Fireworks Saturday

Because of a failed attempt to kill a King several hundred years ago people today still make bonfires and set of fireworks to celebrate.  Most of them cannot tell which King this was )Google it!) but they do know a guy called Guy Fawkes was involved.  As they stand around in the rain on a Saturday night while they attempt to roast potatoes in the fire that keeps going out, could someone justify the noise levels that are keeping me awake?  The houses behind me are sending up sufficient gunpowder to bring down half of Bomber Command, the houses in front and to the right have worn themselves out by seven O'clock sending rockets high above.  In the far distance the battle of the Somme occurs amongst the lower orders, however that may just be because it is Saturday night.  All this while yet another 'storm,' is beginning to blow.  While cats and dogs everywhere run for cover and I long to join them I ask, do I ever complain?  Well not normally, so it must be them being a pest right enough! Ban them!

While dodging the Friday night fireworks I discovered my old albums are beginning to fall apart through damp and age.  During the rescue attempt I found some long lost pictures that might be of interest.  This one features an early post box.  You will note the original colour was green, changed to red because these were indistinguishable from the greenery around, or so the 'Daily Mail' reader of the day claimed.  These were first used in the Channel Islands for some reason and when found to be a success placed all over the nation. Anthony Trollope, the writer, was an employee of the Royal mail, writing much of his output on the train between Ireland, where he was based, and London. Some say these were his idea.  This was a somewhat dark picture so I had to fiddle with it a bit, hence the grainy appearance.  I cannot mind where I found it but I think it may have been at a heritage railway somewhere.  

Bournemouth somewhere I think.  Not a great picture but the wave patterns attracted my little mind.  How I wish I was by the sea!  It's not Black & White, it is just the way I 'improved' the tones.

This indeed is in B&W, found in 'Postman's Park,' London, the long wall erected in the 19th century by a man who wanted to commemorate those who died while attempting to save others. Some succeeded, some failed.  All lost their lives.  Men and women, young and old, policemen, firemen, passersby, all gave themselves to save another.  One of London's most poignant and most forgotten memorials.  

I suspect this area is very different today from when I took this view of Kings Cross.  The gas holders may well have been removed or destroyed, they have the same troubles with the ones in Edinburgh, and the road from whence this picture was taken has certainly been rebuilt.  The dereliction will have gone, but probably not the derelicts that exist in the area.  The St Pancras complex, the new buildings, the renovation of the housing opposite, most likely for sale at high price, makes this image historical.  

You may tell that my mind is dead this evening, in spite of the bombardment overhead.  Rising early I deposited myself in the museum this morning because whatsername was not in.  naturally she turned up anyway!  Women!  A quiet morn with the exception of an eight year old who placed himself behind the alcove as I made my way to the kitchen.  He kindly yelled 'Boo!' just as I rounded the corner and almost sent the cups i carried across the entire complex!  How he laughed!  I wondered if I could get the stone age axe out the display unit without breaking the glass but he got away in time.

My dear niece, who decided to take a stroke, appears to be well.  She remains in hospital awaiting Monday morning test results and another telling off from the doctor for misbehaving.  It appears she is walking and talking as normal, and that the physio has been ensuring she exercises (HA! That's good for her!) her limbs appropriately to ensure no loss occurs.  Her grumbling and complaining have returned, so all appears to be well.  I suppose I will have to get her a Christmas present after all.....

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The Days of Long Ago/

In the days of long ago my sister got married, I know this because I was there and the poor husband has been whining about it ever since.  We took the novel step of recording the wedding ceremony, however you cannot hear his voice saying "I do," and he has attempted on many occasions since to claim the marriage was illegal.  The back of her hand has ensured him that it was legal. They moved out of Edinburgh to a small village where numbers of new houses were being built.  This was for the incoming employees 0f the new built 'British Leyland,' factory nearby.  Here they built Tractors and Lorries, and my brother-in-law had got himself a job as a storeman there.  I think it is important to mention that as the word 'village' brings with it a connotation of a close 'community,' that much misused word, small cosy houses, and a gentler pace of life I must point out that here in the depths of West LOthian life was not like that! That is because this was 'Glasgow overspill territory!'  Many came trundling from the west to work in the factory, where several thousand were employed at one time,  and the newly built houses, with all mod cons, and 'American styling,' or so they said, were within fifteen years or so mostly pulled down because of the cretins who inhabited them.  Decent enough houses in themselves but they were filled with people who ruined them.  Why is this?  Many house designs of the post was period were a result of too much Le Corbousier  (you spell it!) influence, sometimes well thought out, often hacked about to keep costs down, and rarely 'human enough' for people to live in.  Maybe it was the type of people who inhabited them, a subject for another post maybe.   My sister still happily lives there, having long ago moved from that particular part of the village, and has survived in spite of the occasional murder.  

When she moved in, that was in 1962/3 time, we noticed postcards for sale in the small shops that then stood in the main street.  All of them had been printed in the 1920's or 30's!   Naturally we laughed, bought them, sent them, and forgot them.  Had we kept them some postcard fanatic might have paid a lot of money for them.  But I doubt it!  I came across them again on a  site a while ago and sadly have lost the link.  It may be the town site itself, note the word town!  Maybe it is now.  This one shown features a Gala Day procession from 1913.  In those days it was common for towns and villages to have a Gala Day, and this practice still persists although in slightly more modern form.  In fact where I live we also have such an event, but usually I am clever enough to miss it!  In the Days of Long Ago parades through the streets were common.  Such days brought all the town groups out in their Sunday best to walk the length of the main street and have a picnic and games in the local park.  Miners with their banners, Church groups, Scouts and Guides, businesses and leisure organisations would happily parade in the sunshine   Fun for all the family, even drunk uncle Joe!  Apart from the Gala Day, usually called 'Miners Gala Days' in Scotland with regard to the one time shale and coal mines that once abounded, there are none who parade today bar the 'Loyal Orange Order,' and an occasional Irish opponent.  These are not fun days to look out for however.   Around this time of year many will participate, probably on the back of a truck, and the smaller 'communities' (that horrible word) will gather for a bit of a laugh for the kids sake.  Uncle Joe will be found in the 'Red Lion' however.......

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