The Monarchs Funeral and Twitter

Very quiet this morning.  By 8 am an empty airport bus slogged its way slowly past, a black woman, dressed West Indian style walked slowly up the road, a car or two hastened nowhere.  With the major shops shut, a bank holiday declared, and many waiting in for the queens funeral procession on TV there is an air of silence about the town.  Well, apart from that siren just now, trouble down at the bypass I reckon.  Even the dogwalkers are silent, no barking, no gossip, very quiet even for here.  

The constant TV pictures on YouTube, happily without the sycophantic commentary elsewhere, show us men in uniform taking position, crowds eagerly awaiting, some have been there in position for three days!  What loo do they use is my first question?  10,000 Police march into position, all dressed in dark uniforms, the Royal Navy take their position also.  In 1901 the horses pulling Queen Victoria failed for some reason so the RN standing guard were called in to pull the gun carriage on which she lay.  This became the tradition and will be done today also.  Tradition being very important on such occasions.  Massed pipe bands, glowing in Highland dress, full of colours most Highlanders before the 1800s never knew, play as they march to their spot in the ranks.  The crowds cheering almost every move be it police, army or workers preparing the ground.  Others praise the unity found upon such occasions, I find myself asking, will it last?  An event brings people together, daily life soon returns and today will be forgotten by Thursday.

Of course when the media tells us all have fallen silent for the funeral not all have done so willingly.  There is a need for the nation to take note of a monarchs passing but to be honest so much has been over the top and a hindrance to many.  With a growing republican feeling in parts of the UK, not yet an overpowering growth however, many are irked by the response and feel ignored, sometimes angry.  Much of this is somewhat childish, protesting at a funeral for instance, and much a 'chip on the shoulder' feeling about rich folks.  I ask such about their wealth, and many have plenty of it, and enquire as to how they spend time helping the poor?  "Do you work in a foodbank?" is always a good question, one which gets no reply.  A more balanced debate is required here.

While all this was going on I participated in one or two discussions on Twitter.  A great place to meet objective dialog and sympathetic listeners.  In answer to one man's statement that gay sex was normal I reminded him that this was abnormal, not normal.  He was based in Germany, the German Twitter has informed me this was not breaking the rules, however, UK Twitter has blocked me.  So I appealed, on scriptural grounds.  I am blocked completely now while this is investigated.  We shall see if the gay lobby rules Twitter or not soon.

Football, Harrassment, Funeral

 

I woke this morning to find the Twitter feed stuffed full of 'England expects' jingoism.  The media full of this imperialist pomp.  England, inadequate at heart and desperate for a role now the UK has been destroyed by Brexit, has the Brexit generation seeking an enemy, and Germany, a footballing nation they cannot defeat, are the main enemy.  Desperate for a purpose they are reduced to crowing about 'Two world wars, and one world cup.'  Such sentiments ignore the role the French, Australians, Canadians, Indians, Russians and many other played in the Great War.  It emphasises the role of 'standing alone,' though Canada, Australian, India and others stood with us, and ignore the role of the Soviet Union in carrying the bulk of the fighting on land until 1944.  As for a 'World Cup,' we can merely state 'The ball did not cross the line,' and let them bleat.
The crowds will return to Wembley tonight to worship England.  Hopefully England will be thrashed causing many of us to sleep well tonight.  The flags adorning so many cars today will be piled up in the bins by morning, pub windows broken, police assaulted, and the usual peaceful England gatherings noted.   Oh, and the indian variant found wandering through the crowds also.

However, the usual suspects, putting English football to the back page, lie about Sajid Javid bringing lockdown to an end in July.  It must be said that the 'Daily Mail' is hammering the need for an end to the lockdown for a reason.  The reason being their boss, one Lord living as a tax exile in France, also owns the 'Metro.'  The 'Metro' is the free paper found in railways stations and on buses, this means that lockdown has removed his audience and the 'Metro' sales are now down by 80%.  No sales, no advertisers, no advertisers no money for the absent Lord.  Hence the 'Mail's' coverage.  The 'Daily Express' also offers such hope, more for themselves than their owner.  This while the majority of their staff, at least those not yet made redundant, work from home.   

Will Lockdown end?  The Indian variant is rampant in the nation, it must not end yet.  Will rising sickness numbers and a higher death count force a continuation? It ought to, but the Tories worship cash, not people.  

 

Chris Whitty, the somewhat sombre government health advisor, was once again harrassed by yobs yesterday.  This is not the first time he has been attacked this way, though the last time was by an adolescent who suffered his mother wrath for his rudeness.  It has become the thing these days to harrass those you disagree with.  Kim Leadbeater, the sister of the MP Jo Cox who was murdered by a right wing looney, was harrassed by a group of Muslims the other day.  These came  from outside of Batley, the town where a by-election is under way.  These are well known Muslim activists and were freinds of George Galloway, a wayward attention seeking failed MP, once tipped as leader of the Labour Party, now a mere 'dog-whistle' at every by-election.  His chance of succes is nil,  Kim Leadbeater has a good chance of taking the seat, and the outsiders harrassing her may well have helped, not hindered.  Whether she would be any good as an MP is irrelevant these days, back benchers just do what they are told.  The need to hassle and mob those you dislike will continue under this government, Boris himself always under a mob abusing him whenever he appears, not the sign of a successful PM.   It must be remembered that Chris Whitty's father was dragged out of a car in Athens while working for the British Council and murdered by Abu Nidal terrorists in 1984.  It is no wonder Chris comes over as he does.  Such experiences will not help a man such as he.

A very interesting experience yesterday, I watched a funeral in London from home via 'Zoom.'  'Zoom,' is proving its worth these days.  With people spread out across the world 'Zoom' is a real benefit.  The deceased had been laid to rest in the family grave and then there gathered here many to pay respects and hear those, often untold, stories regarding her life.  Memories come rushing back when  people speak as do memories of those spoken about.  Situations that arose and their results, family history and background.  All good and proper.  Beginning at 3 pm, well usual church time of thirty minutes late, it was clear, as the son spoke of his mother, that we would not see the 5 pm kick off at the Euro's.  As the preacher spoke, recounting her early life and his experience of her when taking charge of the church 50 years previously, we realised we might not see the 8 pm kick off!  

However, all went well, the zoom camera worked, the sound was obtained, and occasional people were recognised at a distance.  Zoom put to good use, but hopefully not being used in this way again for some time.     

Busy Week

It's been a busy and tiring week.  The virus tried to kill me at the start when enduring the museum meeting, then a day's work the next day followed by the housework missed since time immemorial.
Thursday saw our Museum awards evening and while I intended to sleep off the week on Friday I was ordered out to take pictures of Keith Flint's funeral as it passed through Bocking on its way to St Mary's, Bocking.

Having survived work (the term is used loosely) I made it to the Annual Awards ceremony where volunteers are rewarded for their time and effort.  All receive something,  mine was for changing a light bulb, and the dressed up and wells scrubbed ladies looked so different from their normal appearance.  Of course normally they have been dealing with children so this does make a difference.
The big boss from the trustees came along and presented the awards.  She done this very well smiling when she had too, listening intensively, asking the right questions, and laughing at the right place.  What she really thought was well hidden.
So a glass of cheap wine and back home to fiddle the pictures taken in poor light and prepare for a day of rest.

Almost the first thing to arrive at my email on Friday morning was an order to get down to Keith Flint's funeral and get pictures for the museum.
Flint's family moved to Chelmsford and split up and Keith himself had trouble at school.  It appears he was dyslexic and a bit rowdy being thrown out at 15.  He worked as a 'roofer' and became front and took to the 1980's 'acid house scene.'  By 1990 he became the dancer and front man for a music combo called 'Prodigy.'  
This band became famous during the 90's and the 'electronic music' was much admired by that generation because they smoked funny cigarettes while having it blasted in their earholes.  The singles such as 'Firestarter' and 'Breathe' helped them sell around 25 million records worldwide.  This is not my kind of music, music ceased in 1974 when 'Abba' appeared on the scene, but they spoke to a generation as music does and retained a large following in this area.  Keith, known as 'Keef' in the southern English manner, lived in a large house not far from here in Great Dunmow.  Music which sells brings rewards.  
Keith  took part in events in the area and appeared a decent likeable bloke in many ways.  He had an aggresive side, once attempting to get into the pilots cabin by knocking down the door and had to be restrained, possibly the result of drugs, yet remained popular and an animal lover.  His house was designed to attract wildlife as well as having space to play with his motorbikes!  He lived in the house with his Japanese wife but recently they had become estranged and she was in the far east rather than with him.  It appears however he had a tendency to depression and a month ago while alone he chose to hang himself.
He was 41.

The cortege was due to leave at 3 pm, I limped sown to what I thought an appropriate spot arriving at 2:30.  There I, alongside a gathering crowd, waited, and waited, and waited.  We expected things to be late but it was ten to four before the cortège arrived.  
The crowds applauded and cheered, in the background 'Firestarter' and other Prodigy music blasted out as they passed, indeed had been blasting out all day.  The six black horses somewhat nonplussed by the crowds appeared ready to run, I suspect they are more used to reserved occasions and must have been difficult for the driver to control.  
There followed a stream of cars and also motor bikes, Keith had his own team in the Isle of Man TT and was a biker enthusiast.  Crowds then followed and while I would have liked to join them the distance to the church was far too much for my knees.  The crowds at St Mary's danced  away the time, outside and inside the pub, while offering respect for he man and the service relayed on Tannoy outside. 

   
This was a very different happening to the one I attended the night before.  We had a rather happy gathering and I have already begin to prepare my acceptance speech for next year.  On Friday the atmosphere was different but not what you might call sombre.  Death tends to make people think about life yet there was none of that visible in the crowds here.  Not that we can tell what was going on in their heads however the Spring sunshine enlivened people, children looked to the event, beer and who knows what else certainly kept others minds of reality and the well behaved crowd were part mourners and part celebrants of an event, I know that was my position.  Had I not been ordered to attend I doubt I would have noticed the happening.  
  

'Snowed in' Saturday

I am enjoying our latest attempt at being snowed in.  This however is fine by me after the trip into the Midlands I am happy to watch small, slushy flakes of snow littering the world.  Yet another brief interlude of snow for a day or two, not unusual for March. 
So I sit here writing emails regarding the events in the Midlands.  Funerals are strange events, this one involved a burial, quite why my brother wished this I am not sure, maybe he just wishes us to take long trips out of our way to stand in the rain and wind remembering him, it would be his type of humour!  As it was the day was bright, the sun shone and took the edge of the chill wind arriving from the east.  

The travel included passing through St Pancras station.  The last time I was there was about 30 years ago and how it has changed.  Having struggled through the underground I now walked about a mile or more past these grossly overpriced shops in this brightly lit tourist filled mall.  Not only was this not here 30 years ago I did not realise where the platforms were!  "Upstairs!" he said knowing I didn't believe him.  However after walking back the way I came clutching my ticket I found an escalator going upwards.  The nearest one much to my by now tired bodies dismay came downwards.  Only upstairs did I understand the layout of the station here under the huge cavernous space I realised the platforms had moved bar the ones on the far side now used by the Eurostar trains, the reuse of the undercroft, once used to hold major beer haulage as it was transported around the country, for the mall is a sensible way to gather money.
St Pancras apparently was a 14 year old Christian who Diocletian had executed for his faith.  No, I had not heard of him either.  Pancras means 'The one that holds everything' whatever that means.
During 1868 the first train, the overnight mail from Leeds, arrived at St Pancras Station  stopping under the vast metal and glass roof designed by Barlow & Ordish that has the largest span in the world.  

The 'Midland Railway' built the line and in 1923 joined with the 'London and North Western Railway' plus the 'Lancashire & Yorkshire Railway' to form the famous 'London, Midland & Scottish' Railway Company (LMS).  These maroon coloured engines hauled their fare through the middle of the country.  This came to an end with welcome nationalisation in 1948 when 'British Railways' came into being.  Only nationalised railways can serve the nation as privatised ones merely take the money out of the governments generous purse and keep it to the few at the top.

 
To hide the train shed the Midland railway opened the fabulous station hotel built across the from of the entrance.  This is a tourist site in itself!  It has been said that Sir George Gilbert Scott originally had this design for the Foreign Office but the then Prime Minister Lord Palmerston would not accept any 'Gothic' design.  In stead he insisted on a 'Greek' model and this indeed is what Scott built for him.  However when asked to create a hotel for the Midland Railway he merely took his design, moved the centre tower to a position to the end of the building and created this masterpiece.  Today just walking through the station now it has been renovated takes the breathe away.  I have been inside the building many years ago when it was being used by BT among others.  Even among the accumulated crud of years it was possible to see the fantastic quality of this building.  The hotel failed in 1935 and became LMS railway offices remaining in lean condition until reopened recently as the St Pancras Renaissance Hotel.  Of course I cannot afford to stay there!

The Hind Hotel in Wellingborough has recently been given a new owner, this is good as it is in much need of refurbishment.  Meeting the rest of the family who managed to make it we found the staff very friendly, helpful and capable on the late shift.  This was the hotels strongest point in my view.  As a three star hotel it was acceptable, everything worked, effort had been made to keep it clean and usable and my knees were delighted to climb the ancient wooden stairs to the second floor.  The lassie on the desk helpfully offered to carry my bag 'if I needed help!'  Grump!

The 'Hind Hotel' was built by Lord Hatton a courtier of Queen Elizabeth who had a hind on his coat of arms.  He became a loyal courtier of Elizabeth and was granted much by her and in time reached as high a position as Lord Chancellor.  It did not stop him dying with great debts, these folks knew how to lose money.  The Hind was built in 'Jacobean style' at a time when Lizzie was trying to ensure Catholics did not return to power yet Hatton remained one of her favourites.  Originally the building offered hospitality possibly to those visiting the nearby abbey and they claim evidence Cromwell slept here before the Battle of Naseby.  Cromwell, like Elizabeth, slept in many more places than he actually visited of course. 

The wooden doors, stairs, bannisters alongside the remains of the coloured glass in the windows indicates something of the quality of the original building.  Once the refurbishment is complete this will be an outstanding building.

  
This was one of the fireplaces this time referencing Victoria though it is not possible to say when it was installed.  Now used as a breakfast room and as you can see polished often!

I thought the rooms decent enough though in one or two places the paper was beginning to come away.  This made the place feel just like home!  TV at the far end where my eyes could not reach was irrelevant as I never watch it anyway however I did consider installing a radio by the bed would have been a good idea as I listen to that.

The weather remained fine for the funeral, the wind eased by the sunshine and the short service led by a man who was not a 'Humanist' as one thought but a 'Spiritual Atheist.'  A what?  Yes I wondered also however he was raised in a proper evangelical background and now (I think having retired) he had begun to doubt his faith and the biblical view.  Listening to him as we talked at the buffet (wake to you) in the 'Stags Head,' a lovely pub, I got the impression it was not a lack of belief but the fact he may have been gay and was attempting to fit that with reality, it will however not work.   I could not help but like this man who took trouble to understand my brother and thoughtfully led the service.   

A handful of people from my brothers past attended and it was good to hear stories untold by him.  I was not aware that at his work on your birthday you brought n a bottle of whisky which was empty by closing time.  Nor was I aware that he stood the bottle upside down just to ensure he got the dregs from the bottle and obtained his monies worth.  This is not a  family habit...  

   
I journeyed back with two soprano's, friends of my talented niece who she often does concerts with, and once again visited St Pancras.  This time I wandered around the station and at the base of the needless slushy statue of a couple kissing hello or goodbye found these carvings at the bottom.  All round the base several carvings in what looks like brass appear telling stories of those who have  passed through.  The pictures a re lighter than reality.

Troop trains must have carried thousands of men from this station, not all going abroad of course, many training in various parts of the land.  Others were returning from far off, some wounded, and on both occasions relatives may well have watched the comings and goings with worried thoughts.

This looks like a 'tramp,' or 'homeless' as we must call them today, it could indeed be a 'bag lady' but I do not know the story connected.  This is a shame as the dog alongside has been well loved by kids and others passing by.

The photo does not do this justice but I plead tiredness and desperation to get to the Tube for my next train.  Clearly this one is popular and the head well rubbed.  I suppose it was a local who lived near, in or under the station at one time, possibly someone will know.

 
It is just not possible to picture this magnificent building from the ground.  You must get high up and find a decent position.  Standing on a Friday afternoon with around a million people roaming around is not the ideal way to take photographs.  

 
It is even harder with a man asking for money for food and failing to get some as he was in my view influenced by drugs/drink and just not getting any from anyone.  It is easy to feel guilty by not helping but easing your conscience will not help him and if you really wish to help I say give to one of the many organisations that work among sch folks, then those in need will get help.

Then it was home with one more change arriving in time for tea.  However I could not get my knees interested in heading to the shops so made do with anything lying around.  Luckily I had thought cleverly enough to get something in and leave it for my return, it did not feel anything like enough.
I keep trying to get fit and keep failing, this journey revealed just how unfit I am and I must do something about this and will start this possibly on Wednesday, if I have the energy... 

A Strange Day

Somewhat tired from not eating properly last night and a bit dim much of the day, well until I ate properly.  Funny how eating affects you innit?  Then in the afternoon, in sweltering heat some 30 degrees (that's 86 to those who do things properly) I had to attend a funeral.  
I avoided the actual internment as I left that for the close family and friends but I was amazed at the church when I found it full to overflowing.  I had to stand all the way through.  The lady at the centre of it all was of course praised for her life and as she has now gone to join Jesus her saviour the majority could rejoice also.  The hardest thing was talking to the husband of almost 50 years who is left behind.  Happy as he is that she is with her Lord he now has the great difficulty of trying to live with that great hole in his life.  He will feel it badly once everybody has left and he faces life daily alone.  Sadly nobody can help with that one.
However as at such occasions families met with one another, sometimes the first meeting since the last death/marriage/divorce and long afterwards the buffet was being chomped while tea and cold iced drinks were doing the rounds.  A death in the family and so much laughter!  I didn't wish to mention it but there were one or two who probably should have stayed behind!  
Some funerals are so sad.  People without God die and all sorts of music and chat in their memory is offered and no-one really wants to face the reality of death and the consequences.  Today most could do this knowing they will meet again, a few would not.
I however chatted to those I could and attempted to eat as much buffet as possible but was pushed aside by the crush.  So I got home to fish & chips in the heat, not a good idea but one must eat something.  I have work to do and so little has been done this past few days.  
Ah well, I'll do it tomorrow...

Wednesday

A day to relax!

Indeed a day to relax as all those difficult jobs and problems have been overcome. Prayer works indeed! From the moment the answer to the printer problem slapped me in the face before I was awake, I should wake any time soon, to the death certificate arriving, (a nurse misunderstood the situation and they were very apologetic and kind to my niece when she arrived with a shotgun this morning), to the funeral being fixed for 2:30 Monday afternoon all the major problems have been sorted. Well done those who prayed and wished us well. One or two smaller problems arise but this is too be expected. Imagine having to have a woman minister as the real one is on holiday? Tsk! What would Thomas Chalmers and John Knox say to this?

Solemn though death is it can lead to humorous situations. When my father died many years ago young pat, somewhat inebriated attempted to offer condolences whilst crouching in front of my mother. Her attempt to stifle the giggles as he swayed this way and that while blethering incoherently ended any tension the day had for her. A good man in the church in London died. Our car was held up at traffic lights and, being late in the day, the gate to the cemetery had been shut. Knowing there was another entrance some eight cars raced there and entered Kensal Green Cemetery and began a race. We raced along to the middle, stopped amid rising dust from the gravel pathway, and stood peering in various directions into the gloom searching for the event! More driving, and not at hearse speed, another stop, more peering and slamming car doors as we moved on again, far too fast in the situation. More screeching brakes, more dust, and this time success. The, by now, sweaty occupants suddenly became sedate, solemn participants and slowly made our solemn way to the graveside. The dust was still hanging in the air when we returned to the cars!

Ah well, now I just have to fly up Friday evening, and the cost is greater than I thought, and meet the family and some I will not recognise unless they carry name tags! Next Wednesday, when I return, I will return to cynicism, sarcasm, complaining, objectionable behaviour, and being a wimp yelling at the world. I may even have a rant about airports, rain, Edinburgh, family, and something or other I bet!

But let's face it, that is what makes me so lovable doesn't it?

Reading P.G.Wodehouse again

I dug this book out again as I was looking for some light humorous reading, and I had gone through all the appropriate blogs. It is a great read, especially the middle of the three books it contains. This contains letters Wodehouse wrote to his friend Townend the author of sea stories. Apart from comments on writing and criticism of one another's works, these letters reveal something of the humour always under the surface of the man. What better way to find it than through comments between two close friends. If you get the chance read this book!

I mention it because I saw a funeral today and felt this could easily be found in one of the 'Jeeves' book. At the far end of the street that lies just around the corner is found a Catholic church. Today there was a funeral, somewhat unfortunate at this time of year but there it is. This particular undertaker operates by walking in front of the hearse until they enter the main road. Then they remove the top hat, get back in the car and move off. Today there was a problem! The funeral procession got itself onto the main road and two cars lengths on it stopped. However behind the leading car came a small bus, full of mourners. Actually this was not full of mourners as the door opened and then there began the strife of ensuring the right people were on board and everyone was catered for. All the while the road was blocked and this Christmas eve!

There naturally grew a long line of traffic reaching back into the town centre, few realising why they were held up. Those at the front were aware of the problem, as were the motorists coming the other way, desperate to get those urgently needed Christmas goodies that will probably be unused by tomorrow night! The kerfuffle continued for some time and it was a wonder to behold the drivers of the cars, each and everyone fuming at the delay as first one then another got on, and then off, the bus! The drivers, and passengers, sat twiddling thumbs,none willing to blast the horn or shout 'GERRONWITHIT!!!' but each questioning why he chose this time to die! There is still a traffic queue outside, but whether this represents the slowness of the cortege or normal Christmas traffic I cannot say. I can however tell you that the undertaker in charge was a woman!