@Nigella_Lawson Thanks so much for the quick reply! Your ruby noodles are just amazing - slowly working my way through #cookeatrepeat. Black pudding meatballs and colcannon tonight!
@MrGeorgeClarke do you have any recommendations please for someone in Durham who has a hitachi air source HP that doesn’t work properly? I can’t find anyone with any know how and winter is getting closer 🥶
@6thUnit Darcey won’t be there this evening as she has a stinking cold and needs an early night. We will make the food bank donation though and hopefully see you next week!
@neatprojector I have emailed you twice to chase my order which is a Christmas present for my 7 year old. No response. No number to call on your website. What more can I do? Help!
And that is why today, even in 2019, if you go down to Embankment station in London, and sit on the northbound platform on Northern Line, you will here a COMPLETELY different voice say Mind the Gap to ANYWHERE else on the Underground.
It's Oswald.
Merry Christmas everyone.
Archives were searched, old tapes found and restored. More people had worked to digitize them. Others had waded through the code of the announcement system to alter it while still more had sorted out the paperwork and got exemptions.
And together they made Oswald talk again.
Because it turned out a LOT of people at Embankment, within London Underground, within @TfL and beyond had lost loved ones and wished they could hear them again.
And they'd all realised that with luck, just this once, for one person, they might be able to make that happen.
In the New Year, Margaret McCollum sat on Embankment Station, on her way to work.
And over the speakers she heard a familiar voice. The voice of a man she had loved so much, and never thought she'd hear again.
"Mind the Gap" Said Oswald Laurence.
The staff at Embankment were apologetic, but the whole Underground had this new digital system, it just had to be done. They promised, though, that if the old recordings existed, they'd try and find a copy for her.
Margaret knew this was unlikely, but thanked them anyway.
For five years, this had become her routine. She knew he wasn't really there but his voice - the memory of him - was.
To everyone else, it had just been another announcement. To HER it had been the ghost of the man she still loved.
And now even that had gone.
Oswald's death had left a hole in Margaret's heart. But one thing had helped. Every day, on her way to work, she got to hear his voice.
Sometimes, when it hurt too much, she explained, she'd just sit on the platform at Embankment and listen to the announcements for a bit longer.
The woman, a GP called Dr Margaret McCollum, explained that her husband was an actor called Oswald Laurence. Oswald had never become famous, but he HAD been the chap who had recorded all the Northern Line announcements back in the seventies.
And Oswald had died in 2007.
Don't worry, the staff at Embankment said. The announcement still happens, but they've all been updated. New digital system. New voices. More variety.
The staff asked her if she was okay.
"That voice," she explained, "was my husband."