Angry

I got angry today.  Not irked by small things that annoy, but I was beginning to feel real anger, and not for something done to me.  I was at the 'Work Programme' up town this morning, a frankly laughable attempt by government to get folks into jobs that do not exist.  Not only are the private companies that were daft enough to take this role on losing money one at least has closed down adding their employees to the dole queue!  The lot I visit have already been 'threatened' with similar themselves.  There are just NO JOBS available and what angered me was the sight of some of those at the place today.

It is well known that a crude method has been used to examine those claiming Invalidity Benefit,' a benefit designed for those too sick to work.  The private company responsible checking claims has ruled, on a 'tick box' scheme that many claimants are 'fit to work!'  Some 60 percent, at least, have appealed this decision and been returned, after much grief, to the benefit under its new name.  Many are still appealing and only a few have refused to appeal.  Those deemed fit have included men unable to stand, people with serious diseases and sometimes limbs missing. The papers, not so much the 'Daily Mail' mind, contain many such stories of totally unfit people thrown of the benefit and told to 'find a job.'  Ian Duncan Smith, the millionaire who has never had a real job, is the man who encourages these people 'back to work' because it is good for them to work.  Indeed it is, but Ian forgets there are well over two and a half million unemployed at the moment and only around four hundred thousand vacancies.  The loss of benefit is merely to save a few pounds, whatever the cost in human life!  Indeed some have committed suicide after losing benefit.

What angered me was the sight of an old man at the programme.   I never spoke to him, I know nothing about him, but I got angry looking at him.  Gray hair, over 60 at least, walked with a stick, and a bit unsure of himself in that place.  He clearly appeared to be one on Invalidity Benefit who had been forced onto the dole.  I could be wrong about that, but either way who would employ him?  A enfeebled old man with a stick and dodgy walking.  What job Ian?  Warehouse work?  Driving, although he doesn't appear to see that well?  No doubt you have some idea of work he could do you selfish bastard!  Anything that stops you paying a halfpenny on tax would do, not that you pay tax like the rest of us do you?  

The 'Work Programme' is filled with the long time unemployed, some through injury, lack of skills or mental problems.  Some ex-prisoners, some desperate for work and others not interested.  They all know who is looking and who is not. Few get work, even when good advice and help is given.  Fifty applicants and most of the slow, dodgy, physically unstable, or just old folks on offer don't appeal to the employers, many of whom are struggling to survive themselves.  I get angry at Smith and his tax dodging government friends decrying the unemployed and assaulting (for there is no other term) the disabled!  Many do wish to work, many struggle desperately and are treated with contempt by an uncaring government containing around nineteen millionaires. 

I passed the old boy having a snack of Diet Pepsi in the park as I left.  It was a sad, indeed pathetic sight I thought.  He might have a family, he might be happy enough, but that was not the image that stuck.  Just another dumped on the scrapheap with little care from any government.  These people should be made to read the Book of the Prophet Amos and see how God cares for the poor while the rich lie back and enjoy themselves.  Believers or not judgement falls on them one day. 

 Vote Conservative - and be considered of no account! 

Ouch! Creak! Ooooyah etc

It may come as a surprise to some when I say that my once svelte like body is not what it once was.  Once it contained energy, possessed a certain degree of muscle, and happily took me on long walks, carried me through a busy day, and enabled me to throw the TV out the window whenever a soap opera appeared on the screen.  Sadly today all this is becoming a memory.  The strange lethargy the recent bug brought me led me into sitting around and walking only when that was required.  The lying scales even told me I was over 15.5 stone, it ought to read 9.  The knees wobbled if I went far and the body willingly followed suit indicating I had gone far enough.  However in the past few days I have attempted to refine the Adonis like shell and have begun to swing a few weights, as opposed to swinging lead, and attempted to walk further and eat better.

I ache everywhere now!

Resting from my arduous training schedule, and ten minutes is long enough I can assure you, I sit for merely a moment and find all the muscles have seized.  Now I know the trick is to stretch after exercise as this really does help, but so far it doesn't help me.  My knees fell of twice this afternoon while watching the far from Dreich Dundee Derby Day, and while I cogitate on buying a Thai bride to massage my aching back I find that my fingertips are also suffering from hammering away on this laptop!  It's a good job I am not one to complain I can tell you.  Now I find I have to go into town tomorrow, struggling with the trains, and it will be baking hot again.  Tsk!

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The Friday Evening Cud Chew

As I ambled slowly along to post another one of my begging letters I could not help but notice the sky above.  Sadly I didn't notice the edge of the pavements, but several motorists kindly informed me of my position, and what to do about it.  The blue of the sky itself, quite unusual in recent days, was filled with small puffy white clouds and interspersed with masses of vapour trails.  Stansted Airport has been busy this morning and the vapour trails were taking a long time to disperse.  However it was an enjoyable sight, all that pollution sitting up there, blocking the sun, enabling climate change, poisoning those down below.  Sitting in the hot sun (gosh it still got through!) and watching over the recreation ground the huge sky was enthralling.  The wind hurried the clouds along and they scudded off bringing even more interesting sights from the south.  Maybe it's all those years in London, maybe it's being indoors too much recently, maybe it's the bang on the head, I know not but I do know I like looking at interesting skies, nature views, and wide open spaces.  All I need is a seaside and I would be (almost) content.   

The other day you will recall I posted This, regarding the changes that have occurred between 1915 and today.  Well that great man BigRab, he of the great Ben Lomond Free Press a blog worthy of your company, made a remark that struck me, and that made a change from bricks.  He said there was less time between 1915 and the year of his birth, than between the year of his birth and today.  This struck me also.  You see I was born 36 years after the 1915 picture, but now I am a further 61 years from it.  I found this intriguing, and still do.  

My thinking, my attitudes, and much within me may indeed be nearer 1915 than 2012.  Are you still with me?  Because all my readers are young things, one or two more thing than young (all the Ladies being sweet young things under 25 years of age I note) the age gap may not strike you as it did me, but it is worth a ponder.  For some reason this sticks in my head and will not leave me.  Time passes by and we remain the same.  For instance I woke up one day when I was merely 56 years old and suddenly realised I am a granddad, well not actually a granddad, but I was indeed an old man!  In my head I knew what old men were, I had seen plenty,  but suddenly I realised I was that age!  I look much younger, I still have hair and teeth!  I still saw myself as late 20's....?  I remain the same as always but much of the body disintegrates beneath me.  

Further ponder.  I was born in 1951, my dad in 1908, and his dad in 1845!  This being 2012 mean the three of us cover three centuries.  The world is a different place since 1845, but at heart remains the same.  Whereas granddad left the farm, as thousands did at that time, and joined the railway and climbed on the new world around him, we can see pictures taken from Mars!  As people we are no different but the complexity of life has changed.  Is it better?  Actually it is no better or worse, depending on your circumstances.  Humanity remains the same, the culture changes a wee bit.  Horse don't wander the streets, bad drivers do!  But in spite of the changes, many very much for the better, our hearts are still the same, human nature does not change, the surroundings do.  My world view is influenced by 1915, the year my mother was born, probably more than by 2012.  Family influences, the fifties influence,  Baby Boomer influences are possibly still affecting me, they certainly affect me more than the pap that is 'cutting edge' today.  Sadly age wearies the heart from such as we can see the emptiness it hides.  

There is something in Rabs comment I cannot quite place, but it intrigues me that I was born nearer 1915  and that world than I am to my own (much heralded) arrival.  

    

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Grrrrrrrrrrr!

I've been so agitated and irritable today, again.  This tiredness never leaves me and my insides are not happy, and in the end I am irked by most things.  This, as you know, is so unlike me.  My normal quiet, passive, loving kind of manner has been replaced by a somewhat less thoughtful one.  I had to attend the Ljubljana today, which was fine, but it meant I had to walk the streets to get there.  The result was meeting people, and this was not good, or passing places containing people, and this was not good.  Wherever I skulked I found myself growling at windows or day dreaming of entering possessed with nothing more than a running chainsaw and putting it to good use.  Then I got irked by the problem of disposing of all the decapitated heads that would be rolling around the place.  Bah!  

So I stayed locked inside, adding info to the Great War website, and grumbling that I could not read the words in this light, that mistakes had been made, and that this laptop hates me.  I rummaged through the higher class blogs and found they were indeed a higher class, and that made me jealous!  So I turned to the papers, and that made me reach for the chainsaw again!  The rubbish that fills the pages! Bah!   I watched the latest 'Eggheads' programme, and answered almost NO questions, once again.  That cheered me up no end.  Now the mince & chips I had for tea is growling at me.  Bah! Humbug, Pah! Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr! etc.   

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Nothing to Say

Another day, another dull mind.  Nothing crosses my mind worth mentioning.  In fact nothing crosses my mind at all.  I only got out once, this afternoon, to buy reduced price bread and be shouted at by the Morrison's serve yourself machine.  The bread was not reduced and she didn't shout at me, which caused the lass attending to them to laugh.  First time that machine has done that for a while it appears.  

Nothing else happened.

The news is still dominated by the leftovers of the Olympics, occasional references to Syria and price increases on the trains.  Our Prime Minister and his deputy have both gone on holiday at the same time, implying the deputy is less important than he thinks, and giving the right wing media something to grumble about.  So who is running the country?  William Hague the Foreign Minister.  Oh goody, now is the time to invade folks.  The media will soon be filled with the daft stories now the Olympics have finished.  August being holiday time means serious news lessens and the 'silly season' comes upon us.  This means all sorts of silly stories appear in the media, anything to fill the pages, any excitement, anything that grabs the attention and on occasion something that really matters.  Nothing has mattered today.  

I found nothing that interests you, so I'm off to bed.........

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Butchers, Bakers & Candlestick Makers.

I like this picture, though I can't trace where it came from. Wounded men, around 1915, heading back to hospital.  Walking wounded from many regiments.  Note the shorts on one, the kilt on another, the bandages, the tickets authenticating their wounds.  I like this because it shows them together, all for one, probably in pain, being held up for a photograph for the folks back home.  

I was given a list of dead Great War soldiers details recently and have been adding them to the website I raised for them, Braintree & Bocking War Memorial,  and am intrigued by the types of work in which they or their relatives were employed.  Quite a few appeared to be 'sons of a horseman on a farm,' which makes sense in this country area.  However when did you last see horses in daily employment?  At the time of the Great War farms were dominated by horse drawn equipment and a large number of men were employed in their care, a ploughman being a very skilled operator. Agricultural labourers also abounded and one or two who served had that delightful (ha!) work as the war began.  Dunfermline Co-op did use horse drawn vehicles even in the early 60's, and the 'St Cuthbert's Co-op in Edinburgh had them in the early 70's if memory serves me right, although few were still in daily use.  Occasional Brewers Drays are seen in various places throughout the country. Horse grooms and ploughmen just don't exist as such today.  

I am also intrigued by the change in the shopping patterns.  Several men were sons of Grocers, others were Butchers and no such shops appear today.  Actually I am wrong, a butcher still exists here but the only Fruit & Veg left are stalls on market day.  These shops, along with almost all Bakers, have now been replaced with large supermarkets containing pretend Bakers, Butchers and the like instead.  While many women enjoyed the flirting that resulted in the shopkeepers desperation to obtain their cash it also meant a trek between several shops, sometimes a distance apart, although it did make them fitter than today's lass who has to spend time at the gym to keep her figure.

Foremen in the Boot Factory or employees of a Mat Factory also appear,  and it is many years since we stopped making boots in the UK.  I'm sure someone still does somewhere by even the great factories in East Anglia have long gone, probably to China.  Who makes Mats?  India I wonder?  Even those employed by the big iron foundry, who employed large numbers of females to make munitions, or Crittall's and their famous steel window frames, are a distant memory today.  Crittall's existed a few years ago, I almost had a day's employment there myself, but moved away and I am not sure it still operates today.  The iron foundry, like the rest are now housing estates that leave people  struggling to pay the mortgage.   So many businesses that men fought four long years for no longer exist, and those that do, like agriculture, have changed immeasurably in the century that has passed by.  Once thirty or more men worked on a  farm, now there is only two, with a third to power the machinery during harvest time.  House painters and Publicans have not changed that much, neither I suspect have solicitors!  The street layout is similar but the buildings that survived two wars, and not all did, are much changed.  Hopefully we can discover how many men obtained their jobs again once they returned, in many places they did not!  

A hundred years is not a long time when looked at from a historical viewpoint.  Much similarity remains, but the world is a very different place.  Cars now growl where horses plodded, long working hours are replaced by shorter hours and long paid holidays, heavy labour is much reduced by machinery, and women do all the shopping in one day, making him carry it to the car and drive her home.  Washing machines and Microwaves, electricity for all, and the wonder of radio & TV would frighten the ploughman more than they would the horses.  While rail travel enabled long distance travel most folks did not venture far, today they holiday in Spain, or even Hawaii.  The NHS heals most of the sickness soldiers took for granted and dole money and pensions are a godsend to one and all.   The men pictured above may well have survived the war, although that looks very much like a 1915 picture, and they would have benefited from the advances.  What would those who did not survive think if told today I wonder?  

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Sunshine

The sun shone brightly at 6:30 this morning as I cycled around town attempting to pretend I was fit.  There was however more blue in the sky when I took this picture than there is shown here, the sun kind of blotted it out a bit.  How lovely to move around when the streets are quiet, the sun shines, the day begins to warm and the birdies sit high above letting the sun warm them after breakfast.  I did wonder why two men were chatting in the park as I passed by.  They had been there for some time and usually only left over kids and drunks are found there at that time.  Who are they, why were they chatting and exchanging phone numbers?  When in London such events were commonplace, not so out here.  Maybe I am just becoming nosey?  Before seven on a Sunday morning I noticed several cars containing men, quite large men at that, pass by.  Was there some event for fat blokes occurring?  Again I have no answer.  Not that I am shoving my nose in, I am just curious....

For the rest of Sunday I merely sat here attempting to get my legs to work again.  Oh and I watched the Heart of Midlothian defeat Hibernian by one goal to one.  We were not to bothered today I noticed.  This means I avoided being burnt by the suns rays, which were very strong this morning.  Possibly you can see them on this snap.

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Heroic failures

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Everyone surely knows the story of 'The Not Terribly Good Club.'  Stephen Pile began this long ago in 1979 with his book 'The Book of Heroic Failures,' in which he told the stories of inept burglars, handymen, navies and so on, people from every walk of life.  Folks like you and me.  This book was so successful, worldwide, that he was forced to write a follow up and resign from the club!  His success was not the stuff of which the members were made.    I recently dusted off my copy of the second volume and have read with interest the story of a man who in his attempt to obtain a peaceful life moved to the peaceful and lightly inhabited Falkland Islands.  Five days later the Argentinians invaded!  The woman who threw herself off the 86th floor of the Empire State Building only to be blown in an open window on the 85th floor intrigued me, as did Canadian Mr Kelly.  He attempted to tranquilize a donkey with Rompun, allowed the syringe to slip, it stuck in his finger, and he then enjoyed the sleep of his life.  The donkey just laughed.  The book is full of such tales, I would say both books are full but someone borrowed mine and it has note yet returned.  that was in 1986!

One chapter deals with getting opinions wrong.  "Sentimental rubbish....show me one page that contains an idea." Odessa Courier on Anna Kareninna, by Leo Tolstoy.  1877.  

"I'm sorry Mr Kipling, but you just don't know how to use the English language." The San Francisco Examiner's rejection letter to Rudyard Kipling in 1889.

"Had he submitted this music to a teacher, the latter, it is to be hoped, would have torn it up and thrown it at his feet.," L.Rellstab, reviewing Chopin's Mazurkas,1833. 

"I scarcely think it will be able to keep the stage for any length of time." E.A.Kelly reviewing Wagner's Lohengrin. 1854.

"And for the tourist who really wants to get away from it all, safari's in Vietnam." Newsweek, predicting popular holidays for the late 60's.

"Very interesting Whittle my boy, but it will never work."  The Professor of Aeronautical Engineering at Cambridge University when shown Frank Whittles plan for the jet engine.

I am not sure after reading through all the mistakes that I gain confidence in my own abilities, or whether it's just not worthwhile attempting to go on!  Still, read it if you can, laughter is good for you.

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Almost Homesick

Periodically I get a bit homesick for Edinburgh.  Unlike when I lived there and was sick of home, but I was a wee bit younger then.  As I approach my decrepitude I sometimes long for things I once knew, the family, the attitudes, the football, the rain.  After all these years falling flat on my face in this dead end I am beginning to wish for other things.  Being closer to the family up north is one thing, being nearer to friends down on the south coast near the sea is another.  So I indulge myself in an occasional fantasy of life in one of these places, or indeed in a place where the sun shines each day rather than once in a blue moon - or whatever the phrase is.  

However these remain fantasies.  Money prevents any move, unless someone rich pays.  More importantly life is not a fantasy, reality moves in and slaps you across the face, rather like that lass on the No 19 bus that time...   Edinburgh has changed a great deal since 1975.  A vibrant, diverse (a word usually meaning gayboys!), multi-cultural place today whereas in the past....now just hold on a minute!  Edinburgh has always been 'vibrant!  It is Scotland's capital city, with a financial centre second only to London, and constant contact between both, Fred Goodwin anyone?  'Diverse?'  There has always been 'diverse 'folks up Calton Hill I can tell you.  I was followed by one when I was about eleven years old and that was diverse enough for me!  We all knew about the 'Abercrombie' in those days, although I never went near the place.  Whether it still exists I know not but they say that in the past the Police would round such folks up (probably during the Festival) and dump them on the London train to haste them 'back where ye belong!'  'Multi-cultural?'  The University,  the Medical school, a wide variety of embassy consulates and business interests (Heart of Midlothian played a black player a few times in the late 19th century.  His dad ran a business in Leith.  He wasn't that good mind, belonged at Hibs!)  At primary school several kids form such places attended, one black lad playing football in the playground in bare feet!  He was brilliant!  

However while it has always been such a city it has changed.  Better in many ways, worse in others.  Would I fit in there today if I could afford it?  Do I really want to live in a city?  Somewhere nearby may be better, a place a bit like this one, but without the neds in the park opposite!  The south coast would be similar to Edinburgh, with a warmer sea than the Forth!.  Nearer to good friends but not my 'home,' as it were.  Expensive but by the sea, which means tourists, which is not good.   Of course you will  note I have not mentioned whether the family or my friends would wish me to be any nearer than a few hundred miles away.  I will not ask, and people tend to prefer me at a distance I find, so possibly better not to disrupt that!  Ah well, back to reality.  Changes in some circumstances are afoot, at least I don't mean my foot is changing, what I mea... never mind.   Maybe in a months time something new will have changed my mind again.  I may have a better fantasy to work on by then, a cheaper one hopefully.

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Writing

That bright young lass RDG made her best ever post the other day.  You can find it here - RDG  A short post maybe, but to the point!  Writing!  Writing is such a fantastic tool we take it for granted.  The written word takes you into the heart of the author, no matter where or when the author penned the words you find yourself captivated by the situation referred to. 

Take this man, Yapahu, the ruler of Gaza, asking his overlord Pharaoh Akhentaten for help from his enemies about 3400 years ago.

To the king, my lord, my god, my sun, the sun in the sky. Thus says Yapahu, the amelu  of Gazru , your servant, the dust of your two feet, the stable-man of your horse: At the two feet of the king, my lord, the sun in the sky, seven times and seven times I prostrate myself both upon the belly and back. And to all that the king, my lord, has told me I have paid close attention. I am the king's servant and the dust of your two feet.

He goes on to ask for help, and you can see similar situations around the world today, although the terminology may be rather different.

He wrote on a  clay tablet, discovered deep in the dust of his lord's city long after it too had become dust using the Akkadian script that was common for the day.  The script or the language does not matter, what matters is the writing, his words.  They take us right into his life, and hopefully archaeology can fill in other details for us.  Using similar script we can go back into the beginning of writing via baked clay tablets.  One such is the 'Epic of Gilgamesh,' the story of the King of Uruk who goes looking for eternal life.  Written down around 2200 BC but relying on tales that go back deep into Mesopotamian history we find the lives of those who have gone before.  We also discover that the one thing History teaches is that human Nature never changes.  The culture may appear different but humanity remains the same. From the prologue:-


He who saw everything in the broad-boned earth, and knew what was to be known
Who had experienced what there was, and had become familiar with all things
He, to whom wisdom clung like cloak, and who dwelt together with Existence in Harmony
He knew the secret of things and laid them bare. And told of those times before the Flood
In his city, Uruk, he made the walls, which formed a rampart stretching on
And the temple called Eanna, which was the house of An, the Sky God
And also of Inanna, Goddes of Love and Battle


Who first thought those lines?  Who first wrote them down? How long have they been uttered on the earth?   Interestingly the discovery of items, dated to 2600 BC, belonging to Enmebaragesi of Kish, mentioned in the story as father of one of Gilgamesh's enemies gives some historical value to the tale. Their versions, there are several,  of the Biblical Flood also indicates such an event took place and left a deep mark on the society of the day.

Writing grew from the need to keep a count of produce and tally sticks of bone or wood were used around 8000 BC. As men gathered together in ever larger towns and cities such accounts became more important and by 3000 BC various forms of shorthand tallies were known, early writing followed soon after.  From record keeping to communication between Kings and their servants, from legends and spiritual instruction we move on to more advance writing styles and in today's world the internet and worldwide communication by the written word.  Sometimes this is less important to us than it would have been at the time of writing.  The Roman asking for socks while stationed on Hadrian's Wall may well have been desperate at the time, just as the woman enquiring about the her friends back home considered their situation important.  She would have written on a double piece of wood that would be folded and tied and posted to wherever.  I have no idea what she used for stamps. 

It fascinates me to read such letters.  These take us right into another's life.  They may well be in China or South America, what is now called Iraq or may even have lived not far from home in the distant past, but we are with them as we read.  Their trials become ours, their joys are shared.  The good, the bad and the ugly are found there, just like today.  Human nature never changes, whatever the culture may be, the heart remains the same.

Dictators know the written word is dangerous.  The printing of pamphlets allowed the Reformation to succeed, the banning or controlling of newspapers allows governments to dictate what information the people receive.  Today the web and phone technology make that so much harder to control, ask the Iranians, the Libyans and the Syrians.  As we know words can build up or bring down, they can heal or they can hurt, and the tongue is difficult to control, although we can of course erase the written word before we post, sometimes.    Stand in any library and look around you at the world exposed there (No I do not refer to 'Fifty shades of cheap novels').  The world and all therein can be found in a decent library.  Imagine what can be found at the British Library if you had the time to browse every day?  The written word is one of man's greatest inventions, when put to good use.   

What am I trying to say here?  It just struck me forcibly when reading RDG's post how words down the centuries bring us together with the authors from long ago, both good and bad, and that is a thought I find incredible!  Cogitate thereon and you, being educated, might be able to understand this amazing thought better than I ever can!


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Nothing to Say!

Nothing to say.  I kind of forgot to eat again and my brain is a bit dull.  I will eat something tonight, if I get time, but I have been busy doing nothing and that's very wearying you realise.  However I can offer you a picture of Cramond to ponder.  Enlarged you may just see the top of the Forth Bridge in the distance.  Ah the sea, the sea, how I miss thee.  I miss egg and chips also it seems.... 

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Does it Never End?

The Olympics are still dragging on!  BBC TV is full of it.  The press cannot get enough of it.  Real news is pushed aside for people winning Gold!  Naturally they have the Olympics at the time when England is on holiday.  Scotland begins earlier but that is not known down here of course, 'Team GB or no Team GB!'  With little news the media have to fill space and with home based folks winning Gold they are making the most of it.  Each star is built up to the heavens, while each grubby little tabloid hack scourers the dustbins for tales of scandal and depravity to bring them down again.  Folks wish for happy stories, especially in summertime, so the problems in Syria where thousands die and the Great Powers play dangerous games are pushed down the page.  A mass shooting will be mentioned but clearly not as often as a 'Brit' winning a medal.  The 'Daily Mail' reader whining about paying for the NHS and Benefit claimants happily allows billions to be spent on the Olympics, and the reward is a jingoistic handfull of medal!  I noticed also that the 'Brit' Andy Murray won an Olympic Gold medal for playing tennis, while the 'Scot' Andy Murray only managed a Silver one in the tennis doubles.  Typical!  What is tennis doing there anyway?  How many other daft sports feature here?  Does Synchronised Swimming still get a shot?  Basketball?  Baseball?  Cricket maybe?  Dearie me no thanks.  The football season has started, get this rubbish of the screen and ...hold on, wait a minute.  If the Olympics finishes I suspect the banal pap that was there before will reappear.  More Simon Cowell shows, more empty dance contests. Hmmm, OK, keep the Olympic coverage going for a while, spending another £40 Billion on this might be worth while after all.

That tactful, one time Italian leader, Mr Berlasconi has used one of his Italian newspapers to have a go at the German leader.  Under the headline 'FOURTH REICH'  a picture of Frau Merkel appears.  A picture which tactfully shows her giving a wave which looks awfully like the salute that Herr Hitler chap used to give.  Could he be attempting to imply something perhaps......?  Shame on him.

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Caught Ya!

As I emerged from my late morning nap I espied this gent scribbling a ticket for the folks in the car here.  I am wondering what went wrong here?  Did mum break a traffic law, or did young son fling stuff from window?  I'm hoping it is a ticket for stopping on double yellow lines to collect brat from Skatepark.  I think she has done this before and has paid the penalty, and on a busy Saturday at that!  Well done Mr Polisman,  that happens too often and needs to stop.  The horn blowing and traffic congestion is a pest, well done sir!  

He looked pretty chuffed with himself afterwards, possibly his first £60 ticket I expect.  Good idea putting cops on bikes, lots of lonely pathways around here.  Had I been better clothed at the time I may not have had to snap through the closed window, hence the reflection, but had he seen me I may have got a ticket, or worse!

The football season restarted today, and naturally the Heart of Midlothian began the season with a two nil victory over St Johnstone, as I foretold,  and at this moment sit proudly where they belong at the top of the table.  Excuse me while I gloat a little.....

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Hearts Greatest Games

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I was awoken, just before lunchtime,  by the postman kicking the door in an effort to indicate his presence.  I enquired, as he shoved a packet in my face, why he had not put it through the letterbox, it was big enough to take it.  "I couldn't reach," he grunted, "And I knew you would be asleep, so there," The letterbox stands at eye level and he is six feet four!  So my second sleep of the day was disturbed, and I was anxious it was disturbed for a good reason.  It was!  In my hand I held another tome from the prolific, yet strangely humble, author of good books, Mr Mike Smith!  This time the work concerned the Heart of Midlothian, featuring fifty (only) of their greatest games!   A smart cover, a solid hardback that fits nicely into the hand, full of historical fact, written in a concise yet highly readable manner, excellent photographs, I canny wait!

From the foreword by Hearts great John Robertson, through over a hundred years of top games Mike Smith takes us into the heart of what it means to be a supporter of the Heart of Midlothian. Those who support clubs where money is no object fail to comprehend the reality of football supporting.  The real fan rejoices with each victory but hurts with each loss. The Heart of Midlothian fan hurts often!  Being reared on the mighty Hearts side of the fifties that swept all before it I attended my first game to see the remnants of that glorious side thrash Airdrieonians by six goals to one, I thought it would always be like this!  I watched us struggle to win the next game, versus Raith Rovers, and was given an understanding of reality a week or so later when relegation bound Queen of the South defeated us by one goal to nil. Reality said life is not perfect, and the heart of the Heart of Midlothian fan contains much cynicism!  It still does......

However the bright spots in such a life are indeed brighter for the fan of the Heart of Midlothian than for those 'prawn sandwich eaters' that follow cash rich giant clubs with no heart.  Indeed the book mentions how the Hearts victory over Kilmarnock in the 1962 League Cup Final (a game my father would not let me attend because of 'the crowds' Bah Humbug!) was the last major trophy to reach Tynecastle Park until that marvelous day in 1998 when Stephan Adam slotted home the winner and ended forty years of pain by bringing the Scottish Cup back home. (Excuse me while I wipe away tears, I'm so happy!!!) 

From the first cup final win over Dumbarton, to the double victories over Hibernian, by three goals to one in 1896, and by five goals to one in 2012 (and we all know it ought to have been double that score) through night games versus Lokomotiv Leipzig and Bayern Munich, via the destruction of Celtic by Rene Mollar and comrades that damp November in '69 (a game I well remember) this book speaks the language of the Heart of Midlothian, Edinburgh's Premier Football Team!  Few teams have the record of 'Scotia's Darlings,' few have such an intellectual following, few can begin to compare with the Heart of Midlothian.

Mr Smith offers a glimpse into the Scottish psyche with this book, touching on Edinburgh's history and culture (try saying that about Leith!),  on the desire of the fans for success, and their wary appreciation of how close disaster can be.  None understand that like the cynics at Tynecastle!  Fifty games here mentioned show however that this football team is indeed the 'Talk of the toon, ' and I claim that this book will stir the heart like no other.  And that is 'No idle talk!'

One of the best heart of Midlothian books I have read!

     

Stop press! News has reached us that a Hibernian book along similar lines has been cancelled.  They could not find fifty games worth mentioning.

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Cogitating

Syria, a land mostly ignored and up till now stable under its Assad dictatorship.
Suddenly it is rent in two by rebels, why?
The Assad regime forced a secular dictatorship on the land, this found much support among the Shia and indeed those who call themselves Christian.  While it ruthlessly suppressed any opposition in the Middle Eastern style it also allowed a great degree of controlled freedom.  People were educated, including women, and as long as you obeyed you survived.  Israel was however not keen, the border too close, previous wars left their mark and support for Hezbollah in Lebanon irked the Israeli's a wee bit.
The great powers did nothing.  Indeed deals were done which included Syria, did Assad not interrogate Islamist for the Bush regime in the US?  Now however somebody wishes to destabilise
Iran's nuclear threat and Syria is the place to do it.


A simple technique is used.  Sunni Saudi Arabia, who fear the Iran threat, and oil rich Sunni Qatar, are used to supply material to unsettle Assad.  They supply the money, the arms and other help to these 'rebels.'   Using Turkey, a key member of NATO, to supply weapons and protect the 'innocent civilians' along their border with Syria also threatens Assad.  This settled almost peaceful nation now has an army bent on slaughtering anyone who opposes the regime, uncontrolled militant groups on both sides happily killing young and old, and a 'rebel' force, now said to possess heavy weaponry, who are a mixed bunch with policies of a wide and varied kind. Nobody really knows what many of these people really look for.


Yet the west is happily encouraging this to worry Iran.  The danger is clear.  Russia and China may well take Iran's side, for whatever reason, and a new cold war, which will soon turn hot, is almost upon us.  Let us realise also that the divisions within Iran also show that nobody knows what their long term idea actually is!  Unsettling a peaceful dictatorship in Syria to attack Iran may be a clever plan to some but the results may well be catastrophic for us all.

Following on from 'friends' yesterday I got to thinking about how some folks collect 'friends' on social media sites.  In my humble opinion, and humble is the word, we only ever have two or three really close friends.  People who stick with you whatever your faults, and this because they like you.  We may also have a larger collection of a dozen or more 'friends,' possibly up to fifty or so if we belong to clubs or groups, who we regard as friends but are not going to be there forever.  We may also have a further larger group we know from such groups, work or whatever who we regard as acquaintances.  So I ask how do some folks have two or three thousand 'friends' on the 'facebook' or 'Twitter' accounts?   Are these real 'friends?'  Possibly we need another word for this?  Now famous people get followers, important folks, footballers, journalists etc, get similar followers who know and respect them, but these are not real 'friends.'  So why do folks gather hundreds of people they never will know and add them to their list?  maybe it's just me being jealous?  A handful of good people is better than hundreds you do not even have time to read or understand surely?

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Friends

Friends, how nice to have them.  Two, and I have at least one more, arrived on a visit today, the first time we have met face to face for about fifteen years. They are staying with their friends who have moved into this locale, and good luck to them, so took time out to meet handsome young me.  How they have aged while I stay the same!  They have not changed mind.  She immediately went off for a nose around into everything, typical woman!  She did ask first, which was most unlike her.  Had I said "No!" she would have gone ahead anyway.   

We first me forty years ago when I wandered into the church on Westbourne Grove, London, he was running at the time.  Having only been there just over a year he was young and eager, and delighted to trap another into attending.  Three years later I returned after a period back in Edinburgh, this time I was indeed trapped and found a home there.  Most folks who walk into 'The Grove' find it becomes a 'home.'  Many around the world have been there for a few short years (very London that) and have memories of their time there.  Once the pair had left and moved to the coast many kept in touch and as my 'spiritual adviser' (if shouting loud 'Why?' can be called advising)  we have been close ever since.  They became my second family, the first rusting away in the Edinburgh downpours (how lovely summer is up there) and I miss them and all their adventures.  Sometimes being far from folks is a good thing, but not always.

To sit for a couple of hours and discuss this and that was a treat, even though I had to rush around cleaning the place, looks like another new Hoover bag is needed already!  What laughs gossiping about other folks,well she did, men don't do that.  What a funny old world it is as people from their time at the 'Grove' are found all over the world, even in Mongolia of all places!  Folks we knew have been through some strange experiences, some good some bad, and even the renovated building now has flats at the top that cost over £2 million each!  Looking at pics of the modern flats where broken pews and peeling paints once stood is quite something.  'The Grove' itself remains the same as always I suspect.  Time marches on, and the mice run up the clock as someone said, or something.  OI!  I've just realised, that git has gone off with my pen!  Typical!

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Nothing to Say...

Nothing to say, so here is an old cartoon. 

That looks like my granddad reading the paper! 

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Every Silver Lining Has a Cloud.

Typical UK summer.  The sun shines brightly, the sky is blue, and a chilly wind blows the big gray clouds in front of the sun and continues right up your trouser leg.  So it was today as I rested from my paperwork trials.  I have three lots of paperwork to deal with.  Each needs info from the other, half the info is not available, none of it is easy for my wee mind to follow.  Financial stuff goes over my head, counting my change is OK, but beyond that I struggle and today my mind has been wearied much.  I managed to get two important, but incomplete, excuses into the post this afternoon, the third one is just beyond me.  Hard work in the morning for me.  

I may put the horrid word verification back on for a while.  This morning I had 19 calls from Mr Anonymous waiting for me as I looked up the email.  Several more came during the day.  His broken English was added to by broken German at one point!  If he keeps this up I might go round to Peking or Vladivostok or wherever and break something he possesses!  I also had an offer from someone attempting to get another $20 million out of their country, probably our Chancellor George Osborne.  I ignored him.

I'm off to look for a calculator.....

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Town Hall

I was tempted to write, 'I saw this and thought of you,' but several young ladies are looking in so I will avoid that.  This creature you see before you, no not me, the one in the photo, hangs from the town hall wall and was intended to spew rainwater upon passersby in times past.  Whether it works now I am not too sure.  It was brought to my attention during a quick tour of the town hall as was.  I say as was as the building long ago grew too small for use of the council. The dolphin shape, for that's what it is, goes back a thousand years to the other half of the town, as I explained earlier as those who did not fall asleep will recall.  Built in 1926, a 'gift' from one of the kindly Courtauld's, a family we have met before, it contains several interesting  wood lined rooms.  Originally it appears to have been rather austere but later decor added paintings of some interest.  Difficult to photograph them as we sped through, the guide not at his best,  however I did get a couple of quick shots.  This being the window over the grand staircase.

The town crest at the top contains the line 'Hold to the truth.' Fabulous line to have amongst town Councillor's I suggest.  As if the suits that gathered could be trusted to pursue the 'truth.'  I am sure many did a good job, and some probably did seek the 'truth' at all times but the cynic within me is not sure about that phrase.  Anno Domini 1927 reflects the year of completion.  Originally the cost was around £10,000 but at the finish, as the Courtauld man insisted on only the best material, the cost rose to £50,000.  A wage of £3 or 4 a week would be good then!   The Courtauld's family, being Unitarians, believed in 'good works.  They built hospitals, schools, and the like for the towns in which they operated.  However by increasing the wage by a shilling a week they may well have done a lot more, but this way they get themselves a more permanent memorial. 'They said "Let us  build a tower that reaches up to Heaven and make a name for ourselves," or something.'  The generous man was rewarded with a gift of a Gold casket afterwards!  Jings!  

Sadly I cannot show you the chairs, mostly backed with pigskin, the murals reflecting the towns history, going back around a thousand years and sending a boat load to America to found a similarly named town in Massachusetts or somewhere, the big breasted girls chosen for the large map on the chairman's ceiling, or the valuable grandfather clock that possibly doesn't work.  One thing is clear the pretentious importance of those involved in the building.  The powers of the day considered themselves important, they do today but not in the same 'class' manner.  The importance of the town, busily industrial as it was, required they thought such a building, and the creator desired his memory to be revered also, though he would not say so.  Sadly while he is remembered he does not find the world really cares.  Once we have gone few really care do they.  Had the family considered increasing the wages slightly, and losing out themselves to some extent, they would have created an eternal memorial, and that would be better I think.     

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James Keir Hardie

On September 25th 1915, with the Great War in full flow, James Keir Hardie passed away. His life had been dedicated to improving the lot of the working man, and the working man's lot at the time was terrible indeed!


Born illegitimate to a servant girl in Lanarkshire on the 15th of August 1856 he started at the bottom of life. Eventually his mother married a ship's carpenter and the family moved to the new area of Partick in Glasgow with the intention of finding work. The young lad had to work himself from an early age and at eight years old became a Baker's delivery boy working around seventy five hours a week! With his father unemployed, his mother pregnant and with a brother to care for he became the wage earner of the family, at three shillings and sixpence a week! When he was ten years of age his brother lay dying and the young Hardie tended him through the night. This caused him to be late for work so he was sacked, and fined a weeks wages by his boss! Some people still question why unions came into being?


With work difficult to find the family left Glasgow and returned to Lanarkshire  and after his step-father had gone to sea, he was a ships carpenter, the young lad became a miner, at the age of ten, in Newarthill Colliery!  Working as a   'Trapper,' he spent ten hours a day opening and closing doors enabling air to reach the miners. The  unschooled boy was taught to read by his mother and became literate by the age of seventeen, and this in spite of twelve hour shifts down the pit. This was not unusual in the second half of the nineteenth century. David Livingstone the missionary,taught himself to read and write by placing books on his machine as he weaved cloth in nearby Blantyre. A hunger for self development to improve an individuals position spread throughout the nation.  Reading newspapers taught Hardie that others were forming unions and taking a stand to improve their working conditions, and in an effort to improve his own mine Hardie formed a union and led the first strike in 1880. He was dismissed!  


Moving to Ayrshire he found work as a journalist, having been 'blacklisted' by the mine owners, and married a fellow temperance campaigner, Lillie Wilson. She was to find a life of struggle bringing up the bairns while he travelled around addressing meetings while he fought for the miners interests. In 1886 he was appointed as secretary to the 'Ayrshire Miners Union,' and shorty after the 'Scottish Miners Federation.' This was a time of growing economic wealth in the United Kingdom, and many men had formed guilds and unions to improve their conditions and educate themselves. Miners also desperately wished for change and a fairer share of the wealth. In 1887 a newspaper was produced as he attempted to educate the miners, called at first 'The Miner,' and later the 'Labour Leader.' In 1888 he decided that a new political party was required to benefit the workers. The Liberals, in whom he had trusted up till then, were not seen as being supportive enough of the working class, and Hardie stood, and came last, as an Independent Labour candidate at the local election. At this stage only around one man in three had the vote, and while artisans had received the privilege most had not. On August 25th 1888 the Scottish Labour Party came into being with James Keir Hardie as secretary!



In 1897 Hardie became a Christian and claimed the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth had been the main inspiration for his ideals. He had been brought up an atheist, but one infused with the teachings of the 'Sermon on the mount.'  Hardie described Jesus teachings as 'Communistic,' meaning a sharing and caring society as opposed to the Stalinism that grew up in the east.  A great many leaders of the Independent Labour Party were from a Christian Socialist background.  It is difficult to relate that Tony Blair claims he also belongs to that class!  


In 1892, after travelling the world investigating working class politics and conditions, meeting leaders of similar organisations throughout Europe, Hardie stood and won, as an Independent Labour candidate in the West Ham South constituency, a rough industrial area. John Burns in Battersea and J. Havelock Wilson in Middlesbrough were also elected as Independent Labour men. The MP's dress of the day required top hats and tail coats but Hardie entered the house wearing a cloth cap and a tweed suit! A sensation resulted! A year later he became the leader of the newly formed Independent Labour Party. MP's were not paid at that time, most had sufficient wealth to avoid the need for salary, however this, and an increase of tax on the rich were among the policies campaigned for by the new members. Pensions for the old, free schooling, votes for women and abolition of the House of Lords were also on his menu.

In 1894 a motion was presented congratulating the monarch on the arrival of a grandchild. On the same day the French president had been assassinated and over two hundred and fifty men had died in a mining accident in Wales. Sir William Harcourt offered the motion of congratulations on the birth, and condolences to the French for their loss and Hardie asked if an addition, regretting the deaths of the Welsh miners could be added to this. Harcourt refused and in an offhand manner offered regret to the miners. Hardie then launched into an attack on the monarchs privileges and continued in spite of the House viciously attacking him as he spoke. He then opposed the motion. His loss the next year in the 1895 general election may well have been the result of this action.

In 1900 Merthyr Tydfil sent Hardie back to the House of Commons where he joined by Richard Bell from Derby. He then produced a masterstroke by agreeing with the Liberal Party not to stand against one another in thirty seats at the next election, this meant that at the 1906 election the Labour numbers rose to twenty nine and the Liberals won the election. This also led on to pensions for those over seventy, Labour Exchanges and many other much needed reforms. During the early years of the century Keir Hardie involved himself in many issues, including calling for equality of races in South Africa, independence for India and many others that brought him much opposition.

He suffered much more opposition on the outbreak of war in 1914. His pacifism led to him addressing large meetings calling on working men to refuse to enlist, and he suffered taunts of "Traitor," although he was never a traitor to his beliefs like some in his party. Many of his former colleagues and friends disagreed with his stance, and it must be recalled that the socialist leader in France who opposed the war was shot in a cafe at this time! The workers did not listen to Hardie and by December 31st 1915 over two and a half million men had volunteered to enlist. The strength of character and determination to speak for his beliefs in spite of opposition from friends and foe did not stop him speaking out. Opposition is always the reward for truth! Much of his life was of course spent in being opposed! A sick man, he suffered from strokes, suffering a heart attack in late 1914 and unhappy with the pain of war, along with his friends decision to support it, he shrank away slowly. Returning to Glasgow to die in hospital there on September the 25th 1915. His heart would have suffered much had he known that as he died thousands joined him on the Loos battlefield, dying for the war he had so strongly opposed.

What would James Keir Hardie think of the Labour Party that now sits in the House?  He would be frank about their leadership certainly, especially the lack of real work experience and lack of understanding of the working class today.  His willingness to sustain opposition would certainly lead to a full and frank expression of opinion on David Cameron, George Osborne and Ian Duncan Smith that's clear.  The 'belief empty' front bench would remind him of much that he saw in the House when he arrived.  The late 19th century house of Commons had seen great men like Palmerston, Gladstone and Disraeli.  Today we have Cameron and Osborne, Milliband and Balls.  What a contrast, what would Hardie say?

James Keir Hardie

Pitwork Keir Hardie

Spartacus Hardie

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