Saturday Shopping?

Another morning in the Museum shop saw the beginning for Christmas shopping.  Our cards are ready, our shelves stacked, and I only took around £15 this morning!  Not only that but few wished to discuss History of some type and on top of this by the time I got home I missed the first half of the football!  Tsk!  However it was a good morning  as the people were on the whole decent, chatty, and friendly while nothing much went wrong.  This was good as only two of us were in and the bosses hiding themselves this weekend.  The football I missed was rotten also, being Hibernian it would be as you would realise but tired and weary as I was after this the veg would not turn up at my door so out I trek to the market.  With typical results, the veg man was not there, either he has given up, taken sick or gone home early, which is most unlike him. This meant I had to endure Tesco veg stall on a Saturday afternoon.  This was bad enough but as I forced my way through the throng the pressure was made worse by the adolescents running about being well, adolescent.  A Community Police officer was haranguing them outside, and indeed inside at one point, unfortunately he was not armed with a pump action shotgun, a great mistake in my view.  Banning the birch was a mistake I say!  Back home I was so exhausted I almost forgot to tune into the late football show on BBC Alba.  That at least was worth watching. Now I intend to sleep all day tomorrow. 

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Friday Finkin.....

He's deid!

He's deid but he won't lie down.  The one thing that guarantees lasting fame is being shot at the right time.  Lincoln, John Lennon, Julius Caesar, all made their name by being bumped off.  Now I realise they did one or two other things, song writing, political chicanery, invading Gaul and all that, but had they lived would they be as famous, or as popular?  JFK has been cannonised since his death because his writers gave him tremendous scripts at just the right time. He offered a new view of the future to a world leaving behind the old wars of the past.  To 'go to the moon, because it is hard,' was tremendous, even though it was really just to outdo the Soviets.  Pride is a costly thing.  What did he actually do?  The Cuban missile (pronounced 'missile') showed his strength as well as his willingness to listen to others.   However most of his ideas were pushed through later by the much derided Lyndon B. Johnson!  Now there is much to deride about Johnson but he could control Congress and he did change the US for the better.  His mistake was the usual American failure to understand the world, this led to increased involvement in Vietnam, an involvement begun by Kennedy.  Kennedy offered hope, a new beginning, and got shot.  The myth remains, maybe this is better than knowing the real man, for he was just a man.

     

The story concerning three women kept as slaves by a couple possibly of Malaysian origin has opened many strange doors.  Some will find this fascinating, some find it disturbing, I see it as just another facet of the human condition.  Since Adam and Eve left the garden however you conceive it, man has forced others to do his bidding.  Slavery has been around since the beginning and has never left us.  It has been known for years that the many rich Arabs coming to London brought with them Philippino, Indian and other poor women as 'domestic servants, usually no more than slaves!  The UK governments desire not to upset the rich has allowed many to continue suffering, although I understand changes have been made regarding these women today.  Now let's face it we would all like slaves wouldn't we?  A quick browse of the bible shows us ourselves and the awful depth of the corruption within us.  Admitting that deep within, covered up by layers of 'civilised society' lurks the deep desire to make others do our bidding, no matter what.  It is an awful dire realisation.   Naturally we would treat slaves well, the 'Letters of the Younger Pliny,' show how he regarded his slaves well, insisting that at harvest time there would be no 'chained slaves' brought in to operate on his farms.  He still executed Christians mind.  We would be nice to slaves, treating them as friends wouldn't we?  Unless we were in a bad mood, after all they are just property!

How close we are to ancient societies abuse of others in slavery was seen as recently as the nineteen forties when the Nazi's allowed such attitudes freedom to roam Germany.  The Germans, an educated intelligent people, were led into this through patriotism, hunger and a willingness to believe in a false Messiah, how close are we to this also?

There is much to yet discover re this particular story.  It does have some unanswered questions and the obvious one is how did this all begin?  There are more out there, hidden away in London flats, large town houses and country estates.  They also exist in your area.  People trapped by one thing or another, trafficked across the world (more money trafficking people than drugs) and it would appear most 'saunas' offering 'extras' are staffed by such girls.  Thirty million slaves exist across the world they say, yet in the west the concept of 'sin,' is laughed at?  I wonder why?

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Can Things Get Worse...?

After the soup and other disasters my life has provided I hoped for better today. It rained, it was cold, the potato scones stuck to the pan!  Bah!  Still, it couldn't get any worse could it?  

The bright lights are dimly shining in the town.  More are to be switched on soon, and I have discovered I must help out.  Tsk!  Christmas decorations are not my thing.  Puritan Christmas for me, Bah! Humbug and I do allow Christmas pudding and cake, but that is only because of my need to feed my weak brain nourishment.  Santa and snowmen get shove it!  Did someone start singing "Tidings of comfort and joy" just then...?  

Something not very wonderful about this at the moment.  It needs lights and twinkling ones at that to offer a cheery welcome.   I saw this earlier today when I took the holes in my shoes for a walk, I did not intend to walk, I intended to 'bus' it, but I had to walk because of my dementia.  I wandered down to the bus stop heading for PC World.  Now two bus stands er, stand together. Both operate the number 70.  Both arrive around the same time.  One goes to the right, one to the left.  Simple enough for anyone, if they stand at the right spot. As I approached a bus, number 70, stood standing at the stand.  The word 'Chelmsford' entered my head, on the right hand, busless, stand the notice board read 'Chelms Bus Stn,' so I crossed over.  I stood, I looked around, I wondered at the houses opposite, once housing the better off at the turn of the old century, now sometimes whole houses, sometimes flats.  I yawned and feet shuffled while I waited, as did the others waiting. The bus at the stop moved off, it turned left, the destination board read 'Colchester.'  I stared.  Then it crossed my mind that I ought to be getting on the Colchester bus, not the 'Chelm Bus Stn' one!  My trip to PC World drove away uncaring.  I hid my shame by walking away as if I had remembered another date.  With a doctor preferably!

I'm running away.....

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Another Dreich Day, Hooray....

Start the day with a smile they say, and get it over with.  Well I did that this morning.  Rising before the sun by seven thirty I had dumped the rubbish, eaten what is laughingly called breakfast, began to make soup, planned the 'wartime shortbread,', and made a list for a Tesco visit. 
Naturally it all went wrong
Too early to thump around the kitchen without waking neighbours (why are they not at work today I ask?), I noticed rain beginning which by eight was teeming down and remained so for hours, and I became immersed in some rubbish in the online papers and then facebook.  
The soup.  This was simple, add black lentils (I canny spell 'lentilles vertes'), rinse, boil for ten minutes, simmer for thirty five, then add stuff.  The mistake was to put all the lentils in the pot. As they were small I dumped in the whole packet, I did not realise they would swell up so much! I expected some degree but it meant there was insufficient space for the rest of the veg.  Onions and sauces only!  Tasting it much, much, later brought to mind a cartoon from forty years ago, a couple stand by the cooker on which a large pot bubbles, he holds a spoon to his mouth while she intones, "You can add salt if you like, but it won't get your socks any cleaner."  That is what this tasted like.
As I spoiled my lunch I made use of the recipe, using rough, wholemeal bread plain flour as it gives a better result in my opinion, and slid the hastily created biscuit into the oven.  As I toiled at the laptop, the rain hammering on the window drowning out the sound of my chattering teeth, (why is winter always cold?) i noticed a burning smell.  I ran to the soup, which simmered nicely, I opened the oven and stood back from the smoking black object therein.  Still, it will fill a gap I suppose.  Probably the cracks in the walls.
The cold rain kept me indoors, although if it's cold inside it is usually warmer out, and with the use of those woolen gloves with the fingers cut off I listened into Radio four's Agatha Christie tale.  Not a story but a chap following her adventure as she took the train to Baghdad!  A repeat maybe but very interesting.  
Late in the day I managed to spend far too much in Tesco's, and still forgot several things.  The picture above fits well.

The Scottish Independence Referendum is less than a year away.  All the media is London based, even the TV and Radio have a London bias among the staff.  Almost everyday there is a scare story informing Scots of the end of the world if Scotland becomes an independent state.  All arise in Westminster, all are indubitably nonsense.  One even had Rowan Williams the ex-Archbishop of Canterbury talking of the disaster if the union breaks apart.  Tsk!  The real truth is that Westminster NEEDS Scotland.  It needs the money that flows into Osbornes exchequer, England cannot survive without Scotland, that is why in 1707 Scotland was forced needlessly into the union in the first place!  While treating Scotland as a second class citizen who is expected to doff the cap to the mighty at Westminster the powers that be lie in their teeth to pretend they care, some not even being sure where Scotland actually is, it's somewhere beyond Watford is all they know!  The banner was, I am informed, placed on the headquarters of the people demanding a 'NO!' vote in the referendum, and was an excellent way to represent the peoples opinion.
Vote 'Yes!'

To Answer a Query

A cack-handed young lass enquired as to the origin of 'Cack-Handed.  Naturally I had absolutely no idea!  So when I came home from the museum this afternoon having a sleep, stuffing my fat face, and watching Scotland freezing in Norway I decided to investigate.
I didn't get far.
Not one person could give a clear lead as to the origin.  Many could define the word however:

The Oxford dictionaries say:
Definition of cack-handed in English
British informal
1: inept; clumsy: a great song ruined by cack-handed production
2: derogatory left-handed.

Urban Dict

1. cack handed

It means an awkward or inept way of doing something; originally meaning left handed, 

stemming from cultures that use their right hand to eat 

and their left hand to wipe their behind.

Dictionary Central

cack-handed

Definition: Slang

adjective:  clumsy, inept. 
The term originally meant left-handed, probably deriving from the idea of handling cack (excrement). Although the connection seems obvious, this expression is probably too old to be influenced by reports of the Muslim practice of eating with the right hand, wiping away excrement with the left. This pejorative adjective seems to be country dialect in origin; it is now fairly widespread and not particularly offensive.

Origin and History of “cack-handed”

Cack comes from a 15th-century dialect verb meaning ‘defecate’, which probably came from middle Dutch cacken. It goes back via Latin cacāre to an ultimate Indo-European base *kak-, from which a lot of other Indo-European languages get words connected with ‘excrement’. The connection with cack-handed is usually explained as being that clumsy people make a mess; on this view ‘left-handed’, which cack-handed also means, is a secondary sense derived from ‘clumsy’. It may be nearer the mark to place ‘left-handed’ first, however, bearing in mind the traditional role of the left hand in many cultures for wiping the anus.

Somewhere else:

Cachus was Old English for a privy, and both words come from Latin cacare, to defecate.

The general consensus, with absolutely no proof, is that it refers to the use of the right hand for eating and the left for er, the other end.  The derivation from the Latin into English and the use English folk made of such genteel terms indicates this may be correct.  

Interestingly the word 'right' is used in many European cultures for 'correct.'  

The Latin 'SINISTRA' meaning 'left,' gives us 'Sinister.'  
People therefore considered anything of the left evil.
Make of that what you will!

You might like:

Anything Left Handed Shop

RU-Left-Handed

Cracked

Addendum:
A left hander writes-
You seem to have omitted lots of stuff about all cack-handers being geniuses... 

'Cack,' a diminutive of crack, meaning elite, special, esp. referring to military units...

hmmm...

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Dreich Sunday

Dreich, damp, dismal, and looking to depreciate further.  The weather appears to be doing the same!  Trees are rapidly losing their leaves, standing stark against the intermittent drizzle.  Yet one bush in a garden appeared to have buds in Spring like mode.  They will not like what they see if they open any time soon.  The drizzle drizzled all day.  I moped, managing to do nothing but watch Bradford City play Coventry, most interesting that was!  Then I moped, a bit more, attempted to discover why a road was given the name 'Grenville,' in the early part of the 20th century, failed, and did the decent thing, gave up!  

However, regarding the left handed jibes the other day that nice man Dominic offered us an interesting, musical piece regarding a left handed piano.  This is one is a must for music lovers, who are left handed......  

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A Wee Motor

To unwind what I euphemistically refer to as my 'mind,' after leaving the busy museum this lunchtime I wandered through the joyful throng in the market place.  While bumping into one another, grumbling about prices, and then threatening the kids, they all beheld the tannoys cheerful Christmas music with delight.  Naturally I muttered "Bah! Humbug!" at every smile I noticed.  In the middle of all this I came upon the 'Kit' car.  There she sat, chatting away, as people crowded around taking pictures.

The owner stood by proudly, occasionally chatting about the car to interested passersby, mostly men.  The inside looks a bit like something out of TV, er I mean....  I've noticed the car here before during special events, and if you own such a creature you really need to show it off now and again or it's just a waste of time and money.  Whether he created the car himself or bought it I know not, but looking at this tells me I must get the tyres on my bike pumped up again.     

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Life is Funny

Life is indeed funny.  Yesterday I wrote nothing and I got several happy replies.  In days past I have written deeply thoughtful, penetrating, insightful, and objective posts which have been largely ignored!  The conclusion is either my readership (25 read my last post) has the intellectual depth of the 'Daily Mail' reader, or  er, something else!  Either way it is all so confusing.  

Another confusing yet funny incident occurred far away today.  Our beloved leader 'Dave,' has made use of the Commonwealth leaders get together to have a go at the Sri Lankan boss for hurting those Tamil folks.   That is the Tamils Tiger folks who conducted a viscous war for forty years leading to many terrorist deaths.  The army crushed them once and for all a couple of years ago and now people bleat about 'Human Rights.'  I am somewhat cynical here, certainly the army took no prisoners and is no doubt guilty of abuse however after so many years of war something had to be done.  Now there is a peace, even if it is far from perfect.  Sad to say that if you 'live by the sword, you die by the sword.'  For me this has an element similar to those who say the bombing of Germany should never have happened, or dropping the bomb on Hiroshima was wrong.  Had we not bombed Germany we may have lost, had we not dropped the bomb more may have fallen later, on us!  Guess who would be the first to complain then?  Similarly those not hurt by the Tigers may well criticise Sri Lanca, but I would hesitate.  Had I been the boss down there confronted with 'Dave' and his crocodile tears I would immediately take a trip to Ireland and congratulate the IRA on their war.  'Dave' may not like that.  There is no doubt that David Cameron is not right for his job.  Soon he will be gone but the mess will not be cleared up soon, and probably not by what takes over.  Life is funny, and it might get funnier soon.  I've an idea, lets get that chap from Toronto to take over.......

 

I read somewhere that two thousand left handed people are killed each year by using right handed equipment.  I did laugh!  Naturally we should not laugh at such things, left handed folks are all around and normally everything is aimed at right handed peoples.  Quite right too I say, although one or two cack handed types of my acquaintance tend to differ.  The difference between a normal house and theirs is exposed when you use a utensil of some type.  Potato peelers that are back to front, although I never peel potatoes myself, scissors that don't fit the hand, even the pens are odd to hold, and as for the cups!  The museum Victorian School setup occasionally has trouble with a left handed kid.  In Victorian days you were forced, like it or not, to write right handed, the normal way, and such left handed children as arrive are forced to do this in the Vic school.  They do suffer, but even into the sixties I think it was normal to force kids to write right handed?  Again I laugh when considering how dangerous it can be to be left handed, hospitals you see often have the results of accidents that make you laugh, sometimes serious ones.  For example each year around a dozen people visit hospital because they burn themselves ironing, that is, ironing clothes they are wearing!  So a left handed accident could well be amusing, but I do wonder how on earth they manage to kill themselves?  Any lefthanders out there?  Are you ambidextrous?

Any complaints re spelling today....?

Something

There is nothing to say.  This is not to say I have nothing to say, it's just that nothing I have to say fits with something you wish to read, so I will not say it.  This leaves me nothing to say, so I look for something to say that you will read, if I can find something, and if you will read it,or consider it nothing you wish to read.  
It is not that I have done nothing, but how much can be said about buying a loaf of bread or doing the washing?  You see, you did likewise and failed to find anything worth writing about it also.  How much can be said about a loaf of 'Malted Grain' bread?  Tesco do their best but in truth it is not very exciting.  Even the crowded store was not enticing.  How foolish to shop when busy, normally I go early, before the women are up and the kids are still asleep, not using their pushchairs are barricades throughout the store.

I could tell you of the BBC iPlayer and the 15 minute programmes thereon, once again I am enjoying them.  At the moment I am listening to Alistair Cooke and his 'Letter from America,' which is always interesting, even though he himself is dead.  I could inform the reader that the 'Daily Express' wants to believe four inches of sow will arrive next week.  Further investigation reveals it will only land in Scotland, so that's all right, that's where it belongs.  

As I finger my bus pass and wonder whether an hours trip to Colchester tomorrow is worth considering I note Jenny has once again posted about warm countries, blue skies and good food.  How the rich live!  There again there is the 'Bead' who transports us to Costa Rica or France, and maybe even Spain while the cold winds blow.  However you will not want to read well written blogs and travel to the sunshine.  It would just make you hungry, so you might be better of visiting Queensland, where I remember the sun shines also.  You will be surprised to find her swanning about Singapore, where it's cooler.

Did you note a hint of jealousy there?  Bah!
Now, where are my gloves with the fingers cut out?

Wednesday Wonderings

One thing I wondered about is the way the sun the other day gave off a very bright light, enhanced a blue sky, yet failed to emit more heat than a candle!  If you are built of ten thousand billion nuclear explosions I feel it right to demand a temperature higher than 'just above freezing' when I am out.  That nice BBC weather man cheerfully informed his waiting public that next week there "might even be snow."  I am glad he did not hear my remark at that moment, anyway it would have been drowned out by the cheering at British Gas headquarters! Being regarded as a pensioner I'mentitledto £200 heating allowance.  I can tell you that I am happy for this, especially as this flat faces north so little heat arrives at any time, and writing, reading, or doing anything outwith the 15 tog duvet is an arduous business.  With this in mind I am early in bed, laptop on top, noting that the blood has begun to return to my fingers once more.  And people say I have it easy?  Well yes I do these days.

The financial worry has eased considerably, I am trained in cheap living, and it is possible to do so happily, also my running costs are now low.  Not counting heat of course.  However I wonder about those who really do struggle.  Some fail to buy properly, expect cheap energy while using far too much, leaving lights on all day and the like, and appear not to comprehend the value of money.  These are not lazy or selfish folks, just those that cannot shop well. Others have less than me, debts still hanging over them, family and friends that demand constantly, and do without to help others.  My mother was a bit like this, although in Scotland she was not allowed to suffer.  Food banks will do a roaring business at Christmas.

I wonder also about architects!  The fashion today is for an architect with a 'big name' to be employed erecting the tallest structure in the world.  To my mind these monstrosities, such as the 'Gherkin' or the 'Shard' are not only ugly but reflect the Genesis verse, "Come let us build a tower that reaches up to heaven, and make a name for ourselves."  That is what such creations reflect.  These is no requirement for them, little purpose (the Shard is still half empty) and probably far to expensive to run.  To build a tall building might be required in places, Edinburgh had ten stories or more in a confined area hundreds of years ago, but those developments worldwide in recent years are merely for show. An 'Empire State Building,' a 'Post Office Tower' (BT to you),  or an occasional showpiece is one thing, cities full of them just a mess!   The picture I took many years ago to compare the craftsmen who built Leadenhall market and the architect who built the Lloyds Building next to it.  One reflect craft, the other plastic!  Both may well function properly inside however the outside, which is what most of us see is ugly! I am sure you agree.

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Policing, Dangerous Work.

Late at night, after I finished posting yesterdays blog, it struck me how strange a job policing can be.  The girls on duty yesterday had a simple enough routine role but for such as they life could be more, er, interesting.  The lass at the top of the road blocking traffic is what they call a PCSO, a kind of lesser policewoman.  Many police officers consider this role irrelevant and want the money spent on fully qualified men on the beat however the idea is to give a (cheaper), more easily accessible individual, closer to the people, leaving proper police to get on with their job. Hmmm, while those I speak to, by choice I must say, are capable I can see a full time officers point.  
I am digressing from my thoughts.  The thoughts were that not that long ago two policewomen answered a routine call to suspicious activity at an empty house.  On arrival they were met with gunshots and a couple of hand grenades!  Both were killed.  Another copper had a gun fired in his face which blinded him a while back, numerous have been assaulted to some extent 'in the course of their duty.'  I suppose that stopping you riding the bike on the pavement, blocking the traffic at an 'incident,' or asking you why you loiter in shop doorways (admit it, you do that too!), are all troublesome to the personal freedom we all enjoy, however stopping a bank robber, a guy with a knife or risking life to save another gives a different view on things.  

What does it take to do such a job?  My father attempted to join the police after the war but in those days the minimum height rule, six foot two, stopped him by a wee bit.  he would have been an ideal copper in the forties and fifties.  Helping old women over the road, controlling yobs,  and if required dealing with drunks in pubs or men with guns.  Twice in the army, and a military policeman for a while at one point, prepared him for the job.  Today however he would not cope with the political correctness required, nor the absurd requirements put upon an officer today. There again most men of those days would feel the same.  Anyone, including some of the dafter officers, deserves some degree of credit for this job.  Few of us would take the risks, most demand them to come when called, and without delay, yet rarely d we praise them for what they do.  Maybe the corruption of those at the top, the backhanders lower down, and personal experience put us off, but without them, full proper police or PCSO's, life would be intolerable.

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Braintree & Bocking Remembrance Sunday 2013

It was under a bright blue sky, sunshine filling the chilly air as Braintree and Bocking gathered to remember their war dead.  The memorial contains the names of 202 from the Great War, 85 from the second, and we know that there are others who's names were omitted from the memorial for one reason or another.  Maybe one day we will add those who have fallen in the 'End of Empire' wars and other conflicts since 1945. The British Legion members led the parade, the Air Training Corps followed, and several youth groups of various types brought a huge turnout for the commemoration.  The police, the firemen, the Salvation Army joined many others left their wreaths as individuals left small wooden crosses remembering family and friends also. 

I was impressed by the number of others who attended, whatever their reason.  Two hundred or more people felt sufficiently interested to appear, because of personal interest or a family member on duty in the parade.  Whatever it was a good turnout. As is usual in such situations a short service, led by an Anglican vicar, was held.  A prayer hoping for an end to war and friendship between enemies, a reading from John's Gospel, possibly the only time many will hear this in today's world, and all accompanied by the commands to "Attention," or "Stand at ease," offered as you may expect by a chap who had no use for the microphones on offer!  Was he a corporal once I wondered...?  

 
I found the discipline of the march, the commands, the obedience, quite strange.  We live in such an indisciplined society that anything that veers away from the 'me first' attitude is indeed strange.  Yet discipline, for ourselves and others is so needful.  Without it anarchy does indeed reign, both within and without us.  Formations of troops, as here, could not take positions without proper leadership and acceptance of their orders.  Sometimes this can be somewhat funny, usually it gives at least an organised parade where each knows what is expected of them.  Today's society lacks both discipline and an understanding of where they are in the world.

The High Heid yins turn out as they ought, to lay a wreath, to remember, to represent the electorate.  This is not wrong, indeed it is their duty.  Last night during the commemoration at the Albert Hall we saw a ten year old lass burst in to tears as her father, who she thought far away on service, enter the arena.  Who was not touched as she ran to him in front of the  assembly?  What I wondered did David Cameron, Prime Minister and the man most responsible for men's lives, think then?  The camera caught him as the war widows entered, did he flinch, or was that just my interpretation?  Some say such men have no thought for servicemen when an order is given to advance, others are aware of the pressure that command can leave.  The responsibility to send a man to what may mean his death is an awesome one, generals usually can take it in a professional manner, most having been at the front line themselves at some time, politicians do not always appear to comprehend the enormity of it all.  Of course many have been at the front.  Harold MacMillan spent two nights and three days in a shell hole at the Somme with a broken pelvis, Churchill had been a soldier, of sorts, Jim Callaghan served in the Royal Navy during WW2 and Ted Heath in the army, these men understood the nature of war and strove to avoid it.  What can a man like Cameron, who was young during the 'Punk' era, really know about war?  

The Lady Mayor lays a wreath at the separate memorial to the Braintree supported sloop HMS Kite that was sunk by enemy action with the loss of 241 souls.  Only 17 were picked up as the ship went down in a ball of flame within ninety seconds!  Of these only nine survived.   I understand the last remaining survivor passed away a short time ago.

Amongst those responsible for crowd control was this personable, friendly and efficient young WPC.  Luckily for her she was given a position where the sun shone upon her while the cold breeze was deflected by the trees and shrubs around.  The rest of us noticed the weather I must say.  While such work is a requirement on such occasions it must be boring for the officers who can do little but stand around being mostly ignored by the crowds and enduring the weather often with no chance of escape.  This attractive young lass was doing her job very well, as indeed what her companion further up the road.

As always, even in England, a piper is called to play 'Soldier Laddie' as they march past the dignitaries, he being led by the big base drum, which may have been playing a differing tune, I am not sure!  A sight seen throughout the land today, a sight seen since the years following the Great War when memorial large and small began to appear in town and village, factory and office.  

 

Once the streets round here were flooded with uniforms of one sort or another, we ought to be glad that those days have gone and the minority are required to serve.  Still it is somewhat strange to see military uniforms pass by on parade.  Hopefully the young, eager members of the cadets never see the action their forefathers endured.

 Braintree & Bocking Great War Memorial

Braintree & Bocking WW2 Memorial

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Remembrance, is it a Bandwagon?

There is something not right about the nations 'remembrance' today.  A few years ago the UK had almost, but not quite, forgotten how to remember the war dead.  Today it is in danger of exploiting them!

Remembrance began after the 1914-1918 war ended.  With the armistice in November 11th the world attempted to return to normal, no matter how impossible that could be.  With over 300,000 men missing somewhere under the soil of France and Flanders, Mesopotamia, Salonika, Gallipoli, Africa, and of course so many lost at sea, relatives were desperate for a place to mourn, to remember their dead.  The Cenotaph, the empty coffin at the top of the memorial, stood for those who's bodies were never recovered.  Millions responded to this.  Towns and villages, churches, offices, factories, railways stations and clubs placed their own memorials to their lost and each year paid tribute, with many doing so knowing the truth of the sacrifices that had been made.

Following the 39-45 war the nation continued to remember, but wished to create a new world and move on from constant war and deprivation, deprivation that was the lot of the majority in previous years.  By the sixties when my generation were pretending to be Hippies and find a new way to live life, Peace, Love and 'Make love nor war,' which was more, 'Make tea not war' in reality, people at that time did not want to remember the war or encourage uniformed military society.  This was not to denigrate the sacrifices made, we knew all about those, but young folks look to the future not the past, new happenings were, er, happening.  It was later we realised human nature does not change, life as it always was continues.

The need for an army returned during the Irish 'troubles.'  While army requirements had lessened during the end of Empire, conscription's last intake being 1959, the tendency to ignore military matters ended when troops were placed on Irish streets.  Several years of murder and mayhem did not attract the nation to uniforms, we really did not want to know about those murderous Irish who used religion as a shield for their political malevolence.  However soldiers did gain some respect for their courage and in 1982 the Thatcher inspired jingoism (mostly English it must be said) that erupted during the Falklands dispute gave a degree of respectability to men in uniform once again.  Relatives if those killed in Ireland were noted at memorials, more took note of the following memorial services after 1982.  The Gulf conflict in late 1990 and fear of Arab terrorism, the second (needless) Gulf War and of course Afghanistan brought the requirements of the servicemen to the nations conscience more deeply.  A rise since the early eighties in the study of the Great War itself helped a new generation to appreciate what those men had gone through. The aftermath of the second world war hiding the sufferings of the first a great deal.

Today it is both popular and it appears almost compulsory once again to wear a poppy and remember the war.   TV stations will not allow any individual to appear without one, thereby debasing the thing entirely, and a rise of talk, discussion and forced remembrance is leading us not to 'remember' but to remember in a false manner.  Many rightly recall their fallen friends, especially those of recent years, but there is an underlying falseness creeping in of which we must be wary.  

I am all for remembering the dead of all wars and on all sides.  However the present attitude is in danger of becoming a passing fashion.  This makes it obligatory to 'remember,' and leads once the emotional side has passed to a wearing off of remembrance and a falling away from the whole thing.  

We need to remember, I do not wish the dead or their struggles to be forgotten, but we must remember correctly and for the proper reasons.  Otherwise it will all once more fade away like an old soldier, and we don't want that. 

   

Weekending

What a different week that was!  The past few weeks have involved much time at the museum or failure to get things done.  This week I was only 'worked' on my normal Tuesday, however I stayed on till after three as there was a 'do' for older folks and free fish and chips were involved.  The rest of the week has been mine enabling much getting done.  The new video has been set up, even if I canny work it, Christmas presents bought, only one left, the house tidied, even dusted, and all those things lying around the place that have been dropped, mislaid, brought out and forgotten and now dealt with.  The washing still hangs damp and dreich and the ironing is waiting on a passing woman to get done. Small things you may say, but not when they have been omitted because I was slothful busy elsewhere.  All I have to catch up with now is sleep!

Sadly this has been disturbed by taking the laptop top bed each night and watching football!  Every night there has been a game, and the bigger the two teams involved the worse the performance, very disappointing.  Tonight is no difference as I watched Wimbledon playing Coventry in the English Cup. Enjoyable enough but I prefer proper Scots football myself.

The Christmas presents were easy if expensive, Gift Cards!  Small enough to go inside a card, easy enough to operate at the other end, and I need spend little time choosing, that happens at the other end.  The girls get cards from 'New Look,' a females shop I have never looked in before obviously, however the young lass was very nice when I obtained mine.  In Tesco tonight I asked where the gift cards were and a nice supervisor took me to the stand full of cards that was in front of my nose.  Immediately understanding she was talking to an idiot she put on the 'wife like' approach and talked to me in a slow voice, repeating where needful, intoning certain words with emphasis so I could understand, then placed me at a checkout to pay.  The new young lady there also quickly cottoned on and treated me in similar fashion.  They almost walked me home after taking my money as they realised I was just a male with no idea what I was doing.  They have lucky men at home I say, if indeed the men are bright enough to realise this.

One thing  that was clear in Chelmsford is the difference in peoples attitudes. The desire to walk through people as if they did not exist has a tendency to show there, smiling is outlawed, and 'Essex Girls' is a way of life many appear to admire.  They have not yet reached London levels but they appear to be trying that attitude.  The dress code is Londonish, terrible!  Men well past middle age pretending they are punks does not indicate a life lived to the full I say.  Young folks are always badly dressed, that's normal, but men who do not stop dressing like a youth when past 35 need to see a doctor.  I was glad to get home!

 
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Tsk! Old folks...

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Fireworks Saturday

Because of a failed attempt to kill a King several hundred years ago people today still make bonfires and set of fireworks to celebrate.  Most of them cannot tell which King this was )Google it!) but they do know a guy called Guy Fawkes was involved.  As they stand around in the rain on a Saturday night while they attempt to roast potatoes in the fire that keeps going out, could someone justify the noise levels that are keeping me awake?  The houses behind me are sending up sufficient gunpowder to bring down half of Bomber Command, the houses in front and to the right have worn themselves out by seven O'clock sending rockets high above.  In the far distance the battle of the Somme occurs amongst the lower orders, however that may just be because it is Saturday night.  All this while yet another 'storm,' is beginning to blow.  While cats and dogs everywhere run for cover and I long to join them I ask, do I ever complain?  Well not normally, so it must be them being a pest right enough! Ban them!

While dodging the Friday night fireworks I discovered my old albums are beginning to fall apart through damp and age.  During the rescue attempt I found some long lost pictures that might be of interest.  This one features an early post box.  You will note the original colour was green, changed to red because these were indistinguishable from the greenery around, or so the 'Daily Mail' reader of the day claimed.  These were first used in the Channel Islands for some reason and when found to be a success placed all over the nation. Anthony Trollope, the writer, was an employee of the Royal mail, writing much of his output on the train between Ireland, where he was based, and London. Some say these were his idea.  This was a somewhat dark picture so I had to fiddle with it a bit, hence the grainy appearance.  I cannot mind where I found it but I think it may have been at a heritage railway somewhere.  

Bournemouth somewhere I think.  Not a great picture but the wave patterns attracted my little mind.  How I wish I was by the sea!  It's not Black & White, it is just the way I 'improved' the tones.

This indeed is in B&W, found in 'Postman's Park,' London, the long wall erected in the 19th century by a man who wanted to commemorate those who died while attempting to save others. Some succeeded, some failed.  All lost their lives.  Men and women, young and old, policemen, firemen, passersby, all gave themselves to save another.  One of London's most poignant and most forgotten memorials.  

I suspect this area is very different today from when I took this view of Kings Cross.  The gas holders may well have been removed or destroyed, they have the same troubles with the ones in Edinburgh, and the road from whence this picture was taken has certainly been rebuilt.  The dereliction will have gone, but probably not the derelicts that exist in the area.  The St Pancras complex, the new buildings, the renovation of the housing opposite, most likely for sale at high price, makes this image historical.  

You may tell that my mind is dead this evening, in spite of the bombardment overhead.  Rising early I deposited myself in the museum this morning because whatsername was not in.  naturally she turned up anyway!  Women!  A quiet morn with the exception of an eight year old who placed himself behind the alcove as I made my way to the kitchen.  He kindly yelled 'Boo!' just as I rounded the corner and almost sent the cups i carried across the entire complex!  How he laughed!  I wondered if I could get the stone age axe out the display unit without breaking the glass but he got away in time.

My dear niece, who decided to take a stroke, appears to be well.  She remains in hospital awaiting Monday morning test results and another telling off from the doctor for misbehaving.  It appears she is walking and talking as normal, and that the physio has been ensuring she exercises (HA! That's good for her!) her limbs appropriately to ensure no loss occurs.  Her grumbling and complaining have returned, so all appears to be well.  I suppose I will have to get her a Christmas present after all.....

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