ΒιΆΉΤΌΕΔ

Len writes:

"I left 'Sunalun' in 1972, I left England in 1976 and I came to America by way of my American wife, who wanted to 'see the sun again'.

I was born in 1950 in a one-room cottage somewhere in the Chester road area, next to the railroad embankment. So they told me. Followed then by "cooncil hoose" life at Redhoose, Pennywell and finally the Ford.

Barnes school kept me occupied for ten years and then I went off to a further education institution in Monkwearmouth.

There was a fine man who taught there by the name of Bridle, not a Sunderlander but acceptable all the same. Never forgot the man.

I finally fled to Newcastle polytechnic where I studied Behavioural nonsense, a complete and absolute waste of time. I married a lecturer from the school, an American girl who had come up to the North East from Cambridge to teach for a while.

My health was bad again and turning serious.

When I got to the states our son was born and we shared the rearing time, I became a house husband. My health was good (miracles) I prepared to join the United States National guard. We then moved to Southern Virginia where a catastrophic illness felled me again and the military hopes were gone. One of my great regrets.

House-husband pioneer

My wife is a statistical analyst, so to keep up, I studied mathematics. In the meanwhile I house-husbanded and it was all regarded as absolutely scandalous by the local gossips. "Real men do not raise babies!" Well, this one does and did and no one argued with me, not once. I enjoyed it more than anything else I ever did, I saw my son grow up. It's common today to see men at home and mom at work, I was a pioneer there I think.

Len's carvings

I did my serious academic work in Mathematics and promptly became an artisan just to prove I was still actually alive.

I build art furniture, ancient through Victorian. When not doing this I play and write Jazz guitar music.

I was for a long time a "buckeroo,” a polite label given to me by the locals out west. It means day-labourer, jack of all trades. I have fixed everything imaginable from bad wells to busted tractors.

We currently live in Southern Wisconsin, an hour north of Milwaukee.

Our son and his partner live in San Francisco. He is in the computer world; his background is neural networking and cognition. His partner is a Doctor of animal medicine. They will marry this year.

Sunderland people abroad

There is in Sunderland people a unique quality which seems to allow us to talk to anyone, anywhere at any time and be generally nice about it.

Once, I was walking along a remote deserted road in North Dakota only to have a car stop beside me. The only person, I thought, for many miles.
Driver said: "Here, excuse me, is this where the buffaloes are then, only owa map isn’t right y’knar!"
A familiar sound I thought and said:
"Sure just keep on down …"
There was astonishment for all involved... our jaws hang open, eyes reach the size
of dinner plates.
The driver said: "Why man, where are you from then, ah thowt ya was an Indian
like… yβ€˜knaw... "
I said: "it’s just me nose that threw you off…"

Sunderland away from home. The accent that won't go away... ever.

He was a retired merchant mariner who said he had served with Wearsiders many times and shook my hand to say thanks for being one of "the nicest people on the planet".

Sunderlanders leave a trail abroad you can follow as sure as if they painted their names and addresses on the boardwalk.

I have found that our wit, our way and our language are well known everywhere. There was an edgy solidarity amongst Sunderland people that I liked a lot. It was not heaven by any means, but as people go, it was not half bad. There is a lot worse.

Missing Sunderland

I miss that solidarity, the feeling of belonging to a particular place. Besides, Missus Nostalgia always trumps every other card, to those of us who travel. And it's best to remember that my Sunderland was pre-1972, mostly gone now I hear, although I see that the old cement barge is still in the river where it always was, for boys to throw stones at.

It was the architecture I really missed, that was the bit that hurt.

If I should ever come back I would have to visit Barnes school, I have no idea why it haunts me so much, it was just totally cool.

Tornado storm. By Len Smith.

Penshaw monument. Needs a quick looking over to make sure you looked after it for me and then I would walk along the river, my usual route from the Lower Ford up stream 'till I could go no further. Not many people know this but that stretch of river was painted by a number of famed artists.

As a very amateur artist I miss the northern light, when I see photographs from the area, the light always makes me homesick.

And I would have to walk along the prom on a windy cold day and get soaked to the skin till it hurt. It has to hurt or the fish and chips afterwards, "divvint taste reet , y’knar missus".

I know of Sunderlanders as far south as Argentina and way up in Alaska. It seems we keep going until we find something nice, then we stop. And all of us talk about Sunderland as if we would take the first barge back, the first chance we got. But we don't."