Lt. Col. T. Gibbons, D S.O. Wee Book.

With the 1/5th Essex in the East.

by Lt. Col. T. Gibbons, D S.O.

There is nothing like first hand accounts of an incident or occasion and Lt. Col. Gibbons book gives us a fascinating insight into the 1/5th Essex Regiments time during the Great War.  The Colonel makes no pretence to be an author, well educated though he was, he merely wishes to put on record, before it is forgotten by himself and lost in the peace that followed.  His book emerged in 1921, soon after the conflict, and covers his beloved battalion as they took on the Turks, Austrians and Germans, and anyone else who got in their way!

In 1909 the British Army was reorganised on a more modern footing.  Local regiments, and the local connection was strong, regiments were divided into two battalions, one would serve at home for three to five years and the other abroad.  The local Militia were transformed into the more professional but part time Territorial Force with the aim of defending the homeland in time of invasion.  A third element was the army based in India giving a total membership of just under half a million men.  General Haig, who assisted Lord Haldane during the reorganisation demanded a million men as all generals saw the German war approaching, he was to be disappointed!
Essex had its two battalions and added to each were the Territorials.  Each was linked to the first battalion and in this town we had the proud 'F' Company of the 1/5th Battalion Essex Regiment.
The militaristic attitudes of the time, in which Imperialism was the order of the day, was felt strongly here as elsewhere.  Young men enjoyed the comradeship and adventure, plus the 'holiday' of camping during training days while playing at soldering.  Such men had few other outlets for their energy in the days before the First World War, money was short, work hours were long, and all were admired by the girls when in uniform!  The 5th had its HQ in Chelmsford and many local towns supplied a 'company' for the Battalion. 

When war was declared on August 4th 1914 the 5th were at Clacton on the summer exercises as part of the Eastern Division.  For the next few months confusion reigned as the nation geared up for a long awaited but unexpected war.  The main issue at the time was the possibility of civil war in Ireland, the major European was came as a surprise.  When things settled down in 1915 the regiment was on home defence duties in East Anglia.  Many had volunteered for overseas service despairing that the war would be over before they were overseas, the duty of 'home service' was seen as 'demeaning' by many. However by July they were aware action in the East, most likely Gallipoli awaited them and on the 22nd they left Plymouth Docks full of excitement for the Mediterranean.  Those who remained were the older married men destined for home defence alongside those considered too unfit or too young for action.  Their turn would come later.  The Battalion sailing as part of the renamed 54th (Eastern Division) was 29 Officers and 649 other ranks strong.  It was said many were young men, too many actually younger than they ought to have been for active service!  The then Major Gibbons joined the S.S 'Grampian' with the rest under the command of Lt Col. J.M. Welch. T.D.

The Gallipoli campaign was a shambles.  Churchill, as First Lord of the Admiralty joined with others in pushing for an attack on the Dardanelles by aged Battleships of the British and French fleets thereby forcing Turkey to surrender.  An absurd idea spoiled somewhat by the sinking of two ships and damaging of several others.  Some time later General Sir Ian Hamilton was sent out to attack the peninsula, he had no staff, no maps, no aerial photography and no army!  By the time he had arrived the small bad of Turks occupying the area had been massively reinforced, strong defences installed and the Turks were defending their homeland, and 'Johnny Turk' proved to be a very determined and competent soldier not given to running away!
The battalion landed on Suvla Bay on August 10th while serious fighting roared on the heights above them.  For the next 17 weeks the battalion along with the rest of the Division fought high on the hills, losing men to bullet and shell but mostly to disease.  The difficulty of burial in the hard ground, unsanitary conditions, flies swarming over the food all led to serious dysentery which laid the toughest men low.  The fighting on the hills lasted from the heat of autumn into the floods and snow of December when the battalion was relieved and headed for Egypt.  Of the 649 men and 29 officers who landed in August only 100 men and six officers had 'stood it' for the whole time.

The battalion moved to Egypt where it took a small part in guarding the railway during the short 'Senussi rebellion in 1916.  After Gallipoli their duties here were not onerous and Gibbons, by now Commanding Officer after replacing the wounded Welch, found time to visit a few historical landmarks and reveal his knowledge and reading of history.  The men also did such activities although many preferred the few miles walk to the beach for sea bathing!  At the end of this time Gibbons took his men to the far end of the Suez canal defences where they toiled making trenches in thin sand.  Their language at this point is not mentioned!  The sand is fine, much finer than elsewhere it appears and ruins everything, especially your 'Bully Beef.'  However being in such a place meant patrolling the Sinai looking for Turks encroaching.  Night patrols could easily get lost and attempts were made to find the way home by the Polar Star, taking the young men from Essex into a world far removed from that they had known.  These men probably never travelled far from where they were born, although rail travel had encouraged many to move, however the idea that one day they would traverse a desert was unlikely to be one they grew up with.  

During March 1917 the battalion now with a strength of around a thousand men marched along the coast of Sinai towards the Holy Land.  So impressed with this is Colonel Gibbons that he devotes a short chapter to those who previously marched this way.  Abraham, Egyptians, Hittites, Assyrians, Babylonians, Persians, and Muslim armies all made their way back and forth, now the 5th Essex joined the unseen throng.  The Colonel rejoices in this, biblical knowledge, probably along with a classical education enabled him to note the History of the world around him and it is clear he really enjoyed this!  
However at the end of the march the battalion once again returned to the fight.  The many replacements who joined no doubt included wounded or sick from Gallipoli who had recovered, others were less experienced and thorough training had been undergone at Suez.  The men were now fit, disciplined and regarded themselves as an efficient fighting force.  Their chance came at the First Battle of Gaza.  Here they, alongside the sister battalion the 1/4th Essex, were deployed to attack Green Hill, while the 6th and 7th Essex attacked to their right.  Some 4000 yards of bare ground had to be covered, cover did not exist anywhere yet the men pressed on and as they came within range casualties were indeed heavy.  Colonel Gibbons himself was shot in the thigh and could only lie their watching proudly as his men did not hesitate until they took the enemy position.  All however was in vain.  The 'fog of war' led the Generals in charge to fear for their outstretched force and they called a halt at the very moment victory was at hand.  It all had to be done again, twice!  The second battle was a rushed affair in which the 5th took little part and led to a change of leadership when General Murray, competent and successful up to this time was replaced by General Allenby, sent out after his Arras attack had ended. His stature however enabled more constructive planning for the third battle in which the 5th took a major part.  Their attack, this time from shoreline of the Mediterranean took them into the enemy positions and after heavy fighting and many losses Gaza was taken.  Colonel Gibbons had returned in time for the battle only to be hit once more in the hands.  Heading for medical aid in the dark misty atmosphere he was not easily recognised and was amused when he overheard one man complain "It's not right sending old boys like him out to fight!"  

Gibbons describes the 5th adventures as they head north along the coast, past Jaffa and the many orange orchards, fighting the last great battle of Megiddo and the continued journey north following the Calvary who raced ahead bagging thousands of surrendering Turks.  Allenby had sprung a surprise by feinting to attack over the Jordan towards Damascus and instead sent the cavalry over Mount Carmel through Haifa and routed the enemy.  The 5th marched north through Lebanon and soon the war against the Turkish forces was over and thoughts turned to home!  On November 11th 1918 the armistice in Europe was declared but few men rejoiced.  Happy that the war was over and glad to know they would soon be home they also counted the cost of the men left behind on Gallipoli, Gaza and elsewhere.  Not all had been found and identified, not all lay in a decent grave.  Soldiers memories never leave them though they cannot reveal them to non soldiers, sometimes the soldier cannot allow himself to remember his war.

Throughout this book we see a man of his time.  An educated middle class officer, proud to be British and proud of the way his men stuck with extremely difficult situations and 'stuck it like Britons' at that! His stiff upper lip, his understanding and care for his men shine through as does his desire to do the best for all he meets.  His job was to fight this war and do his duty properly, he may have to kill but he would rather be at peace, and attitude many soldiers still carry.  He understood the pain and suffering of war but just got on with the job, determined to do whatever must be done no matter the cost.  The impression left is of an officer who a soldier would be happy have as leader, especially a territorial soldier.  While not a professional writer he writes a book that takes you into the mind and heart of a Territorial Officer of the day.  This book gives witness to the action of the 5th Essex, it also gives witness to the man.  This book is worth a read for that alone.  He wrote his memoirs so that the sacrifice of his men should never be forgotten and I doubt he ever forgot them himself.  His books dedication reads, 

'To my Comrades, 

on both sides of the veil.'    

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Tawse

There was an interesting discussion with a couple of chaps who visited the museum today.  Like many visitors the visit took a couple of hours to wander about, getting involved in some of the displays.  One, became interested in the Victorian death rituals, the black crape made by Courtauld's being a massive seller in those days, and the other being a recently retired teacher found the Victorian classroom interesting and talk got round to the use of 'the cane.'  In England the cane was much used to install discipline into recalcitrant brats, and in public schools possibly to train them for high office and oskuokuhyl&$fhs£njhjuvfdevgtlcdo (censored by the editor).  Anyway the ex-teacher informed us he had only once used such an implement and did not desire to do so again.  My first thought was that he was not in one of the rougher areas of this world!  He clearly was a decent man and most probably a good teacher and I recalled the best teachers we had were men who cared for the lads and used the belt very hard!  The 'Lochgelly Tawse,' so called because they were manufactured in the Fife resort of Lochgelly, (the term 'resort' is not to be taken at face value)  and was used instead of a cane by all Scots teachers.  As I said the better teachers used it and used it well and we liked them a lot in spite of this! We ended up as dumb as we began but some teachers stick in the memory for their efforts.  The belt ended its days after a woman in Cowdenbeath, just round the corner from Lochgelly, claimed some sort of human rights injunction after her adolescent son suffered six of the best for his misdemeanours.  The court ruled in her favour and indiscipline has ruled the nation ever since! While many can learn with discipline based on other means there is a hard core who will never change, the vast number of pupils banned from classes proves this.  The use of the belt enabled control and allowed teaching to continue, even the brat blowing on his hands could still learn, no need for separate tuition!  On the rare occasion the teachers unjustly offered me the opportunity to receive this tawse my loving parents, if they knew about this, would ask "What had I done?" Once informed the attitude was "That served you right!"  If only they had met that woman from Cowdenbeath and her delinquent, advice on child rearing was available for free!  I wonder how the mannie who made these straps survived the loss of earnings, did she ever think of that I wonder? 

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

Now I am not one to complain, everyone knows that.  However in the months leading up to Christmas I have been inundated with chancers informing me that I must re-insert my details, so the thieving crooks can rib me.  Ninety percent of these pretend to be from Nat West Bank in some form or another. Not only do I get them daily I am getting three or four at a time some days, all Nat West! Occasionally they change to 'Smile,' or 'HSBC,' but mostly it is 'Nat West' customers who appear to be so stupid as to reply to a document that does not contain their name, account number or any other authenticating details.  We all for for them at times but come now!

Eusebio one of the great footballers has died at the age of 71 from heart problems.  A sad end to a great player and a great man.  Mozambique born he qualified to play for Portugal where he spent his time playing for Benfica, making them one of the 60's most powerful sides.  He played in cup finals, European Championships and was regarded as second only Pele!  During the 1966 World Cup Portugal found themselves three nothing down to a then popular North Korea.  I was one of many who saw Eusebio take the game by the scruff of the neck, score four of Portugal's five goals and rob Pak Do Ik and all of their moment.  It was an astonishing feat at the time.  Only rarely were football matches televised in the 60's but a friendly between Manchester United and Benfica was shown one night. Nothing much about this friendly game sticks in the mind bar one free kick.  The ball was placed about fifteen yards inside the Benfica half and Eusebio lined up to take it.  I recall commentator Kenneth Wolstenholme exclaiming, "I think he is going to shoot, he is!." The Manchester United goal was in the other half off the field!  Eusebio did indeed have a seventy five yard effort on goal and this shot went straight and true slipping a few inches past the post!  He would never have scored but it was a fabulous effort!  This man played 745 matches scoring 733 goals, a feat few will ever equal if any!  One of the world's great players.

George is laughing again!  He has told of his intention to cut £12 .5 Billion mostly from the Welfare budget.  How interesting that the 'Daily Mail' readership, who vote for this, will be impressed but not as much as the corporate tax dodgers who will be left untouched with their millions.  Robbing the poorest is easier than taxing the rich, who are Georges friends. There is around about £100 Billion available if George stooped tax dodging, but this is easier and a sure vote winner!  Rob the poor and pay the rich, it's the Conservative way!

Is climate change causing problems?  Around 1966 I noted a small story in the 'Edinburgh Evening News, in the days when that was a newspaper, mentioning that the Polar Ice Caps were melting. How come it has taken so long before action results?  Many time politicians have gathered to discuss the climate, notes were made, agreements reached and almost nothing has occurred, except climate change!  The US is suffering a great ice age this week, the weather stream comes all the way across the Atlantic and reaches far into the Mediterranean.  Snow, rain, storms, mixed with high tides, all bring trouble and yet we still think climate change is a lie.  We have had our share of rain, but no floods, and I feel for those who have seen large areas of normally dry land disappear under four or five feet or river water.  The ongoing effects will never leave them.  Oh and it's raining as I speak!

  

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Saturday Night Music

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Ah, Oor Wullie and the Broons!

I've been doing my teeth no good whatsoever by stuffing, with both hands, into my gob the 'Oor Wullie,' 'Scottish Butter Fudge' that my favourite, best looking and most intelligent niece gave me at Christmas. This combines several Scots habits in one,  there is 'Oor Wullie,' himself, sweets eaten by the ton, and teeth eroding as you eat!  Scots dentists always have work!  The fudge is available in many guises but here is presented as a money maker for D.C. Thomson's, the great Dundee press giant, as they like to be known.  'Oor Wullie,' is a cheeky chappie character developed in the late thirties by the D.C.Thomson Comics editor R.D. Low.  He it was who produced comics such as 'The Hotspur' and 'The Wizard,' in the twenties and thirties.  He also later introduced 'The Dandy,' 'The Beano' and 'The Topper.'  Low introduced an eight page comic section into the 'Sunday Post,' Thomson's 'family paper,' these were the wee rascal 'Oor Wullie,' based on the typical young boy of the day, and the family called 'The Broons.' While 'Wullie stayed with his family in a ground floor of an unidentified town the Broons were tenement dwellers in an industrial city, very like Dundee. The strips began in 1936 and reflected much of Scots life of the day, my family of six emerged from a tenement in 1953 to dwell in a modern flat, allowing me to understand something of the 'Broons' plight.  His cartoonist was a famous man Dudley D. Watkins.   Watkins illustrated and created many strips for the Thomson comics working for them from 1925 until he died from a heart attack at his drawing board in 1969.  His popularity and importance was such that he was one of two only cartoonists allowed to sign their work!   His attitude to Mr Hitler and his expansionist policies were reflected in the strips and it is said he was on Hitler's list of those to be dealt with.  

'The Broons' and 'Oor Wullie,' are part of every Scots kids life, even though most of the other comics have closed down.  As such there is great trade in sending annuals, sometimes facsimiles of old editions, to ex-pat Scots to remind them of home.  Some would say the 'Sunday Post,' is the reason they left in the first place!  These are not cartoons that cause much laughter today for me but the characters enshrined I have known in past times, but the world moves on and the hardships of the pre-war era reflected have been eradicated for the majority.  It could be said many fail to comprehend a family life where both a mum and dad exist, and brothers and sisters dwell in unity, excluding the family feuds!  'Willie,' has parents who care for him and far too many today would not understand this, the majority may but our disjointed and confused society finds happy family life difficult.

My favourite such comic was and remains 'The Beano!'  Their were many others offered to us, the folks encouraged us to read as much as possible, and vast amounts of cash was paid for these.  'The Beano,' is my favourite because of the anarchic outlook and the items at the side.  For example there was the stagnant pond, we knew this because of the broken notice board giving this information and the ducks are all wearing gas masks!  Adverts pinned on the fences in the background told us to "eat more MINCE," and featured a bowl holding mince three foot high! Such absurdity abounded in the past and hopefully still does today, 'The Beano,' appearing to be the only comic left in the UK these days.  Ha! Kids today, they know nothing!

      

Recognise yourself....?

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Almost Back to Normal.

Thursday sees this part of the world return to normal, supermarkets are flooded with starving people eager to resupply the empty cupboards, businesses clear away the cobwebs after a few days closure, staff struggling to open eyes now used to mornings spent in bed and the damp streets once more resound to the noise of traffic, delivery vans trundling round and postmen struggle to justify their day as even 'junk mail' is in short supply.  The English world returns cheerlessly to normality, few signs of humanity are noticed amongst the throng, except the sun shines brightly, indeed warmly for several hours.  Of course the Brit knows that as soon as the days off are over the sun will shine!  In Scotland as always the second of January is a holiday, partly to aid recovery from the previous nights, mostly to allow for another shindig!  New Years Day once saw the Scottish football clubs playing local derbies against one another, however for many years this was ended by the intolerably bad behaviour of the fans of Celtic and Rangers.  Tsk!  Such activities never occurred at the Edinburgh derby! There are several reasons for the difference.  For one Edinburgh clubs are not crushed by sectarianism, for another Edinburgh folks are nice and wash behind their ears, and history reveals that Hibernian fans have usually gone home by half time after another thrashing from the 'Big Team!'  The advantage they gain from this is the requirement to pay 'half price' to get in as everybody knows they will not see the end of the game.  Tonight however, on the second of January, the Edinburgh game will take place for television reasons.  TV has far too much say in when games occur, and they do not pay nearly enough cash in my view for this privilege, but there you are. By the time you and yours read this I, and all sensible people, will be engrossed in another Heart of Midlothian victory.  I am preparing my smugness for friendly Hibbys as we speak!

Not that I'm one to gloat......

I was chatting to a friend about his job today.  he has been in a 'caring' occupation for a while dealing with what they call today 'learning difficulties.' That could mean anything from mentally impaired (Backwards we used to call that), or have emotional and other problems.  Recently he moved to a 'care home,' where he works 12 hour shifts on a rota of seven days out of fourteen. For this he ears about £7 an hour, that is the minimum wage!  His point was that as this kind of occupation is dealing with people with needs surely it needs to be better paid.  I did not mention the £36 a week I was paid until 1980 by the NHS, it may have upset him.  Now he is a great lad but he does not appreciate the way this world works.  'Caring' is important but expensive, therefore the NHS and all care organisations are being sold off to save the taxpayer, at least those who usually earn more than the minimum wage, from paying tax.  I think all ''care homes' are now privatised, these are desperate for cash as the running costs are high and only so much can be charged to patients. Part time and cheap staff, usually foreign these days, fill such care homes. There are good ones it must be said, although the 'BUPA' homes in Scotland have recently been exposed as in some need of change, and staff in such homes are never on a financial winner.  I am not sure the homes can ever make much profit.  

His point is good, if people are important why do we not care for them?  The answer is that votes are found by cutting costs, not helping people!  Private care homes cannot pay much, even the best ones, and no government has the guts to improve such places, old folks vote, but not when trapped in a home!

Some things do not change when the year does.  

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A Guid New Year

Wishing a Guid New Year to ane and a,' 

and mony may there be!

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Hogmanay 2013

The year endeth as it most probably began, with rain lashing the town.  A close look will reveal in the far distance the ebbing sun, thus indicating the last vestiges of the rain cloud that arrived at four this morning and has drenched its way slowly past ever since.  That far end has still not reached me!  When I came here this was described as the 'driest county in England,' and several houses round about had workmen employed strengthening the subsidence as the foundations were under threat.  That was seventeen years ago and it has not stopped raining since!  I could have gone back to Edinburgh instead of coming here if I wanted rain!  Rain is expected there, it is supposed to be dry here, what went wrong? Good job I am not the complaining kind.

Tonight is 'Hogmanay' the Scots celebration of the New Year, the proper time for a booze up mid winter festival.  This activity is not what it was in past days in my humble opinion, and my opinion as so many have helpfully indicated is indeed humble.  In my late teens we went door to door 'first-footing,' even though others had been through the door first, where drinking lots in a controlled manner joined with singing, talk of a humerous manner, dancing in some places, and a night to remember, usually. The delight of asking certain souls if they were ready for bacon and eggs early the next morning was a delight!  Today it appears to my little mind that just getting drunk is more important and the old enjoyable get together appears to have gone. Living in this wilderness of sin amongst English folks who have never worked out how to celebrate Hogmanay properly this is understandable, however I think a new attitude is around in Scotia itself.  Time moves on I suppose and maybe it's just me?
Oh listen, I can hear the kiddies out there already, 'Buckfast Wine' anybody?

Again we have the strange phenomena of parts of the world now into 2014 while other areas are still in 2013's yesterday!  A few of those well in the lead may well wish by now they had stayed back in yesterday I bet.  Just wait until the pictures appear! Fireworks have been seen in far away skies and even if the rain returns some bombardier will spend an hour or more attempting to emulate their colossal effort by bombarding the area with his left overs from November.  I will look forward to that from my bed I can tell you!
  
Shall we do what many do and look back across the past year?   No!

Good things may lie ahead, Scots Independence, Heart of Midlothian's survival, more delightful, intelligent bloggers arriving here to join the crowd that gathers, a few days sunshine, and maybe me doing what I ought.  Things can only get better, mind you that's what Tony Blair said before he copied Thatcher!

Today we hear that John Fortune has died.  he became famous as a satirist in the 60's and more famous still when operating alongside John Bird.  The two John's spoof of the world around them was always hard hitting and usually unscripted!  Here he plays an adviser to then Prim Minister Gordon Brown.

 

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National Ponderings

I was listening to an old radio programme on an old tape recorder and got pondering about something that was said.  The people of Iran see themselves as one of Asia's two great nations, themselves and China.  Everything else is regarded as the leavings of imperialism.  Quite what the Indians think about this I am not sure.  The fact is both China and Iran go back a long way, much further than Scotland, much further than most nations.  Iran dates itself right back to Cyrus the Great, the man who toppled Babylon two and a half thousand years ago.  He did this, creating one huge empire, while the Greeks were still fighting among themselves, the Egyptians had had it, and the great Europeans civilisations were still living in mud huts.  Iranians are proud of this long heritage, making ours look insignificant in return.

It is this pride in the history that stuck in my mind.  What is it about land? These folk were proud of the land they came from and it brought to mind Stone Age man and his need to place standing stones, not always in circles, as if attempting to find someplace he could 'belong' to. The standing stones commemorated the dead some say, giving him roots to his life, and we all need a root to come from. We have a need to belong to an area, a district a town, someplace we call home, the centre of our life and meaning.  Stone Age man found this in his circles and their ceremonials, possibly in the barrows he built throughout northern Europe, and Iranians look back to Cyrus and claim they have a heritage to be proud off, something politicians have not understood in recent years.  

Now as a Scot I have a history, a heritage to be proud off, not that I have ever mentioned this before or indicated Scots superiority over the rest of you as like all Scots I am too humble to do that.  I am proud of this humility!  This need to belong to a bit of land is strange as it leads to pride, the pride that considers itself better than others and demands all it can get form others. Such attitudes lead only to disaster.  In the end we all come from the same place, we are all 'Jock Tamson's Bairns,' in the end.  I am often amazed at how boastfully proud some Americans can be of their nation, especially when Soviet citizens were just as proud of theirs.  Pakistanis are proud of their nation, or at least happy to defend it if anyone, especially India, attacks it.  'Pride,' or 'belonging,' a group to be part off, a place to say 'this is mine?'   

I attempt to stand on Jesus, he told me to get off his foot the other day, and this lifts me above the nationality problem to a great degree, and it gives me a place to stand and face the world. This was not my intention but he turned up one day and changed everything.  Am I right in thinking people need a place to belong to, a street, a town, a nation a group within those based on age, sex, colour or employment?   Do we really need each other, and if so why is it so easy to dislike others who disagree? 

It's a funny old world saint, as some puppet once remarked.

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Jack Frost Arrives

Late last night I spent some time attempting to identify a high pitched whistle. Being late, cold and dark I wondered what sort of bird would be hanging around at that late hour.  Imagine my surprise when I realised it was no bird, it was my wheezing chest!  Therefore this morning I restarted the failing exercise regime, the last one having failed after a few days you will recall.  So bright and early, well just after eight, I was found creaking my way up the old railway heading for Rayne Station.  It is several months since I got that distance, a whole two miles, and my knees let me know about it as we reached the top of the slope.  How those old engines steamed their way up here I do not know!  The sun shone brightly, the fields were white with the first real frost of winter and the scenery was wonderful!  Smiling dogs led their well wrapped owners a merry dance as they raced about their favourite haunts.  A jogger or two passed in ridiculously loud clothing seemingly under the impression this made them either faster or more 'with it.'  In both cases they are clearly mistaken.  

   

At the station the Rangers (not that kind) who run the line (now called the 'Flitch Way) have installed an old railway coach.  It appears the plan is to use it as a museum or an enlarged tearoom, thus enabling the station itself to be a better museum.  I hope whatever they decide works for them.  This is the first time since the late 70's that rails have been seen on this line.  Oh to see a proper train, one with steam at the front and compartment coaches once again! How romantic and atmospheric a steam train can be, something the more efficient diesel and electric machines cannot match.  These may well be better in every way but in spite of this they have less romance about them.

This coach never saw a steam engine pulling it that is for sure, and it is far from the aged wooden coaches used until 1952, the date the last passenger train ran on this line.  The charabancs that abounded after the Great War, plus the vast number of ex-army lorries that came available at the time led to a drop in numbers both of people and goods.  It was only the presence of the huge sugar beet factory half way along that kept the line working and even they turned to lorries by the 70's.  Soon after it had all gone.  Our station survives and many commute to the pleasure dome that is London for a means of earning their high wages.  Most of which goes on the fares to get them to work.  I came home that way one night and feel sure the crowded train would do my head in if I used it five nights a week. One derailment, accident, jammed door, body on line and the hour and five minute journey could take a week!  Interestingly the Transport Minister is based in Chelmsford, just down the road.  He was caught out using his chauffeured car to drive him to work rather than the train.  So for a short while he was made to rise in time for the 6:00 and he was not pleased! He may well be back in the car but he has announced he will not stand at the next election, retiring to a directorship or two I suspect, probably concerning railways!    

Naturally I decided to get up on the platform, in spite of my weakened hulk having strained its way up here, and so I placed my toe in that little step used by railway men to onto the platform.  I did this, got almost up, my knees gave way and I went splat on my face.  No-one amongst the handful in the vicinity around appeared either to notice or be surprised.  The coach had been used as a money making idea Santa Claus den just before Christmas and the windows were decorated appropriately, well according to them anyway.  Nothing exciting was seen bar this angel, possibly this is the one that enabled me to get down without falling flat on my face twice!  You may well be bored of this coach by Summertime. 

Home Jeeves, down that slope, and don't spare the horses dogs.  The sun shining through the trees as I cantered homewards could well have done me damage if I were epileptic.  Bright sun then dark shadow, it was like a thousand flashbulbs one after another.  Flashbulbs?  We are not old enough to remember flashbulbs are we?  Home at a degree of speed not imagined earlier, shaking of the attentions of the dogs I rejoiced in the bright morning, always the best part of the day, and breathed fresh cold air to remove the whistling noise.  Home in my mind meant hot bath, a continuation of the sleep I disturbed when this daft idea entered my head, breakfast and a hot massage.  I still await the hot massage!  I will ache all day tomorrow, to be honest I ache now! Bah!

Saturday Historical Cinema

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Diet Friday

I call this 'Diet Friday,' but not in referring to myself.  My slim, malnourished, eight stone body needs no diet that I am aware of except a large turkey or side of beef.  That not appearing I will once again return to thieving from the neighbours mouse traps and find some nourishment that way.  The diet I refer to is the one now being experienced by millions who have stuffed themselves for two days and then stupidly stepped upon their weighing machine.  I can see many women looking in the mirror muttering, "I'm fat, I'm ugly, my hair is a mess," then turning to the man of the house and demanding "You need to give me a compliment!"  "OK," says he all too willingly, "Your eyesight is good."     

He too soon joins the diet.

I have yet to confirm this but I am led to believe that the 'Times' has decided that George Osborne, the mathematically challenged Chancellor of the Exchequer is their 'Man of the Year!' Yes George Osborne! The man who considers two and a half million unemployed acceptable, the man who sees no problem with ever growing Food Banks, the man who does nothing for million pound bonus's for bankers including those the nation still owns! 'Man of the Year?'  Goodness Gracious!  It appears Rupert Murdoch has decided the Tories will win the election and George will oust Dave from the leadership.  Dearie dearie me, if that does not add a million vote to the Scottish Nationalists I don't know what will!

  

Life does not get easier for the Heart of Midlothian.  Severely hampered because of previous money problems the side consists basically of the Under 20 side with one or two older players added.  Sadly injury and those yellow cards referees use against us in a biased manner are not helping the team. Mentally and physically tired the younger lads are giving their all as they know there is no alternative. The manager has no other option and several lads are playing at a level just a wee bit above them at present. The wolves are circling, the dreaded drop must be faced, and no rich man is available to hand in a couple of million to Scotland's biggest club.  The SFA have their hands tied, although they stretch for Rangers funnily enough, and the club must face the fact that the future may be a drop down.  Ah well, the commemoration of the 14 year old Tynecastle F.C. player who dropped dead on the field a few days before Christmas puts all this in context, especially as an 18 year old Hibernian player died in his sleep the same night!  If the Heart of Midlothian goes down then down we go.  The club must survive and return in due course, however long this takes.  At least we can be happy we did not deliberately avoid taxes like some I could mention.

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Let Joy Commence...

On Christmas morning it is the silence that is most noticeable.  The ebb and flow of daily traffic ceases, chattering passersby fail to appear, even the distant rumble from the bypass is missing. A passing car, heading for gran's or aunties, disturbs the peace.  A dog barks cheerily while chasing a ball thrown by a walker forced away from gifts and wrapping paper.  High above cruising at 35,000 feet an aircraft glints in the morning sun as it makes its way to the Americas.  No other sound is heard.  A wretched, badly dressed man urges his aged bicycle along the road.  A miserable looking creature, the man not the bike, creaking along, his bones not the bike, breaking the peace.  There are none to see me as I pass.  The torrents of rain that fell on Christmas Eve have moved on, the air is clear, aided by the absence of cars and planes, damp streets glisten, but the streets remain unusually silent.  Church doors were opening after ten, a car here and there arrived, many walked slowly, dressed for church.  Fewer than in times past but usually, if not always, aware of what the day means.  Behind the doors many have been awake for hours!  A mound of discarded paper litters many a floor, dad's struggle to fit batteries into machinery far to complicated for one their age, give it to the child and it will work in minutes!  Mum's fuss with their hair, the kids, the dinner and the booze she wants to open early, but not in that order.  Lonely people stare at mind sapping TV, made worse at Christmas by sentimental claptrap or blonde brainless bimbos excited by nothing at all.  

Four hundred miles to the north my family, well some of them, gather for their dinner.  Presents will open, dinner will be eaten, drink will be guzzled, by the men certainly, and much laughter will ensue.  I myself had prepared well in advance rather than leave things to the last minute. The main part of my Indian Christmas dinner was put in the freezer, the rest in the fridge.  Cake and puddings were placed in appropriate places and all was ready.  Naturally I forgot until the 25th to remove said dinner from freezer and had to make do and mend like I normally do!  Bah!  Still I am now stuffed full of nan and chicken something or other with lashes of rice, and cheesecake, which contains no cheese I note.  
The loss of the dinner was made worse when certain important internet connections failed. Even worse I had become once again hooked on the intellectually challenged game 'Bouncing Balls,' and the entire 'MindJolt' site was down!  No football occurred and TV was dire.  The last Christmas I spent with friends on the coast and pangs of desire for such company grew as each new disaster fell upon me.  However some golden moments appeared to brighten the day.  BBC 2's 'Music of the Monarchy,' with the outstandingly arrogant David Starkey is one!  Brilliant TV from the racist Englishman!  Super music and listening to him is so interesting but really you just want to slap him don't you?  However late that night I searched for Radio 4 Excelling itself with an hour of 'With Great Pleasure,' where John Lloyd, the man who has brought some of the great comedies to us, gives us an hour of his favourite stuff, huge fun and laughter I say!  This is a must listen!  

Life will return to normal tomorrow.  'Argos,' was shut on Christmas Day, something that was so unusual I stopped and stared as I passed.  How did such a commercial enterprise become named after a long gone Greek city anyway? One or two other opened today but not many.  The supermarkets did a 'Sunday service' for those starving after yesterdays feasting.  Tomorrow the streets return to near normality and households everywhere pile up the paper for recycling.  I will go back to soup and bread with leftover cake...... 

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Christmas Day 2013

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The 24th December

'Twas Christmas eve in the workhouse

And all was quiet and still...'

So I took myself off out for a break.  I need to see the daylight every so often and I trotted out to smirk at those late Christmas shoppers as they despaired of buying the right thing.  Naturally as the day was bright and the sun had been around all day the minute I went through the door it rained!  It indeed poured down for just as long as it took me to wander about.  As I squelched my way home the cloud, a thick black brute covering the entire planet, decided to end and began to make its way eastwards to give Colchester a good clean.  You get some impression of the thing as it departed over the Fish & Chip shop.  A dark brooding cloud heading east leaving behind a warm sun beginning to reflect off the houses.  Bah Humbug!!  My shoes might be dry by Hogmany!

Not long after the rain the sky was like this!  Tsk! 

Christmas Eve and throughout the land kids are alert for a big fat man in a red outfit clambering down their chimney, leaving his reindeer on the rootop, or maybe they are rummaging about the house attempting to find the things the folks have hidden away.  (Did you know Santa was originally dressed in Green?) Young children's faces are a wonder to behold at this time, but not so wonderful as mum and dad when the kids wake at three in the morning to search for parcels!  Evening descends and the frantic scramble ebbs away, panic rises in hearts that some major item has been forgotten, even if its importance is widely exaggerated.  A great many items considered important for tomorrow will actually be not that important after all.  Relax and enjoy, worse things happen at sea. 

What's the point of it all?  Family gatherings maybe?  Good indeed, if you have a happy family.  Giving and receiving gifts?  Also a good thing, but possible all year of course.  A celebration that winter will end as we now head into the new year, well next week we do, and look forward to Spring returning (hooray!). Yes indeed, and for thousands of years that has been the real reason for the feasting and revelry.  At some time in the past the church, most likely the ecclesiastical organisation based in Rome, took the great Bacchanalian debauchery and clothed it as a 'Christian' festival.  Quite right too I say! They however made a mistake here in referring to this as Jesus' entry into the world, that probably happened about May or June or thereabouts in 5 BC, and we should be celebrating his birth around those months I say.  For one thing it will be warmer and for another the shops will be less busy. 

As always the Scots almost have it right.  New Year is the time for the jollity and not Christmas, the Christ Mass as it were.  Calvinism ensured Scotland regarded their religion properly, except when they didn't of course.  Christmas was a normal day until the late 50's in Scotland.  My dad went to work at Christmas until at least 1960, although how much actual work was done by then I would not like to say. I suspect an early finish and a trip to the 'Anchor Inn' was on the horizon for many.  Ah well, in the bleak midwinter we require the hope of sunshine to come, unless you live in the southern hemisphere obviously!  At this time of year those peoples look forward to er, more sunshine, bah!  I hope we all enjoy the day, and of course start jogging soon afterwards.

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Monday's Unusual Things.

Dunmore Pineapple

In days of yore, before they were grown in tins, pineapples were extremely expensive and found only in the dwellings of the rich.  To proclaim to the world their wealth many placed such items, in stone, on their buildings.  Here John Murray, the fourth Earl of Dunmore, presented his wife Charlotte this pavilion from which to peruse their land.  The giant pineapple allowed the world to know their wealth, power and position.  She must have been pleased!  Today she would have to pose half naked in the 'Daily Mail' or 'Hello' magazine to get such fame.

Unusual Police Cars

Pleeeeeeaaasssee tell me this is real and not a spoof!  Please be a car used by a UK police force somewhere for some reasonable purpose, please!  Somehow I doubt it however.... 

Mud Flop

In Dublin, for reasons of their own, otherwise sane people indulge in what they refer to as the 'Redneck Games.'  'Mud Flop,' is clearly popular, though I would not be as close as this lot as that lass lands face down in there.  A Tsunami may sweep through the fair city after her landing!  'Big Hair,' 'Seed Spitting,' and 'Armpit Serenade,'  are apparently among the other, er, attractions.

  Unusual Tombstones

This one is the best of the lot!  Search through until you find a gravestone that suits you, not that I want you to leave mind!  Hanging around a bit more would be good in my opinion.  This fellow failed to hang about, or rather his time expired.  Maybe he should not have waited so long, or possibly moved elsewhere?  I know not!   

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Sunday Music

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Saturday Cinema!

Jerry, who is going through another second childhood, 

insists on posting cartoons.

This would be fine if it were cartoons I enjoy, like Bugs and Daffy and Coyote,

but he insists on cartoons of inferior quality (but the latest post is OK).

So here is a Saturday night for all adults to enjoy!

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Sunset

As the sun went down in the west, one goes down there each night there must be loads of them lying about there, I wandered abroad attempting to find a photograph.  Why?  I was bored of sitting inside and wanted to be with people. The only difficulty taking pictures this late afternoon?  People, they kept getting in the way!  Bah!  Who needs people after all?  There is something about the sky at twilight.  It is different every night yet almost the same, but not quite. You can take a picture from the same spot 365 days of the year and each would be different, except of course in Edinburgh where it would show rain two days out of three!  

Stained glass windows are quite attractive if seen in the right light.  From outside this one in the old town hall looks attractive but is hard to picture with the lights behind.  From inside with the sun shining on the window it looks magnificent as you ascend the great stairway.  Built in 1926 the old town hall was indeed a prestigious building and much money was thrown at it!  Used for events now and the council are housed elsewhere. 

BBC

It is interesting to see PR in action.  The BBC news appears to be helping Nigella get her life sorted by offering several people who inform us how much she suffered through the recent court case.  The prosecutions tale that she used drugs and allowed the accused PA's to spend £685,000 on themselves with her credit cards to avoid publicity harming her chances in the USA has resulted in the accused being freed and Nigella being seen as , well herself!  So instead of this slapper cook we have instead a woman as false as we all thought she was. How some will be happy with this!  Myself I am just glad we might lose a cook from the screen, there are FAR TOO MANY OF THEM on TV!  I also feel unsurprised that her now ex-husband Satchi, the man famed for advertising Thatcher in the 70's and bad art ever since, turns out to be a bit of a bully and difficult to live with!  I doubt she was any easier myself. Personally I don't wish to hear their private lives, especially as they fall apart, and it is very sad that those with so much have so little to live for.  They appear to have no idea of a happy life.  How do they get together?  Money? Celebrity?  Using the other as a trophy wife/husband?  However the PR has sprung into action claiming the case centered on her drug abuse, not the accusations against the PA's, even though the appearance is that she allowed this fiddling to keep the drugs news quiet. The desperation for the US contract will bring us many stories I feel.  Will it bring happiness to anyone involved in this sad case I wonder?

 Shorpy

This picture from the Shorpy site features a Friday pre Christmas office party in 1925.  My how they employees are having fun!  There again if we were able to see the happy scene after the illicit booze had been downed we might come across a very differing picture.  Just who would be informing the boss, soon to be ex-boss, of her opinions, which lass would have scratched the eyes out of which lad, and just who's feet are sticking out from under that desk....?

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Grumble Whine Moan....

Now I am not one to complain.  Moaning, whining, getting ratty about the world are things far from my kind, forgiving nature as you know.  However when Mike Tyson appeared on the screen tonight to tell us about 'Being on drugs when boxing,' or 'How he overcame his drink problem,' I begin to think "SHUTTUP!"  I am sick to the teeth hearing celebs or the 'famous' tell us how they overcame being so stupid as to become hooked on drugs when the entire world has known for years that they are dangerous.  I am fed up hearing yet another celeb telling us their problems, at a huge price of course. Yet day by day they appear, contrite, sober and full of their story, until possibly the next time and the next payday.  
Now I am happy folks get away from such stuff.  Nothing better to see a man overcome a problem, happy indeed when the real world arrives and a celebrity finds a happy life.  However the tale of woe they offer often follows after they have been warned by many they are hurting themselves, or worse being led that way by those on the make and all celebs have someone attempting to use them.  There are Christian books like this where the individual offers nine chapters of 'How I was a witch,' followed by one where 'Jesus saved me.'  Much better to have one about the previous life and nine about the better one!   Let us spend less time on peoples failings and more on the good side of life.  Sadly that however would not sell papers, fill TV time and suit the public voyeurism. 

Had I been in a mind to complain I could comment on waiting in for Parcelforce to deliver this morning, filling in my time doing the women's work while listening for the doorbell, but I am not of a mind to grumble.  However I rose in the dark once again especially to be ready for his knock, waited till eleven and then gave up and wandered the streets.  When I returned he had still not yet shown up although the postman had, he went out of his way to make a special effort to bend the two Christmas Cards while shoving them through the door. Postmen don't like this door.  Usually the worst letterboxes are those three inches of the ground, and they ought to be banned!  However our main door is actually upside down and the letter box is therefore quite high for wee folks. The Landlord has reused a door simply by turning a battered one upside down leaving the box just too high for wee posties!  
After a foul lentil soup and stale bread lunch, a quick sleep and a bad coffee I guessed the parcel was not going to arrive today.  At this time of year it is inevitable they will be busy, and at three in the afternoon he would avoid the traffic polluting the street outside my door.  So I wandered abroad again, picturing the sun dropping behind the buildings, very glad that Saturday is the shortest day because from then on we head towards a glorious Spring!  I need not tell you that the weathermen inform us high winds and belting rain will obscure the shortest day, and last well into the longest night!  Bah!  
Anyway when I arrived back having avoided spending any money I do not possess I found the neighbour had taken the parcel in.  A box of goodies from my sister!  As my mother aged she ate less and less so I took to sending daft small things she might eat, tins of anchovies, small packets of chocolate milk etc, in what I called Red Cross Parcels in a vain hope she might attempt them while she and the neighbour gossiped during the dreadful soaps they watched. Nora was sent through by her man whenever the football was on, to give him opeace and to allow them to natter.  Later, when I was unemployed my sister began to send them to me at Christmas!  Using her womanly instinct she managed never to send me anything I ever used!  Mind you when mum died some of the stuff I sent remained unused also.  We ate it however!

      

A man brings his best buddy home for dinner 

unannounced at 5:30 pm after work. 

 His wife begins screaming at him 

and his friend just sits and listens in.

"My hair and makeup are not done, 

the house is a mess, the dishes are not done,

 I'm still in my pyjamas and I can't be bothered with cooking tonight! 

 What the hell did you bring him home for?"

 "Because he's thinking of getting married."    

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