Travel

I have been in a quandary recently as to whether to go up north or not.  The travel is a problem.  In times past while living amongst the rich in London I would just get to Kings Cross and take a train to Edinburgh.  Get the right one and we are there in 5 hours.  Now such a trip means leaving here and travelling to Liverpool Street, and hours journey if all is well, changing and making my way to Kings Cross, finding my train, not an early one, and arriving in Edinburgh possibly 7 hours later.  Once upon a time I would have enjoyed this, now it all seems just too much trouble.

 

Towpilot

 

Of course I could fly.

This means an early morning bus to Stansted, if the bus still runs, and a plane, either 'Easyjet' or 'Ryanair.'  The hassle of getting on a plane does not entice me there.  For a start |I have to work out the website, then tickets are all on the phone, which confuses me, why no cardboard ones for miserable old gits I ask?  Then there is getting there, queuing with all those heading for Majorca and already drunk, removing things so trousers fall down, shoes disappear, and then rebuilding yourself after being frisked by a happy-chappy with no personality.  Then another queue near the gate, unless it is changed to another.  

Altogether not much fun.    

Or maybe I will just have to buy a car and drive up...?

Serving the Colours

@RHerriott

I was interested in Jenny's forefathers, at least the ones who served in the British Army.  Until well after the second world war there was often no other opportunity for an unemployed young man than enlisting as a 'sodger!'  Of course many joined the Royal Navy or Merchant Navy in similar circumstances, but reliable long term work was not always easy to obtain, nor to keep.  So, for many soldiering was a choice.  It gave a regular wage (10 shillings a week or so in 1914), a uniform as clothes were expensive, and the opportunity to see the world, a world that would remain unseen otherwise.

Those in work could count on a day or so holiday in some jobs, a weeks leave was possible but usually unpaid, unless you were in a clerical role, and wandering around the world was only for the wealthy.

So, in 1925, unable to find work, my father and his mate next door wandered up to the recruiting office.  

'How old are you?' asked the sergeant.

'18,' They replied.

'Go for a walk around the block, and come back when you are 19,' suggested the sergeant.

A short while later the pair returned.

'How old are you,' gruffed the sergeant.

'19,' they replied.

'Sign here.'

And they were in.

Well not exactly.  The MO, the doctor, decided my dad's mate had flat feet and rejected him, so my dad found himself alone in the 2nd Battalion the Kings Own Scottish Borderers,' for 7 years and 3 in reserve.

Within a year he was sending postcards from Egypt, where he climbed the pyramids, then Hong Kong where hew as to lodge for 5 years.  A young man of his time would have been lucky to get a train to North Berwick or Glasgow for a holiday.  Railways enabled many to get out and about, but if paid 10-15 shillings a week then a 3'6d rail fair was a lot.  There again, where would the money for the day off come from?  

I suspect there was also the Imperialist propaganda at the back of his mind.  The UK had an Empire, we ruled the world, and he would see no problem at the time with dominating either the Chinese or the Indians he would meet much later.  He probably considered he was doing them good!  How times and ideas change in a hundred years.  

@RHerriott

Was it 1961 my brother enlisted?  A very different time, a very differing mental outlook among the people.  The Empire remained, though it was breaking up fast.  People rejoiced in a time when 'they never had it so good,' and yet the draw of a service life, this time as a photographer in the RAF was tempting for many.   There was no 'walking round the block,' here, you enlisted at 19 or went away for a year.   National Service had ended, no conscription, so all this was voluntary, and my brother had no intention of slugging it out under bullying corporals in the army, so he joined the RAF.  Here, he found bullying corporals, but once passed the test he found intelligent men who were willing to work for the cause and have fun at the same time.  The RAF has always drawn in a more relaxed crowd, mostly middle class, and often technically minded.  This is something soldiering had little need for until the last 30 or so years.  Many young soldiers now have learned their job through online games rather than pub brawls.  Many enjoy both of course.

While dad kicked around the Chinese for a while and then tended to the hospital patients in India where he chose to be an orderly, Rob had a much more civilised time in Germany, Cyprus and what is now Dubai!  He also endured after 102% in the Gulf the pleasure of RAF Kinloss, where 102% only existed in your oven.  Whether he owned or stole the Royal Enfield bike I know not, but we never saw it. He did have a habit of acquiring shoddy vehicles.

The point that got my attention with Jenny's family is how so many were forced into the armed forces.  It was a take it or starve policy that many benefited from.  But how did this affect the children?  Some I know had family in RAF or diplomatic service and travelled across the world.  Some were dumped in Boarding schools, others on family members, or trudged around the world grabbing education here and there.  Was this good for them?  

I have to say it would have suited me in some ways,  constant change would enable me to leave behind things I did not like, as well as things I did like.  The experience of foreign places early in life, the warmth instead of the sold, different exotic foods, and possibly a less disciplined regime?  A Boarding School would have been awful, not that this would have been considered by our family, only the middle classes went there.  The main loss of constant moving would be the effect on the family.  If the family was good and able to keep together it could be a great time.  If it was troublesome or partings were forced this could be difficult for many.  Families are meant to be together.

I never enlisted, though my father often suggested I joined the Soviet Union army, for the sake of the country...

Ticket to Ride

This is a good book.  

Published in 2016, Tom Chesshyre road the rail in 2013/14, so it is slightly dated.  Non the worse for that.  It is understandable that situations have changed somewhat in some of the countries Ton

m has travelled through.  And what countries, what trains!  

Written from the point of view of someone who likes trains without becoming an anorak train enthusiast, Tom travels through China, India, USA and Russia amongst others places.  Detailing the trips, the people, the country that he meets on board and sees through the window.  

The fact that he has put so many trips into the book means each trip could have been a single book in itself, though I suspect his run in with a mutinous bunch of Aussies who rebelled against him he probably does not wish to cover again.  

His writing style is good.  We are there listening to the Chinese coughing loudly, we see the red soil of Australia fade into the distance, we note the differing attitudes of guards, both at the borders and on the trains.  The North Korean guards are not what I expected, the drugged up lout in New York was. 

In most nations Tom comes across ano rail enthusiasts.  Those who travel on every line, ensuring all they see, trains, coaches, signals, stations, drivers are photographed, and those who just like travelling by train.

On such trips people open up about themselves and life in general.  By avoiding controversy guides can become quite friendly and open in even the most 'locked in' nation.  Train travel, especially on long journeys, does tend to loosen the passengers, drink also helps.  Speaking to a stranger, often about their private life, is possible for some, especially when you will never meet again.  Something about train travel relaxes people, the smooth ride possible on most lines today, the sights from the train, green verdant land, streams, seas, mountains, all calm the mind.  

Of course there is the other type.  The drunk, the lout, the man or woman on the phone sharing their work or private life with one and all.  Surely murder is not wrong in such situations?  The staff, sometimes happy, sometimes grumpy, depending on where you are and how they have been treated.

'Ticket to Ride' offers all this.  It was a book I found hard to put down.  Also, the trips being separated means this book need not be read in one go, each chapter a differing delight.  The descriptions of the train delights the anor fan, the hope to be there one day delights me.  

I recommend this book, both as a 'railway' book and as a travel book.  

Tom Chesshyre

I've just realised I have read one of his before.  'From Source to Sea.'  A walk from the source of the Thames to the sea.

Book!!!

 

Waterstone's

 

At last, after much struggle, I have reached the end of 'Engel's England.'  Something many of us wish to achieve!  I began reading this book early in Lock Down but just could not find the effort to read anything for a while.  Several dust covered books lie awaiting my eyes so I have begun another two of them.  At least one introduction and one first page!   

Anyway, you may remember Matthew Engel from his previous book, 'Eleven Minutes Late,' so you will know the character of the man.  That book concerned railways, this one involves his journey around every English county.  English only, which is fair enough.  This makes the book a long read, even if some chapters are not too long he does like to spend time in those he associates with.  

There is no real pattern to the journey, he took several years over it, between 2012 and 2014, hopping here and there, and it is worth a look just to see what he thinks is important in the county in which you may have connections.  Ten years out of date maybe but relevant still today.

London here, is treated as a seperate county, and this makes sense.  London has little connection to England, much less to Scotland or Wales, even though the government offices reside here.  London, the government, the Oxbridge set that run the nation, and all the powerful of the land care nothing for anything north of Euston Road, London alone counts with them as that is where their money and friends, make that contacts, are.

Engel travelled around London on his own when around 12 year of age, he lived in Northampton but holidayed with his gran in Temple Meads.  He travelled safely, wandering on and off bus and tube, visiting interesting places.  Boys that age would enjoy such an activity even now, however, I suspect the police, social services and women with short hair and dangly earrings would suffer hysteria at a 'child' exploring on his own today.  Personally I did similar, round Edinburgh, and no harm came to me.  His love of London is clear, possibly because he now lives miles away outside, and here, as in all counties he offers an interesting view of what is around him.

All counties in England are found here, some history, some novelties, some people stories, all the usual things to expect from a travel book.  He missed one bit of Essex mind, this one!   

 

Wanderlust

Young men like a bit of adventure.  Some simply walk out the door and keep walking travelling far and wide over large acres of the world, often with little forethought.  Others are forced by the call of King and Country to adventure in places they would rather avoid.  In days of yore young lads often as young as twelve or thirteen years of age would wander through the docks finding work on ships travelling to foreign fields, the better educated grabbing what contacts they could might find a trail across Europe making the most of the smattering of French and German forced down their throats at school.  The attraction  was the same, to go out there,  over the horizon to places untouched and unknown always hoping for adventure, well adventure that didn't hurt at any rate, and finding excitement that cannot be obtained by staying at home.

My limited adventurous streak showed during the close season, that once upon a time situation when the football season closed in May and did not reappear until August, then I would travel.  Bored as I was I went to the Bus station on St Andrews Square and got the bus to North Berwick.  This is not a long journey but I was only eleven or twelve at the time and my money was limited.  After this I went further, Kirkaldy in Fife or Leven a wee bit further over, just to see what was there.
As I got older football's close season got shorter and by then we played football during the spare time rather than wander about.  Of course when fifteen I also had a job that the grace of God and inept management meant I kept, I would have fired me, and with good reason, several times before I jumped ship.  The travel bug was satisfied I realised by the bus trips to football matches in Dundee and Glasgow.  While we went for the game I just enjoyed the trips outside of Edinburgh and being somewhere different, even if cold and wet as it often was.

Great West Railway

I did of course take a very badly thought out journey in 1974 when working at the Royal Infirmary.  This was the year I bought a bike for £18, the owner had 'Gone to Australia') and then a few weeks later set off on an epic journey to London.  This is not something I would do today.
However when based in a Swiss Cottage slum during 1976, though I may have moved to exciting Willesden Lane by then, I took it into my head to go to Cardiff.  Why?  I have no idea but there again I had always wished to go abroad.  So off I traps to Paddington Station, pay through the nose for a ticket and clamber aboard the 125, only used on that line then, and sat back.  
One notable aspect of the trip was my questioning mind. We entered a tunnel and while this is to be expected after a while, a long while I thought, we were still in the tunnel.  It took me a while to realise we were in Box Tunnel (either than the Severn I canny say which both looked dark to me) and I was surprised as I had forgotten the difficulties encountered when creating the railway back in the 1840's.  Isambard Kingdom Brunel constructed this tunnel and it appears like me many think that on one day a year the light shines straight through the tunnel and that day happens to be Brunel's birthday.  It appears we are wrong in this, it occurs a day or so earlier on his sisters birthday.  That is what I call a present, what she called it is not known.  

 Avraham Graicer

In spite of the overnight stay in Cardiff, where nothing happened, and my desire never to go abroad again I did in fact make an interesting trip to Jerusalem just before the 1st Gulf War, the one in which everybody was scared of Saddam, and with the weapons the USA had given him they ought to have been scared!  That was interesting and provided plenty of photos even though most were taken on slide film, still sitting there waiting to be shown but no good on here!  One day I will transfer them to digital and bore you as I bored others in 1990.  The one inescapable incident of that trip was visiting Megiddo, the ancient city that goes back several thousand years.  From the name we get the term 'Armageddon' and it was in 'Armageddon' that I got locked in as the lack of visitors (the Yanks were scared to visit in case of war) meant the caretaker locked up and went home.  I eventually found an unlocked gate before I had to climb over the wall. 
These days I find it difficult to go anywhere.  This year has been a bummer physically and while I wish to wander about have been unable to, local transport has not helped either, road works, and rail works have closed things on weekends.  Age also means I lack the adventure to see over the hill as I once wished to.  Having been over the hill for some time I have a degree of cynicism that youth does not possess and this limits adventure to some extent.  However a free gift of a car and the money to run it will I'm sure change my opinion.  Hmmm looks like my opinion will not be changing any time soon.   

Travel Thoughts

Funny how our thoughts change with time.
I was reading a blog in which a young man tells of the difference between spending time travelling and then returning to the real world.  I think reading it we can all find something to identify with in his tale.
He talks of hitchhiking around, the people he met and places he visited.  He discusses the differences in attitudes between those friendly folks he met while walking and the daily grind where smiles do not exist.  We have all been there.
I can recall similar attitudes.  The difference between the behaviour of the people on the Edinburgh to Kings Cross train and the attitudes found in the deep, dank London Underground come to mind.  People travelling long distance often, but not always, show a more relaxed approach to those around them while the man in the 'tube' cares little and fears much from his companions.  I understand that!  People who pick you up when hitchhiking along the A1 I found were often friendly and helpful, not counting the old fella late at night south of Newcastle who offered me a fiver for a little job!   
The fact is when in your youth travelling around, especially slowly, lets you see the country in a way never seen by staying in a boring job or never leaving one place of residence.  Changes in landscape, how others live, local foodstuffs, dialect and language differences all leave a mark and returning home life seems in many ways safe but boring.  
My adventure in 1974 in which I bought a bike, not having ridden one for years, piled stuff into the saddlebags and two or three weeks later cycled off to London gave me similar thoughts.  It also gave me the thought that I ought to have bought the stolen bike six months before not three weeks! However I saw a world I would have missed, met people I would not have known and been considered mad by folks who did not know me as well as those around today who consider me mad from experience.
Those rich kids who can travel to exotic places, Europe, the Americas, Australasia or Greenock benefit even more by finding sunshine, exotic foodstuffs, large spiders and Berri-Berri, all this makes the mince and tatties of their childhood pales into significance, especially the Berri-Berri, however in some cases it may become all to familiar!
However in the end reality sets in.  Home, wherever it is made, means work to earn the cash to pay for the lifestyle.  No matter what you do, no matter how talented, no matter how freelance you may be there are always deadlines to meet and people to obey.  Freedom from work does not exist until you retire and for many a cheap life is all they have then.  Mind you when in the 90's a cheap life is what most need!  I will soon know. 
The joy of heading down the road into the sunshine is great when young.  I recall returning to Edinburgh and watching a drama in which a young man heads off by rail into the future.  As he stood discussing this with his near tearful girl the rail line stretched out behind him and as a 20 year old I so wanted to follow that railway - anywhere!  Today I know that at the other end life is just the same as here, such a disappointment!  
We are lucky that in some cases our life improves when we follow the railway.  Jesus took me back to London and life with him is better than any other.  Others make a good life even if the rainbow does not land outside the door, some of course fall through the net and vanish.  In the end the desire to see the world and the newness of life fade somewhat.  Life can be good but age and experience alas arrives.  The good things alongside this can make up for this, family, friends, wealth, hobbies, lifestyle and the like but the youthful outlook will perish. 
Such a shame innit.  

Las Vegas

THIS MAY COME AS A SURPRISE TO THOSE OF YOU NOT LIVING IN LAS VEGAS, BUT THERE ARE MORE CATHOLIC CHURCHES THAN CASINOS.
NOT SURPRISINGLY, SOME WORSHIPPERS AT SUNDAY SERVICES WILL GIVE CASINO CHIPS RATHER THAN CASH WHEN THE BASKET IS PASSED.
SINCE THEY GET CHIPS FROM MANY DIFFERENT CASINOS, THE CHURCHES HAVE DEVISED A METHOD TO COLLECT THE OFFERINGS.
THE CHURCHES SEND ALL THEIR COLLECTED CHIPS TO A NEARBY FRANCISCAN MONASTERY FOR SORTING AND THEN THE CHIPS ARE TAKEN TO THE CASINOS Of ORIGIN AND CASHED IN.

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THIS IS DONE BY THE CHIP MONKS...!

YOU DIDN'T EVEN SEE IT COMING DID YOU ?

GOTCHA !!