Len Jones
Cymru am Byth
I am a member of Mensa
I joined Mensa in 1985, after a few silly comments from other people, the final straw from a very dotty barmaid at the local "Star" pub. She was one of the dungarees and Doc Martin set who continually "boasted" that she was a vegan. Her comment to me was that I would never be a member of Mensa. This after I grew tired of hearing that we "were all murderers, killing living beings and eating dead animals", and tried (in vain) to explain that if you take that view, everyone is guilty of taking life by killing and eating living things, as vegetables and fruit are also living before anyone, including vegans, eats them.
I sent off for the self-test, and promptly returned it together with the test fee. An anxious few weeks passed, and then it arrived. I had scored sufficient to become a member, but there was another hurdle to get over - and this was the supervised test. No problem, sent off the necessary fee and paperwork and in due course the letter arrived informing me that the test date had been set. On the day I went along to Slough and sat the test. It was a very hot summer's day, and I was feeling pretty bad from over-indulgence the previous night. I got the results a couple of weeks later, but as I had anticipated, the score was lower than necessary. Mensa are pretty fair though, they recognise that you can have a bad day, and they invited me back for a second attempt. This was to take place in the Birkbeck College in London. I drove there with my son Damion, who was to look after the car whilst I was taking the test. Well, I sailed through the test and mistakenly set my sights on finishing by "half-past". As I sat there with the paper completed, I wondered why I was the only one to have done so. So I set about checking and re-checking my answers - good job really as I did spot a couple of errors. A quarter of an hour later, the lady invigilator called time, and collected the papers. A couple of weeks passed and the results arrived. This time the results were a bit better and there was an invitation to join, which I had no hesitation in accepting. Now for Mizz Vegan. I got in the pub that night ready to brandish the proof that she was wrong. "Sorry Len", said Bill the Barman, "she's left and gone to college in Norfolk". Damn! Oh well, she'll turn up again sometime I expect, thought I, but from that day to this, I haven't seen her since.
Odd bits
I left school when my grandfather died eight days after my fifteenth birthday, and as a result never took any GCE's or GCSE's, and I felt that this "qualification" of Mensa membership has vindicated this. I have sat several exams since, all of which I passed. I am also qualified as a marine VHF radio operator, the certificate for which actually gives rise to a little merriment. On the course, we were told that we must not under any circumstances use any CB radio slang or terminology. This is understandable really, as you could be involved with an emergency with lives at stake. All radio traffic on marine VHF frequencies is to follow a set proceedure. The cause for this bit of mirth is the examiner's name - Mr Breaker. Now if anyone knows about CB radio, "breaker, breaker" as in the film "Convoy" is CB radio terminology.
I am a member of the Institute of Advanced Motorists.
When I passed my driving test first time with Beechwood School of Motoring, I was offered advanced driving tuition by the owner (whose name I cannot remember right now) and I took this up. I had about four or five drives and learned some of the finer points of driving. I was encouraged to take the test, but was deterred by the cost. I was not earning a lot of money at the time, and costs amounting to about £15 were more than a week's wages. Those costs were to cover the cost of the test, the insurance, hire of the car for three hours (one hour practice, two hours for the test) and the final lesson. I never got around to it until 1990 when my wife came across an article in one of her magazines. I sent off for the information, and joined the local Thames Valley Group, which meets in Maidenhead. I put my name down for an observed run and waited, -- and waited, --and waited. In about September 1991 I got fed up and asked the driving instructor who had been teaching my wife and kids to drive if he would observe me on a couple of occasions. At £15 a time (by this time £15 wasn't as valuable as 1965) two runs were enough, as Mr Bahri told me that I should have no trouble passing the advanced test. A couple of days before my test, Slough Borough were holding a Road Safety day which included observed runs by both the IAM and RoSPA. I turned up and saw a few faces that I recognised and put my name down. Eventually, a chap from RoSPA accompanied me, and my son Damion on a short observed run, at the end of which I was complimented on my driving. This was reinforced by a checklist on all points he had observed, all bearing ticks, and the footnote which said that it was the best he had seen that day. He told me that I ought to go in for an advanced driving test, at which point I told him that I was due to take it two days hence. He said the same as Mr Bahri.
On the day of the test I drove up to Skindles nightclub near Maidenhead Bridge and met my examiner, a fellow Welshman, Martin Williams. I drove around the course he gave me, but made a minor faux-pas near the end when my Volvo estate car clipped the kerb on a particularly tight left-hand turn out of a minor road. "Oh, bugger it" I exclaimed, and Martin said simply, "well at least you knew you'd done it". At that point I thought I had blown it, but at the end I was pleased to learn that it had not blotted my copy-book too much.
Shortly afterwards, I was encouraged to become an Observer, which I did for a couple of years, and it was only the conflict of interest brought on by my new sport of archery that curtailed this. However, I did manage to advise a few new recruits to advance driving, sufficiently to pass their tests.
I am an Annual Governor of the RNLI
In keeping with my fishing exploits, and following on from my Marine VHF radio qualification, I decided to make my association with RNLI a bit more formal. I had always given a contribution whenever I saw the collection box, as I believe that this organisation does a tremendous job. Not only that, I think that if I was to be out on the sea and got into difficulties, that there would be a well equipped force ready to come to my rescue.
This can only come about if there are sufficient funds available to do this. Most of the crews of the lifeboats are unpaid volunteers, and the funds are mainly used on equipment. This organisation deserves as much funding as is possible in this way to keep it totally independent, and I would be grateful for any reader making a donation to the RNLI on collection days and any collection points where the official boxes are kept, or through the head office in Poole, Dorset. If you click on the picture you will be able to visit the RNLI website and get full details there.
İLen Jones 2003