The Weekend

Yesterday, to the delight of all, the clouds were ushered north by the near 40 mph winds and the annual Carnival was allowed to proceed as normal.  As normal there were less floats than last year and even less entertainment on offer.  Once more the music was abysmal and the local pub that once offered a rock band playing proper music failed to materialise again this year, a great loss.  That said several local bands of very large young girls dressed in Tutu's twirled batons and sort of danced their way around the town.  This lot represented some sort of gym, or was it a club I was not sure, clearly however none of them could be mistaken for those representing 'youth.'  They were however happy and a great many of them took up a lot of space in the parade.  You can read that bit any way you like.  

    
I often wonder where these 'queens' come from and where they go to afterwards.  They must be local schoolgirls, something I gratefully know nothing about, yet do any become famous after a year as a 'queen?'  Do they do anything the rest of the year?  I will not investigate but I do know hundreds of such are found in many parts of these islands each year to their delight and short lasting fame.

This part did not improve the music as for reasons unknown only the big drum and his little mates were banging as they passed us.  Tsk!  The fire engine led the parade but did not reach the end apparently, It appears someone called it out halfway round.   
The kids like their moment of joy on the parade, the adults happy the kids are pleased and a few hours are filled.  Those who go to the meeting place at the end and spend money of the activities there are less pleased.  I did not go there.  It is a good time for the town yet what does it say about my life that here I am enjoying this?  

I had to see a man re the food bank this morning so I went to the early service at this church. (I did not take this photograph @unknown) This is a combination of two churches that merged some years ago and they offer a 9:30 service (the old people's one) and an 11 am service (the noisy young people like you and me one).  I chose for various reasons the 9:30 and had a 'hymn sandwich'  with communion in the old style.  This was bearable but the hymns chosen were not, so old and not really to my liking.  Being without a zimmer frame I got some strange looks and few under 60 were to be seen. It made St Paul's with its informal/formal format look exciting!  There again I was at this place as an attempt to avoid the liberal theologian who was speaking there today.  The vicar banned me from throwing chairs at him so I didn't attend.

During the week there has been a big media fuss re two lesbians who were confronted by several youths on a London bus.  Taunted and threatened the girls refused to kiss one another for the yobs entertainment and were attacked, beaten and robbed.  Being gay has led to the media making this a major story and the Met police have worked quickly to detain several young men aged between 15-18 over the offence.  If these are responsible this is good action by the police.  Such attacks are rare and deserve proper sentences.  
However, had these girls not been 'gay' and been two young normal men would the media report it? Of course not!  In fact in our town some neds asked a man and woman for cigarettes and were refused.  They were hit with a bottle as a result and only the local paper has reported this.  Not being gay the major networks are not interested.  How many such assaults have there been over the weekend?  How many in Sheffield, Edinburgh, Norwich, Cardiff or any other large or small town which get no or at best little coverage?  They get little because they are normal people in the usual normal ned situations, coming out of pubs, at football games or domestic incidents, no gays involved so it does not sell.
I am not convinced these neds cared about the girls being gay, they were looking for trouble, they picked on the weak, they cared not who or what they were as long as they were weak and they considered they could get away with an attack.  Possibly not all were keen on fighting, usually one or two lead and the rest follow.  Unfortunate for the two girls in this situation but unfortunate for others this gang may have attacked yet have not succeeded as yet in getting the press on their side.
It is a funny slanted world in which we live.

Books!

Amazon

The first thing to note about this book is the lack of personal info re the author.  A Google check gives little away.  He is 'controversial,' writes occasionally for the 'Scotsman,' the right wing unionist paper, and has failed to be elected to either Holyrood or Westminster.  He writes lots of books on Scotland but only arrived in Edinburgh in 1975, when I left.  Why so little info?
Usually people criticise a writer, I found only one woman doing so, no info on him, his lifestyle, the company he keeps, this is surprising.  Or should we read between the lines?
The book itself, some 388 pages of small font, begins in the distant past when earth movements left volcano's and passing ice flows shaping the city.  From either of the two towering rocks, 'Castle Rock' or 'Arthur's Seat' we can see two more in the distance, one above North Berwick and the other across the Forth near Leven.  Redundant volcano's later used as fortifications by passing generations with 'Castle Rock becoming the home of Scotlnd's greatest city.
The sloping ledge which runs from the castle down to Holyrood Palace enabled a city to arise but the slope on either side also led to towering 'skyscrapers' long before New York thought of them.
Fry leads us through the growth of the city, ensuring his views are made clear each time, from the struggle of the Scots Kings to own the Lothian's and create a border, through the growth of the Canongate, the 1707 riots when England usurped Scots freedom, the '75 rebellion and the changes that followed as the new town arrived and up unto recent times.
It would be interesting to compare his book with that of other authors.  There is much interesting detail within but is his interpretation correct.  A second view would be good.  That said it is worth a read, he has clearly spent much time in the Central Library studying his subject and deserves to be read.  I must look for another viewpoint however.

 Amazon

Another Edinburgh book but slightly different.  This one concerns a Lawyer studying in Edinburgh who formed the First Foot-ball Club in 1824.  A lot of research has gone into discovering the author, not a man I would wish to associate with I must say, those he played with and their life afterwards.
Football of one sort or another has been played everywhere since man first kicked a ball.  Present day football was famously organised by the Hooray Henry's at Cambridge when they finally agreed on a form of rules they mostly accepted.  The arrogance of the English leads them to claim they began football while we all know the truth.
Forms of football were apparently played in Edinburgh schools.  That is middle class and 'toffs' schools as the majority of kids were working from the day they were born and schooling, let alone time to play football, was a pipe-dream.  While at university John Hope began to play in the fields around foot-ball with his mates, all from university.  John was meant to be a lawyer, his notes which are the foundation of the book detail every penny spent over the years.  Names of all, subs paid, and costs of ball and hire of field are all noted with precision, as a lawyer would do!
However John became one of those Christian types and a middle class Victorian one at that!  This did not stop the games, indeed he went on throughout his life to encourage people, especially the young and poor, to play all sorts of games and spent much money in helping them.  His personality meant that he was kind but a bit of a bore also and he never married.  With his money and legal position he would be attractive to some but romance never blossomed.
The 'foot-ball club' died in time but not before many men had passed through John's notebooks.  At the end of this book details of the men who joined are added and it is interesting to note that while almost all are middle class, wealthy, in professional jobs, many were medical men, the majority died in their 50's and a few long before this.  Only three or four made it to 90.  Even the healthiest smoked too much, suffered frequent illness which could not then be cured and the hazards of missionary or serving the Raj in far off places ended many a life at that time.
1824 is 50 years before the Heart of Midlothian and many other football teams as we know them today came into being.  This book reveals the desire for sch games long before their birth.  Indeed it was increasing wealth, shorter hours and half day Saturday after the 1860's that led to an expanse of all sorts of sporting endeavours for all classes.  John Hope would be glad he enabled many to participate long before this even if it cost him much money.  

D-Day Commemorations

It may be you have had enough of D-Day for a bit, I certainly found the Cathedral service too much to put up with, organ music is not my thing sorry.  I went out to see if the local lads had done anything to commemorate the event but nothing was to be seen here.  Possibly round at the war memorial there was something.  Most Legion men here are Korean and after not WW2 however.

As always there is much slop talked about these men.  Too much of the 'Our Boys,' 'Heroes,' and 'Brave men all,' came to me who had little comprehension of what these men really felt.  Growing up amongst men who served, and as kids hearing only 'Boys Own' stories rather than the bad bits until we were older, we still got a glimpse of the 'stiff upper lip,' and the 'You have just got to get up and do it' attitude that so many had.  Few would want to do it again, few called themselves 'heroes,' most just thought it was a job that had to be done.  Hitler was bad, the nation was threatened, fight was the only way out.  None of that would sell a movie or a newspaper today.  
My father was not at D-Day, his artillery battalion was so far behind the lines they were in danger of coming upon the Japanese rear!   It has not been possible to find where they were but I know he crossed the Rhine.  He told our insurance man, remember when they collected weekly, "We sat for two days while the armour went over, then we crossed!"  His unit had a lot of ex-soldiers like himself in it, they knew the ways.
His attitude was like many men, go if you have to, seek peace not war.  He, like most in the craft crossing the rough sea, would not like to be near the 'death or glory' man, taking sensible care was the order of the day.  This left him shouting abuse at many an American movie during the late 50's.
At least British actors had been in the war.

It is interesting listening to the ex-servicemen.  No glory hunters, though one did try to chat up the Trump woman, all spoke sensibly about war and what they did, downplaying their part often and avoiding glory.  One clearly still upset about the killing he participated in, 'fire first or die' attitude shared by most.  Like those from the Great War these men tend not to be free with their many experiences, most of what they saw remains in their heads. 
Some, like Spike Milligan, told their stories, a good way to get it out of the system is to write down, longhand, the tale and sort things out in the head.  Many did this but like Spike they either 'jazzed it up' as he did or avoided the 'too tough' bits altogether.  Some things must die with us.
I was conscious of the welcome the old men w ere being given while as dad pointed out in 1946 he was given a suit, a hat, a few pounds, told "Thanks" now get on with your life.  There was no help for him or the several million others who may have had problems.  If dad had them it never showed but many never forgot their experiences, especially in the front line.  Being a bit further back allows you to enjoy war a bit more, many did of course, and the chances of survival are greater if not guaranteed.  

 
Lots of talk has been about the emotions of the men on the boats.  With many small craft sea sickness spoiled the emotions somewhat as suffering leaves you with other things to concentrate on. There must be apprehension, especially for those with no experience, dear must control you but once the doors open the NCO's take over and training kicks in.  The confusion on some beaches compares with a swift landing on others, each would have the adrenalin running for different reasons.  I would fear more if there was no opposition while wondering what they were up to.  At least under fire you know you need to just hide!  Men were killed, 4,450 or so that day and a great deal more wounded however out of 150,000 this was a good result.  The death toll would rise as they headed inland and opposition grew.   Winston Churchill was mighty relieved at the days result as it meant the war was heading for an end and the danger of losing maybe 90,000 dead lay heavy on him as Gallipoli was always on his mind.  This day was the last great British military moment, from this day on the Empire was dead.  Two other powers had come to the fore and only the 'Daily Mail' and 'Express' reader miss what has been lost.

Dakota

Wiki

The day has been spent filling the TV screen with commemorations for D-Day and watching DC-3 'Dakota' aircraft lifting themselves into the skies to deliver parachutists into France.  This is a plane I have always liked.  Something simple yet attractive about it.  These have been flying nearly 80 years!

So far the commemoration has been filled with the usual dignitaries, even Trump behaved, old men in their 90's remembering, often badly and some willing to party and misbehave if they could, and considering the thoughts of those who 75 years ago prepared to invade France.

Sadly the flight of Dakota's  passed 15 miles away from here and all we saw was a glimpse of a fighter aircraft that roared past not long ago.  Possibly the Hurricane but difficult to tell from this angle.  Not that long ago all such aircraft came over our heads but they sadly changed the air route to benefit holiday makers returning from Espania to Stansted.  Most annoying.

Tomorrow we will have more of such memories as the commemoration in France takes place.  

 

I ventured no further than the town for the needful.  Just as well as the cloud cover made taking pictures difficult and there is little to see here anyway.  Unlike the other day when the sun shone and poppies bloomed.

London Musings

One thing I found strange about Saturday was how much I enjoyed London.  This I did not expect.  In my mind it was still overcrowded, pushy, selfish and far too busy, which indeed it remains but even so I found I quite enjoyed it.
One problem I always hated, increasingly as time went by, was the sheer distance you have to travel sometimes to get somewhere.  While public transport is generally good it takes for ever to get about.  When working in North Finchley it could take nearly two hours to get home, travel at night via the 'tube' could take just as long including changes on the way.  For one day it was OK but to do this regularly does my head in.  I suppose the travel being straight forward on Saturday eased my little head in this.  I also found the train busy but not too much so that helped, bus travel might have been slower with traffic problems.  
London does offer a great deal however when living there work interfered with this.  Having spent a week amongst the miserable workforce the thought of trailing out somewhere lessened somewhat if distance or rain or cost was involved.  The need to eat, buy food or other essentials all cut into the time available, this along with the need to pay for everything lessened the enjoyment of London.
At the weekend I began to think how much of me remains in London.  Possibly, like so many others, I remain in 'my London' not the one that actually exists around me.  It seemed to me living there was not such a bad idea after all, there is so much to do, so many places to go, a huge city all around.  
Reality however demands half a million for a poky flat, huge costs to live, and then the reality of Londoners themselves.  Daily life in reality is not like that in the imagination.
London however does make this area look boring even if we can actually see the sky! 

 

Day Trip to the 'Grove.'

The train arrived around about noon at Liverpool Street.  A peaceful journey for a Saturday, one with no rail engineering on our line to hinder us, somewhat unusual at the weekends.  The sun shone, the hottest day of the year they say.

Grabbing a couple of quick shots of the crowds milling around the station and remembering the grime covered building of the not too distant past I grabbed the 'Oyster' card I had been given and headed for the 'Tube.'

  
The London Underground, the smell of er the Tube, the rush of air as trains arrive or leave, the squeal of wheels,the panic to board before the doors close, always someone just too late!  No-one notices.  The sudden increase in speed as the train rushes from one station to another, the jerk as the connection fails, bodies swinging from side to side, not so much swinging during commuter rush hour obviously.  The lack of air, yesterday the oppressive heat, voices talking in unknown languages, women, usually Spanish, talking very loudly, all creating an atmosphere difficult to replicate.

 
Notting Hill Gate, nothing like the film which somehow managed to avoid any black people appearing, but does on Saturdays gather together the tourists and the show-offs, dressed to kill, to the market.

Being lunchtime the pubs and trendy overpriced restaurants were full, I hesitated to think what price a pint would be around here, and struggled through the mass of tourists desperate to see the sights so long read about in tourist guides and seen on foreign TV shows.  My cynical years tell me such sights are not what are presented by well paid er, presenters, but still we go and they come and get in the locals way, hindering traffic and hopefully spending their money as if it meant nothing to them.  
I spent nothing.

As you know the top end of Portobello Road contains a row of little houses like these.  One is available for you at a mere £3 million ono.  I liked the plants growing around the house here offering a little protection from the tourists although many were photographing the houses and fantasising their next 'never to happen' move.     

George lived a few doors down from this house at one time.  He did get around, Empire serving in Burma was it? Paris, the Outer Hebrides, and this house which I suspect he rented as folks did then.  I wonder if people knock on the door and request a peek around?  I suspect I know what the answer would be...

This sign has intrigued me for years, only now do I realise it is carved into the wall which explains its long life.  I had a quick look for info but so far have discovered nothing re the man, the 1851 census has not show anything so I will have to look further.  In 1851 I suspect this road was still a muddy path to the farm at the far end, certainly pigs were being kept in Westbourne Grove at this time by those living in hovels, not buildings such as this.

Not much has changed down Portobello since I was here last  The 'Pink Fairy' selling Afghan coats in 1970 and silver jewellery in the 80s has long since departed.  Most shops look the same but owners have gone and new ones have come, prices remain devious.  'Alice's' once sold ex-army dress uniform to trendy types in the 60's yet has survived the slings and arrows of outrageous governments and remains the same colour as before.  The expressions on view have not changed either.

 
This end of the road has always been where the expensive stalls are found.  It is the far end where folks such as I looked for bargains.  In between came the fruit stalls with their crooked owners, often slappers I found, ready to overcharge for spoilt fruits.  At the far end we could see the stallholders who know their business scouting for bargains to take back to the top end, once burnished up they would offer a decent profit.  I looked for things I needed, but often it was possible to find things cheap that you cannot live without, even if you don't need them.  Too far for my knees today so we remained at the top end among the fancy people.  The lead soldiers on display were once popular with the middle classes children, others could not afford them.  Today these would be banned as dangerous for kids.  I shoved through the crowd to get a picture as a voice spoke at the far side "No, not Russian madam, 'Prussian' you see he has a Picklehaube helmet."  I did not hang around to hear the fantasy price he was going to ask for.

  
'Finch's' on the corner, a pub I once spent time in around 1971.  The place usually had a fiddler, a box player, sax or trumpeter or whatever jamming in the corner.   A hazy smell would often appear and the barman was desperate to clear it out before the 'fuzz' crashed in killing his profits.  We arrived one night when A large Black African was arguing with a small Asian man, both known to us.  We gently interfered and ended the slagging match before the wee man got dealt with. "I say what I think," said the Asian, "I don't care what he says, I say what I think."  His face was a mass of bruises, a cut here and there, a plaster, a bruise.  I heard myself mutter "Sometimes tact is required."  It was a great wee place then in the far off days of yore.  A bit ordinary now I suspect.  

That year I began as a volunteer shifting folks from one flat to another.  The charity owned several of these buildings, I doubt they do so now, and the people we moved usually went from the 5th floor in one building to the 3rd floor in another, or vice-versa.  I remember the ease in which we carted large objects up and down stairs then!  I also stayed for a while in the basement, sorry 'garden flat, of the last house in the picture.  I suspect it would cost £500,000 today.  There again the previous tenant to us had painted the front room black and left a skeleton image hanging behind the door.  Hmmm I wonder what went on there...  Opposite on the shop wall someone had scrawled 'Get high on dynamite!'  Graffiti that remained there for many years.

As London expanded in the second half of the 19th century these buildings appeared and Westbourne Grove was a shopping centre of high repute.   These 'Upstairs, Downstairs' houses were popular but they did not go much further north at the time.  The wealthy stopped about here and further north the lower classes were moved in.  Until recent gentrification it remained that way.  An entire building might be available for sale but usually these flats go from between £500,000 to double that and above.  It appears however the market has reached a point where it can no longer sustain such prices.  I will wait until it falls considerably.

  
By the 1880'sthe area was at its height, the  streets flowed with well dressed women annoying badly paid shop girls everywhere while trawling from one shop to another on their way to leaving their 'carte de visite' at the home of someone of importance.  A bit more elegant than a text I think.  The shops today I note are no less expensive and 'exclusive.'  The prices are made to make you think you have made it when you pay over the top for run of the mill clobber.  People of course fall for this, increase the price and people think it of a higher standard, life is often deceitful.

Now if you have followed so far you, like me, need a break!  Here it is.

Now, back to work...

These shops have stood here for well over a  hundred and odd years.  While the Post Office is now something that I could not understand and the shop that once sold art nouveau lamps has gone there are many places where the silly girl can look her best and pay through the nose for it.  The lamp shop had many exquisite young ladies, dressed, or usually undressed, in Edwardian or 1920's style.  These usually were lamps of some sort but for the girls sake it is nice to know it is cooler in the shade.

I eventually reached my destination, to the great pleasure of my knees.  I spent many years in this church building.  Eventful years for the most part with several difficulties.  God was there and much happened.  In time all that ended and a new thing happened, many moved on and God continues his work in a new way here.  The building was renovated giving a huge collection of rooms, large and very small.  The ministers wife's training as an architect helped with the design.  Tremendous use of rooms and the two showers installed.  On Mondays street people get a tea and biscuit and a shower, for many it is the only one they will get.  Advice is offered if anyone can give it and a chance to just meet people of the street.  On Saturday it was the monthly 'Lobby Lunch' something they have done for many years.  Street people, and others, come to tea and sandwiches, to chat and lonely folks from the area drop in, London as you will know is a very lonely city. 
The church spaces are also used for art exhibitions and Chris, the minister, had some of his work on show and that was the purpose of my visit.  The one time staircase turrets were put to good use making spaces to show pictures or spend time alone in prayer.  There were several of these and other cubby holes around the building as well as office spaces and larger halls, it had been very well designed and a huge development considering what the place had been like before.  At least now there was no more need to personally paint doors, walls, or any other running repair.  How many doors I painted in past times.  On the top you can just make out the pricey flats that have been built in to pay for it all.  Great views from up there.
Only two of the girls working the kitchen, that's what women were made for surely?  Only two of them I knew, Rosie spoke with all the keenness of someone wishing she was elsewhere and Rosemary did not recognise me.  l did not think it worthwhile explaining as it had been 23 years since I was there, few remember.   

Going around the exhibition and wandering up stairs and through doors I forgot to take pictures of the art on show.  It is not a massive show but when he tells you how he took the pics it takes time!  His eye is better than mine and he sees pictures everywhere.  This pic is taken after 'Lobby Lunch' was cleared up and the last guest was chatting about some problem.  It shows the space in this first hall, vestibule I suppose, and as I sat chewing on the last piece of cake they cleared away the 8 tables and this man and the other regulars sorted things out.  In spite of the vast wealth in the area there are normal people around also.  rich or poor they all have similar problems and the 'up and outs' need help as much as the 'Down and outs.'  This church is willing to cover both in a manner Jesus wishes them to.

Here is the boss admiring his work through the window into one of the tower spaces.  At the rear is one of his offerings.  At night the picture shows up clearly to the passer-by but the reflection spoiled the show today somewhat.  It will run until the end of June and the church is always open these days unlike in the past.  One complaint was the doors were always shut but when open these grumblers did not enter, now it is open daily but do they enter? 

Chris and I then went 'just around the corner' about a ten mile hike for my knees, to a cafe where we sipped coffee while he ate apple strudel.  My diet forbade this, and all the other delicacies spread along the counter which my greed longed for.  It is many years since we had met in the real world and it was good to hear how satisfied he now is with the church building, the 'programme' if that is an acceptable word, and the staff, all part time, who help run the place.  The congregation is small as is the case in such churches, while around 50 attend on a morning over a three years period that 50 will vary with time and over a hundred may have been regulars.  London life brings people in and chucks them out at a great rate.  He needs to bring in some of the media types from round about.  They of course hate Christianity because it exposes their sin, not to public scrutiny but to themselves and this they fear greatly.  Don't we all hate knowing what we are?
It was good to know he is where he ought to be and the church is facing the right direction.  I was glad he is content with his lot, especially as he has so many troubles each day, often new ones to surprise him, and Jesus takes him through them.  His success revealed clearly my failure.
One thing was clear this is not the 'Grove' I remember.  Not just because of the building work but because the people have changed, most were not born when I was last here, and the outlook is while similar to the past very different also.  God reaches out to what is there now, not what was there then.

 
It was time to shake off the cafe and head for the 'tube' again.  Once more I saw sights I had forgotten while pushing through chattering tourists oblivious to others sharing the planet with them.  I avoided the young thing tempting me with T-shirts claiming 'I have been to Portobello Road' and ignoring her and avoiding death on the road by using the zebra crossing and almost getting killed as the driver could not see past the tourists crowding the roadway I headed home.

This row of shops was at one time shrouded in the fragrance, if that is the right word, of the 'joss sticks' that one of the Hippy shops burnt daily.  Looking at what is there now I wish the Hippies were back again.  "Peace!"  Anyway I must push through this crowd and make my way down all those steps to catch the next train.

 Blast, Missed!

This will do.  I just have to keep awake and avoid ending up at Hainault, wherever that is.

I slunk around the station, usually I jump on the first train and head for Chelmsford and change there.  If anything happens and a delay occurs I can change to the bus and get home easily enough.  Today I just could not be bothered and instead searched W.H.Smiths for a cold drink.  Eventually I found a tin of something cold, I was too tired to care to read what it was called and it was one of the few actually cold drinks in the fridge, and with only 'self-service' in the shop, the staff to lazy to take the cash, I paid £1:89 for whatever it was.
As I left the shop the Somali (?) security guard asked which team I was supporting in the evening game.  Neither I said and wished I had expressed my real thoughts that it would be a poor game with few goals and a waste of time.  However I said little.  He asked what team I supported, I explained and he looked blankly at me.  "Scottish team," I explained.  "Oh," said he, "Scottish."  He let the word roll around his head as I moved off while he tried to work out what "Scottish" was.  England does not know Scotland, London knows it even less.

 
I greedily guzzled the cold drink, it had claimed 'energy' on the tin but I saw little of that, and slouched off up the long platform to the front end of the train, one of the newer replacement ones for the old out of days trains.  At this time of night I considered it could not be busy and I was right.  However each one who boarded ensured they bumped into me until I moved to a safer seat.  

The journey takes an hour mostly dropping people off as opposed to gathering them on.  The sun shone through the window, the coach was quiet, four young kids got on and noisily off soon afterwards, they had the difficulty of explaining to one of their number he could not get on the train where he intended as the railway did not go there.  
I was not convinced he was joking.  
Home by 8 in time for some of the football and a plate of corned beef and chips.  At this point the sight of the cafe specialities lined along the counter returned and caused me a deep moment of jealousy.  That cafe did not exist while I lived there, hopefully he will move out here one day.
The dinner was woeful, the football so woeful I played with the pictures instead.  My knees were woeful and wished me to know this, my tiredness was woeful and as I remembered clambering up 5 flights of stairs carrying furniture all those years ago I wondered if it was all a dream?  
Soon I was dreaming and even sooner it was 5:15 am and I was awake again....