Sunday Sermon

 

Cat

Meet Cheeky.  This was our cat a great many years ago.  I mention him because of a clip on Twitter of a Turkish mayor.  He was sitting in his chair, addressing the meeting of the council when a kitten appeared climbing up upon him.  Laughter all around as the kitten rubbed itself onto his face, climbed up onto his shoulders and eventually he was seen trying to settle it on his knee.  He can control a budget and a police force but kittens are harder to deal with.  

Cheeky, back in the early 70s, would lie on me until 1:30.  Then he would wake me, force me downstairs, through the stair back door, pictured here, and stare into the gardens meaningfully.  Quite how I got the picture I canny mind.  After his study of the land he took off round the building, I went to the front stair door where he returned, but only half way in, so he could examine the darkness in the front area.  All the time he was seeing things I could not see.  Satisfied, he went back upstairs, climbed upon me as I tried to sleep, and did this night after night!

 We were given the cat as a kitten.  My brother-in-law worked in Bathgate's truck plant where the factory cat had given birth to 8 kittens.  He took one for the kids, but they were too young to appreciate the care required, and he was to violent a kitten for them.  This meant he was dumped upon us, and lived a full life.  He took to owning us, and ensuring we followed his advice.  When my young niece was living with us he took to drinking tea from her cup.  We obtained a new cup for her, but any time we had tea Cheeky also had to have one, or he gave us one of those Margaret Thatcher glares.  

This got me to thinking about the public up and down the land all obeying the dog, cat, parrot or exotic animal that owns their house.  Big or small, the creature is lord of the manor, all have to meet the animals needs and all must obey his moods.  Failure to obey can cause trouble.  

Rescue animals often require further help.  My sister was given a cat a while after her man died, this was to keep her company.  The rest of the family are afraid of it!  He does not like being touched, disturbed or you being near, but he will remind my sister re feeding and bedtime.  He also wakes her at 3 am to have his head scratched.  Reiko, is a step back from this, but both animals having been badly treated before are coming round to the new home.  It takes time but will have some degree of success.

Money is made with animals!

Around £10 Billion is spent on animals each year in the UK.  A dog costing around £500 for food, depending on how you feed it, a cat less so, at least that is what they say.  Insurance might be more for a dog, but vet fees are huge at all times, the majority of vets now being owned by US conglomerates, so prices rise.   Animals are more fun than a child, and less expensive, some say.  Girlfriends are of course more expensive...

Artemis II

Wired

Artemis II flew around the moon recently, the media everywhere was full of praise.

Why?

I saw them fly around the moon many years ago, and then I sat up late at night watching a man or two walk around on the moon itself.  Unless it was staged in Arizona of course.

Several US men walked across the moon, the Chinese, who years before had photographed the back side of the moon have also been landing things there.  NASA have machines crawling across Mars so why all the excitement about a well chosen crew, political correctness enforced, flying around it once again while sending back more photographs similar to those we already had 70 years ago?

Now such activities are difficult, much easier with today's computers in comparison with the ones from the past.  Those were less powerful than my calculator, but they made it there and back again.  

Could it be that this was another excellent opportunity to praise the power of the United States while avoiding talking about the child rapist in the White House and the war he lost while following Bibi's orders?  Flying around the moon is not easy, but propaganda has always been easy, and we have some here in front of us.

'Communities,'  what does this mean?

Every day and everywhere you go this word crops up.  Governments and councils talk about 'Helping our communities,' what?  What communities?  This town has around 40,000, how many 'communities' are there within?  

There are the old and the young, those working and those disabled, shops and shoppers, transport links and users, what communities can they mean?  People get involved with the gym, or the pub, kids work or libraries, volunteering or mini cabbing, what do they mean by communities unless they mean people living and doing what they do in town?  

The word 'communities,' implies lots of different communities.  In a town there is only one, the people living there, and many of them we do not wish to have near us, is this a 'community?'  Various colours can be seen, is communities a word used to integrate or divide?  Tell me!   I once heard a London police officer, under stress from the press, say "We are in the community to help the community for the sake of the community."  Whatever that is supposed to mean I fail to comprehend.  

There are no 'communities, only people.  These live in cities, towns and villages, those are their community, but they do not always like one another, so is it a community, or just people living near one another?  

Language changes constantly, sometimes the words used ought to be dropped in my view.

Heritage railways

Geof Sheppard

It's that time of year again.  The time when the once great railway engines from the past race at 25 mph across the countryside bringing joy to many, and an occasional fire to the farmers.  

These trains do not reach excessive speeds these days, they travel on lines that once connected small places to large, brought milk, vegetables, and meat into town centres, and brought people a life they could never have experienced before 1825 as walking was for most the only travel option.  By 1851 travel between Edinburgh and London, that took up to 14 days by stagecoach, was shortened to 12 hours, give or take a breakdown or two.  By 1914 railways covered the land, and indeed much of the rest of the world, the real superstar of the 19th century.  Railways changed the world in a way nothing else had until computers came into desktop size.  

The West Somerset Railway, not only covers a line that was ended by the 'Beeching Report,' back in the 60s, it covers it with cameras at many of the stations.  Thus we can see how life was, and the many tourists and holiday makers making the most of it, as the steam engines or aged diesels make their way from Bishops Lydeard to  Minehead.  The sounds are evocative.  A train leaving the station brings back memories for many over, er 35, and as it chuffs away the image of such trains, black and often only basically treated by the late 60s, comes to mind.  Other sounds also stir the heart, the slamming of doors, the cries of the porters, the seagulls cry as the sea is not far from many stations on this line.  How many took this train for a day out, or later for the one weeks holiday granted them, by the sea?      

Today this railway teaches and informs many young of a daily life now long gone.  Some would bring it back, but once it has passed it must remain in the memory and the heart, but never return, todays trains are really much better, and the fireman no longer is required to shift several tones of coal each trip.  I bet he is glad about that.  Also, the young lads, 13 or 14, who had to start work at 2 or 3 am and clean out the smouldering fires from engines that had finished their day, or build the fire on those preparing to work.  Fine in July and August, terrible in winter!  They would consider todays railway much better for their health I think.

Easter Sunday 2026

 

Fruit!

This off colour picture reveals the latest fad.  A mix of South African Figs (fresh, reduced ), raisins (South Africa), Blueberries (Peru), Medjool Dates (Jordan, the best ones) Strawberries (Spain, also reduced), and I forgot to add the apple and orange that were far from me.  Add to this single cream and I have my fruit for the day.

Several short jet trips, soon to cease as there will be no fuel because of the child rapist in the White House, a little pollution and a vast increase in profit for Mr Sainsburys and 'fresh' fruit is on my table.  Quite how fresh this is can be questioned.  Peru is six thousand miles away from here, Spain a shot flight, South Africa another continent away, so how 'fresh' is fresh?

I find Blueberries last several days in the fridge, strawberries about an hour!  However, I like these dates and even though I actually prefer dried figs I will have more of these even if £2 a go.  Tesco will be cheaper and they have more choice than the 'get rich quick' people at Sainsburys.  

Such delicacies were unknown in my childhood.  Moroccan dates Christmas, in a long box with a plastic or wooden stick inside, could be found, but not during the year.  Figs were heard off, raisins common, probably because they were cheapest fruit, strawberries were a luxury but only in season.  Blueberries of course we had never heard off, brambles found on hedges sometimes could be obtained, some folks gathered them to make jam.  

It was the arrival of Asians from West Africa in the 70s that changed things.  They offered fruits and veg that only the rich could afford, and then they offered them at an affordable price.  Opening their shops for longer hours and stocking almost everything under the sun made them popular and very useful.  

Such luxury items are good for the health, and keep you on the run...

Good Friday

 

Mons Meg

 

Electrician

So a message appears on the phone from the landlord's electrician, "I need to do remedial work, Monday or Wednesday."

"OK, better makes that Monday."

"OK."

He deliberately did not say what 'remedial work.' and I was not going to ask, so I could sleep without worrying.  He came today and began replacing the main frame, taking two hours, and replacing plugs which have to be lifted high these days.  

I escaped to Sainsburys for Easter Eggs, and real eggs.  

The real eggs have more health than the palm oil ones.

I hobbled around the corner in no hurry to go home, and bought Amazon Cards for the many birthdays that are on the horizon.  I also tried the new butcher, who may be gay, for sausages, and will find out if they are worth pursuing or not.  The old butcher could not cope with the rates and meat prices, I wonder how this lot can?  

Back home the place is confused, but the lights now work, and once he finished, bar the bit he could not do today as my desk and a ton of stuff are in the way, cleaned up after him, and raced off to another job I sat down to eat.  

My routine has gone, I have no idea what to do now.

The routine is important, without that everything gets forgotten and lunch is late, or missed again, and the 'To Do' list is also half finished.  Where would we be without daily routine?  Once they finish working many men are lost without the daily struggle for work.  Wives kick them out to avoid their routine being disturbed, and some die without the routine to follow or the purpose and friendship of work.  

Not me.

I'm still here.

My usual routine begins with checking if I am still alive, scanning the laptop to find out what day, month and time it is.  Then breakfast, pray, and go back to bed.  I'm not sure what happens after that.

Tomorrow's routine includes returning things back to their place, and going back to bed, but not in that order.

Some people worry about war in the Middle East, I worry about shifting things.  That's much more normal today.

Palm Sunday

 

Edinburgh

 

Roam and Stroll make these videos and they are well worth watching 

Recently I came across these videos of bus rides through Edinburgh.  These are interesting to me and useful for those visiting the great historic city.  Though much of the scenery is of those parts no visitor will ever meet.

Since I moved away a few things have changed though the overall look remains the same.  That is while the main streets and ancient buildings have not moved many new buildings, vast estates, some good some bad, and huge industrial areas have arisen.  As the bus moves around slowly we can take in the sights, at least those in front of us, and get a glimpse of the surroundings.  

I found them rather exciting these bus journeys, this is because each one, bar those in the south side which I rarely ventured near, bring back memories and as we tend to do, I remember only the good things, forgetting for the moment the bad ones. 

This journey on the number 19 bus, which still covers some of the route it used to cover, begins at home, that is Granton Square.  Naturally we see nothing of the square as we drive out of it!

Granton is what the family considered our home.

This is because when dad was 5 years old his mum moved the family down here to a tenement not far from the square.  She had dumped granddad, he had lost his 3rd job in 7 years through the drink, and she had thrown him out.   They had both been widowed and he was about 50 something when they met and three children were produced  in a flat just of Dalry Road.  A better flat than the one in Granton maybe but we take what we can afford.  The tenement flat contained two rooms, a bedroom and a large family room as it would be called today. In between the two was a toilet, no bath, and apart from a coal fire in both rooms, and at the front window a cooker on one side, a sink on the other, there was nothing else to be seen.  A typical layout for the time, and better than a great many elsewhere.   

John, my dad's brother, lived in that flat until he died in 1964.  It is still standing though somewhat modernised today.

The memories this bus offered me begins as we leave the square.  On the left we see the small gothic inspired school building that dad attended.  We cannot see from the bus, but there are two doors, one for GIRLS and one for BOYS, a feature from the days when we were educated properly.  So many advances in education today but we miss out allowing girls and boys to learn among their own sex, at least two days a week ought to be given for this, as too often it appears to me education is leaning towards females and 'working class' boys suffer somewhat.

Dad was a milkman in those days, and remained one until 1954 at least when we had moved from Granton to a Miller built flat some distance away.  At that time he found work closer to home in the wire works at Granton.  This house move did not stop us being sent back to Granton to attend school, though we were placed into a 1932 modern, light filled primary, a marvel for the time, rather than dad's old one. 

Just up the road there is a turning to the right, this was the road leading to the long gone 'United Wire Works.'  Dad worked there until he died in 1969, having been moved into the Lab after an injury at the weaving put a bit of wire into his knee resulting in several days in the Western General Hospital.  He was never happy about this, considering himself a 'working man,' and the Lab a place for 'better people than himself.'  He got on well there and took to doing night shift mostly for the extra money.

Passing further up the road we notice the whitewashed one level building on the corner, the Anchor Bar.'  This, with Granton and a housing estate of 15,000 working people, was the only public house around.  It was a bit rough.  A second was built in the early 50's, but this too was insufficient for the population.  Of course most took the bus up town on Friday's and Saturday's, and most avoided the Anchor.  It looks closed, and while the cost of living and Covid have affected such places it may well be that an incident did not help bring customers to the hostelry.  

A few years ago a man involved in drug selling, and we are talking big gangsters here, was approached from behind by a man with a gun. He shot the gangster dead, having come through from Glasgow to do the deed.  Several Glasgow men have done similar in the past.  He was quickly identified and now is serving time in a prison somewhere far from the Anchor.

What a daft way of life.

The bus then goes all round the houses, doing what a proper 'service' transport ought to do, serve the people's needs.  Thatcher, remember her, deregulated the buses in an effort to make money and removed the service element to such an extent that throughout the UK people were trapped in their homes or forced to obtain a car to get around.  Since then things have improved but not everywhere.  Basic transport needs being met are an economic aid in a country, not a burden.  Edinburgh appears to have continued to supply good bus services, though always someone will complain.  

I enjoyed this part of the route as I have never been here before!  This was considered rough when I grew up, so we rarely went near it!  It looks OK to me now, but I wonder if having sold most of the council houses this has had an effect here?  I noticed several churches, possibly all in use, and that shows how rough it once was!

Past Crewe Toll where Ferranti once had a long red brick building, now replaced by fancy modern building belonging to BAE Systems and others, who took over large parts of the company when it collapsed in 1993.  

Further up the road we pass the mighty building that replace another red brick establishment, the Western General Hospital.  Now this vast enterprise features some of Scotland's best doctors, and resident doctors here are paid better, without strikes, than in England.

On up Orchard Brae, brae meaning hill in Scots, we reach Queensferry Road.  This road takes you to the Queens Ferry, across the Firth of Forth.  The ferries, of various types down the years carried many across the Firth until189 when the Forth Bridge opened up for traffic.  The most famous railway bridge in the world.  

Of course we are headed in the other direction!

We cross a bridge also, the Dean Bridge, with the Water of Leith running far below it.  This cannot be seen from our camera but on the bridge are metal spikes, put there to stop people jumping over to their deaths.  A favourite spot for this on many occasions, and it is a long way down.

This leads to the West End where we can be blinded by the sun, a novelty in Edinburgh, and almost miss the castle high above on the rock.  St John's Episcopal Church has stood on the corner since 1818.  Episcopal means it is an Anglican Church in Scotland, but they do not wish to call themselves 'The Church of England,' here as people react!  Behind that we just about glimpse the Parish Church of St Cuthbert, a Church of Scotland building.  There was a church here they say in the 7th century, when Bede was writing in Northumbria, and Irish monks, called Scots, were establishing churches everywhere.  It was recorded in 1128 when David I gave it to Holyrood Abbey.  The present building arose in 1894.  I was in there once, around 1968 for an evening service.  The sides men wore tails, and it appeared just to posh for me.  Who knows what it is like now?

We move from the West End to the East End, with the gardens on our right, the castle high above, and a variety of shops I canny afford on the left.  Originally these were all houses for the wealthy escaping Edinburgh's old town, now they are shops, clubs, hotels, and all overpriced.  The art galleries to the right and with the North British Hotel (now called something else) ahead telling us it is 20 minutes to 9 in the morning, hence the empty streets, and lying to us as the clock is always three minutes fast.  This is because below the hotel lies Waverley Station and with a flight of very wind swept steps to hurtle down you do not wish to be late for that train.    

The view is magnificent mind! 

As we come to a close we stare ahead to the Nelson Monument.  This upturned telescope was built in his memory and difficult to see has a ball on a pole at the top of it.  Originally this was so that sailors at Leith docks could get out their telescopes, look up to the ball on the pole, which would fall down exactly a 0ne pm each day.  Marvellous idea as all sailors required an exact time to enable their navigation workings.  Naturally with Edinburgh being covered by the haar (the cloud that descends over the city) most days, it was not always successful.  Hence the introduction of the One O 'Clock Gun!  Today, if you are passing, at that hour the gun will be fired, ready or not, and sailors in the port of Leith would hear, if not see the gun being fired.  Only on Sunday does it not go off.

Journey is over, time to change buses, or go into that gleaming new shopping centre for things you do not need.  Or find a café and stuff breakfast down you while watching other rush to work. 

Tesco Eggs

Looking at the long shelf filled with what we used to call 'Easter Eggs,' I was struck by the choice and the prices.  All appeared vastly overpriced, and I am aware of the failure of the cocoa crop in east Africa, but clearly Cadbury and Tesco and all the rest are attempting to make a bomb out of this.  It is noticeable that all are marked down from higher prices, and all are still too expensive. 

On top of this the word 'chocolate' is not always found on these boxes.  'Chocolate,' requires at least 20% cocoa to be branded as such, and it ought to be more but manufacturers pressure told, and few are much above, and some less than 20%.  Palm oil and vegetable oil plus sugar and other muck now fills the chocolate gap.  

Thus the reduced prices, as customers are refusing to pay such a cost, with UK residents annoyed at the US manufacturer changing the recipe and adding Palm oil which has terrible effects in various parts of other nations.  Some object simply because of that nice Mr Trump.

I had a brief look, though I will only be buying one or two myself.  I understand, but have yet to check, that 'Lindt' chocolate contain more actual chocolate but are much more expensive.  This limits my desire to check the contents.

As my teeth are disintegrating quickly I may not bother with one for myself.

Middle East War

Flightradar24

 

Looking at Flightradar I see five US tanker aircraft flying from Tel Aviv circling over the Gulf meeting various aircraft awaiting them.  The B-52's which passed by the other day were glimpsed for a moment, then disappeared.  Whether they worked is not reported.  B-52's are highly praised for their ability, however, they bombed Vietnam to destruction many times, and still lost a war to men on bicycles if I remember correctly.  Here again we see a similar result occurring.

The US mentality is to bomb heavily, smash the opposition and wipe them from the earth.  Subtlety was never in their mind.  It has not worked in Iran ether.  Iran was preparing a defensive wall, the real damage has been to their cities, not their defences, especially those hidden individual missile launchers that remain.  

The much praised US military has spent billions a day damaging a wasteland while getting nowhere militarily.  So many predicted this, including their own generals, yet here we are, Trump following orders from Bibi and getting trapped in an unwinnable war.

Once again he claims he has spoken to Iran and they are getting somewhere, so he will cease firing for five days.  Once again Iran deny this claiming he is only manipulating the oil markets.  I believe Iran before the child rapist.

There is another thing, everyone knows he is a child rapist, yet he remains in office, why?

If you ever feel the need to enquire as to what has been released from the Epstein files then search this Twitter link.   Epstein  This holds thousands of files, emails, pictures and videos.  Now I do not usually agree with warnings that items on TV or Radio etc may offend, however, I warn you that looking at the stuff found here may lead you to find the videos repulsive and lead to violent responses.  Some of the offerings are vile.  And these are redacted!

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Railway Trip

 

Wednesday was supposed to see me once more heading at 100 miles per hour down to Liverpool Street station.  There I would meet another old friend, though not from so far away as the one I met here the week before.  

I was feeling a bit rough, those little virii annoy so, yet I wanted to meet a man I had not seen for a couple of years.  As I prepared I checked the train times, and whether all was well.  The Twitter feed soon informed me off a wee station just outside of town that had a signal problem.  Oh dear.  This meant trains arriving, only one, and that is an hourly service, could only travel slowly, if indeed they travelled at all.  

On top of this, further down the line a train had left a major station on route and come to a halt.  This required workmen to check the train, once moved other workmen had to check the wires overhead, which means switching of the 25,000 volt wire.  There may be blue flashes otherwise.  All this leads to masses of early trains, all the way back to Norwich, being delayed, held, cancelled and sometimes disappearing from the face of the earth.  

So, if a train arrived here in the outer limits it might be late.  Being an emergency there was no bus replacement service.  Normal bus services would not cope with the numbers affected anyway.  All this considered I called and cancelled our meeting, probably in Costa once again (he paying).  

This was annoying, and as I called the broken train moved, but too late for me.  So I missed out on the journey and had no choice but to visit Tesco instead.

As I did so the railway fought to get the trains back on schedule, some cancelled, others early, but all rejoicing in normal service once again.  Except that a man got in front of a train in the other direction thus creating  different blockage that way.  Again delays, slow trains and hold ups. 

A new date has been set, April Fools Day!

St Patrick's Day

 

The Weekend

Nothing I like doing better than forcing myself up early on a Saturday morning to visit Sainsburys.   

I jest.

This however, I had to do as I wished to buy all the heavy stuff in one go.  So, off I hobbled, paid £1 for a trolley, and forced it unwillingly round the shop before the Saturday crowds arrived.  

Arrive they did, but not before I was home again.

As I pushed past women who could not control the trolley as badly as I the price rises in recent weeks caught my eye.  Nans costing £1:25 last week are now £1:50, coffee that was £3:90 not long ago is £4:30, and so on.  The recently arrived manager has moved everything according to shop owners theory and made it difficult to find what is wanted.  I suspect he will be gone soon and the next manager will return everything back to where it began. 

For once the customers were friendlier here than normal, at the checkout the women behind me was laughing as I struggled to get everything out of the trolley.  She followed in similar fashion.  The things one does when the servants have a day off!  

I paid the price willingly, I had my eyes closed at this point, and struggled down the poor condition, sloping pavements back home.  The 10 year old lad who passed in the opposite direction tried hard not to laugh as I began to slide onto the road.  Then followed the struggle to lift the bags out, stop the trolley running away, and after returning the brute, carrying all those bags upstairs and hiding everything.

For some reason I have done nothing else since.

Donald is at it again.  First he declares a war Bibi ordered, then he grumbles about lack of support from the UK, then claims he has won the war and Iran is defenceless.  No he demands the UK and others defend the Gulf for Iran who are defenceless as they are shooting at ships. 

What a mess.  Many military men made clear fighting Iran was a mistake, they are prepared for defence, the US is not prepared for attack on Iran.  Now he is stuck.  This is not helped by the attacks on Israel, which we are not allowed to see, yet have damaged a great deal of Tel Aviv, and possibly has resulted in the death of Bibi Netanyahu.  This of course has yet to be confirmed.

A president who has sex with children, a Russia with those videos of him doing this, an Israeli leader desperate to avoid jail, and we have the recipe for war.  The UK leadership have taken the Israeli cash to obey orders.  Sovereignty I suppose.

The Hidden Ways,

This is a travel book, travelling along roads that no longer exist, or are overtaken by modernisation.

Alistair Moffatt walks along Scotland's 'forgotten roads.  These include the 'Invasion Road.'  This brings us over the Lammermuirs and Cheviot hills following the road developed by Gnaeus Julius Agricola, the then governor of Britain, he thought.  Around the year 78 AD Agricola brought some 10,000 men north, half of them along this road through the hills.  His intention was to conquer the northern arts of the island, and like many who followed him, he would claim success but return home empty.  From Chew through Pennymuir, and over the Tweed at Trimontium and finishing at Lauder, the author attempts to follow what remains of this road.  Few outlines can be discerned on such roads, farming and age wearies them, but occasionally the line can be found and followed, with some objects from a distant past to be found.  Just walking in such a road could be a historical experience in itself.

Many such roads are followed in this book.  The ancient road north of the Tay, the pilgrim road to St Andrews, the 'Herring Road,' where fish would be transported from Dunbar into the hills, often on women's backs, to Lauder and all places in between.

These ancient roads, that arose out of need, now lie still, often untouched by modernity.  They do offer an insight into the lives of those who crossed them, whatever their driving force. Walking while carrying a pack on the back, is indeed hard work.  People had to be tough to survive, and they reveal just how soft we modern people are today.  While we are healthier, they are much fitter and very much stronger.  Sitting around while we travel does not keep us fit.  Working until death did not do much for those of the past either I suppose. 

While claiming to originate from a council estate the author gives clear information as to his now middle class lifestyle.  For instance, 'The Road to Ruin,' a walk down Edinburgh's High Street, the 'Royal Mile,' gives clear indication of where he is now.  As he worked for the Edinburgh Fringe office on the high Street he was close to the long history before him.  He chooses however, to limit what he sees.  While occasional references to rugby are noted in this work when discussing the inset for the 'Heart of Midlothian,' placed where that old building once stood, he deliberately ignores much of Edinburgh. The author mentions the old tale that people would spit on the inset as they passed, remembering the old prison that stood there, purposely ignoring that today no-one remembers that.  Instead they spit because this is the badge of the Heart of Midlothian football club, and other clubs followers spit for childish spite, not because of a long gone prison.  Murrayfield and Scotland's rugby is remembered however.  In my view, and I suggest the view of many others, this weakens his claim to be seeking Scotland's past.  When putting your nation under English rule you are not supporting Scotland.  This devalues the historical aspect of his writing.

The book is however, worth a read.

Saturday Gourmet

Another Saturday improved by Pea Soup.

There is great joy in mashing peas badly, adding double cream to the pot, and then supping it while all around are watching bombs falling in the middle east.  Well, all bar those watching football obviously.

With a mere 10 minutes work, not counting the time I kept forgetting what I was doing, five bowls of the stuff have been prepared.

Tonight I am making a mess of macaroni cheese also.  

Simple foods for simple people.

Liverpool Street Meet

Wednesday morning found me sitting on a quiet Greater Anglia service for London Liverpool Street.  The £25:35 I paid, making use of my old man's ticket, gave me a smooth journey to my destination.

There I met a pink boiled maggot and headed for Costa for coffee (£7:10 for two!)

It has been a year or two since we last met, she coming from Costa, me from the local wilderness, and using Costa for coffee was appropriate.  I always inform people that coffee originated in Costa Rica, hence the company name, some believe me!  

The usual million people thronged around us, though not for us of course.  Trains arrived and trains departed, very smoothly today I must say.  However, one whistle blew at one point and I realised how much I miss hearing a whistle blow when trains depart the station.  They no longer give two sharp whistles as the leave either, and I think this sad really.  The departure time on both trains arrived and we smoothly and quietly began to head for our terminus.  All very efficient today, no hindrances, no leaves on the line slowing us down, no jammed doors, no suicides, no lorries hitting the bridges we cross, all was well.  On our line at least.  

Much renovation and future work in the area and including this station itself.  A great huge, and probably empty, towner block is to be built above it, possibly to launder someone's ill gotten gains.   

The original station is disappearing as we look.

Early pillars holding up the roof are still in place.

And the colossal Great War memorial of Great Eastern Staff who perished one way or another is still well kept, though two police bikes parked at the bottom tended to block the lower memorial items.

With worry for Fly's health I sought a coffee shop inside the station.  I did not wish her to walk too far. I was somewhat surprised, but should not have been, that on leaving she was off on a bus to John Lewis to spend money.  I needed to do the gentleman thing here, so naturally I mentioned my war wound, hobbled away, and let her get on with it.  

The surrounding area gets higher every time I pass here.  What is it with those people who wish to build ridiculous sky scraper office blocks that companies cannot afford to use, and with most people working better from home, do not wish to use?

Some old sights remain, such as this place.  I did not enter, it has a good and filthy reputation but it also has London prices.  I do not work in one of these towering office blocks so I cannot afford to enter.  If I earned their money I would need a security guard to accompany me everywhere.  

I have no intention of mentioning the incident where Fly took her stick, placed the hook in the hood of the young man who bumped into her as he passed , and pulled him under that bus.  The young policewoman, are they not all young today, was very kind and helpful to Fly here.  I wonder if he is still under that bus?

Home, still breathing, and glad to have gone down there,  A good day from my point of view.  I wonder if fly is still in John Lewis's?

The Drowned and the Saved

This is quite a good book if you like sinking in a hurricane force storm.

The story concerns the sinking of two ships, the damage done to two others, and the response of the islanders on Islay.

It is 1918, the war is heading towards its end, and US troops (called 'doughboys' far too often in this book) are crammed into ships crossing the Atlantic.  One, the Tuscania is sunk by U B-77 with a successful torpedo strike in February 1918.  The other is the larger ex-liner Otranto which in a heavy sea was struck by another convoy ship, the Kashmir. 

The Tuscania attempted to lower lifeboats, some went into the sea, others were badly handled by young, inexperienced and frightened crewmen, often on their first voyage.  The gale force winds, rearing seas high and violently did not help the escape pattern.  Eventually a destroyer arrived and with difficulty took many men of the ship.  Others in lifeboats were picked up, sometimes hours later, by trawlers working as minesweepers.  However, in spite of the rescue attempts a great many lifeboats made it to the coast of Islay and were dashed against the rocks.  Smashed lifeboats, raging seas, rocky shore and high cliffs led to many perishing on the coastline.  

On shore the locals rallied round in a rescue attempt.  Some risked their lives in the water hauling men from the waves, others climbed the cliffs to rescue stranded survivors, all took part in reclaiming the bodies washing up on the shore line.

Survivors were tended in farmhouses, school buildings, and sheds.  The local women spent many hours baking scones for the survivors and tending them in their beds.  Locals, who had already lost many men in the fighting in France and Flanders were keen to aid the US wounded lying before them.  It cost the all they had, but they would not ask for recompense.  These islanders knew the sea, and knew the cost of sailing on it in storms.  

Graves were dug in several places and the dead buried in solemn fashion.

During September 1918 another convoy of green US soldiers set sail.  The convoy followed orders by zig-zagging along the route to lessen the opportunity for passing U-Boats.  However, by the time the convoy rounded the north of Ireland with Scotland to the east a gale blew up.  A force 11 gale, that is hurricane force, lifted the seas to 40 feet heights.  Soon the ships in the dark lost what little sight they had of one another and it was up to the experience of the captains to make for their port.  It was not inevitable but accidents were likely, and by misjudging their position one turned to port while the other turned to starboard.  Neither noticed the other until it was too late. 

The Kashmir hit the Otranto midships, cutting a huge V-shaped wedge into her side.  The shock, in such waves was enormous.  The ships were disentangled, the Kashmir then made for her port desperate to avoid her damaged front taking in water.  She survived just.

The Otranto was badly damaged and attempts to lower lifeboats were hindered by inexperience, high seas, and boats turning over in the waves.  Eventually, one destroyer did make a foolhardy attempt to rescue men.  HMS Mounsey, who had seen action at the Battle of Jutland, attempted to come alongside.  The Otranto's mster demanded the Royal Navy back off before losing their ship also, but Lieutenant Craven, the man in charge, replied that he would take survivors or both go down together.

So began a frantic rescue operation in the dark, with high waves, a gale force wind, amid a rescue only a desperate man would attempt.  Craven attempted it.

Eight times he crashed his destroyer into the side of the liner, each time men tried to jump onto the Navy vessel.  Many fell between the ships and were crushed, others made it on board and were grabbed inside by the crew, held on tight to anything nearby, or were washed overboard by the sea.

This mad effort did rescue several hundred men, while others who had got into lifeboats made for the Islay coast.  So, several months after the last disaster Islay folk were once again finding bodies on the shore.  Once again they tended what survivors there were, very few this time, and once again they gave what they had to feed the living and bury the dead.  Some bodies, in dreadful state, did not land for several months.  

Of course once the need was known help came from the mainland eventually.  The second time they were better prepared and supported by the UK and US army.  The US Red Cross provided much support and material, replacing what the locals had lost.  A connection between the Islanders and the USA began that lasted for manty years, survivors returning long after the event to see again the Island people and the severe coastland.  

This is worth reading because of the response of the islanders alone.  They gave all they had to support the men who landed alive.  Such an example of giving that we possibly could not match.  They would have done the same for a German ship also if a submarine had floundered I suspect.  

Well worth a read, but it is harrowing reading during the rescue attempts.