Bomber Command

From 1939 until the success of D-Day on June the 6th 1944 the only real tactic the British had to hand that could hurt the German enemy in Europe was Bomber Command.  Early results showed that the safest and most effective tactic for the RAF was to fly at night, aircraft well spaced out, and bomb the targets. For the majority of raids this was to be the procedure followed. When the Americans joined in during 1942 they decided to fly in tight group formations and flew during the day.  Both suffered heavy losses. RAF aircrews endured a tour of 30 operations, only one in six expected to survive their first tour! Some flew huge numbers of sorties, Guy Gibson VC the leader of the 'Dambusters Raid,' flew with several types of aircraft and managed at least 175 sorties. Even so the RAF bomber crews had a life expectancy worse than that of junior officers during the first world war.  By wars end these crews had served in every theatre of war and suffered 55,573 crewmen killed, 8,403 wounded and 9,838 becoming prisoners of war. This out of a total crew number of 125,000!  Most of these airmen were aged between 19 - 25, Guy Gibson was a mere 26 when he died, probably from 'friendly fire.'  RAF crews also contained many from Australia, Canada and New Zealand and the West Indies who shared the suffering of the British crews. Bombing caused major casualties on the ground and many today wish to see Bomber Command as a war crime!  It is fair to say that the majority of those who say this never actually lived under the threat of German bombing themselves, maybe if they did they may feel differently.  It has also to be said many who endured the Luftwaffe hated the effect of bombing on those on the ground in Germany also.  However if you 'sow the wind, you reap the whirlwind.' Remember those young men who courageously flew off into the freezing dark night, in danger from enemy fighters, effective anti aircraft fire and the knowledge that if they did manage to return for breakfast some at least would not.  Each night RAF airfields heard the roar of Rolls Royce engines as aircraft of many types took to the skies as the nation slept, safe in their beds, more or less.  

Lie in the Dark and Listen

by

Noel Coward

Lie in the dark and listen, 

It's clear tonight so they're flying high 

Hundreds of them, thousands perhaps, 

Riding the icy, moonlight sky. 

Men, materials, bombs and maps 

Altimeters and guns and charts 

Coffee, sandwiches, fleece-lined boots 

Bones and muscles and minds and hearts 

English saplings with English roots

Deep in the earth they've left below 

Lie in the dark and let them go 

Lie in the dark and listen.

Lie in the dark and listen

They're going over in waves and waves

High above villages, hills and streams

Country churches and little graves

And little citizen's worried dreams.

Very soon they'll have reached the sea

And far below them will lie the bays

And coves and sands where they used to be

Taken for summer holidays.

Lie in the dark and let them go

Lie in the dark and listen.

Lie in the dark and listen 

City magnates and steel contractors, 

Factory workers and politicians 

Soft hysterical little actors Ballet dancers,

'reserved' musicians, 

Safe in your warm civilian beds 

Count your profits and count your sheep

Life is flying above your heads 

Just turn over and try to sleep. 

Lie in the dark and let them go 

Theirs is a world you'll never know 

Lie in the dark and listen.

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Poppy Wearing

I begin to worry about those who wear the 'Poppy.  This small plastic emblem is worn throughout the UK as an act of remembrance for those who fell while serving with the armed services.  This covers two major wars and those many smaller yet violent conflicts of recent years, any serviceman wherever he fell. Money collected goes towards the Royal British Legion to support ex-servicemen. However I worry about the pressure that hangs around the nation concerning the wearing of this emblem.


The poppy was the brainchild of an American lass called Moina Michael while working for the YMCA in New York.  She had read John McCrae's poem 'In Flanders Fields' and was inspired by the line 'We shall not sleep, though poppies grow in Flanders Fields.'  Poppies of course were abundant in the battlefields of France and Flanders.  They grow easily and the blood red colour stood out among the often brown dreary landscape all around. She was inspired to do something to remember the fallen and when gifted $10 she decided to buy poppies with the money. Those whom she worked amongst, many servicemen about to leave for France, were delighted with the poppy idea and wanted to buy them from her as an act of remembrance, and all this on the 9th of November, two days before the Armistice came into force. For the next year or two Moina attempted to get the poppy adopted by the USA but few were interested. Eventually the American Legion adopted the poppy in 1920.  A fellow YMCA worker, a Frenchwoman called Anna Guerin took the idea to France with the intention of raising funds for children and others bereft after the war.  Soon she and Moina took the poppy to London and Moina convinced Earl Haig, the President of the British Legion, that the poppy could be used to raise funds for ex-servicemen. The first red poppies were sold for remembrance day 1921 in the UK. In 1922 a small factory employing five men was established to make poppies, by the early thirties the factory was in large premises in  Richmond and today produces 40 million a year!  Lady Haig opened a similar factory in Edinburgh, Haigs birthplace, in 1926 and employed ex-servicemen making poppies.  They produce four million a year from her factory. The symbol spread to most nations involved in the Great War.      


During the fifties the memory of the second world war was still strong and it was natural for the nation to come to a standstill for two minutes on Remembrance Sunday and attend memorial services at war memorials up and down the land. By the sixties we young folks were less interested in war.  Anything military was to be opposed rather than stressed and the 'spirit of the air' led us into 'making love not war,' even though there was more tea made near me I must say.  The nation rebelled against uniforms and discipline and became free in many good ways and it took a couple of decades before we began to realise that 'discipline' and armed services were not dirty words. The British army endured much during the Irish troubles, and an appreciation of the army began to grow.  With the Falklands Conflict, and the historically inaccurate 'patriotism' engendered by Thatcher again an appreciation of the worth and ability of the British armed Services grew.  With two Iraq adventures, Afghanistan and not forgetting Bosnia and Liberia, and the sight of dead soldiers coming home the poppy has once more come into its own.


Those of us who have read a great deal about war can be pleased to see such men are not forgotten by their nation, I however fear that now this has tipped over and pressure is on one and all to 'join in and remember,'   and those who defer are seen as enemies. One place where this attitude can be seen is in Edinburgh with the Heart of Midlothian football team. In November 1914, when volunteering for the army was slackening and an outcry regarding 'young men playing sport while the Hun is at hand' was reaching a crescendo many players of this club enlisted in Sir George McLean's 16th Battalion of the Royal Scots. Those crying had ignored other players who were already serving as reservists or members of the Territorial Army.  Seven of these men did not return, others were severely injured and never played again. A memorial to them was erected in Edinburgh's Haymarket and a service of remembrance is held there each year. Since Jack Alexanders excellent book, 'McCrae's Battalion' was published a few years ago an upsurge in remembrance has affected the fans of this club. Many contributed to a memorial built at Contalmaison in France, buy replica remembrance shirts, and attend the memorial.  However I am well aware that a great many would be much less keen had our local rivals been the team involved.  Their support is for their football team rather than for the men who served.  McCrae's was of course built on the Hearts players but the majority were members of the public and as such the battalion is an Edinburgh Battalion, not a Hearts one, and many refuse to accept this. 


On television it is impossible to note any live broadcast where each person wears a poppy. TV stations will pin them on and few have the courage to refuse. This however is not the freedom men died for is it? A recent fuss regarding wearing poppies on international football team shirts has hit the headlines. FIFA, the ruling body, refuses any political, religious discriminatory message on such shirts and saw the poppy as political.  It can be seen this way but today represents remembrance for most of us, and remembrance of all war dead, even the enemies.  The Prime Minister had his PR stunt in parliament claiming this ' a disgrace,' the media shouted and hollered, and Prince William (who?) has contacted FIFA to object. Now players from Scotland, Wales and England will wear black armbands with poppies emblazoned upon them to mark their respects at this weekend games. I wonder still about the reasons they are worn.  Many indeed respect the memory today, tomorrow much of the nation will come to a standstill at eleven o' clock on the morning of the eleventh month for two minutes, in shops, factories and in offices throughout the land, most will respect the moment some will not. Too many on TV and the football field follow public pressure and wear these emblems.  Too few really comprehend the deeper meaning.  The day after remembrance Sunday it will all be forgotten for another year!  Not so for servicemen who have lost limbs in Afghanistan, or Iraq, or Northern Ireland, Aden, Cyprus, Israel, or who have suffered dreams and terrors since 1945, for such the war has never ended. They and their relatives live with the effects each day. Let us not forget them, whether friend or foe, for it is those who have endured war who most often oppose it.  Remembrance helps us to prevent wars, let us not 'remember' just because we are told to do so.  

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

The Great War 14-18

The Story of the Remembrance Poppy

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USA Road Trip in 5 Minutes

An interesting, and cheap way to see much of the USA.  At this speed we can also avoid having to speak to any Yanks or Rebels that we may come across!  And you know what they are like!

Remember

Early on the morning of the seventh of December 1941 the Japanese attacked the US naval base at Pearl Harbour.  While relations between the two nations were in a state of high tension a state of war was not to be expected outside of an official 'opening' of hostilities. In an effort, vain as it happened, to destroy the US aircraft carrier fleet and as many battleships and major infrastructure as possible the Japanese followed the plan developed by Naval Marshal General Isoroku Yamamoto. His plan was a copy of the Royal Naval attack on the Italian naval base at Taranto  on November 1940. As military attache he was in Italy at the time he was able to view the success of the 'Stringbag' 'Fairey Swordfish aircraft disable the Italian fleet with one attack. The intention was to prevent the United States Navy interfering in Japanese efforts to dominate south east Asia and grab all the natural resources for themselves and remove the British, Dutch and French colonial forces there. The attack was totally unexpected, two waves comprising over three hundred and fifty planes sunk four battleships, damaging four others.  Three cruisers were sunk or damaged, one minelayer, one anti aircraft training ship and three destroyers were also damaged along with one hundred and eighty eight aircraft. Almost two and a half thousand Americans were killed and well over a thousand wounded.  A mere twenty nine aircraft and five midget Japanese submarines were destroyed along with sixty five men killed.  One midget submariner was captured, to his eternal shame.  The shock of the nature of the attack brought the United States into the war,and almost immediately Germany and Italy declared war on America also, siding with the Japanese in a failed alliance and sealed their own doom, Hitler having already attacked the Soviet Union in May of that year. Four long and hard fought years later, on the decks of the USS Missouri General Douglas MacArthur declared these proceedings to be, 'closed.'    

These two photographs were taken during the raid on a 

small Kodak Box Camera. The camera was discovered with the 

film still inside and when developed a dozen or so pictures 

of the raid appeared.  

The were published in a newspaper and stupidly I cannot find the link!

There fore I am not sure what happened to the photographer or 

why they lay so long undiscovered.

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Rmember

Aerospaceweb

Remember if you will the men of Great Britain's fledgling air force who flew across the short distance from Dover to Boulogne and on deep into France.  Initially some 60 machines entered service, many of them frail Avro 504's pictured above, and began work observing enemy maneuvers.  This was not always appreciated.  As the British second Corps made its way to the small mining town of Mons the pilot of one such aircraft stopped to inform Field Marshall John French, head of the British force, of the vast numbers of German infantry approaching. He was not believed!  Instead French wished to discuss his aircraft with him and refused to accept his news.  He soon realised his mistake.  The British II Corps numbered around 40,000 men, the Germany army approaching numbered around 600,000.  The defence of the canal above Mons was a resounding success and after a days hard fighting the enemy was stopped in his tracks with vast casualties and the 'contemptible little army' was considering advancing to chase them back home.  However to their right the French army had also met a complete, and efficient, German foe and began to withdraw, with the French 'not bothering' to inform the British of their intentions. Aircraft spotted not only the French withdrawal but also a third army marching around the left flank.  Thus began the famous long 'retreat to the Marne' in hot summer weather. Had those slow Royal Flying Corps surveillance aircraft not flown over Mons half the British army could have been engulfed! 

From observation these aircraft turned to photography, and fighting and then bombing.  Each few months saw advances in the power and killing properties of the machines, and while they flew higher and higher the comfort of the pilots was of no consideration. No parachutes meant a fire at 16,000 feet led to certain death, survival meant lack of oxygen affected the pilots abilities, cold cut deep into them, the stress of war led to mistakes and accidents, and the average life expectancy was around three weeks!  These early young men, rarely above their early twenties, often failing to reach twenty years of age before their death, were the beginning of the air force which today uses the Typhoon fighter, a plane so powerful that computers are required to enable the pilot to control the plane, no human brain can cope!  

Remember these men.     

Royal Flying Corps

Lady Haigs Poppy Factory

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Night Experiment

A night shot that almost works, once I have cut out much of the surrounding area.  This worked quite well, it is the looks on the face of the man in the pub who wonders what I am playing at that could be tricky.  Two public houses next door to one another.  'The Boars Head' has stood there for centuries, as indeed have some of the customers, while the one next door who's name I forget has only been open a few years.  As there was also a wine bar and these two pubs almost opposite one another the council allowed a third to be opened a hundred yards up the road.  With two more and a night club a further hundred yards on round the corner some might have thought this a mistake.  It was!  If it wasn't for the late night football and the midday food this one would die.  The one a hundred yards up the road is so successful it only opens part time, football and all!  You can have too much of a good thing, especially during a recession.  Still the picture almost works so I don't care.  I have never been in any of these watering holes, and it is five years since I have been in any pub.  I see little attraction to gulping large amounts of booze these days which is just as well I suppose.

Glasgow Herald

I isn't it just the way!  Once it is too late 'new' evidence appears that 'throws doubt' upon the guilt of Megrahi, and are we surprised?  Well no actually.  His guilt was clearly a political stitch up and a disgrace.  There was evidence, deliberately ignored, that showed this man could not be guilty and that the PFLP were responsible for the downing of Pan-Am 103.  Now that the leader of that group is long dead, the west more willing to take on Syria, and Gadaffi gone the truth is allowed to sneak out slowly.  Soon all this will be swept into the abyss, just like the guilt of the man who brought down the Iranian jet that caused all this.


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Saturday

The golden leaves look fabulous while hanging on the trees that created them. This morning I once again saw them strewn across the pathway, bright and golden, yet almost impossible to capture on camera.  Here they look somewhat sodden and dull yet at the time the whole area is brightened by the light, such as it is with rain clouds above, bouncing from them.  The rain has been crashing through the trees in the last 24 hours and the wee man in the shopping centre brushing them up was murmuring curses towards the small tree as he worked.  A non stop job this until the tree has lost the last leaf, I used to suffer this in times past and do not wish it again. 

   Wiki

The Greeks are still at it today.  With the whole world economy finely balanced on their shoulders the PM, Papadopolous, has been playing 'cat and mouse' with the Germans and French leaders. With the cameras not available both took him aside and bounced his head off a wall a couple of times, Hoplite like, and encouraged him to see things their way.  Now, with Saturday evening upon us, nothing is really much clearer  among the Hellenes.  It does appear that a new government will appear in Greece but the umpteen billion debt remains.  Maybe this time they might ask all those millionaires that live there to pay their taxes?  What sort of nation allows the rich to avoid paying tax.....hmmmm now I think about it.....

  Daily Mail

In the south west of England a major road accident.  Several vehicles were involved in a smash.  At least seven are dead and 43 injured.  The cause as yet unknown.  Whatever the cause, drive safely where ever you are!

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Dull Autumn

Not much else t say to that.  Clouds, rain, sunshine, warmth, cold, usual autumn weather. Dull mind also therefore I give you an old joke.


THE AFGHAN FOOTBALLER


The  Glasgow Rangers’ manager flies to  Kabul  to watch a young Afghani play football, is suitably impressed and arranges for him to come over.
Two weeks later Rangers are 4-0 down to Celtic with only 20 minutes left, the manager gives the young Afghani striker the nod and on he goes.
The lad is a sensation, scores 5 goals in 20 minutes and wins the game for Rangers. The fans are delighted, the players and coaches are delighted and the media love the new star. When the player comes off the pitch he phones his mum to tell her about his first day in Scottish football.
‘Hello mum, guess what?’ he says ‘I played for 20 minutes today, we were 4-0 down but I scored 5 and we won. Everybody loves me, the fans, the media, they all love me.’
‘Wonderful,’ says his mum, ‘Let me tell you about my day.
Your father got shot in the street, your sister and I were ambushed and assaulted, your brother has joined a gang of looters and all while you tell me that you were having a great time.’
The young lad is very upset. ‘What can I say mum, but I’m really sorry.’


‘Sorry?!!!   Sorry?!!!’   says his mum,
‘It’s your bloody fault we came to Glasgow in the first place!’


That joke was NOT stolen from 'The Ben Lomond Free Press.'






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The third price rise of Autumn has come home today.  After the water company deciding I drink too much (I certainly don't bath to much as my landlords secretary pointed out today, and I was so nice to her too), and the Gas company watching winter approach and knowing that I have gas central heating raising their price, today the direct debit for electric rose from £25 a month to £41.  A short, and pointless, discussion with one of their reps got me nowhere.  Now clever people switch companies, as our PM told us to, but some of us are on annual contracts that may cost money to leave, thus losing any benefit moving may give.  Tomorrow I will read up on this but if I am suffering like this how are others surviving?  I need that simple, non physical, light, non intellectual, and well paid work yesterday!  Maybe I ought to start up a utility of some sort?

Talking of a waste of money.....
The skatepark opposite is being refurbished once again. The locals did not want this, the kids all come from far away, and the brats leave the place filthy, in spite of ten new bins being erected, and now it is costing thousands to renovate. The idea of the skatepark is good, the placing of it terrible.  The kids today for the most part behave, although a group of undesirable older chaps have appeared recently.  However there is an element of running after the kids rather than demanding more responsibility for them.  There is no comparison to when I was a lad, we just played football five nights a week for the most part, and that near our own door. Rarely did we have situations that can be compared to this, and human nature does not change.  

Ah, women doing what they do best - housework!

I've got some ironing if any of you girls wish to practice....?

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Countryside

This picture is for town dwellers.  If you live in towns and cities, not both at the same time, you will probably not realise that underneath your house/flat/slum there is a thing called 'earth.'  Outside of towns the food that appears in plastic wrappings in the supermarket comes from here. Some of the food grows by itself in the ground helped by nothing more than rain, sun and a ton or so of chemical warfare which, the government assures us, is 'healthy.'  Other items on your plate grow by eating the green stuff called grass, you may find some growing through the spaces in the wall if you look closely, and these creatures are called 'animals.'  These are divided up into sheep, cows, pigs, chickens and if they go under any other name check out it does not come from South Korea.  


When at the Open University, failing to obtain a B.A. through poverty, sloth and total ignorance, I discovered that around 1801 (in England, as English historians ignore Scotland, but I am not one to complain about such racism) the majority of the population lived in the countryside. By1851 fifty one percent lived in towns or cities and by 1901 the vast majority of people were crowded into the urban slum that was the home of the 'Greatest Empire the world has ever known.' I have come to believe that this does indeed affect our mentality.  We need to see greenery, animals, trees and nature to keep our heads clear. That is why so many of us rush to get out of towns and even the Victorians came to realise that public parks were required in built up areas.  That appreciation of the need for green space resulted in the housing estates built just before and after the war.  Many three bed-roomed houses, with gardens front and back, are to be found throughout the UK.  There are often green areas, roundabouts with grass centres, and reasonably wide streets.  However a look at housing built in the last twenty years shows that while the design of the houses are often in keeping with the area in which they are found these house are often crammed together in an effort to get as many as possible into the space, partly to supply enough houses, mostly for profit!  The green areas, gardens or open spaces, are very limited in comparison to those designed in the forties.  The sense of being hemmed in increases among those living there.  Estate agents call such areas 'popular,' and postmen will inform you that they have many 'redirections' for these houses.  Some from people who find they cannot afford the cost, some from young folks living together too soon, and others from those who realise a new house is not always a joy to live in. I used to have six or seven 'redirections' on my old house route, my friend John had so many it could take him an hour to attend to his!  People need space, a decent green area front and back, and natural daylight.  City life offers to little of this, and I know about city life!


It is only recently I realised how little contact most of us have with creation around us.  Do we realise where our food comes from really?  As kids we were well informed about this but we also had a view of the distant world, farms nearby and a good instruction from our parents, who really 'never had it so good.'  Too much manufactured foodstuffs, supermarkets that push rubbish onto us in our weak moments, and a life full of haste leaves us missing out on something I think.  We need individually to get into green areas, look at animals in their natural setting, or walk along the sea shore. Some call this a 'spiritual experience' but it is not 'spiritual' it is just our need for the open space and the natural world around us.  It is re-creative for our heads stuffed full of life.

Monday Evening

My day was cheered when I came across an old news item concerning my secondary school.  Stupid people claim, for reasons I have never understood, that schooldays are the 'Happiest days of your life!'  I never found this to be the case, nor have many others.  Education I could stomach, well some of it but certainly not the bit concerning 'sums,'  but being locked into Stalagluft XVII I could have done without.  However trawling through the web for some other reason that slips my mind I came across the story of the school fire! This school was begun in 1960 and by 1964 I was frogmarched into it by the city authorities. In the year of our Lord 2010 those same city authorities closed the school and moved the terrorists further down the road and into a new prison camp school building. Naturally this was done as the school closed for the holidays at the beginning of July with the intention of beginning the new school year in the new premises. Now consider, you literary lot, that the area behind the school was the district in which the book of the film 'Trainspotting' began life then you will gather that the residents are not the most intellectual that the 'Athens of the North' has bred.  Within a week or two the school was burning to the ground and the noble gentlemen of the 'fire and rescue service' were attempting to do their duty while also attempting to help the police discover which of the wretches were cutting the hoses as they worked!  Only one feeble 14 year old laddie was held, the other thousand ex-pupils escaped!  I write this to indicate my sadness - at not being there to light a match!




I also had nothing else to write, so that somewhat smug report from last year will have to do.



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A poor attempt to capture the stained glass window. Without a telescopic lens it is a bit of a failure.  

In real life the window is well worth a look.

***

Did you ever wonder why there are no dead penguins
on the ice in Antarctica – where do they go?


Wonder no more ! ! !


It is a known fact that the penguin is a very ritualistic
bird which lives an extremely ordered and complex life.


The penguin is very committed to its family and will
mate for life, as well as maintaining a form of
compassionate contact with its offspring throughout its life.


If a penguin is found dead on the ice surface, other members
of the family and social circle have been known to dig holes
in the ice, using their vestigial wings and beaks, until the hole is
deep enough for the dead bird to be rolled into and buried.
The male penguins then gather in a circle
around the fresh grave
and
sing:


“Freeze a jolly good fellow”


“Freeze a jolly good fellow.”


“Then they kick him in the ice hole.”

(In spite of what some may say there is no truth in the rumour that this was stolen from 'Kenfitlike.')






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The Saturday Picture

This is because I have nothing to say.  This is my default position in reality, a quiet, retiring sort of chap who keeps out of the limelight and leaves others to take all the praise and glory.  Oh yes it is!



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Country Air

For the first time in a while I cycled, slowly, up the old railway line. I went around eleven as it is quiet then and stupid me forgot the kids are on holiday. Therefore as the sun was shining the families ponderously made their way up the line.  The kids chatting to all the dogs that passed by, when that is they were not wandering through the bushes, the women gossiping about nothing and blocking the way for normal human beings going about their lawful business. The dads being dads, carrying the bags on their backs, sometimes alone with one child, as indeed were a granddad or two, and making me miss the not so young kids way up north.  In one way this was nice to see, in another they just got in the way! A good day out and of course I ache all over now. I must get out more, as people often tell me.


I was attempting to add the 'Beach Boys' song 'Country Air,' because this came to mind when sitting enjoying the sun, greenery and fresh air.  EMI do not allow this (are they not the folks who turned 'The Beatles' down?) so find it on 'YouTube' and hum along as you read.  I was indeed 'humming' when I got home.  

A good day also in that I had a £5 off voucher for the new 'Morrisons' supermarket. The staff, for the most part, are very friendly, you can tell they are new to this game, and I will certainly return next Friday - I have another voucher!  This means that this small town has three large supermarkets represented.  Tesco have three stores, one which has just been redeveloped. Sainsburys have one which is about to be redeveloped and they plan another so big it will replace a small industrial estate! There is already a 'Lidl's' and now the Co-op has closed 'Morrisons' have moved in.  Just how much do the thirty five to forty thousand folks here eat I wonder?  I spent £16:98, and that was after taking advantage of the voucher to stock up, consider how much others must be spending on things they can afford but do not actually need?  Being poor makes me careful with money and I tend to notice prices more.  I also notice how folks buy things with little thought and choosing the label not the product!  An expensive item will be brought rather than try the store version, even though they are just as good nowadays.  Something is bought because it has always been chosen rather than because of any worth it may have.  The tricks of the store also make us all spend on things we don't want and they laugh all the way to the Swiss Bank where the directors store their ill gotten gains. I prefer 'Tesco,' but I will suffer 'Morrisons' for one more week as I use up the last voucher.

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Life Returns

After another two calls to Mumbai this morning, I cut the call off by accident myself the first time, I was convinced by a pretty young Indian lass that all would be well. Yet again this was an operator who had to stick to the script!  She did very well and was only perturbed when I asked where she was.  "India," she replied somewhat confused as people are not supposed to leave the script and she was more troubled when I indicated 'India' was a big place. Possibly she thought I might visit, fat chance, however she was somewhere I didn't quite catch, near Mumbai. Lunchtime and the Internet ceased once again and a noise outside forced my nose to the window.  There I beheld, and almost enfolded in my arms, the man from BT fixing the wires on the telegraph pole outside my window. Later, with one or two blips as he played around with the connection back at the exchange, I was left with the normal slow speeds that I have come to expect from 'Pipex,' or 'TalkTalk' as we must call them now. I checked my mobile phone for cost.  I have £3:62 left on the phone, (Virgin, 'Pay as you go') and I reckon there was about £16 in it to begin with, but cannot be sure!  Whatever, today's calls cast about £7 in themselves. Good job that phone was filled up some time ago when rich! Maybe I will once again compare prices of these ISP's. Still, all is well now and I no longer have to go outside and talk to real people.  



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Now I am not one to Complain but,

So after the e-mails I phoned using my dying mobile phone. I ensured I charged the battery as I expected to listen to "Your call is important to us," several times before getting anywhere.  This indeed occurred and starting from being "Seventh" in the queue I soon moved up to "2nd," although I was beginning not to care when the man in Bangalore answered. We went through the whole thing again, he following his script well, and in due course sent me on to the 'Technical' people.  I can well understand a need for one to remove all the simple fault, check the connections, pay your bill etc, so I happily (ha!) waited as the music played.  What the music was I know not, the sound distorting on the phone, although it may have distorted over the ten thousand miles it was travelling of course. Eventually a lovely young Indian women cheerfully and pleasantly went through the script and tested the line.  "There is a fault on the line," she told me helpfully, and asked of she ought to call my mobile while she did what she had to do. I had informed her the battery would run out but happily (again) decided to wait the "two or three" minutes this would take.  On minute later the battery died!  She never called back, I fear to do so especially during the day, and I have now no idea if the thing will be fixed or not.  The staff were indeed friendly and efficient but I wondered how they cope with strong accents?  I speak clearly to such as they, my time in London taught me this when dealing with 'Foreign Johnny's,' but upset folks from Newcastle or Cornwall may not be so considerate!  At the moment the Internet works, but does collapse at busy times or stops for no reason, the phone remains dead.  Ah well another 24 hours may well explain it all, possibly. 

   BBC

As I type my spelling mistakes I am listening to the 'BBC Democracy Live' programme offering live debates from the UK House of Commons.  I like this site as it allows us to watch Parliament at work both in the House and in Commons Committees.  We are also offered the Scots Parliament, Welsh Assembly and the European Parliament (for what that's worth) and within a few minutes we can find live, or recorded, all our politicians lying in their teeth in every part of the nation and indeed in Europe!  This is indeed a find!  The debates never vary, the government defends, the opposition attempts to pick faults, the 'other side' is always in the wrong and facts are used to support any argument! The best occasions are when the House is almost empty and a Bill, of major or minor importance, is being debated by those with a particular interest in it. Often these can be knowledgeable or just plain funny!  The wit and friendliness of many debates are rarely reported however I find some better than the usual TV offerings. Others of course debate long and hard on Bills of major importance and very serious indeed.  Today we debate the NHS, "The other side was at fault." "Oh no it wasn't, you are."  Money amounts, in the millions, are quoted by both sides, but in the end we know the Tories will kill of the NHS if they can, and the 'other side' (Labour) want to save NHS costs also.  In the end we lose out as hospitals close, queues lengthen, and those office workers I once worked amongst still squander millions with no thought for patients anywhere!  What is the answer?  The Tories want to sell it, Labour keep it (Tony Blair would sell it also as he is well off!) but cut costs.  In short none of them know what to do!  In the end ideology, not facts, will tell.

Turner painted this in his 'impressionist style. Some tell me his paintings like this of the later part of his career are fabulous but I wonder?  I went to the gallery some years ago and saw many of his pictures 'live' and it appeared to my mind that in the end he had just got to much yellow and white paint delivered and didn't wish to waste it. As each was produced they became more or less white and yellow mixtures with added darker blobs. On a decent day I get similar experiences simply by removing my glasses.  This does not give me an 'impression' of the world around me it just leaves me falling over litter bins and park benches.  While I admired much of Turners work and I love the bright colours of such a painting I must wonder if it deserves the respect it receives, although much of that comes from fawning critics who don't wish to be different from the crowd. I would rather see the train, the sky, and the colours.  My twisted and perverse brain can accommodate these and supply a suitable impression when required. What say you?

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Gas

This pretty boring picture I took some years ago through a wire fence.  It shows one of the platforms at Granton Gas Works. These premises opened in 1902 and my aunt claims hr dad was driving the shunting engine there. This is likely as he was named as a Steam Engine Driver in the 1891 census.  By 1901 he was a 'general labourer,' possibly because of his drink habit.  If only we knew more about him!  This platform was a workers only halt into  the works  I wonder if a special train was in operation to bring them in on time? Certainly they booked in nearby and crossed the line via a bridge to enjoy a day shoveling coal.  The red brick used to such good effect was typical of a building of the day.  These days factories are so boring and functional but the Victorians built such quality even into factories.  Progress has led to plastic buildings and lack of character while in days of your the buildings had bags of character, although long hours and low wages were common. 


Gas was made from the coal, about 200,000 tones a year at Granton and this was heated by furnace underneath the 'retorts' with temperatures of around 1500 degrees. Gas was drawn off and cooled, cleaned of impurities such as oil and tar by ammoniacal solution. Afterwards the gas was washed by water leaving an ammoniacal liquor, this was made into sulphate of ammonia and used as fertiliser.  Further treatment removed lots of stuff I cannot spell and the gas completed the journey into the large gasholders from where it traveled to serve the city.  I well remember the gas sometimes containing an 'air pocket' and having to turn it off and starting again.  Gas taps in the science labs at school (science? aye right!) would cause the teachers to cry out when the air pocket was noticed.  An explosion could have destroyed the school, if only!  The coal waste became coke, and the smaller dross was turned into briquettes.  Nothing was wasted by this business.  The sixties however saw an end to coal gas and a massive transformation of cooking and other appliances as 'Natural Gas' was introduced.  The final end of gas at Granton came in 1987 and the buildings were soon headed for destruction. The rail lines possibly used by granddad have long gone and only the station building, now refurbished remains.  Granddad also went in 1917, he collapsed on his way home from the pub, aged 71.  Offices and housing now fill the redeveloped space once the home of rail, coke and coal, and nothing else remains bar the iron standings of the gas holder.  Even that is threatened.  


Progress takes away memories.  From our window, and much of Edinburgh, the gas holders stood out as we looked north. The sounds of the works, there were other works nearby plus the docks, would float through the dark silent evening air. One other factory nearby, 'The United Wire Works,' for whom my father spent several years slaving away, has also gone.  'Google Maps' show just a bricked up 'Works Entrance' and a large despoiled building and surroundings now.  Even the rough 'Anchor Bar' has gone!  Although there are those that claim that indeed is progress!  How strange that a building that stood for almost ninety years, and which was part of my childhood simply by it existing, has now gone, as indeed has sound 'floating on the night air,' the traffic drowns it out. The new developments may indeed be grand in the long term but it is not my Edinburgh any more.  The world moves on and our 'lives are only in our memory, the no longer exist.

Granton History