Sour & Sweet

I spent a wee while this afternoon reading through a forum relating to the days when I used to travel around Scotland following the Heart of Midlothian football team.  It was a strange experience.  On one side names and descriptions on offer brought back memories of many Saturdays trundling through the countryside to Dundee or Glasgow, Motherwell or Kilmarnock.  The journey would usually take about an hour and a half, although when we stopped the older guys would head for a pub and often, all too often, we arrived at the ground with minutes to spare!  Of course as I grew older I may have joined the pub crawlers but memory appears to fail me.  I always enjoyed the day out, although the team was all to often rubbish!  The days were often spent full of hope going to the game, sun shining and sky blue, and in the dark we returned, wet through from the rain that always arrived, arguing all the way home.

Several of those who travelled with us (should that read 'travailed with us' perhaps) are now dead, some through age, others through common diseases or a variety of wasted lives.  Others like myself are now spread worldwide, a few at home still follow the Hearts when they can.  There are two threads concerning the people at the ground and on the bus.  Both mention many I knew, both make me angry and sad.   While some of those named are held in a kind of respect  find myself wondering about them.   Football attracts people who are known as 'characters,' and not always good ones.  Some are clearly mental and require avoiding at all costs, some just need medical help.  Many laugh at these men, and the vast majority are men, although one or two women make you wonder,  and a kind of fame attaches to them.  The sad thing is many, stable or unbalanced, have little else in their lives but a football team.  For many the attention received is the only time people take note of them, outside of a publican or police officer that is.  One man I well knew, famous for his knowledge of the Hearts, was considered a 'good Hearts man.'  However in my opinion he had nothing else.  I knew him well, and he was of such a personality no woman would want him, he worked in finance but would never reach the highest level, and appeared to have little going for him otherwise.  Maybe he was happy, I hope so but I doubt it.  

The bus became famed, after I left I must say, for developing an attitude best known as 'wild.'  We overtook them one day heading home in our (better class) bus and were shocked at what we saw.  A bus full of adolescent imitation 'Bay City Rollers' without the culture (and the Bay City Rollers I assure you had no culture in the first place).   The stories that have since emerged left us wide eyed and satisfied we had moved out at the right time!  These creatures were, and still are, typical of the football world in which we live.  While the majority of my time managed to grow up safely many were left behind.  Worse still they bred sons and daughters who continued to breed, some waiting until after they left school,  and those I knew are today great grandfathers!   You wonder why we need a police force?  Mind you many of the police are probably this lots descendants!

Not all fans were mental psycho's of course, for instance, I was there.  Many I knew had good jobs, went to Edinburgh's better middle class educational establishments, and worked their way to wealthy retirement in the better suburbs.  I didn't.  To discover the whereabouts of all those I knew then would be difficult today however.  I doubt any would publicly admit that they spent the 60's on that bus,  I certainly wouldn't admit it, not me, no chance.

   
However on the sweet & sour topic still.  Something sweet, but a bit sour.  I got a note yesterday in one of those brown envelopes that make you ask "What now?"  But it was the Pension folk informing me I had to end my dole money ASAP and they would start me on the Pension credit system instead.  So as from today the again, and indeed it is that, of job searching and being rejected at every turn has ended.   From whenever they get the appropriate papers out of the pending tray and onto the computer I will no longer be a scrounger (@'Daily Mail') but instead an early pensioner, for this is indeed just an early pension, and a way to remove one more number from the jobless total.  This is indeed both 'sweet & sour.'  This shows that I am no longer a drain on the state but I am old and useless.  The combination of the bad knee and age was not what employers wanted, add to that the fact I am totally useless, untrained, and not female, and I was at a disadvantage being over 50.  Indeed being over 35 I would say.  2500 people chase some 300 jobs around here, those organisations that run the 'Work programmes' are going bust as there are no jobs.   The future for those not old enough to retire is not good,  I don't envy them.   However this means no more reporting to the Gestapo, no more satire asking if I will be at the Christmas party, no more 'long service medal' offers from the girl at the desk.  Of course I have no money, but I am not worried about that, Jesus has never failed me at my lowest moments, but many questions remain.  Still at least I am no longer 'unemployed' but 'retired.' and that is more acceptable.

New Villains

What with an election just over a year away the head honcho has to gather his gang around him and make plans to ensure the little people don't catch him out.  To this end our Prime Minister shuffled his cabinet and sadly offered us more of the same, with a slightly differing flavour, and the certainty that if they play their cards right the Labour Party will form the next government.  Thatcher and her hard hearted mob took up around 13 years of our lives.  John   Major held Labour out for over five, winning one election while doing so.  Tony Blair held of Gordon Brown   the Tories for over ten years before Gordon was brought down by the economic collapse, three years after taking over.  In spite of the unpopularity long time governments receive he almost won the election!  It was only a deal between the 'Toffs,' Cameron & Clegg, both selling out their own parties to do so, that got them, unwanted, into government.  Now they will prepare to lie & cheat for the next 18 months or so while the world falls apart, the economy stutters, war here there and everywhere, Afghanistan continues, and most folks remain glued to soap operas whatever rulers win.   Labour will win by a landslide, there is no mistake there, the two criminals and a few other failures will ride off into a well heeled sunset, and .....and then what?  We lose one set of incompetents and replace them with Mister Ed.  Suddenly the future is not any better.....

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The Grim Reaper came for me last night, and I beat him off with a Vacuum cleaner.
Talk about Dyson with death.

Paddy says "Mick, I'm thinking of buying a Labrador ."
"Really, ..." says Mick "Have you seen how many of their owners go blind?"

The wife has been missing a week now. Police said to prepare for the worst.
So I have been to the charity shop to get all her clothes back.

A mate of mine recently admitted to being addicted to brake fluid.
When I quizzed him on it he reckoned he could stop any time.

I went to the cemetery yesterday to lay some flowers on a grave. As I was standing there I noticed 4 grave diggers walking about with a coffin,
3 hours later and they're still walking about with it.
I thought to myself, they've lost the plot .....

My daughter asked me for a pet spider for her birthday, so I went to our local pet shop and they were £70! "Blow this," I thought,
"I can get one cheaper off the web."

Statistically, 6 out of 7 dwarves are not Happy.

I was at a cash point yesterday when a little old lady asked if I could check her balance, so I pushed her over.


I was driving this morning when I saw an AA van parked up.
The driver was sobbing uncontrollably and looked very miserable.
I thought to myself, "That guy's heading for a breakdown."

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Sunday Evening Music

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Afternoon Duty

Having foolishly offered my services to the museum if the regulars were missing, the lassie foolishly took me up on this.  This meant I sauntered, without a care in the world, to the museum this afternoon, expecting a chat with a visitor or two, a cup of tea or two, and a browse of a book, or two.  

I should have realised that the lassie was a woman.  A delivery for the shop arrived yesterday and she had planned an afternoon of putting Victorian school slates (imitation I mean) in a paper bag, along with the 'pencil' that is used as a writing implement.  Over two hundred later, and same to do, I decided to cut my finger with the scissors and bleed over everything instead.  It brought that job to a halt.  

With help fixing a plaster over a small cut but profusely bleeding cut is easy.  I needed no help, until I discovered the blood dripping over the floor, the sink, the plasters, when I found them, and then realised that opening the blasted plasters was difficult.  Blood going everywhere, and the plaster protection untearable!  In the end I used my teeth, and with great difficulty finished the job.  Foolish me tore a bit of skin right off and now this throbs so bad I can hardly type, and this was my best typing finger.  Sympathy?  No I got no sympathy!  And I had to clear up the mess, and then return to 'work.'

Apart from the cut, the second one actually, this was a pleasant afternoon.  How nice to be doing something!  How nice to be 'working' again.  How nice to feel useful, especially when the blood was removed.  Chatting to a variety of visitors, and scrubbing the kids cheeky comments of the school blackboard, was interesting and fun.  I learned much, although information regarding the 'Ice Age' and its relevance was missing.  Enjoyable in every way.

However this adds to my new exercise regime.  This included actually getting out on the bike this morning for half an hour, and combined with the afternoons work, setting out a room for a meeting was also involved, it means I am now worn out.  Ruined my routine of course,  and it's a good job the Heart of Midlothian play tomorrow so I don't miss the football.  How lucky you folks are to have a life!  That's all I can say.

Braintree Museum

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Now I'm Not One to Complain, But....

I wandered calmly around the town this afternoon, hoping to catch a glimpse of the sun before the rain returned to refresh us once more.  The doleful experience of having the pathway blocked by inconsiderate people wandering with no thought for others, women barging their prams into anyone foolish enough to be consider they have a right to be alive, children, accompanied by doting parents, learning how to demand the right of way, was not one that I enjoyed thoroughly.  Not one person amongst the throng had the decency to realise that it was I passing through and move aside!  I found myself getting irked I can tell you.  

It brought to mind the programme about 'Juvenal' I heard on the BBC earlier this week. He was a Roman 'satirist,' who took to rants to express his opinion, and make his money!  His opinion of life in Rome touches the heart for anyone living in a town or city anywhere on earth.

232. "When the rich man has a call of social duty, the mob makes way for him as he is borne swiftly over their heads in a huge Liburnian car. He writes or reads or sleeps inside as he goes along, for the closed window of the litter induces slumber. Yet he will arrive before us; hurry as we may, we are blocked by a surging crowd in front, and by a dense mass of people pressing in on us from behind: one man digs an elbow into me, another a hard sedan-pole; one bangs a beam, another a wine-cask, against my head. My legs are beplastered with mud; soon huge feet trample on me from every side, and a soldier plants his hobnails firmly on my toe."
Satire 3

Juvenal has pages of rants in his book.  He appears to complain freely about everyone and everything.  A right miserable little git, or a comedian who knew his audience I wonder?  Either way I feel I could like him, I known where he comes from.  Having been young when brought up in Scotia's capital city I could cope with such crowds.  Twenty one years of London tended to give me a differing opinion.  People walk straight through you and wonder why you pick up bricks and throw them at them.  The 'elbowing' Juvenal suffered, the noise, and the noise in Rome caused much criticism, surging crowds and trampling feet all reflect life at it has been since man entered communal living around nine thousand years ago.  No wonder I enjoy the open air, the sky, and the green things that abound around here.  Why can't people just be as nice as me when out and about, that's what I want to know?  

This is irrelevant to the previous post, but funny.

So is this.....

Crops

'Give us this day our daily bread,' was a line from the prayer given by Jesus to his disciples, and one often misused today.  For his hearers however it was vital, many subsisted on Barley Bread alone during hard times, and those were common enough for many.  Since the middle of the nineteenth century the west has seen a rise in living standards, particularly after the second world war.  There was a determination to ensure the years of hardship would not return and forge a better life for everyone.  Hopes were high and for many years justified.   

Reality is hitting home today.  While the west still lives of the fat off the land, and becoming fat in return (I refuse to use the term 'obese') the signs are that those days have come to an end.  As always some will live in vast wealth, that is the world's way, but today many it appears are struggling to feed themselves and their families, even in the UK.  How can this be?  Clearly the Sub Prime Mortgage scandal brought the good days to an end and exposed the corruption and self interest in the financial world.  While bankers collected their massive bonuses, and politicians 'tut-tutted,' and dodged their own taxes, massive unemployment spread throughout the west.  The far east appears to be shaking somewhat also with less of a market to supply, and this leaves many unable to pay for the foodstuffs they require and the energy they need, especially in winter.

The weather pattern has changed.  The airflow that crosses the Atlantic and heads north has drifted south this year.  This has meant that rain has been a constant companion this year, and it has just finished lashing against my window to prove this, and the rain has ruined the crops for many.  Wheat and Veg have suffered badly here and elsewhere.  The supermarkets are being urged to sell 'misshapen veg,' rather than demand perfect veg this year, otherwise some will not be able to afford the scandalous prices they charge.  There is no doubt they will import more, at raised prices, from Africa, and good for them, but who can afford this?  (We are constantly being told food is too cheap, that is why so much is wasted.  Indeed much is wasted, but others truly are struggling to survive!)  The wheat crops in the US & Russia have suffered from drought, flooding in the far east has hit the rice harvest, and the world is heading for a food shortage once again.  This will lead to 20 or 30 pence being added to the price of bread in the west, while starvation in some places, with accompanying riots and destruction will occur in others.  Remember also many will sell their crop to provide oil for 'green car fuel,' or use the corn for fattening up cattle to be wasted on MacDonalds!  

A conference is to be held somewhere soon to work out the best way forward for the world food needs in coming days.  I fear this will be too late for many.  In the end each nation will put their needs first and aid others only when they have enough to spare, and at a price. Combine also the shortage in many places of water, particularly in the volatile middle east, and war may yet ensue between present day allies.  

The basics of life, bread and water, should be available for all.  For too long we have squandered our harvests on ourselves.  Instead of encouraging better farming we have ignored the world's needs and fattened ourselves.  Now when we have lack we despair.  The west has become used to always having what it demands, in coming days this may not be possible and many will find life tough indeed.  I'm off to stock up on flour and learn to make simple loaves, even Barley ones if they are cheaper.  

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A Walk Into the Past

Braintree Museum

I dragged my emaciated body around to the Museum this afternoon having been summoned to attend by the lovely lass on the door.  You see on Saturday, when I ought to have been busy with the afternoons football, I was dragged out to help the lass cover for her absent helpers.  She had been let down by other volunteers rudely taking the long weekend off.  Tsk!  Being the kind, thoughtfull, (trapped) kind of man I found myself with her until closing time.  This was in fact no hardship, but indeed a pleasure, however I made the kind, helpful, offer to attend if she was ever desperate for cover.  Silly boy!  The girl was hardly in the building this morning, I suppose had not even finished the mornings gossip, and she was on the phone asking when I could be there. So that's three more dates fixed in the diary, what have I let myself in for?

I wandered around the museum, mentioning to another captured volunteer that later I may be able to help with some painting, he kept his doubts well hidden, and I strolled around looking into the past.  Much better than watching television I thought and I was right.  A few coins, rings and objects, possibly idols, from the dim and distant past were on show.  Fragments of live lived here during the Bronze Age, among heavy wooded land with some animals possibly, maybe a pig or a cow.  Urns and large pottery vessels indicate how life, while changing, remains at heart the same.  Water once collected from a stream and carried to the top of a hill was later pumped nearer to the homes.  Vessels to store goods, others to cook, trinkets to decorate the ladies, all reveal changing tastes and quality of life, but at heart the people remain the same.  Bronze Age or Roman, Medieval or Victorian, people never change. 

The weaving machine from the mill that once earned a lass five shillings a week for her ten hour day stands ready.  Here dark black cloth, 'crape,' was manufactured during Victoria's day to supply the need for funeral wear.  Courtauld's employed hundreds of people in their mills and made themselves very rich with the cloth developed here.  The fashionable Victorian's would not be seen dead in anything else.  The other mill, Warner's, produced high quality silk weaving cloth.  These weavers were men for the most part and the quality was such that the Royal Family made use of their services.  The Warner's Archive contains the array of designs highly skilled weavers gave to the world.   Metal windows were a radical development at the turn of the century and Crittall's manufactured them here in the town until recently.  Buildings designed during the twenties often contained these windows and a great many are now 'listed' as important for our heritage.  The 'Titanic' also had windows designed and erected by Crittall's, these failed to keep the ship afloat however.  

This is the Victorian classroom.  Schools bring groups of kids, dressed in mock Victorian garb, to learn how education was taught in times past.  It is a bit worrying that those desks were awfully like the ones we had at school!  One 'teacher' taking such a 'class' would indicate the pupils feet and ask "Shoes? You have shoes?"  This would make them realise that in the past kids their age did not possess shoes unless very wealthy!   Many indeed worked very  long hours until education of sorts became compulsory.  

I enjoyed my wander (you will note I have not mentioned the excellent new Great War exhibit as I am not one to bore you with going on about that) especially as I have not got out much in recent days, the bug causing me to avoid eating for a day or two.  So it was good to refresh the mind with thoughts of the hard lives lived in the past, the benefits we have, and while we fear a price increase of 20 or 30 pence on bread because of weather affecting the harvests we know we can afford basic foods for the most part, in 1900 many could not!  I fear some are indeed in that situation again.  Visit your nearest museum, and find a life!   

Ruminating

The Blogosphere has been choc-a-block with comments on the late Neil Armstrong.  No point in repeating what has gone before but it was indeed a moment to remember that first step onto the Moon!  In fact while ruminating on this I drifted off into many memories of the time, including the trip before Armstrong's.  On that occasion the capsule went close to the moon, and watching on our B & W TV It appeared to me that they were just skipping the surface of Earth's satellite.  It was a fascinating close up of the surface of the moon, almost like being there, we were so close.  The memory stays with me and by the time the actual Moon landing was to begin I, like the rest of the world, was agog!  

In many ways it is difficult to comprehend the emotions of the time.  Here was man, American or Soviet it mattered not, about to leap into space and stand on the Moon!  This was indeed as important as those famous explorers of times past, and on this occasion almost the whole world would be able to see it happen.  To place a man on that globe hanging above us, sometimes a thin crescent, sometimes huge and bright, all to often hidden behind cloud, was an amazing experience.  Having been brought up during the 50's, fed on a diet of 'Dan Dare,' and guesswork regarding space exploration, reading about rockets that would soon speed through space taking us to the far corners of the galaxy was eye opening, and here we were actually doing it! Fantastic!

The night before they launched the BBC broadcast a special programme from the launch site.  This ended with the camera slowly passing in front off the waiting rocket, this was lit by searchlights in the dark night, as the theme from '2001 Space Odyssey' (Zarathustra) played.  It was an emotional moment.  I was, as they say, 'thrilled,' indeed excited.  Later my mother and I sat up late into the night watching the actual landing.  Here was a historic moment indeed.  One of the few real historic events in mankind's existence, and I (along with billions elsewhere) was there.   

I had just turned 18, that year my father had died from cancer, and Jesus decided to inform me of his existence.  Altogether a funny old year looking back.  My dad was born in 1908, five years after man had conquered flight.  In his time he saw the development of wireless, television, a depression and a major war.  He also saw the new world in 1945, better housing and an NHS without which his illness would have been unbearable.  He died when we stood on the Moon, how far had we come?   Human nature has never changed and 

while we conquer space we still cannot conquer famine, crime, ourselves.

By 1972 when the last man (who was he?) walked on the moon it had become old hat.  Space travel rarely excited any more.  The Voyager craft and their kind sailing to the edge of the Galaxy excite some interest but rarely does space mean much to us today.  The recent Mars landing and the pictures returned have been worth while but far short of the adventure of reaching the moon.

A local scare has seen the police, sharpshooters and all, Zoo keepers, and helicopters aplenty scouring parts of Essex for a Lion!  There are thought to be several large black cats, possibly Puma's that have once been kept illegally as pets and now released into the wild, roaming in various places.  How true these stories are is debatable.  However a large 'yellow' creature was seen, captured on film, and one man heard a 'roar,' and so a police chase was set off.

Nothing was found, and the chase called off as it was 'just a large domestic animal.' says the coppers.  Hmmm I hope they are right, or a few dogs will get one big fright the next time they chase a cat.

  

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Big Bang Theory....?

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August Bank Holiday

Rain!

More Rain

And MORE to come!

Summer?  Bah!

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Friday Night Music

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Cowdenbeath and the Black Diamonds

Fife-Scotland

Around about 1967 time I passed through a small town in Fife by bus, while visiting relatives there. Through the smeared bus window I saw a group of retired men waiting at the bus stop opposite. Sunday best suits, three piece and with watch chain hanging from the waistcoat pocket, best flat caps, shoes polished, and under female orders to "Behave yourself!"  Most notable however was the fact that none of them were standing up, they were all crouched down, as if dodging a sniper in the houses behind them.  These were retired miners.   Men who had worked down the pit since boyhood, probably beginning as 13 year old boys during the Great War,  and progressing to the pit face, digging for coal with pick and shovel in tunnels so low that they could not stand upright.  This meant that stopping for their 'piece,'  they had to crouch.   Now here they were, all well passed retirement age, more comfortable crouching than standing for any period of time.

All my uncles in the Kingdom of Fife worked down the pit, they had to, there was nothing else!  Like those men at the bus stop, probably they would have known some of them, from the time of the first world war they joined their dads and uncles, being 'Knocked up' at five in the morning to walk down to the mine for a shift.  When they got to the coal face the pick and shovel method was used to cut the coal,  often lying on their side in a seam two feet high,  then piling the hewn coal into the 'Hutch,' a small, wheeled truck, that was tagged with their name and sent by human means or pit pony, to the top.  Those two or feet high shafts would contain a straining miner in a badly lit, dust filled, dangerous workplace.  Before lamps there would be candles, and possibly a canary or two as a warning for gas.  Some miners preferred rats for this as they were quicker to warn of any build up of gas down the pit.  

These coal seams would be 70 - 100 fathoms or more deep into the ground. (approx. 6 feet to a fathom).  To get there a slow ride on a lift, and then a walk, possibly of some miles to the pit face.    As a miner entered the cage for the rickety journey down he handed over his token.   This token identified him by his number and the pit number also, and indicated he had gone down the mine. This was used in case of accidents to keep track of missing men.  Even when mines operated in recent days accidents were possible and occasionally a small fall of rock may trap one miner or more.  It was also imperative to keep down coal dust by spraying it constantly as any explosion, usually caused by methane gas, would cause this dust to ignite. Smoking also was banned and only a fool would attempt this. In the late 50's several were killed in one mine and the reason, disowned by the union, but clearly identified, was a miner who had been found with cigarettes and matches on his body after an explosion.  Several were killed that day.   Smoking was never allowed underground and ought to have been handed over for safe keeping as he entered the cage.  There had been a collapse at one mine not from from where my mother was born killing several men as the earth caved in upon them, and there was always the danger caused by a runaway 'hutch,' one of which killed a man at the 'Moss-side' pit the day of my mothers birth in 1915.  In 1974 when working in the infirmary we had three miners brought in and different times that year with injuries caused by small accidents.  A wagon toppled over on one, the roof collapsed on another, small individual situations, and this in a modern mine in operation until Thatcher closed it down.  Imagine the conditions in the 20's?  Death or injury was a part of life to the miner. 

Pit No.7 Token

The Kingdom of Fife has many attractive little fishing villages adorning the coast.  Towards the North East we find the ancient University town of St Andrews and alongside we find the world famous golf course that is indeed the home of golf.  Falkland Palace was once home to the great of the land, and Culross (pronounced Kooross) on the Firth of Forth is considered one of the most attractive ancient wee towns in the nation. Under the town, and indeed the central region of Fife lay 'black diamonds,' coal!  During the nineteenth century the mainly agricultural rural scene was to become transformed, and not much beautified, by the rush to dig for those 'black diamonds.'

It was under Culross much earlier than the nineteenth century that mining for coal began. People had been using the black stones found on the south coast of Fife for some time but when there was a shortage of wood in the sixteen hundreds that other sources of fuel were required.  Then a man of brilliance, a Scot naturally, began to mine coal in an industrial fashion. The trees were required for ships, both military and merchant, house building and other uses requiring wood, and it was this that caused  Sir George Bruce  to take action.  Having been born nearby the Forth he well knew of the availability of coal and late in the 16th century he began to tunnel down beneath the Firth of Forth in an effort to obtain his prize.  The shaft extended well under the Firth and over two hundred feet offshore he then built a shaft down through the water and into the coal seam.  This allowed air into the mine and by an ingenious use of a horse powered lift he raised the coal above the sea and loaded it straight onto ships. When King James the VI visited in 1617 he was astonished as he looked up the vent taking coal up to top, that the water was above him!  He began to believe he had been brought down there to be killed (Kings are always somewhat paranoid about this) and it was Sir George who calmed him by pointing out the boat and indicating he could return that way or by walking back up the tunnel shaft.  James wisely took the boat!

Sir George's Big Hoose

However successful this operation it was the industrial revolution in the nineteenth century when coal mining arrived in Fife big time.  In their search for iron ore the 'Oakley Iron Company' came to the vicinity of Cowdenbeath and discovered more coal than iron ore.  Almost overnight it appears pits (the mine is always called a 'Pit,' in Scotland) were sunk. The sleepy farms of the area which had for many years been slowly evolving into a single village, began to turn into a bustling coal town!  Instead of drudgery for little pay as a farm labourer many turned to the drudgery underground for higher pay, with much more danger.  The population, probably less than two hundred in 1800, reached around eight thousand by the end of the century!   By nineteen fifteen, when my mother entered the world there, the population was nearer twenty five thousand!  With a growing population arriving to seek work in the thirty or so pits in the area, plus the subsidiary work which follows, the town became known as the 'Chicago of Fife!'  Indeed it can be quite windy in Fife also.

Winding Gear Pit No.7.

Home life was not without problems also for the miner at the turn of the century. Families were often large and childbirth was an unhealthy experience for many women.  My Grandfather moved to Cowdenbeath because work was available 'down the pit.'  He had three wives in his life.  His first gave birth to two girls who lived well into their eighties, and two boys both of whom died within a year.  She died in childbirth herself.  The second died a month after the birth of her third child and the last, my grandmother, lasted four months after the birth of her fourth.  Three wives and nine children!  Typical of Scots working class life at the turn of the century.  To be honest large families were found in all classes,  Queen Victoria herself had nine!  The death of wives in labour and children, the child usually before five years of age, was a regular occurrence in the UK well into the twentieth century.  Cemeteries give an indication of the number of the 'better off' who died young, how many of the 'Lower orders' suffered this way?  Indeed only the introduction of the NHS ended the insufficiency of medical aid at childbirth, and as one of my nieces could tell you even today that can be a hazardous event.

My Grandfather and all his sons went 'down the pit.' There was no other choice! At one time or another they all worked at Pit No 7 which stood at the bottom of the slope from Chapel Street where their two roomed miners cottage lay.  Just imagine ten people living in two rooms!  There was no showers at the mines in those days and when the men came home from work they washed in a bath in front of the fire, slowly heated, or more usually, at the sink where someone, usually their sisters, would rub their backs clean for them.   I think I am right in saying the bath was only added after the war!

The working and living conditions increased peoples desire for a better environment to live and work in. Cowdenbeath soon became a centre of both the Independent Labour Party  and the Communist Party, indeed the town chose Willie Gallagher, a Communist, as their MP and sent him off to the House of Commons!  Later Jennie Lee of the ILP made it to Edinburgh University and became a member of Harold Wilson's Labour government in 1964. She also managed to marry Aneurin Bevan, the man responsible for the introduction of the NHS, and  she herself was influential in the creation of the 'Open University.'

The General Strike of 1926 hit Cowdenbeath badly. For six months the town remained on strike for better pay. Just imagine the suffering for an entire town, a suffering repeated in all mining districts throughout the UK that year.  For over a week all other unions offered support but soon this petered out the miners were alone.  This was not a strike based on greed, it was for a decent, indeed 'living wage!'  The mine owners were incredibly greedy, selfish men.  When some claimed the miners were 'revolutionaries' King George V himself suggested people try living on the miners wage before saying such things.  Winston Churchill, hated to this day by miners who felt he broke the strike, in fact wanted to give them satisfaction!  He quickly came to hate and despise the mine owners for their selfish attitude and went so far as to suggest nationalising the mines!  This however was not possible for a Conservative government, Churchill did not forget the mine owners attitude and in 1950 when he returned to power he made no effort to scrap the now nationalised mines.  Protests at the treatment of the miners by the owners, their conditions and dangers, ran on for many years.  This often caused riots in Cowdenbeath's High Street.  Many's a head was broken by a police force sent in by a right wing government to end the dangers of 'socialism.'  The conditions were never mentioned.
  
The shared sufferings among miners produced a shared care.  Down a mine if an incident arises, possibly a fall of coal, or an accident, the nearest man will be the first into action to help you.  It does not matter if he is your greatest enemy, if there is a problem he will reach out to you, and you will reach out to him. That is just how it is.  Agape in action, although they probably would not know this.  As a child I always enjoyed the miners company, although the last pit closed in 1960 before I ever got the chance to go down and look around.  I think I would have been terrified to work down there, even when the conditions were much safer in the fifties.  It is noticeable that men of the day made it clear to their sons that they had to get a trade of some kind to avoid working down below. None of my cousins went down the pit, all learned a trade and 'bettered themselves.'  One who did likewise was Sir James Whyte Black.  Though born in Lanarkshire to a mining engineer he was reared at  Cowdenbeath and attended 'Beath High School.'  From there this promising young man went on to St Andrews University Medical School, then to Dundee, and his studies later enabled him to produce what is now known as the 'Beta Blocker.'

Dennis Canavan and Harry Ewing both became members of parliament, and Jim Baxter was to become one of the most gifted footballers Scotland has ever produced. Baxter earned fame for his passing ability, his ability to drink himself unconscious on a Friday before a match and still outplay everyone, and playing 'Keepie uppie' with the ball while making a fool of an England side that claimed (wrongly) the title 'World Champions' in 1967. It is clear that he was talented, it was also clear he was not the brightest!  The school itself had to be replaced as by the time these pupils attended the ground floor had sunk deep into the ground!  Subsidence caused by mine working beneath gave the school a basement!  Houses in the town were seen to lean to one side, and trains moved at a snails place while the mines operated.  In spite of all this a long list of pupils left that school in a mining backwater and rose to the highest office worldwide both in politics and business.  

The Pug

By 1960 Pit No 7 had closed. The coal rush was at an end.  No more would the 'pug' pull the coal wagons across the Main Street to the marshalling yards, an event I can remember watching at least once, no more will the miners get knocked up at five in the morning to waken them for a day's work, and no more (we hope) will the mine workings produce subsidence in all the wrong places!   Many talk romantically of the miners of past days.  There were many good people there.  No person should ever go through the difficulties the miners endured in the first half of the twentieth century again.  Be romantic about the men and women who lived there indeed, just don't let it happen again.

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Calton Jail

This grand building was once the governors house belonging to Edinburgh's notorious Calton Jail.  Built in 1817 on windy Calton Hill. This replaced the old Tollbooth, called the 'Heart of Midlothian,' a building that had been used in several guises, including Guildhall as well as prison, over the years. Walter Scott's famous book 'The Heart of Midlothian,' describes something of that building and its place in Edinburgh society. The governors house of Calton Jail was designed by Archibald Elliot and may well have been warmer than the rest of the building, designed by Robert Adam, which became renown for being very cold, having a poor diet, and the strict discipline demanded from the inmates. 

The name Calton some reckon comes from 'Cold Town,' which is understandable in Edinburgh, but it is precedes such a phrase and most likely arises from the Gaelic "cauldh-dun," which means 'Black Hill,' as the hill comprises black basalt. Edinburgh's position allows the citizens, once crushed together in the crowded old town, to escape to the hills right on their doorstep. King James the second allowed tournaments there in the 1400's and theatrical productions soon followed. Later use of the hill included a hospital, a monastery and a small village of shoemakers, called 'Boot Hill' perhaps?  The small area of land they inhabited later becoming the famous Old Calton Cemetery.  David Hume being one of the more renown people buried therein.  Edinburgh as you will know being famous for being the 'Athens of the North,' still produces many leading men of the day.  Interestingly, I, and our good friend Mike Smith, hail from that city.  Next to the Calton jail stood the debtors prison, the Brideswell, also designed by Robert Adam. Debt today leads to much hardship, in times past it led to prison and in some cases hanging!  How banks would hate that today!  

Talking of hanging, Jessie King was the last woman to be hanged there in 1889.  She spent her time looking after unwanted children, and murdering a few of them.  Another hanged, in 1913, was Patrick Higgins.  He murdered his two sons and dumped them into a quarry. Both lie, alongside several others, underneath the West car park of St Andrews House.   

Egalitarian Edinburgh, with the famous Georgian 'New Town' buildings, possessed a powerful 'high society,' sophisticated legal structures, Calvinist ministers, and enterprising commercial businessmen yet contained many slum dwellings. This increased with Irish immigration during the 1800's which brought some 25,000 to dwell in the run down centres such as the Cowgate, mixing with those already overcrowded there. Criminal elements were found even in Scotland's capital and criminals of all types mixed with desperate people, drunks, lunatics, brought there by their desperation, poverty or sheer criminal nature.  Poor diet and bad health caused many diseases for those who survived beyond the early years often leading to criminal or abnormal behaviour.  The well-to-do who had suffered this way still managed to prove the depth to which human nature is possible by finding a place within Calton Jails walls. Wealth often increasing greed rather than ending it.  

Calton Prison

During the Great War several leading socialists in Glasgow loudly opposed the war, as they did the increases in rent women left behind were asked to pay.  This led to them being jailed, and to make it worse they were sent to an Edinburgh jail at that!  It was felt they would spread dissension more in a Glasgow prison. Willie Gallacher was one such detained there. He was one who complained of the cold, the total silence, only whispered conversations during the one hours exercise available, and the poor diet. Thick porridge and sour milk was the breakfast, soup and dry bread comprised dinner and supper was similar to breakfast.  Arthur Woodburn was also jailed with Gallcher, he later became Labour's Secretary of State for Scotland in 1947, by which time the jail had been demolished.  He used some of the stones to make a garden path for his home!  What satisfaction that must have brought!

The jail was replaced in the 1930's by Saughton prison and St Andrews House now stands in its place.  Home to Scotland's most senior civil servants.  One day soon this will be part of the Independent Scotland's government machine.  I suspect, whatever the situation, that the diet available there today does not involve porridge and sour milk! 

Incidentally the tall needle next to the house, which is now used as offices, is the Martyrs Monument. This is a Political Monument commemorating those who campaigned for political freedoms in the 18th and 19th centuries. Five men who were transported to Australia for fifteen years for their desire for equality!  The dominant force, whether just or unjust, always gets its way.  At least the sun shone there!   


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Tuesday Titter

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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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