Readers' favourite photographs, songs and recipes
Snapshot: Grandad and the Mexican bandits
I remember looking at this photograph when I was a little girl and feeling astonished that those men were real bandits and that my grandfather, Hadleigh Seaborne, was standing among them having his picture taken. It seemed terribly romantic and exciting, and still does. He wrote quite a long account of what happened, but here is the story in a nutshell.
At the end of the first world war in 1918, in which he served as a stretcher-bearer in the Royal Army Medical Corps, my grandfather, who was then in his early 20s, went to work for an oil company in Mexico. The camp where the workers lived was prone to raids, but as long as payments to the various bandits were made regularly, the site was fairly secure.
After about a week in the camp, and after a particularly hot, sticky night under his mosquito net, the temptation to rise early and set out for a ride to enjoy the freshness of the morning was too much for him. So at 4am on a Sunday morning, he set off on his horse alone, taking with him a gun and his camera.
He was riding contentedly along the edge of the jungle, sucking on a sweet lemon he'd plucked from a tree along the way and his sombrero shading his eyes from the rising sun, when he became aware of movement on the horizon four or five miles away. He could tell from the speed of their approach that they were horsemen.
Quickly, he turned his mount around and rode into the jungle where he hid in a clearing. However, he was soon found and relieved of his gun, horse and other valuables by the bandits but for some reason ? he thought superstition ? they let him keep his camera. They took him to their general and what happened next is from his own account: "Don Castello was dangling a leg on the corner of a table which stood on a floor of beaten earth, and with a bandit's rollicking laugh he shot through my sombrero. I believe he emptied his revolver round me, spitting up the dust at my feet, but I was trembling too much to count the shots! He spurned my few valuables, but the camera was the means of saving my skin, for later on I took a photograph and also induced one of the men to press the button so that I could be in a group and the illustration reproduced here is the result.
"The ransom did not cover my possessions and I understood I was lucky not to be sent back naked, but I retained the camera after arguing that I had to 'make the pictures inside it' and would send them some copies. Which I did. For, despite that damp heat, warm water and denatured chemicals, I for once got good results." Suzanne Millington
Playlist: And the band stayed on
Concrete and Clay, by Unit 4 + 2
"The sidewalks in the street / The concrete and the clay beneath my feet / Begins to crumble / But love will never die / Because we'll see the mountains tumble / Before we say goodbye"
In the summer of 1969 I had just finished my O-levels. My friend Carolyn and I were hitching home late one night from the Winter Gardens ("The Wints") in Penzance to my home in St Ives, Cornwall. The group Unit 4 + 2, driving down from London for a gig, picked us up and asked if we knew anywhere they could stay the night. Mum was away ?
At 6am I took Dad a cup of tea ? itself grounds for suspicion. "There's a pop group asleep in the sitting room ? is it OK if they stay?"
"No."
They parked round the corner and returned when Dad had gone to work. My younger siblings ate their pre-school cornflakes with guitar strumming, smoking, long-haired musicians. We showed them round St Ives and that night they played to a sparse audience at St Ives rugby club. Including of course their 1965 No 1 hit Concrete and Clay.
Before leaving, Preston Ross-Heyman, the drummer, rashly gave us his card. The following summer we made the big hitch to London, turned up unannounced and stayed with him and his girlfriend at his flat in Bayswater for a few nights. I still have his address off by heart and can't hear Concrete and Clay without thinking of the first of our exciting hitching adventures ? ultimately throughout Europe. Not that I'd let my daughter do that.
My family at that time were living in my great-grandmother's house (we were between house sales) and it had one outside toilet and no bathroom. I'm sure the group were a bit bemused.
I wore a maxi dress I'd made from a bedspread to the rugby club.
And the club manager kept nodding sagely and saying: "Me, I've seen groups come and go." The group did fade out eventually, but it remains a great song. Julie Tese
We love to eat: Martin's cheesey doodahs
Ingredients
Slices of bread
Tomato ketchup
Tinned mackerel or sardines, according to preference, in tomato juice
Half an onion, finely chopped
Garlic (optional)
Grated cheese
Seasoning
Toast two slices of bread lightly on both sides, spread with a bit of tomato ketchup, then spread on top of that the tinned mackerel or sardines in tomato juice, add the chopped onion (and garlic if you like), mixed herbs, black pepper and anything else you fancy. Top with grated cheese and grill until bubbling and golden brown. Light a candle and eat.
My husband, Martin, developed this recipe during his student days nearly 40 years ago. It sustained him after spending too long in the student union bar. He introduced me to cheesey doodahs (pictured above) when he first moved in with me in 1981. We were much in love and quite broke, and making and eating them takes me back to those warm, romantic days.
During the colder, drearier months, when I'm feeling apathetic and hungry, and the larder is nearly bare, this brings instant good cheer as it emerges bubbling from the grill. Linda Lee
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