more unscrupulous girls would leave them, meaning we returned to the same Foot Tosh the next day..and the next..and the next. It certainly didn't clean your feet. Most of my feet's problems can be traced back to foot tosh, I am sure! I know it was not just mud in there as I walked in on a girl squeezing her friend's bacne into one once. They were where any interesting amphibians were put as well, poor things. My father, who attended the same prep, was given chilblains by the hot water following below zero soccer practice. And unrelated, my mother once found my football boots fell apart when she attempted to wash them; they had completely separated from the sole and were held together only by caked mud.
*I went back for a Latin teacher's memorial service the other day and nosed around a bit. The foot tosh has completely disappeared, baths being replaced by desks for S.N. pupils, and the boys no longer have to change in the unhealthily damp subterranean servant's quarters. They've ruined the school!
Bet you went to 'The Oak and Ivy' afterwards...!
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