The Wipers Times - Issue Two

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Tuesday 2 0 th May 2 0 1 4

No. 2 of 6

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a n i r r e v e r e n t v i e w at t h e r h s c h e l s e a f l o w e r s h o w i n s p i r e d b y t h e w o r l d wa r o n e n e w s pa p e r w h i c h t o o k a h u m o r o u s l o o k at l i f e o n t h e f r o n t l i n e w e a r e i n d e b t e d t o a l l w h o c o n t r i b u t e d t o t h e o r i g i n a l pa p e r s . o p i n i o n s e x p r e s s e d i n t h i s p u b l i c at i o n a r e n o t f i t f o r p u b l i c c o n s u m p t i o n a n d d o n o t n e c e s s a r i ly r e f l e c t t h e v i e w o r o p i n i o n s o f t h e r h s , t h e s o l d i e r s ’ c h a r i t y , t h e b r i t i s h a r m y o r a n yo n e e l s e a s s o c i at e d i n a n y way w i t h t h i s p u b l i c at i o n

in this edition: a l l t h e l at e s t f r o m t h e c h e l s e a f l o w e r s h o w i n c l u d i n g ; t i m m c i n n e r n y w r i t e s a s t h e g r a n d s o n o f b l a c k a d d e r ’ s c a p ta i n d a r l i n g , j o h n s i m p s o n ’ s m o v i n g a c c o u n t o f h i s u n c l e h a r o l d ’ s w o r l d wa r o n e e x p e r i e n c e , a s t o ry f r o m t o d ay s n o m a n ’ s l a n d

Dispatches from the front Opening day -(STOP)- Much kerfuffle with judges, photographers, royalty all in attendance -(STOP)- Spiffing moment with the old nag Joey from Warhorse coming along for a photograph -(STOP)- Tip our hats to the team that has built this wonderful sight -(STOP)- Liz popped by and sends her regards -(STOP)- Old Chums Melchett and Blackadder popped by for a glass of fizz -(STOP)- Tales of great gallantry and honour told -(STOP)- Must dash -(STOP)- Back to the mound tomorrow -(STOP)- News of hordes of ‘members’ due to overrun the eastern front -(STOP)- Must retire to officers mess for swift stiffener to harden resolve -(END)-

YESTERday AT CHELSEA

T i m m c i n n e r N y W RI T E S

The Chelsea Flower Show opened officially today – with Stephen Fry, Rowan Atkinson and Her Majesty The Queen among the visitors to the No Man’s Land garden.

R E M E M B E R I N G T H E L AT E , G R E AT

The troops broke ranks, as row upon row of visitors jostled for a chance to see the VIPs, only narrowly missing falling in the water feature. Celebrities read World War One poetry, but the mood didn’t stay sombre for long, as old Blackadder chums Rowan Atkinson and Fry were reunited. Life-sized horse puppet; Joey from Warhorse, stopped by, hoping for a nibble of the celebrities’ jackets, but had to make do with posing for photographers in dappled shade.

Her Majesty The Queen – patron of The Soldiers’ Charity, was seen speaking to our Garden Designer and Chief Executive.

Designer Charlotte Rowe remarked that Her Maj looked royally pleased with the garden.

Copies of the Wipers Times were the must-have item from the day, bringing people from across the show ground to secure their limited-edition issue. The judges whispered and studied, and, as the Wipers’ Times went to press, it can reveal that the winners will be announced. Tomorrow.

C A P TA I N DA R L I N G Of course I never met my grandfather, Kevin Strabismus (his father was an enthusiastic if somewhat cack-handed optometrist) Darling.

Sadly, he did not even know that my father was already nestling beneath the stays of my grandmother, Doris, when he caught the train to his appointment with destiny on the fields of France......... Actually he missed the train for, despite being a stickler regarding punctuality in others, he was himself a bit of a dreamer.

This made him the despair of the Dollis Hill Irregulars cricket team — his wife once, famously threw herself in front of him to take a catch on the boundary whilst he watched a Great Spangled Fritillary land on a buttercup.

He allegedly once told Colonel Melchett of his excitement at having an Indian Red Admiral in the palm of his hand whilst kneeling in a foxhole. Melchett characteristically misunderstood and relationships were somewhat strained for a while.

He was not a born soldier, barely even a professional one but we believe he died heroically and we are extremely proud of him. I think he would far rather have been a gardener and in the glorious summer of 1914 he could often be found tinkering with Doris in Gladstone Park.

The family still live around Dollis Hill, an oasis of calm far enough from the hustle and bustle of Cricklewood and Neasden. In 1900 Mark Twain wrote that “Dollis Hill comes nearer to paradise than any other home I ever occupied.” Of course he didn’t have to contend with the A407.

No Man’s Land, Yesterday

FLOWER OF T H E DAY

Bless you Grandad and all the splendid chaps who fell with you. “Bugger” indeed.

Pot e nt illa Palu str is ‘Marsh Cinquefoil’ belongs to the Rose family. The leaves were traditionally used in Britain to make tea and were regarded as having healing properties for almost any ailment; reminding us that in Britain, a nice cup of Rosy Lee really can cure a multitude of problems.

just in!

Intelligence Corp officials today announced that they expect the RHS Chelsea Flower Show to open any day now. They have increased the threat level to ‘champagne’ to reflect the growing possibility of an invasion of sunburn, canapés and in the worst case scenario socks and sandals. Members are warned to remain vigilant.

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Tuesday 2 0 th May 2 0 1 4

know your enemy!

Attention T roops !

thoughts anon

Rupert Cary World War One Memoir

from the Wipers Times Tuesday 22nd January 1918

You all know the importance of keeping your weapons in top condition! Trowels are to be kept soil free and gleaming when not in use. Pruning scissors must have all residual sap wiped from their blades before re-holstering (bloody blades are bad form and cause rusting).

And remember to always keep your dibber dry!

In a stunning revelation it seems that the SAS has had a garden at the Chelsea Flower Show for the last 15 years.

A source, speaking on condition of anonymity, has stated that the undercover ‘Operation Evergreen’ has been active in the Chelsea area for well over a decade. Rumours of an enormous gold haul are unsubstantiated and completely denied by MoD sources but the Wipers Times has information that indicates that top level RHS employees have been aware of the garden for sometime. A spokesperson today has said ‘there is absolutely no truth or reasoning to this story, look around yourself, there is nowhere else for a garden – however secret – to be.’ Internet investigators however are concerned that publication of this story today will have driven the orchestrators of the garden underground making detection even tougher than before.

When pressed for further details, Whitehall neither confirmed nor denied the allegations, stating that information would remain confidential. Stating the Official Secrets Act, they claimed to be unable to comment until at least 2044. This has led to further speculation that the garden is home to plants of local destruction including Wisteria. The Wipers Times understands that leading SAS officials have long held an interest in the RHS Chelsea Flower Show due its ability to attract individuals of interest (a term we believe to mean their wives) and its competitive nature, our source indicated that, despite ongoing operations, a thriving wild orchid club had been established and that proud green-fingered SAS operatives such as <redacted> and <redacted> <redacted> just want a chance to display their handiwork.

I ain’t no blooming Kipling, and I ne’er could be a Keats, But I somehow sees a poem in whate’er I drink and eats : When the night has fallen round me lovely verses seem

to come, As my thoughts in fancy linger on my evening tot of rum.

Oh ! Naught in Heaven’s pellucid heights When shadow play in Very lights, Can stem the fervent words which come Whene’er the sergeant drinks our rum.

There’s a poem in a biscuit, there’s a poem in our tea, In fact the blooming rations make a book of poetry : But to have the gift to find it and to understand it fully, One must learn to look for Khayyan in a blooming tin of bully.

For all the wine you drink, the lips you press, Will only land you in some blooming mess, And fourteen days of F.P. No. I : But bully’s bully, neither more or less.

You can have your blooming Shelley, Browning too, what did

they know ?

They could only see a poem in the way the daisies grow : Had I got five francs to bet’em then I’d very quickly risk it That they couldn’t find a poem in a blooming Army biscuit.

Hard is my lot, and hard is the world, Hard are the shells day and night at us hurled, Hard is the pavé, and hard is a stone, But for hardness the biscuit’s a class on its own.

Extracts from the memoirs of Major General RTO Cary, Grandfather of our garden designer, Charlotte Rowe First leave home and butter smuggling My turn for leave came around. All ranks were given a period of ten day leaves in the UK and leave started from the time one clocked on to the leave boat. When the great departure date arrived, all those due for leave were taken to the railhead where the leave trains for Boulogne departed.

The trains were in a shocking state – doors missing, windows broken and no form of heating. On arrival at Boulogne we were marshalled and marched down to the docks, all leave passes and necessary documents were examined and we boarded the boats, each of which must have held about 2000 men. When one considered that there might be up to six boats leaving daily, the total of the BEF on leave at one time must have numbered many hundreds of thousands.

Most of us had been put up for the game of taking a pound of butter or sugar home with us. At one time so much stuff was leaving France, that the authorities had to take steps to stop it. They never eliminated the practice however. A half a pound of butter as a tip at an hotel or restaurant back home was worth considerably more than one had paid for it in France. Many a tricky situation was eased by the donation of half a pound of butter!

coming through today ’ s no man ’ s land : terry de ’ ath

john simpson I N M E M O RY O F MY U N C L E H A RO L D

P O E T RY F R O M N O M an ’ s L and “ The Dead” Read on Monday by Rowan Atkinson Blow out, you bugles, over the right Dead!

There’s none of these so lonely and poor of old, But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold.

These laid the world away; poured out the red Sweet wine of youth; gave up the years to be Of work and joy, and that unhoped serene, That men call age; and those who would have been, Their sons, they gave, their immortality.

Blow, bugles, blow! They brought us, for our dearth, Holiness, lacked so long, and Love, and Pain.

Honour has come back, as a king, to earth, And paid his subjects with a royal wage; And Nobleness walks in our ways again; And we have come into our heritage.

Rupert Brooke

I recently stood in front of one of those lists, meticulous, beautifully chiselled in limestone, of British dead at Ypres, and read the names of the men of the East Surreys; my Uncle Harold’s regiment. And I reflected that, by comparison with him, they were the lucky ones.

Harold was handsome, clever and charming, and his headmaster said, ‘That boy has it in him to be prime minister.‘ He joined up at 19.

On the first day of the Somme he was promoted on the battlefield to captain. An hour or so later he was badly hurt by a piece of shrapnel. It took him months to recover, but he got back to his regiment shortly before Passchendaele, a year later. During it he suffered a serious head wound.

It changed him utterly. The charm, the cleverness vanished, destroyed by the devastating headaches he suffered and the drinking he did to dull them. A sweet girl, Chrissie, felt it was her duty to marry him, but his terrible rages eventually drove her away.

I first came across Uncle Harold around 1950, when I was six and he had endured a lifetime of pain. He was the first truly unpleasant person I had met. Later, when he came round, my grandmother (who had once adored him) would say ‘Oh God, it’s Harold. Pretend we’re not in. He just wants money to spend on drink.’

He died in 1960, a beggar, homeless and utterly alone, on a bench at Waterloo Station. The only thing of value he had on him was the wristwatch he’d worn when he went over the top: he’d never pawned it. To the end, his headaches were unrelenting.

So -- compared with my Uncle Harold, don’t you agree that the men who died outright were the lucky ones?

Skills learned while serving in the Army can be used in many types of employment once it’s time to leave. Successful careers are forged by most former servicemen and women thanks to the skills they’ve gained. Some, however, feel that they are starting from scratch once they leave and find it hard to secure a job in civilian life. Providing these soldiers with the skills they need for successful employment will benefit not just the soldiers themselves, but the work force they serve.

I served in the Royal Artillery for 27 years; but was medically discharged in 2012 after a chronic back injury left me unable to continue serving. I had no idea about what to do next. This caused me great anxiety which began to affect my family life. After working with a Specialist Employment Consultant, I found the opportunity to retrain in furniture making, with funding provided by The Soldiers’ Charity.

I now make bespoke furniture, guitars, and bind books in my own workshop. I am very grateful to The Soldiers’ Charity for the assistance provided. If it wasn’t for them I don’t know what I would have done; they took such a massive weight off my shoulders.

the serious part While it’s all fun at The Chelsea Flower Show and it’s a great British trait to make light of serious situations, ‘No Man’s Land’ was a terrifying place for soldiers during World War One.

Today’s reality is that any soldier, veteran or family member can find themselves in a kind of ‘No Man’s Land.’ The Soldiers’ Charity exists to support them in those times of greatest need.

The understanding that today, soldiers can feel lost when they leave the Army is very powerful, especially if they leave as the result of injury or redundancy. We are seeing an increasing demand for help

with training and employment during the transition period between leaving the Army and finding a new direction in life.

This is where we, as a charity, are stepping in to provide assistance

p l e a s e h e l p u s s u p p o rt t h e m e n a n d wo m e n w h o h av e s e rv e d u s – v i s i t w w w . s o l d i e r s c h a r i t y . o rg to s i g n u p to r e c e i v e yo u r da i ly w i p e r s t i m e s , r e l e a s e d e v e ry m o r n i n g d u r i n g t h e r h s c h e l s e a f low e r s h ow , r e g i st e r at w w w . s o l d i e r s c h a r i t y . o rg / w i p e r s ABF The Soldiers’ Charity is a charity registered in England and Wales (1146420) and in Scotland (SC039189). Registered as a company limited by guarantee in England and Wales (07974609) Registered Office: Mountbarrow House, 6-20 Elizabeth Street, London SW1W 9RB. Tel: 020 7901 8900. Email: fundraising@soldierscharity.org

t he no m a n ’ s la n d ga r de n at t he r hs c he ls e a fl ow e r s how 201 4 i s su p p o rt e d by