Poor History

One of the many standard media fillers these days is sentimental pictures of troops from the great war.  The DM of course knows its readership and each week, often each day, a similar second world war tale is shown.  This encourages some to remember the days when they 'stood alone' and others to fulfil their 'Waffen SS' fantasies.  The UKIP and Right wingers love these pictures.
The style is always simple, as it appears from the spelling mistakes, unchecked facts, and constant wrong information so are the 'work for free' employees who have been fooled into thinking they are learning journalism.  (This one was stolen from yesterdays 'Daily Express' apparently)  The simple style calls all 'our boys,' 'our boys,' always 'Brave' and certainly 'heroes.'  There then follows in the comments columns the usual drivel from the same UKIP/right wing nutjobs.  Half the comments claim "What would they say if they saw our country now?" The rest, "They fought Germany and Germany rules Europe."   Many with little tact indicate foreigners are living here of the fat of the land that 'our heroes' won.
I get annoyed at this.
Now I know a little about two world wars and I know that many what we see in these comments in the tabloids is the result of half truths and lies spewed out by said papers, all to benefit the owners and the Conservative Party.  By blaming immigrants for twenty years a generation, mostly over fifty, have come to believe their nation has been stolen from them, they are indeed right but not in how they see it.  With their eyes on immigrants and an unhistorical view of history the deluded have been and are being robbed daily.
Many immigrants came here after serving in our forces, fighting our wars, and suffering for the DM reader.  They deserve a place in this nation.  Anyway what right had we to go into their land and steal it?
It is certainly true that many who served in the Great War were heroes, many courageous acts occurred, often from people least likely to do them before they left.  Many also committed horrendous acts of needless aggression and enjoyed the opportunity to kill, maybe the DM reader would appreciate them of course.  He would be less likely to enjoy him living next door.  In the first war over two and a half million men volunteered, a fact that annoys those who claim the war was a 'rich man's war fought by the working classes.'  These like to blame royalty infighting causing war but royalty while making mistakes had nothing to do with making war, nearly all were impotent.  On the ther hand Asquith the somewhat double minded Prime Minister (still better than what we possess today) lost a son in the war, Churchill himself played at soldiers in the trenches for a while, and the general also lost children fighting.  The Great War involved everyone not just the 'lower orders.'

Were the dead of the Great War a futile dead?  No, had they not served, the French would have ost and that Germany, just as cruel as the later one, would have dominated the world.  Should so many have died?  Sadly it takes two to fight and unless one side steps down the other remains.  Politicians are responsible for wars, and there were none able to stop it and many willing to continue it.  
The second war was easier to defend, it could have been avoided by better politicians at home and abroad but in the end it had to be won.  Were these men better heroes?  No these were no different from the earlier generation, it is just that the later war appears less messy, it wasn't.  
Were these men brave?  Brave enough to go 'over the top' or be shot for cowardice?  The bravest were those who for decent reasons refused to fight and insisted on a better world, they suffered for their beliefs, they were the brave ones.  It is easy to follow the crowd it is difficult to stand out and be abused.

I often ask the commentators who suggest todays generation are not like the previous ones 'what regiment did you serve in?' and et no reply.  They have never served, didn't want to serve, and would be no better than today's or any other generation of forced into war.  The bulk of the men were often brave, more often afraid and very glad the war is over.  They did miss the comradeship, missing at home, the excitement, foreign travel, pay, fun and laughter and a few tears also.  They came back changed and indeed still do whether from Northern Ireland, Iraq or any war we know little about.  I am never keen on calling servicemen 'heroes' but they deserve our respect, especially today when they are all volunteers and still face death if called into action.  We ought to thank them and avoid the nonsense in the daily press.

I WENT into a public 'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, " We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' " Tommy, go away " ;
But it's " Thank you, Mister Atkins," when the band begins to play
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it's " Thank you, Mister Atkins," when the band begins to play.

I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' " Tommy, wait outside ";
But it's " Special train for Atkins " when the trooper's on the tide
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,
O it's " Special train for Atkins " when the trooper's on the tide.

Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap.
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an` Tommy, 'ow's yer soul? "
But it's " Thin red line of 'eroes " when the drums begin to roll
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it's " Thin red line of 'eroes, " when the drums begin to roll.

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an` Tommy, fall be'ind,"
But it's " Please to walk in front, sir," when there's trouble in the wind
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,
O it's " Please to walk in front, sir," when there's trouble in the wind.

You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an` Chuck him out, the brute! "
But it's " Saviour of 'is country " when the guns begin to shoot;
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
An 'Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool - you bet that Tommy sees!


Rudyard Kipling

Easter Monday

Being the Easter Monday holiday almost everything was shut.  Thankfully Tesco still opened to feed those who almost starved over the past few days.  I had to go there as I found a sink was blocked and while I managed to clear it last night found my bank holiday beginning with pouring smelly stuff down the plughole.  It seems to work but it does annoy when that happens, especially late in the day.  
For the rest of the day I sat at this laptop trying to finish updating the WW2 memorial that collapsed. The problem is that while I have basic info on all the men I have not got the links to hand for further information so I have to trawl through the sites to find that again.  That takes time and working at the speed to which I have become accustomed it took lots of time.  It is getting there but slowly and what slows me down is finding interesting bits of info which I must read and then forget what I was looking for in the first place.  Bah!      

On the other hand as there was nothing on the TV and I found less on the radio I suppose this kept  me out of mischief.  The question is why are TV programmes on holiday periods so poor?  Do they save up the rubbish to fill space or is it the programmes they have are all poor and they show them hour after hour?  For instance 'Who do you think you are,' the series where famous people I have never heard of seek their ancestors, has been running for four days now.  While the idea of this programme is good the outworking is poor.  The whole point is less about finding the empty headed starlets great granny it is about finding a story about great granny in a workhouse so they can add sentimental music and force tears from said starlet.  That is not seeking ancestors that is a reflection of the small minded TV we have dumped on us by the Islington set today.  Certainly finding granddad in a lunatic asylum might produce a reaction but why force tears about someone born a hundred years before you were born?  My granddad's first wife ended in such a place but ought I to be weeping?   He might have done, the children might but really this is just a reflection of the loss of the 'stiff upper lip.'  Whatever it is it is not history.

Possibly I misjudge the attitudes.  I am constantly finding poignant information when researching people.  For instance this lass here, a member of the ATS who died far from home in Coventry during the war.  Her little band were supporting heavy anti-aircraft guns, either firing the things or working searchlights alongside possibly, either way from action or disease she died aged 19 only.  That is  tear jerking especially if there were no more children in the family.  I can find no other information on this lassie, who knows the situation, but can we weep for people we never met?

While I sat in here in the gloom with only the starlings banging away at the feeders for company I know you lot were still stuffing chocolate eggs down your throat.  I am not jealous, just as I am not the one running to the dentist asking why there are no teeth left.  
No I enjoyed the gruel which was all I could afford, the bit of stale bread left in the wooden box, and washed this down with stale water to avoid using electricity and spending cash.  No don't feel sorry for me, you enjoy being overweight....

Spy Woman, Fat and Mess

Last night, as there was no football to stimulate the mind, I wandered round to the museum to hear a talk on Krystyna Skarbek by a local author Clare Mulley.  It seems this was a well to do Polish lass who  was a bit of an adventure seeker.  When the Germans invaded she was in South Africa for reasons I forget and made her way to London and offered herself for spy work.  The British of course had no women in such roles and espionage and behind the lines work was considered somewhat dangerous for wee lassies early in the war.  Later when things were organised several women died, often horribly, for work behind the lines in France.
Eventually Krystyna got work via the Polish forces and spent some time gathering information and boyfriends along the way, I told you she was adventurous, predatory possibly one said.  She worked in dangerous situations in Europe with a husband/boyfriend I forget which there were lots, and only by feigning TB did she manage to get the Germans to throw both of them out.  Their escape across Europe led them to Cairo where the British considered her a German double agent!  Lifes like that.
Later from London she entered France and worked alongside several others annoying the Germans before and after D-Day.
She was awarded many medals including a George Cross, the highest civilian award for bravery, an OBE and the Croix de Guerre plus the usual things.  Not bad for a wee lassie.  She also ended up with two husbands, several men and lots of associations.  As the Soviet KGB also knew about her she was of no use after the war to the British spy network so she was dumped.  She was also refused British citizenship, something this continues today where such folks are concerned, but eventually settled under one of her many names in London. 
Here however an angry boyfriend stabbed her to death and ended her life in 1952.  A somewhat sad end to a woman of adventure and er, romance.
The talk was interesting even though the acoustics are not great and my hearing failures meant I missed much of it.  I would have bought the book but through no fault of my own I ended up washing the cups! 

Before the thunder & lightning returned this morning I headed East into the sun on my rusty old bike and made my way around town in an effort to get fit.  I got stiff knees and aching back so this fitness idea is working.  However the weight is creeping up rather than falling and later today as I visited the Turkish Market that appeared the other day for the second time and came home with a large bag of Mediterranean sweet cakes I wondered why?  You know what I refer to?  The Middle East sweet cakes stuffed with healthy things and wrapped in greasy unhealthy stuff?  I love them and rarely see them so I bought too many the other day and foolishly ate them!  I may need to ride the bike to Inverness to lose the weight I am putting on today!   
However I managed to buy the black cord jacket I have been looking for since three years ago for £12 in an expensive charity shop.  This idea of smartening myself up appears to be working.  Now I look like a poor man's Jeremy Clarkson but without the talent!
Good news however football has returned for a while.  Are you not all glad?

Well it worked!  Farage told them what they wished to hear, Boris scared them with talk of millions of immigrants and the people who read the 'Sun,' 'Daily Express' & 'Daily Mail' fell for it.  Now everyone with an Irish ancestor is applying for an Irish passport so they can travel in Europe, buisnessmen will have to fill reams of paper to visit EU nations, young folks are unable to work in EU as they are no longer part of it and even today some nations will not exchange the pounds in tourists pockets because they do not know hos stable the Pound actually is.  Well done Boris!
Interestingly the people who will discuss the leaving strategy have excluded Nigel Farage the rabblerouser who led from the front with his lies.  Poor thing how I feel for him!  
We now have a 'lame duck' Prime Minister who will not do anything to help the Brexit folks who have cost him his job, he cannot bring in legislation as he has no control over his party, the main contenders for his job, Boris Johnson, Michael Gove and Theresa May are collecting friends and stabbing each other in the back as we speak, well they are stabbing Boris as no Conservative member really wishes him as leader.  George Osborne however has disappeared altogether, where is he?  His faulty handling of the economy, his high handed approach to the nation and his failing budgets mean few Tories will vote for him. The Labour Party is divided and the lack of leadership worrying, The Lib-dems mean nothing and only the Scots nationalists have a clue what to do.
Another independence vote is on the cards soon.  Just see how many companies cross the border and settle in Edinburgh then!  In Ireland even those who wish to remain 'British' and looking for Irish passports, and the Belfast government has no choice but to discuss unity with Dublin.  Europe on one hand laughs, on the other is afraid others will wish to join England.  
All is amiss and if Putin wishes to invade now is the time!

  

WW2 Day at Museum

Today we had the WW2 day. Sadly I was not able to dress as a 'spiv' and sell bottles of whisky and petrol for a profit as they would have done, I have neither the moustache nor the sharp suit required.  However I did my usual running around act, avoiding real work, and chatting up the pretty girls.  Life can be so hard.  

As we crunched our WW2 biscuits, very good indeed, and listened ta a talk on Wethersfield airfield the band outside tuned up their sound system.  I suggested waiting till the talk ended, they agreed and as I returned our speaker offered Glenn Miller & Bing Crosby, both of whom visited the airfield to encourage the troops.  Nothing was remarked concerning Glenn Millers disappearance, this was put down to his crashing at sea in fog but it appears he was accidentally bombed by returning RAF bombers offloading their bombs in the dropping zone in the channel as he passed underneath in the other direction.  
The 416th Bombardment Group flew 145 missions in Douglas A-10G Havoc's losing 70 men in the process.  Some 14 of these men still meet regularly including one who is now 100 years old, the youngest is still referred to as 'Kid' by the rest in spite of being in his 90's. 

Moving swiftly on as the RAF did that day we find the exhibition went well, many passed through, many chatted, many listened to the talks (the other one on the 'Women's Land Army' the girls who worked the farms when the men were away) and most tried the WW2 cake slices, quite dry but forced me to go back for more and then drink tea.  In did not have time to take more pictures (who said hooray?) but I have found my knees aching.  I also shook hands with the Council Chairwoman, thus indicating I move in high circles. 

I am even more knackered now than ever.  A quiet week next week I think.


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War and all that...

Another day of  WW2.  Will this war ever end?  Since early morning, well sort off, I have been writing and when I look at what I have wrote I wish I had never started this.  What a  load of tripe I write!  It just does not flow, irks me a lot and then I discover something is two years out or in the wrong place. Worse somethings are in twice, how did that happen?? 
So I ate about a third of the cabbage and hope my brain will improve tomorrow.  Except that I'm out at the museum so will do nothing until late on.  Did you know milk chocolate was banned during the war, milk was in short supply you see.  Instead you could have a nut or fruit bar, hmmm, they cost a fortune now.  The British population was supposedly at its healthiest during WW2 because there was shortages of everything, especially fattening stuff.  It must be said however many folks could not get fat as they never had enough to eat before the war, especially if there was a large family.  The Labour government of 1945, there was a Labour Party in those days, not a Conservative 2 Party as now, the Labour Party changed the world for the better in 45.  The NHS, nationalisation and rebuilding houses all while working together for the common good.  Only grasping Tories disagreed.  Thatcher destroyed the idea of 'service,' and working together.  Instead it was every man for himself, especially her friends.  George Osborne works the same way but without the intellect.  

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Another Exhibition Opens

A quick snap of the applause at the opening of another exhibition.  This one concerns the district during the war and how the people reacted.  very interesting, bits of old B.17s, Yank uniforms, diaries, notebooks and memories of those who grew up at the time.  We even had one German POW who stayed on after the war and married as did one of the evacuees who also was there.  This area is better than bombed London right enough.  Lovely to talk to so many people, naturally I landed myself with some work, and I was exhausted listening and talking to people.  Normally I just ignore folks.   I did begin the evening with a glass of Elderberry wine.  I mentioned that it was somewhat weak and later was informed that had been the water jug!  How weak can you get?
Walking home in the still evening air I passed the rear of the local takeaways. The aroma of curry, the best in the area, now will not leave me and I am sitting here hungry again.  It's no fair!
Now I am taking my 16 stone hulk to bed and find something mindless to read.
And why is it no-one phones and the one night I am out the message is left on the ansafone?
Bah!

Fraught Friday

I awoke this morning, this was a bit of a surprise to me.  I was somewhere else when I realised I was struggling to hold onto the ebbing dream that was preferable to the voice on the radio.  That voice was bringing the real world to me when I wanted whatever the dream, whatever that was all about. I canny mind what it concerned but the voice droning on about England's football team made me reach for the button and head to a more sensible voice.  
The dawn had come up like thunder, the sun was shining brightly and I took this picture as the clouds began to turn sunlight into night once again.  I confess it was a wee bit lighter than the picture shows.  Sun, sunlight, bright, not words heard about here very often.  Hot sunshine yesterday, very warm and 'close' today.  This canny go on, and it won't.

I have spent the day in WW2.  I had to reread, rewrite, rethink, and rewrite again and again and it is still not write right.  If I was hearing Vera Lynn singing one minute I was hearing  Heinkel Bombers passing over the next.  Interesting note from one young man who found himself on the roof of a bombed building.  The ladder had been moved, there were too few to go around, and as he worked on the repair from the previous night another bomber arrived, flying low in his direction.  Just imagine his thoughts as he watched this helplessly?  As it was it passed by and bombed harmlessly a garden further up.  His laundryman would have been busy I suspect.
So I have struggled through to 1942, not exactly finished with the previous years either, and now the bloody Yanks are pouring into the country!  "Got any gum chum" will be the cry for several years and not just from children!  Airfields are getting erected and soon dirty big aircraft will be either noisily heading for the east or on occasion failing to take off and crashing to earth.  A common enough happening but not spoken off during wartime.  The German Messerschmidt 109 killed more men in training than were ever lost in action.  
Nothing else has been done because of this.  I must have it ready by last Tuesday so I have not bothered with hoovering, cleaning or washing.  I think people might be beginning to notice.  There again the football does not begin to start until next week so I have got some time before then.  I might even finish this....

The 'land of the free' has decided by 5 to 4 that gay marriage is acceptable in law.  Quite how that works, nine unelected people deciding for a nation in which leadership is stopped by President or Congress vetoing one another fails to impress me.  Something clearly wrong, something that goes against common sense as well as the will of the God who created us being declared acceptable reveals the depth to which the west has sunk.
There is no equality here, marriage is only between one man and one woman committed for life, like it or not, and we know how hard that can be.  Pretending something is acceptable when it is not will only hurt those involved.  Truth sets us free, it is far from easy, but truth reaches the centre of our being and obeying truth brings life.  Jesus came to set us free from that which hinders life.  These decisions obstruct this.
The next step will be the attack on churches that rightly refuse.  The power of the gay mob has been quiet recently but soon it will dominate and persecute openly the Christian church.  Satanic inspired hate will fill the hearts of many, understanding dimmed and open persecution is round the corner.
Sadly, so is judgement from a higher court.  


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Diary Study

Most of today has been spent in the war.  I was reading through a diary we have been given to take out the specific local items.  The writer spent his time during the war on cal as one who attended bomb incidents salvaging people and items and making good buildings where possible.  He had a reasonably busy time on occasions.  The above is the result of one of two large bombs, possibly parachute mines, which arrived near ten one night.  Huge damage, three killed.  The diary details incidents he attended, most regarding the work required to put roofs back on and suchlike, but references to daily life give an inkling of what it was like to live through those days.  
Having read through and selected my bits I have just merged them with what notes I had of the official 'incident reports.'  Therefore when he mentions an air raid I can sometimes add what actually happened. Often the result was bombs on open fields or reasonably safe areas.  Still the fact that every so often a plane or planes might pass over when you slept could be waring on the nerves.  
Add to this the encroaching rationing of daily items, the limits of freedom, work forced upon the individual, and what in fact was a dictatorial state until the war was won, all these things add up after a few years.
Diaries, when you are allowed to read them, give an interesting insight into the writer.  His personality comes through and his opinions appear even when these are not being forced upon us due to space. I think I could like him!  As I wander around town I now consider the repairs that must have been his work.  Few would realise when looking at some houses how damaged they were during the conflict, they appear fit and proper now.  This man can consider he done well by his fellow man.
Now I am wondering what to do with this.  Should I make it into an item and write it up?  Does the boss wish me to leave it with her?  I do not know, neither does she!  So I leave it for now and will find out tomorrow as I have been ordered to report for something or other.   

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Saturday Reading

I find myself entranced at the moment by peoples experiences growing up during the war.  For the exhibition, whenever it is ready, the lass interviewed several locals and I am reading through the transcripts in an attempt to aid deciding what should be broadcast to the public.  Headphones will be provided for the public to listen to the peoples experiences and these are intriguing.
Obviously they were children at the time of varying ages and the greater world was outside their ken but the war touched them in various ways.  There was the loss of dad to the war perhaps, taking part as a young man in the Home Guard ('Dad's Army') or simply living under the flightpath of an airfield checking the numbers of the returning bombers and wondering about the ones that were missing.  John of course was always adventurous, that is why he and other kids ran to an unexploded land mine, one dropped by parachute, and shared some of the parachute between them.  Dad was not so keen and John was informed of his mistake.  Parachute  bombs could cause huge damage for a large area around.  
Memories fade with time, as some of you will be well aware, what was I saying...anyway memories fade in time but the gist of the experience does not.  Emotions remain, especially when noise from explosions is great also, fear aiding memory then right enough, and the emotion often remains long after exact memory has departed.  Double checking does show how much of memory is correct even when exact details were not clear at the time.  Specific events can never be forgotten, such as a plane low over the houses shooting and killing passersby, or the long wait at the station for dad to return on leave and he does not come, that remains fresh in some.  
The impression given by some is that war for kids was boring in that trips away were not allowed, sweets and food was in short supply and dad was often away from home, mum too sometimes, otherwise it was a lot of fun!  The kids had adventures, parties from Americans at the airfields, chewing gum aplenty, and fun with things dropped from service personnel, often things they should not have touched!  Children can have fun with a cardboard box if need be and war, if they are fed well enough, will not stop that.  

The sun shines tonight, the kids are enjoying Saturday pleasures at home, well fed and wrapped up in some television rubbish no doubt.  However in far flung parts of the globe other children suffer war and we no little, and care less, about them.  They hunger and thirst while bombs drop, although if fed they will find fun somewhere.  It is too easy to forget the troubles elsewhere when our sun shines. 

Seven transcripts read, each takes almost half an hour and the time flies by but not when I have football to watch!  I am so glad the season will be over soon, I need a rest!  Seven to read and half way through.  Quite how these folks have made it into their eighties and nineties I know not.  On the other hand I suspect some of these will make it into the hundreds yet!


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Friday Reading

Little happened today.  This was because I woke up asleep.  Until I had my siesta later in the day the mind did not work.  Then I had to saunter to the museum to pick up the reading material for the WW2 exhibition.  This will be all about the town during the war so I now have to read through all the missives from those who have recorded their memories for us.  I have six of them here to read through and this with several football matches to watch this weekend! Time is so short! 

One of our men has appeared in the 'Daily Mail' of all things.   

During the war he was evacuated to a village close by.  There he was left and lost touch with his mother. He blamed this on her having eleven kids and no money.  Edmonton in north London at the time was not a wealthy area and feeding the kids was a problem.  The 'Daily Mail' story gives the tale of how he got in touch with some distant relatives recently, the first contact since the war, and this explained much about how he was left in Essex.  

He himself handled things well and successfully lived out his life, writing a book on his adventures, and is very happily married to a lovely wife.  Dumped he may have been but he has done well, a cheery good man to meet.  

My attempts to catch a picture of the birds on the feeder has been hard work. For one thing the Starlings still annoy me, one just flew in the window instead of going the other way, bounced off the front window and squawked his way back out off the kitchen.  This has happened in the past with young birds, not adults. It must have been a she.  At least I know know a Robin has also joined the feeder queue but refuses to let me take a picture.  Standing hiding behind the fridge holding a camera for hours is not much fun I can tell you!    

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Watching the Chimneys

Plant life will arise anywhere!  I noticed this settling itself on the neighbours chimney today.  A small seed somehow plants itself in a crevice and happily grows away knowing the owner not only cannot see it he will not dare climb up there to fix it.  
Any building, town or city left to itself soon becomes overgrown with what we often refer to as 'weeds.' Yet they are plants of some sort to another even if we cannot find much use for them.  The birds and bees and other beasties certainly make use of such as these and without them I suspect we would wither also. The variety of plant life in this world is astonishing when you stop for a moment to think about it. Those little blue flowers that I can never take a decent picture off, the crops that feed us, the trees that last hundreds of years and climb hundreds of feet into the sky are all a wonder, just grass in a variety of colours, sizes and shapes.  A walk through a well stocked 'country garden,' the type not favoured b y the BBC these days, gives a splash of colour and fragrance we could never copy.  
Just saying like....

The variety of bird life around us is also a wonder!  For a start it is a wonder that every time you press the button the brute turns his head the other way! They do this for spite I tell thee!  At least this one is calling his mate from a distance and not outside my door.  I am having trouble with Starlings however. My little bird feeder is meant for wee birds like Tits and Goldfinch but recently Starlings have discovered how to land on it for the wee white Suet Pellets that I give them.  This annoys me as the big birds hinder the wee ones and It's them I want.  Starlings are excellent birds but come in flocks rather than in pairs and chase away other birds.  I even saw a Wood Pigeon eyeing up the feeder considering how to get a handful from it.  

Up above we have been enjoying blue skies and thick clouds.  At least those who ventured outside. I remained indoors, working hard - for an hour - and wasting away otherwise.  At least I did some work on the WW2 exhibition, feeble I know but it was a start, and I am amazed at how much the lass has managed when I was shirking work.  The next thing is to search for downed aircraft, and there were a few, and bomb holes maybe.  
Oh suddenly my brain hurts.  I think I had better go and watch Forfar Athletic playing Alloa Athletic and let my mind cool down a bit.  Life can be so trying sometimes...  

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Day Out

So my day of rest (most days) was ruined by visiting the Record Office.  The 10:26 bus left right on time at 10:32 but made it to the bus station dead on time.  Then the problems began.  Do I walk to the right along the long canal path or go through town and cut through the big shop?  Town it is, this is quicker and I always go for the quick route.  
Once through the big shop, past the unsmiling painted faces at the perfume counter, avoiding 'women's shows' and squirming at the prices on the men's jackets I came out almost on top of the path by the canal.  My poor knees and I limped along the path past the huge shopping centre, over the bridge and then the doubts began.  Once I had gone miles along I found a board with a map and details on it.  No one had told me that while the River Cam runs through Chelmsford the River Chelmer does also!  No-one told me that turning left took me to nowhere and turning right took me to the Record Office!  My knees muttered loudly under their breath as they took me all the way back, over the bridge and to a place where I could cut through to the back entrance of the said Record Office.  If I have not lost several pounds in weight by tomorrow I will wish to know why!

Passing through town I stopped of for a moment in the cathedral.  This is a nice place to sit and ponder, unless some event is going on, and I always stop of for a moment.  Much altered in recent years it has not replaced the Victorian stained glass windows and here is one of St Cedd, the first Bishop of the East Saxons.  Not that I can remember much about him, nor that he would look anything like the Victorian ideal, indeed he would not have fitted in well with them I doubt, but he was a strong efficient man in his day.  The sun was not bright enough to reveal the depth of colour in the window.

I spent hours in the Records Office, mostly looking through incident reports of WW2 bombs and V1 and the like that fell in this district.  These reveal the confusion when an explosion of some kind occurs in the dark 'over there somewhere.'  This has to be investigated, damage or casualties reported, and few if any of these men were professional.  However they dealt with bomb damage, individuals made homeless or wounded, and a hundred other events including being shot at by passing German aircraft.  
I was left with something of the lifestyle the man in the street endured as each day he risked passing aircraft, bullets and bombs while going about his everyday business.  These were the men at home, often with family members away on service, 'carrying on' and 'muddling through' while this great event erupted around them.  We are lucky we do not have that situation daily as they had.  
Naturally the bits I really wished to read about came late on when I had lost my mind by reading all the comments and struggling through a mass of carbon backed paper.  I will haven to go back next week and look at some of these again.  

Naturally the bus home met with the 'rush hour,' streams of red lights ahead of us, yellow ones to either side, and roundabout after roundabout hindering our advance to home.  Now home, fed badly and watered just as badly I ache all over, await the pains in the knee keeping me awake, and worse still there is no football on the TV!  
Bah!
  
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Snow, Talk, Listen...

This disgusting sight greeted me as I rose from the fourteen blankets under which I attempted to get some repose.  All night great drops of this white stuff had fallen, blanketing the fields, endangering the roads and pavements, and freezing bits left unfrozen from the last lot.  This made worse by my having to go out into this treacherous stuff also.  I mused on how unfair it was that others winge about to much heat yet we have an abundance of cold they cold share, non I note make any effort to come and collect it!  Worse still I could not get my car to start this morning because of the snow.

What do you mean 'not mine?'  Would I lie to you?  wot?...oh! 

Anyway I walked to the museum because of this and participated in a drop in meeting regarding folks memories of the second world war.  This was an excellent but tiring time.  Quite a few dropped in and told of the stories of their dad's, granddad's, neighbours and such like war activities.  So many stories regarding German planes bombing the town, shooting randomly when they passed, and attacking folks working in the fields.  V1 flying bombs and V2 rockets fell near the town or towns nearby, men went off to join the forces and many never returned, and thousands of US servicemen entertained the girls, though nothing was said about that today I noted!  
Evacuees arrived, mostly from north and east of London, some from grinding poverty and remained here, the families not wishing to collect them again.  The child was better off, well fed, and not a burden to a mother of a dozen children who could not feed them.  The treatment received at the country homes was very different from that back home.  It took a while for both sides to adapt but many did.  One thing that did arise was Brucellosis a disease caused by untreated milk.  The resulting suffering of he children unused to country milk led to the introduction of pasteurisation and a more healthy milk supply for all.
The emotional turmoil for many kids is a story all in itself.  While some benefited from being away from the crowded slums of pre war London the lack of parents had an effect also.  Sometimes this led to a better life, sometimes more difficulties for the kids.  Others who were left with a space inside were the children of passing servicemen, some who wished to take their girl back to the States and couldn't, others who just passed in the night.  Emotion is a strange thing and life leaves a lot of damaged individuals.
However we had a great time, excellent cake which my diet would not allow, in public, and met many people i have wished to meet for some time.  Now all we have to do is sort out our notes, type this up, and work out what to do with what we have.

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Drivel Post

Last night I dug out some old, decaying albums and found one or two old pics that I liked.  In fact some were well taken and I was pleased with them, better than those I take today.  These were taken on the old 'Zenit-E,' a Russian camera built like a brick and old by the time it came into my hands, free!   It was the type of camera many learned their photography on and by the use of longer lenses, bought cheaply, and all those other bits I added I got some good shots.  Out here in this small town there is little opportunity for much photography and my wee camera, good though it is, is somewhat limited in its reach.
The problem with old pics is the condition of the print.  This one was taken in the early eighties and is now tainted by bits of dust and other things that I cannot remove.  Not that I bothered of course.
I think that one was taken at Herne Bay on the south coast.  Dusk produces such good skies, especially in summer.

Today I got well away from the Great War!  I met another of my bosses at the museum (all women) and discovered I am now researching World War Two! This is unfortunate as I have not finished the last lot yet!  However I began today and almost forgot to eat, forgot to post this rubbish and forgot something else I forgot.I wonder what it was.....?

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Remembrance Sunday Centenary

The Great War began on August 4th 1914, the armistice coming four long years later on November 11th 1918.  To remember the fallen of this and other conflicts we met before the war memorial this afternoon.  A very large crowd attended, possibly slightly larger than last years, and correct observation was performed.  The procedure followed routine, a loud voice, hidden by the crowds, called the uniformed ones to attention. Standards were raised, the 'last post' blown then a 'stand at ease' ordered.  The vicar said a few prayers, a few words were said, then wreaths were laid, first by the dignitaries then by others in order.  All in all the usual short gathering.  However I was feeling a bit let down as I realised that this type of meeting misses one thing only - the names of the fallen! Possibly because I have lived with them for a while I find a gap, an emptiness where each individual ought to be.  No need for all names just one or two and a word on their deeds to enlighten the people. This brings the individual home to us not just a name.

    

The gathering of men in uniform used to be common when I were a lad today it is something unusual. Unless you live in a 'Barrack' town you rarely see uniformed men.  National service and of course war itself meant such sights were part of daily life not any more.  Terrorist threats have meant some units are not allowed to wear their uniform in the the streets in some areas!  I am quite surprised some of the uniformed organisations still manage to enroll so many as the costs must be high however the Air Training Corps members seen here have always been popular, possibly because they might get into an airplane occasionally.  

The police (well PCSO's) were in attendance to control the traffic for the march past, much smaller crowd than last year when several full police officers were in control.  However the local football team were playing a major cup tie at the same time, and losing 0-3 last time I heard, so that is where the constabulary would have operated.  Rarely do remembrance crowds get out of hand.  

From the rear you do not get much of a view of the dignitaries but at least the sound system is good. However I wonder about the names on the memorial and their connection to the people in the gardens.  Many will be there because their child is in the scouts/guides or whatever, others because a relative, whom they may have just discovered is named thereon.  I just wish I could have spoken to some but I recognised only two people in the throng.  

So we have remembered, poppies have been worn, memorials attended, research begun, bands have played, men have marched, and life will return to normal now.  For those in 1926 who attended the unveiling of the memorial the thoughts may have been different.  The names were of sons, husbands, friends, and family.  They left a gap, sometimes a huge gap that was never to be filled again.  Many women struggled to raise the family afterwards, many a heart mourned until their dying day, many a child had their life dented by loss, but the individual just had to 'get on with it,' there was no other choice.  The s'stiff upper lip' and many others being in similar troubles gave no opening for self pity or depression, life had to go on.  

At least here was a place to remember, many knew only the name of the memorial somewhere in France or Belgium where their loved one was commemorated, usually they could not afford to visit. At least if he lay in a cemetery the relative  felt he was taken care off but just a name among the thousands on a memorial is so cold and somewhat inhuman, a soldiers relatives require more.  Some on the memorial lie far off in Gallipoli or Jerusalem, during the second war some fell further away in Asia, others fell from the skies lost for ever.  

For us today who did not know them personally we can move on easily, only the old remember them, they cannot forget. However they too have had their life, they too have seen younger folks suffer in Northern Ireland, Iraq and Afghanistan, let alone the many 'small' and 'forgotten' wars since 1945. Do you realise that so many people today do not know what the 'Cold Was' was like?  To them it is a History lesson, to us it was always in the background.  Life moves on indeed!

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Pineapples

Hmmm, funny how when I took that picture, the sun shining through the trees, the blue sky peeking in behind, it all seemed such a good idea.  Now that darkness reigns it has palled somewhat.  I wonder who thought of the idea of placing dirty big orbs on top of gateposts?  This was done around 1880 ish and some clever designer, not an architect I suggest, considers this the way to er, top off the gateposts.  In days of yore pineapples made of stone were used for this decoration.  The pineapple was an exotic fruit for far away and if you possessed one you were indeed wealthy.  Those who had excessive wealth therefore placed stone pineapples on walls, doors, houses, anywhere they would be seen.  Today you get your picture in 'Hello' or the 'daily Mail.'  The intellectual difference between such pictures and stone pineapples is minute, but the stone wins each time.

While ploughing through the update on the Great War memorial I also began to investigate the WW2 one.  Next year is the anniversary of the end of that war and we are doing something for it. My part will be smaller but I may have to search things out.  Typical, these wars come so close together.  I have not finished one and they are starting on another.  Something should be done.

Worse still there is less information on the second war strangely enough because while we all know about it individuals stories are still subject to Ministry of Defence restrictions.  Bah!

To enlighten my boring day I also cleared the ice from the freezer.  It had been building up somewhat and I managed to fill the sink with lumps of ice that took all night to thaw.  Such excitement, it could be worse, one day I must clean the oven.  Where are women when you need them...?  

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The 70th.

It may well be that you have had your fill of D-Day commemorations.   I had the TV on since early morn watching  the BBC's coverage of the events in France.  There can be no doubt that this British led operation was a historic event.  Had it failed, and it could have cost 40,000 lives, not 9000, it would have taken another few years before a second attempt could be made.  By that time Stalin may well have been in Paris!  General Bernard Montgomery, given little prominence today, was the man responsible for the operation.  This was the last great operation of the British during the war.  A second plan, at Arnhem, might well have shortened the war but that failed!  However this one worked, a beachhead was established, Canadian, British, American troops all took the beaches in front of them, in spite of some determined resistance in areas, and the difficulties many endured.  Also arriving were smaller contingents of Dutch, Polish and other nations who were determined to defeat an evil empire. How strange I always find it that people will spend money to watch Hollywood pap in which an evil force is defeated yet will not read about real situations in which a really evil force is opposed.  Fantasy horror is better than reality.  
My father was not involved in this event, although he crossed the Rhine some time later but only after waiting two days while the armour went over! However on our local memorial we find Flight Sergeant Dennis J Sims of 234 Squadron did not return while on low flying duties over the enemy coast.  Gunner Kenneth Puttick fighting alongside No 6 Commando is recorded as dying on the 7th. He is buried at Ranville Cemetery, Ranville being the first village liberated after 'Pegasus Bridge' was held. Nearby lies Private Arthur Graham attached to the 7th Paras.  His date of death is given as the tenth and he like many others died in the intense fighting that followed D-Day.  Few realise that more people were killed during the last year of the war than in the four previous years.
Watching the dignitaries gathering, some with military experience, some who endured the war, I appreciated the need for formality and organisation, not least of all security, but found the clean, smart people, cheery and happy all around somewhat at variance with the clips of war film shown.  The young men running up the beach had thoughts very different from those of us watching from the comfort of home.  We often sentimentalise such men rather than treat them as human beings.  We always refer to them as 'brave,' 'heroes,' and identify them as different from ourselves.  To some extent this is true, however they are men, not all were 'heroes,' few were 'brave,' all were under military orders, some would not be people we would want living next door.  Without this invasion however the world would not be rid of Hitler and his crazy gang.  The Nazi hordes enslaved their own people and such slavery can be found worldwide today in many nations.  Sadly all too often we do not see it!
Those men interviewed on TV today looked happy.  Many were happy to be there as such a gathering cannot occur again, the organisation behind it ceases to exist as the aged soldiers fade away.  Ordinary men from everyday homes did extraordinary things and freed the world of a tyranny.  We cannot forget this, and our prosperity today has a great deal to do with their action in the air, on the sea and on land that day 70 years ago.   

Tuesday Tattle

As you can see it was another day of hustle and bustle around the town.  I am not altogether to clear as to whether these are heading for Mr Butcher or being used to cut the grass on rich folks lawns.  I do know the man standing at the side almost out of the picture is worrying the sheep, he keeps repeating "Mint sauce, mint sauce."
Lamb chops are far from my plate today.  Having been at the museum I was not in the mood for hard work by the time I returned home.  All that tea drinking was tiring me out!  Then there was the usual confusion in the morning regarding the kids, who all appeared happy.  Not clear if the boys who arrived were too keen on creating Easter Bonnets mind.  We now go through the long process of replacing the lass who left recently.  Do they keep the capable and popular girl who has been doing the job competently, and in a very organised manner since then, or do they employ someone who fits their image conscious minds?  The secrecy, the whispering, the needless time wasted would not go down well in certain other organisations I have known. Especially those with only a few staff and a capable management.  Be 'up front,' state your case and get on with it.  Not like that here it appears.  

However I limped home and returned to what I do best, I fell asleep.  I have now discovered seven people who died during the war, civilians all, and am struggling to know their stories.  How silly all this is, yet how interesting to piece things together.  Just along the road from me one February Saturday night in 1941 a German plane dropped a few bombs.  Three died, on 13 year old in a house and one unlucky 19 year old lassie who was passing at the time, probably hurriedly!  Many were hurt, garage destroyed, houses badly damaged and now a Sainsburys car park fills the space left!  A sad but not uncommon story that I wished to know for some time and discovered quite by accident.

I occurred to me that I forgot to add yesterday that while I sat pondering in the quiet, deserted cemetery, enjoying the sun, silence and passing birds fluttering by, a cat appeared out of the undergrowth.  It stared towards the large fir tree from where finches sang out to the world.  He did not notice me behind him as I watched his antics, I called and he turned and stared wide eyed, almost as if he had seen a ghost!  I thought for a minute I could hear his heart beating, pumping away to the dozen, but it was more probably mine still recovering from the bike ride downhill!  I noticed a large pigeon fly overhead and when I looked back the cat had disappeared. I hope he has recovered.  
 
   
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Another Book Review

Some people are born soldiers.  They consider any other lifestyle a waste of time.  It matters not who they fight for, where they fight, and often what the cause may be, but if there is a bit of bother they wish to be involved.  This does not necessarily indicate callousness or brutality, in fact the best soldier takes good care of his men and not just for the sake of their efficiency.  The subject of this book was a man born for soldiering.
His war involvement is impressive.  He ran away from Oxford and a boring Law Degree to get shot in the Boer War, after recovering he returned to action and later spent a few years in India hunting pigs! Physical fitness after he was shot became his life's priority, he hunted, rode, played Polo and any other sport, exercising at every opportunity.  Like many who had been to the 'right schools' and universities, even if they failed, he met friends and influential people who arose at various intervals in his life.  The 'old school tie' always helps, though not if it was mine I can tell you!  His eagerness for action saw him head to Somaliland to put down a rebellion and then find himself disgusted that the Great War had broken out as he was half way there!  He helped put down the 'Mad Mullah,' (funny how Islamic fights affected Britain so often then) and lost an eye and a bit if ear while doing so.  He managed to rise through the ranks while serving on the Western Front in spite of having one eye.  He passed the medical, which he hated, by promising to wear a glass eye, an eye he chucked out of the taxi on his way home and wore an eye patch ever since.  
During 1915 he was wounded in the hand, pulling his fingers off after the doctor refused to remove them, at the Somme he was shot in the ankle and also the back of the head, at Passchendaele he got one in the hip, one through the leg at Cambrai and one in the ear at Arras. He was a regular at a Park lane nursing home where I suspect he was almost one of the staff! 

All this time De Wiart was not British!  His father was Belgian, his mother Irish and it was King George who insisted he became British!  

During the attack on La Boiselle as part of the Somme 'push,' he commanded the 8th Gloucester's.  This attack on the night of the 2/3rd July met with fierce resistance.  During this he met a man cowering and he requested the reason, the soldier indicated he had been hit four times before and couldn't face any more, De Wiart pointed out he had been hit more often and they both continued the advance!  In this book the author mentions almost casually the situation pointing out they took the village, a mere jumble of rubble, after others had failed, The author mentions heavy casualties but fails to mention that he was the highest surviving officer from three battalions and his work, in the open under heavy fire, directed the operation and resulted in his receiving a Victoria Cross.  This he omits from the book.
At the end of the war De Wiart admits he had 'enjoyed the war,' and sounded rather sad that it was over.   

In between the wars the now high ranking officer liaised with the Polish government, distrusted by London, as it fought five wars at once.  His attempts at providing aid via London against Lloyd Georges wishes brought him friends in Poland and once he resigned his army duties he lived an idyllic life in a free house in the Pripet Marshes.  Had 1939 not brought another war he may well have remained there happily shooting wildfowl and anything else that passed by!  

1940 saw the Acting Major General De Wiart given command of the failed Norway expedition. Too far for air support, badly equipped, lacking support, even the French troops prepared for winter fighting had no straps for their skis, the whole sad operation was doomed from the start.   Quickly they returned home under heavy fire and much criticism.  Because of this Winston Churchill became Prime Minister, and the war was, eventually, won.
However while acting as liaison with Yugoslav forces De Wiart travelled to Cairo by Wellington Bomber, one of the more successful aircraft.   Before they left Malta where they stopped to refuel a mechanic claimed to have checked the engines personally, was he a spy wondered our author as later he swan for shore as the plane crashed a mile of Libya.   For the next two and a half years De Wiart spent his time as a prisoner of the Italians.  While treated well it was an embarrassment to him and his fellow captives.  One escape plan did work for them and he spent eight days on the run before returning to his prison and friends.  In August 1943 however the hero of our tale was transferred to Rome.  The Italians wished to seek an armistice and he accompanied, dressed in an excellent Italian suit, a General Zanussi to Lisbon from where he made his way home.

The importance of De Wiart to the British government was seen in when he was sent to represent Churchill in China with General Chiang Kai Shek.  He became effective in his new role although most of the time he was ready to rush to any war zone and enquire as to the situation.  He would have joined in even in he was older than me!  By 1947, aged 66 and in spite of an offer from Chiang to stay his time was up and retirement neared.  However he managed to fall down stairs while visiting in Rangoon and broke his back and other bits also!  Back in London he recovered but surgeons operating on him found many metal bits from previous wars while they removed!  He then retired to Ireland, hunting and fishing.

The book is written more as a diary than a racy narration.  He constantly refers to people who he met, most likely by use of his diaries, if that is he kept one, and the whole appears almost cursory when regarding the dangers he faced.  It appears to me this was how he lived his life.  He faced danger, and was not keen to be hurt or indeed killed, but that was what his job was. Understanding the dangers he was not a man to become obviously emotional about them, the 'stiff upper lip,' writ large.  His ability to get on with people, especially in Poland and China must have existed while in charge of Battalion, Brigade or army.  I suspect his men regarded him well, but possibly not in Norway!  Hi character is revealed in that neither his Victoria Cross nor his wife appears in the book, such things are either taken for granted or not relevant. I suspect there would be much to like about this man if we met him in real life, unless be objected to shooting animals of course!

He died in 1963 and is buried in Ireland.  His wealth was a few thousand pounds, money meaning less than his 'sport,' which is typical of the man.    

Sir Adrian Paul Ghislain Carton de Wiart. VC, KBE, CB, CMG, DSO

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