Snapshot: Dad and his south London cycling family
This photograph is the only one we have of our dad, Vic Andrews, and his family. Dad is sitting proudly between his mum and dad, looking out at the world with all the certain confidence of a six-year-old.
The Andrews family were a south London cycling family who lived and breathed cycling. They ran a small bicycle maintenance and repair business on Walworth Road and lived above the shop. If times were good they “lived the grand”, but life was mostly hard and uncertain.
Dad learned to cycle soon after he could walk. By the age of six, he was already “working” part time, letting customers know that their orders were in or that their bikes had been repaired. Dad was later to become a nationally ranked track cyclist and British record holder.
Dad’s mum, Alice, had been a semi-professional road cyclist at the end of the 19th century and had held the 12-hour and London to Brighton records. She had strong feminist principles and was an astute businesswoman, successfully negotiating sponsorship deals with the James Cycle company and the Palmer Tyre company. Uncle Steve, top left, was injured on the Somme but survived the war. Auntie Doll, far right, worked as a “canary” at Woolwich Arsenal. Uncle William was killed at Ypres in April 1918, leaving a wife and a daughter he would never know.
Dad was a firefighter during the London blitz; for the first time in his life he had secure employment. He married Mum in February 1942 and they were together for over 60 years. He loved her as much on the day he died as he had on their wedding day.
Dad wasn’t the slightest bit sentimental, he had lived a life that was far too often unfair, tough and capricious. But he stood up to the world and was loving and understanding, with a warm and ready smile and a personal motto that should have been carpe diem.
I look at this photograph every day. It lets me know where I come from, and gives me a great sense of pride in our dad and his family, who did their best and tried to live good and purposeful lives.
John Andrews
Playlist: Sweet memories and our prog-rock anthem
Division Bell by Pink Floyd
(Instrumental)
It is early and as always I am the first to rise. I spring from my bed and run downstairs at speed to jailbreak my new puppy, Grommit, from his space under the stairs, where the monsters used to hatch their plans. I carry him into the lounge and sit on the couch, turn on the TV and watch the early morning cartoons. Soon, my father’s steps drum a pulse as he descends the stairs and finds me and Grommit.His bristly moustache rasps across my forehead, concealing a loving kiss. His tie is undone, his bag is hanging open, and the path he takes out of the door is marked with a falling crumbs of toast – the kind that allows for a safe return from the woods. I would eagerly wait.
My mother comes down and then my brother as the stereo begins to play the Division Bell. Eventually, after breakfast, when the album is finished, we head out to the village.
Another time now, fast forward through my childhood, and we are sitting in the living room, older now, sharing memories. Voted best is our holiday at Universal Studios in Florida and in-jokes zip around the room, bouncing back and forth with all the flash and excitement of a pinball high-score.
In the silence I pad across the room, dance around our snoozing dog, and push play; a hush falls the room as my family wait to hear my chosen music. Their breath is released in a collective sigh of enthusiasm to the opening sounds of Division Bell. I return to my seat as our family anthem parades its powerful prog-rock fanfare, conducting us to raise our voices in wailing tandem with the guitar solos.
Few of us are in tune, and some of us are barely in time, but the very act of singing out our memories together, seems to me defiance in the face of time. I open my eyes and look around with great pride at my mother, my brother, my father and our old dog, Grom.
James Firkins
We love to eat: The cleverly renamed lentil mélange
Ingredients
50g of lentilles vertes
About 300ml of stock (any flavour, but chicken works well)
Tin of chopped tomatoes
Chilli (optional)
A mix of chopped vegetables – root veg, mushrooms, peppers or beans. Use what you have. Spinach can be wilted on top for a minute before serving
Pre-cooked sausage, chopped. Bacon works, too
Throughout cooking, add water to stop it sticking. Put lentils into a saucepan and cover with about 1.5cm cold water. Boil rapidly for 10 minutes, keep an eye on the pan and make sure that it does not boil dry. If it gets low, add a bit more water. Add the stock and stir. Add the tomatoes and any chilli. Add the root veg. Cover and simmer. Add the remaining veg depending on how long they take to cook or warm through. Five minutes before serving, add the sausage. Just before serving, add the spinach and let it wilt.
It’s odd that our children refused to eat this delicious dish as if it hadn’t been for them, we wouldn’t have come up with the recipe. They were both January babies and born two years apart. Young children are exhausting and on those chilly winter evenings we would look for simple dishes that were easy to prepare and required little planning – we would cook what we had. It’s cheap, too, and can be cooked as slow or fast as you like. It also keeps well in the fridge on those rare occasions when there is some left over.
The name was always a bit of a problem to the children as they were growing up, but it fits the dish. As you ladle it into the bowl, it makes a satisfying slop and, yes, it can look a bit like the prison food you see in the movies. Too many mushrooms will give it a grey appearance, but add carrots, kale and corn and you get a colourful and attractive meal.
The answer was all in the marketing. Changing the name from lentil slop to lentil mélange was a major step forward. Adding extra cooked sausage won the deal and gained us 50% of our target market. The other 50%is still adamant and refuses to be won over (although that doesn’t stop him nicking the sausage).
Philip Collins
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