Boris, Congregational and Museum

 

                                                           Mail

It is no surprise to find Boris has accepted around £250,000 a month for lying in the 'Daily Mail.'  The 'Telegraph' or whoever will be owning the 'telegraph' soon, will be unhappy at this.  Of course the new owners might care little, and offer Boris the editors job and then the 'Daily Mail' will find reason to call the fat lazy, ungrateful coward, a fat lazy, ungrateful coward.  He will care not as long as someone pays him.

One report claims he has informed his people not to vote against the big vote on Monday, so he has a deal of some sort with Sunak.  But what would that deal involve, and why should anyone trust the untrustworthy rogue?  

Interestingly, it was pointed out that the Murdoch press said nothing much re Boris today, thus implying Rupert is looking elsewhere.  Murdoch is less loyal than Boris, so no chance of him working at the 'Times' any time soon. 

I just want him far away, preferably in jail, and soon all the other corrupt rogues can be following him into Pentonville!

The heat has been hot, but the furthest I have been remains the Supermarkets.  However, yesterday  I slogged it up the road to the large Co-op store in search of s suitable gift for the two youngest.  Lots of stuff but nothing suitable!  Ain't life grand!  Therefore I decided to try the kids toys in the museum.  On the way I passed the wife of the Congregational minister.  Sadly he had died in March and I never knew.  I was so sad about this as I had known them for many years.  Congregational churches, as you know, are owned by the congregation, and the problem here was the age of the people.  The minister over the years had buried most of them, and just before Covid struck only around eight members were left.  Aged people, Authorised Version bible, poor music, and this will not attract young folk.  The end was inevitable, and now this church, standing here for over almost 400 years, will soon begin to fall apart if a decision is not made for the future.  It looks like they will have to sell the building to another church in need.  It is a great building with semi circular seating, raised platform, room for development and its own graveyard, where all the previous ministers now lie.  The poor widow is of course cut up, they had been married over 50 years and very close.  The building has recently replaced the lead stolen ate at night, they stole the lead from the roof of the bank also, and this cost £11,000 to replace!  

Anyway, somewhat disheartened, I plodded round to the shop.  There the young assistant was keen on assisting me, to get me out of the shop again, she knows me well, and soon she had taken many pieces of gold from me and sent me on my way.  It costs a fortune just to browse in that museum these days.  

Healthy Tuesday

It was the security man at Sainsburys who started it.  'You are a man who brightens a room,' said he.  'Move the beer belly away from the door and brighten this place.'  Back home I weighed in at a mere fifteen and a half stones, a mere 217 pounds to some, and I decided he may have had a point.  At one stage I was down to fourteen and a half stones, how on earth did it all return?  Well, apart from bad, lazy eating habits that is.  

So, it is green tea, this time with 'Orange and Lotus Flower.'  It remains still an acquired taste, if I am being nice to it...  I'm looking forward to my left over 'Pea shoots' and 'Coleslaw.'  What more could I desire?

Climate change has been appearing once again.  Edinburgh has had sunshine as well as rain, we have sunshine at around 30% and yet people deny the world is changing?  Some say the world is heading towards its end, well yes, I have been saying this for some time.  Jesus did say the world would only get worse, not better.  The earth is broken, and volcanoes, earthquakes, famines, floods and the rest will be added to, and the cause of, the wars that erupt so easily amongst us.  Only by holding on to Jesus will we make it through.  I suspect however, it may be some time yet, but you never know.  That nice Mr Putin may resort to some skullduggery that brings in other nations.  The Chinese may have a change of leadership, North Korea may press the button by mistake, and of course Sunak may start a war to win an election.  Stay in the shade until then.

This is one of three signs outside our door.  The other day the middle one said 'Let Agreed.'  Within hours it had been changed back to 'To Let.'   I realise a rent of around £800 a month is hard for many, but in truth our landlord is cheaper than others, but so many are having difficulty, even if there is two of them, in finding the money.  I can jump to conclusions as to why this has fallen through, but the UK is not the place to go seeking accommodation these days.  Houses that are built are only for those who have £400,000 or over, young folks can get no mortgage and some companies are no longer offering them.  You can tell we have a Conservative government.

Parade

 

Yesterday, Saturday, I took myself out twice!  Yes, I was surpised also.  

I limped around the park early on in an attempt to see how warm life was.  I was very surprised at the heat in the morning.  I wandered around the town and back home.  Later, I discovered the town carnival was to parade through the streets once again, it has been missing for some years now.  So, aroung half two I put on my new sun hat, grabbed the camera, discovered the battery was dying, grabbed the old Nikon instead, and headed of into the world.

 

Led as always by the fire brigade, the local men are all 'On-call firemen,' which means they must live within five minutes of the station.  They are called by Bleeper, which goes off at any time, day or night.  The fires they fight are just as real as all others.

 

This was a small parade this year, aimed at kids as always, and I sauntered along just to see the occasional item worth picturing.  I missed out on the girls twirling sticks, the women of unknown age dancing to bad music, and the several 'Carnival Queens' from various areas around.  I was more interested in this stolen police vehicle.

 

 

The ageing Mods are always there to show off their ageing scooters.  The picture does not show the pollution coming out of the back of some of them.  Most Sunday's these men gather outside one of the local 'Greasy Spoon Cafe's' and fill 'Little Square,' with their bikes.  I'm not sure how often the scooters are put to use at other times.

 

 

 

I tried a shot along the wall to catch all the crowd watching, but only this bot of the kid laughing was any use.  You will note his shirt has the Firemens Badge on the front, and he had been waving to the machine before it even got into the street! 

 

Only a couple of trailers this year.  I like to get pics of the kids, their faces as they sit there are always worth noting.  However, this camera is not that good and kept switching off.  It is also not very sharp at anything over ten feet.  I liked this one of mum picturing her kid.

 

And a motor bike or two at the end.  

Throughout the nation such 'Gala's' take place, usually old mining towns have them, nothing special in most, but the kids like them, a good day out of harmless fun if the sun shines.

Personally, I could do with something more exciting but it was good to be in the very hot sun, and the hat indeed helped.  

Boris Heads for the Door! Rejoice!

SKY

Boris has been shown the door!

Rejoice! Rejoice!

Instead of facing a by-election in his constituency and the response of the House, Boris has cut and run!  The coward would not face the people.  Of course, this means a by-election and Boris will leave this so things go badly for Rishi Sunak.  Sunak is to take the blame for the mess Boris has created by his life of selfishness.  Add to this it is no surprise Nadine Dorries, a Boris adherent, has also stepped down from the MP job she has not been working at for several months.  This also is to cause trouble for Sunak.  

This petty, schoolboy arguing has meant little to the electorate, it has however, lined the pockets of many who do not require the handouts, and reduced the money for those, if they are still living, who require such aid.

At the same time Trump, the orange coloured Boris impersonator, is also heading for a fall.  Keeping stacks of White House documents illegally may bring an actual jail time for the crook.  We can but rejoice that justice may well be catching up on those who have robbed us for many years.

The Boris press is having a breakdown, they fear they may be next, and this on top of Prince Harry having them exposed in court as underhand crooks.  The nation, well the majority, will however, be saying Rejoice!

 

Here is a clip of Boris' resignation letter. 

Worn Out

It has been a hard week.  Nothing to grab the attention in the world outside so I took to exercise again.

The bug has been hanging around for months, I have remained indoors, well away from all, in an attempt to sleep it off.  However, the vicar has been praying for it and this week the brute subsided somewhat.  So, exercise is has been, added to house cleaning, and hoovering the main stairs which had been left in a mess by the carpet layers doing the flat next door.  They cleaned up their mess and left the stairs behind.

Today, I hobbled to Tesco, returned having realised I ought to have waited until tomorrow, and have done nothing since.  I liked that bit.  Still, this is the best I have felt since before May.  

The sun shining has been helpful, though I have not gone out since early this morning.  Most of the day I sit here freezing while half naked women walk past the door.  I open the window and a cold wind that does not appear outside arrives.  I close the window and I get warm!    Only late at night is it comfortable.  At least I can see the red glow in the far off sky after ten in the evening, that is good.

Now however, I am knackered...

Fragrant Grass

I sit here with the sweet fragrance of newly cut grass filling the air.  Across the road the council gardeners are driving large tractors over the acreage of greenery.  They do a fine job of keeping it under control, the sweet aroma of cut grass always lifts the spirits in us all.

My own version of grass today will be 'Lambs Lettuce,' whatever that is, as I am attempting to stuff more greenery down my throat.  I have some in a plastic bowl at the moment, and I have lots of plastic bowls and containers in the house.  One of my nieces is adamant I should throw them out, but does not inform me as to an alternative, as she claims these things are poisoning us.  Well, she is of course correct, my nieces always are, and the re-use of so many plastic bottles, containers and the like does imply we will suffer an intake of plastic, or whatever it is made off, into our systems.  However, what is the alternative?  Tins?  Any alternative for storage will have problems also.  That said it is clear we are taking in vast quantities of plastic and no-one appears to care.

Plastic is so useful, it gives us drainpipes, cables, containers, bags, and is what almost all tech items are made from these days.  What would we do without it?  However, what do we do with the reject plastic?  Most of it cannot be recycled, what can, is often dumped on third world nations for the natives to rummage amongst to find a life!  Some local 'Tesco' bags were found in one dump in the Philippines not that long ago.  Vast amounts cover the oceans, killing aquatic life, filling the fish we eat, as does mercury and other items, and enters ourselves thus killing us.  I doubt this present government either understands this or indeed cares.   

A more natural diet is required, we know so much of our food is full of muck to make it more desirable, but while it tastes good it fills us with sugar, or worse.  A balanced diet can avoid trouble but who has this 'balanced diet?'  We just get fat.

Natural foods sound good, but how much fertiliser, and what is the fertiliser that is used, has gone into it.  What is sprayed across the 'natural' foodstuffs?  What has been done to it over the years, I understand wheat is now shorter for industrial purposes, for instance, why?  The grass I have comes in wee bags full of some thing, hydrogen I think, to keep it fresh and turn it into black lumps within two days.  I wonder how healthy this really is?  Tinned veg is healthier, but what have they put on it?

I would go and make lunch but now I am too scared to eat.  At least I will lose weight...

And now, some culture...

     

    

Philip Schofield

 

I don't care.

Stop pushing this bull. 

 

Family History

 

I wonder if this is true?

Do our forefathers live in our heritage?

I suspect there is some truth in this, but I see problems.  For a start, while I know much about my family's history, what if I knew nothing?  Imagine I had been dumped at birth, my dad often mumbled something about this, then I would not have the family influences upon me, how much heritage would I carry with me?  

Knowing my parents does mean I am influenced by what influenced them, both family and the world in which I lived.  My father was born when his father was 62, his mother dumped him within six years because of the drinking and this left a mark on dad.  So, in that sense his history leaves a mark on me, especially as dad was born before the Great War, and I after the second.  By the time I was a teenager the world he expected to find had changed, wealth was growing, housing, NHS, radio and now TVs existed, and in the year he died men landed on the moon.  Such a change in his lifetime, this clashed with my outlook as an adolescent.      

My mothers mother died in childbirth, how did this affect her?  Her father lost three wives this way!  Growing up in a poor mining family, the entire town was poor, they shared the hardships with others around them, did this make them better people?  Six long months of the General Strike pulled people together in mining areas, did this influence her outlook?

Remembering how miners were 'enslaved' from 1609 until 1799, and the situation did not improve much after this for many years, how did that influence me, a lazy, well fed, insolent brat?  Not much it appears.  It was years before I understood what the family's had gone through, years before I realised how much they gave for me and others.  Years before I began to realise just how lucky I was to have this family and not one of the others around me. 

Clearly our immediate family influenced our outlook, but is this because the society around them influenced them more?  Society was different one hundred years ago, not always better.  The society in which one side worked down dangerous mines, merely a big hole in the ground, or farmed large areas of land during economic ups and downs, must have influenced their outlook.  Miners pull together, farmers are on their own.

How much of that gave my fathers side a reputation for decency and constant grumbling?  The mothers side always good honest thoughtful, but no fools, people.  Are the generations far from me better because of their forefathers, and can we see influences in them today I wonder?

Anyway, that is today's homework.  I will mark your answers tomorrow.

In Search of London, H.V. Morton

Yes I know, it's him again!

Yes I know you are sick of the sight of him.  Well, too bad, I think I may have seen another one in that online bookshop.

As you know, Morton worked for the 'Daily Express' from 1921 onwards, his tales of London earned him fame, but greater fame came from his 'scoop' from being at the opening of Tutankhamun's tomb in 1923.  His travel books made him famous and reasonably wealthy.  His middle class background enabled him to become a snob, and a patriotic one, when he wished to be.

I was somewhat surprised when opening this book as I was under the impression it would refer to London of the 1920s, however, he walked around, he says, the London of 1950/51, still an intriguing prospect, and gives us an insight of a London very different from that of the 20s.  The book was published in 1951.

Morton's London is London, that is to say, the City of London, and Westminster.  Only Hampton Court outside of this area gets much of a mention.  All the usual places are mentioned, St Pauls, the Tower, the Strand, Westminster Abbey, St James, Royal Parks, and Southwark, for historical reasons.  We follow the usual routine of descriptions of the building and are informed of the architecture, the architect, some people who made use of the place, a shock story here, a love story there, a chopped off head, a mystery, the usual historical tales always with Morton embellished with patriotism, romantic slant, and a belief in Empire and Glory.  H.V. is always willing to shed a tear for the men of Trafalgar or Waterloo, but appears to forget those of recent wars.  This when passing the Cenotaph.

An interesting view of the city is shown in the bombed out basements that surround St Pauls and the like.  Cleaned out after the war the land awaits redevelopment, and the basements are now places for kids to rummage amongst, finding shiny treasures long since lost during the Blitz.  Morton looks across the land that once housed people, offices, shops and clubs, now a view of distant churches is available. For us in the 21st century it is difficult to imagine those early 50's with a real austerity, as opposed to George Osborne's Tory greed one of recent years, grey skies and grey people recovering from war and rebuilding a new world.  

H.V. Morton was of course somewhat above all this equality business at the time.  

The author likes to give the impression that he is known to the great and the good.  A dean here, a curator there, appear willing to engage with him as he wanders a church or museum.  He likes to 'just happen' to meet people of influence.  Though much of this may be down to his personality, and the newsman's ability to make people talk to him.   

The fawning over the better classes continues for 428 pages, though it must be remembered that the King was still alive and the monarch was held in great esteem after the war.  Diana had not ruined the image at that time.  This is therefore a big book, with lots of interest in the historical tales, and the image of London in 1950 is quite strong.  This may be because I can imagine this quite well, others may not understand.  London today is very different in many ways, in others it remains a 2000 year old city, full of tales, much history, and a lonely expensive place.  This book speaks for London today, though most living there now may disagree.

This book is worth a read.

Ne'er Cast Yer Cloot...

Being the first day of June, and having followed the advice of our forefathers, I had avoided casting oot my cloot until May was oot, this morning I threw oot my cloot!

It is freezing here.

The freezing cold east wind, referred to as 'cool' by the weather people, comes in my window and leaves me wrapped up in my cloot, which os no longer oot.  The electric heater under my feet came in, the washing came on, all this to heat the place in the Spring weather.  By the time lunch was prepared I was too hot!

Indeed, it had become so warm I was able to dry the washed sheets remarkably quickly.  Now they are dry the place is freezing again as I have had the windows open and the east wind has returned.  For those in the Atlantic Isles the idea of half the land having record warmth, and the others bathed in mist and dreichness, as happened yesterday, is common enough.  Those dwelling where the sun rises and sets, Spring brings warmth, wee flowers, singing birds and smiles, this makes no sense.  Spring is the time of year when a variety of seasons can arrive at the door hour by hour.  One moment the heating is on, the next we think we are in the Med!  At the moment, I am just south of Greenland.   

June!  Half way through the year and I still have not full-filled my potential.

CoE and Closed Season TV

It goes like this.  An Anglican priest (there are no 'priests' in the new testament) places a post on Twitter concerning the 'pride' march he was about to lead.  This as you know goes against basic biblical teaching, but does however refer to the 'Stonewall' influence running throughout the Church of England.  This heresy, based on a corruption of 'love,' is fooling many and will lead vast numbers far from the crucified Christ.

This 'priest' has now blocked me.

I, along with several others, posted a kind reply hoping someone would give the clergyman a complete bible for Christmas.  In the following days many have 'liked' my response.  This I say, is not unusual, many 'like' what I say, especially those far from me.  I was pleased to gather support from 'like minded' individuals, and hoped there was a rising in the Anglican communion against such mistakes.  

However, upon investigating the dozen or more who have liked the post I am abashed!  Only two appear to be English, both racist Brexiteers at that!  The rest are all far-right racist, US white supremacists, Jew haters, gun loving wide-eyed loons.  And they support me!

What we see here is the difference regarding God between the USA and the UK.  For many white Americans, the ones with US flags flying outside the house, God is white, the USA is Christian white, and all others do not belong, especially blacks and Hispanic.

In the UK there is indeed a clear rise amongst some right-wing Christians to make use of God in politics, the Brownshirts using God as white English, and all foreigners Muslim or ungodly.  This will never be a success in the UK outside of the remnant Brexiteers.

Do any of these people know God?  Are they 'Born again?'  Do they 'love their neighbour?'  Of course not.  God is used by them for a political purpose, one that wins success in parts of America, but fails in the UK.  

Jesus of course is at work in the UK.  He never stops working.  However, his love for all people, gays and 'trans' included, makes use of the words 'Come to me,' and 'repent.'  He does not allow us to continue living lives that hurt, I can tell you that!  He wishes each one to know him, to 'follow him,' and unless, as he says, we lay aside all our 'self,' and all that hinders, 'we can never be his disciples.'  He laid all aside, heaven itself, and human life for me, I, like all others must follow him.  We cannot wallow under control of 'Stonewall' or 'right-wing ideology' as both fail, and do not represent Jesus Christ.  We must abandon our ideas and 'follow him.'  This will not be easy for any of us, however, knowing God is worth the trouble. 

The Anglican church must repent soon, or it will perish.  

It is that sad, unwelcome time of year once again.  That period of time between the end of one football season and the beginning of the next one.  The league placings are all but decided, only one Scottish question remains, will Ross County or Partick Thistle grace the SPFL top tier next season?  The word 'grace' may be out of place here.  Sure there are a couple of cup finals in several places, an international game or two, but then what?  Almost the entire month of June will be TV football free! 
Is that legal I ask?  Nothing happens until mid July, 6 weeks away!  I may be seeing spiders by then.

In days of yore, when I was still pretending to learn at school, the season ended with the cup final, and then the Scotland v England game.  Usually this was complete by the 1st of May.  With little in the way of pre-season friendlies around then, one year the Heart of Midlothian pre-season comprised the 1st team playing the reserves!  This gap meant that for an adolescent with nothing to do there was almost three months without football.  The season would kick of in late July, ten or a dozen weeks away, and I was left moping for much of the time.  Being poor, I need to stress this poverty, we did not venture abroad for a holiday, a day or two in Fife living of relatives was all we could scrounge.  

I became hooked on the Heart of Midlothian long before I was allowed near the ground.  Playing football in the playground, in one of the 'pitches' around us, and reading my brother in laws book 'The Hearts,' by Albert Mackie, inscribed with all the signatures of the great Hearts side of the 50's, my copy only has Willie Bauld and Jimmy Wardaugh's signature, a book which inspired devotion to this team. 

Come Saturday, a 3 O'clock kick of awaited.  I became used to using the bus that went the long way round, this being quicker than those which required a change here and there, and at least this would drop me at Tynecastle's door, the 'home of the Free.'   Sitting each Saturday at the top of Drum Brae, while the drivers were changed or just having a break was so frustrating.  I just wished to get there and here we were wasting precious time for nothing!  I feared greatly that I may be late, though I usually made it with an hour or so to spare.  Whether I was heading for the first team game or just the reserves, I always popped into the wee shop with the name 'Cockburn' above the door.  In fact this was Willie Bauld's shop!  He never spoke to me about football, he apparently regarded me as some sort of idiot, why not, everyone else did.  However, I always obtained a poke of Berwick Cockles.   

Not only did this increase the profits of the shop, these came in the Heart of Midlothian colours!  Famously made, once upon a time, in a wee shop in Berwick upon Tweed,  these are now owned by some conglomerate.  I visited the shop not long before it closed, a miserable old man, in a dark and almost empty shop, sold me these sweets that once meant so much to me.  I suppose it was the end of an era that caused his bitterness, a bitterness that showed.  At least he was not related, our grandfather being born there.  

Poke of sweets in wee white paper bag in pocket, I would pay 3/6d, (three shillings and six pence to you) to enter the enclosure.  It was only 1/6d for the ground, but I wished to be by the tunnel and occasionally speak to a player.  The sights and sounds from that position remain with me still.  The aroma of embrocation cream, rubbed on players legs to make them supple, has never left me.  The sight during a big crown of a puff of smoke from a cigarette away over the far side, the green of the grass expanse, the blue sky, usually cloudy in Edinburgh, and the aged men in their uniform of overcoat, jacket and tie, and good flat cap above.  At half time it was normal for those rich persons seated above in the main stand, the only stand indeed, to stand up and stretch for a while.  Many at that time would possess season tickets, something the majority did not use at that time, and also possess one for the Hibernian ground down in Leith at Easter Road.  This does not happen today.  Costs alone would prohibit this, and while a few might still do this they are a small number now.  

The football of course was better in the early 60s.  England had a £10 wage cap, so why would decent players go south?  Wages may have been better here, and noticing the gathered players before the game, all in sharp Italian suits and 'winklepicker' shoes, indicated they were not short of a bob or two even then.  It was not as wealthy as today, however, a good signing on fee once or twice and a player could afford to buy a wee newsagents or a share in a pub.  

The game over, the referee blamed, the Glasgow mafia once more at fault, we headed for the door.  Stumbling up the terracing, laid down way back in 1914 just as the war was raising its head, it did not cross my mind then that many people who I heard yell out that day would have served in that war.  The old men had seen two wars and a depression, many had suffered severe hardship, many had tales to tell from across the world.  I had a near empty bag of Berwick Cockles.

The programme, obtained from a wee man outside the ground, just how many 'wee men' keep wee football teams going around the world?  The programme costs 6d in those days, and I still have a handful of the more important ones on the shelf.  The majority collected I passed on after my mother died, to a kid playing for Hearts U12s at the time.  A couple of scrap books and a pile of programmes from many places were very welcomed by him.

Those days are like all of the past, simply memories now.  It is unlikely I will ever return to the ground, at the moment I am not fit enough, the money and fight for a ticket in these all seated days is beyond my effort, and a move to PPV would suit me down to the ground.  Sitting here shouting at the screen is far more desirable that spending time in the rain, sleet, cold, or any other typical Edinburgh Saturday.  I have seen enough of them, I have served my time.  Memories are good, but comfort is better.

   

King of Kings, Majesty

Dunfermline Abbey

The Old Manor House,

The view the pigeons up there in the loft have includes The Old Manor House.

As far as I know, there is little information regarding this building.  The timber and plaster built hose was erected in 1550, during Tudor times, and that is a period in which this area is devoid of information.  Those who choose to study the Tudors round here find almost no information whatsoever.  

However, that year the imperialist English were involved in the 'rough wooing,' which began when Henry VIII sent his failing army to invade Scotland, to force a marriage between Mary, Queen of Scots, and his young son Edward VI.  He failed, and an agreement was reached at Boulogne, where he also had troops attempting to steal French land, though by the time of the peace Henry himself had passed on.   

John Napier was amongst those born that year, you know how he created Logarithms and so upset schoolchildren everywhere, especially me.  Who needs such things?  Thomas Cranmer's 'Book of Common Prayer,' introduced the previous year, was now in use everywhere in England.  The reformation, caused by Henry's desire to bump off his wife, had taken over the land, and while some of a Catholic persuasion led short lived revolts in the south west, the reformation persisted.  The 'Ale Houses Act,' licenced such premise's for the first time, much to landlord's joy.   It continues bringing joy to licensees still.  

Abroad, the Spanish were taking over South America, leaving Brazil for the Portuguese.   Chocolate is introduced into Europe, by the Spanish I suspect, so women everywhere rejoiced as never before.   The 'Society of Jesus,' is created, so you can expect a knock on your door any time soon.  

Wiki

The family of Sir Thomas Moore, indicate how the rich were dressed in the 1550's.  Lower orders were dressed according to class, including the type of headgear allowed them.   Of course even if you were wealthy, having the head cut off, or being burned at the stake, were occupational hazards in those days.  It was fine to gain enough money to build a nice house, have a wee estate, but ensure you keep in with whoever was winning, and this meant following the Kings religion, or you were headed for the block.  Politics was a hard place in these days.

Around a hundred years later, England was in the middle of yet another war, this time a civil war, though how 'civil' the people were to one another is unclear.  This town was a Parliamentary Town, that is, they sided with Oliver Cromwell and his 'roundheads.  Indeed many men from here may well have been part of his army.  This county has always been a rebellious one.  I myself have met many a revolting peasant round this way.  

During 1648, Sir Charles Lucas led his royalist troops into Braintree seeking the weapons stored there.  These had been removed by the parliament supporters in the town.  Lucas moved to Colchester and the next day Thomas Fairfax, 3rd Lord Fairfax of Cameron, arrived in the town.  It is believed, though no real evidence has come to pass, that these men, or possibly the townsmen, damaged the royal sign above the door of the Old Manor House.  Being so badly damaged no-one is quite clear as to who the sign represents.  Then followed the Siege of Colchester, which killed many and lasted a good time.

Wiki

But I have no idea who built the house in the first place.  As Henry VIII died in 1547 it is clear the builder had chosen the protestant faith, young Edward VI was very much in favour of the reformation. 

After him came a time of trouble, with Mary I ascending the throne eventually much death and trouble arrived for the protestants.  It is always possible that the builder of the 'Old Manor House' was exiled, or dead within a few years.  So far we do not have evidence for his life.

Homing Pigeon?

I noticed this chap a few days ago while limping towards Sainsburys.  I was impressed by the efforts to hinder pigeons, of which there are many sleeping on the roof here overnight, from perching on the windowsills.  I am always impressed by birds as they consider the many ways in which they can not only make it through the day, but also improve their lives by simple actions.  Here, one bird, by the simple action of smashing the window, possibly while flying at high speed with his eyes closed, has gained entry to the top floor of this very ancient building.  

This building stands in what is called 'Little Square.'  This marks the spot where the early market first arose over 800 years ago.  This came about by the Bishop of London, who owned this side of the town, persuaded King John, he of ill-repute, to allow a market here weekly.  King John considered for a few moments the tax raised by such a market, his debts obtained by fighting very badly when claiming France as his kingdom, and allowed the market to begin, and added one down in Chelmsford around this time also.  The tax played on his mind I reckon, more than the cabbages available on the ground.

This building, wood and plaster, has stood here for a great many years, I suspect several hundred, but I have not got that information to hand.  

The block of houses contains four shops on the ground floor, as a market should, most are in good condition still, however, the one at the end, where the pigeon roosts, is somewhat less tidy.  There is a shop at a the bottom, which I think is now closed.  A first floor for accommodation for those who like to 'live above the shop,' and this top floor for pigeons to look down on you.  Like too many shops in the town life appears far from this one.  I think the owner, or tenant, has another along the way, but I could be wrong.  Either way, someone needs to look into the building, accommodation and a shop all in one, in the centre of town, just off the main drag?  Someone will make money here surely?   

Keir Hardie

I am led to understand that Keir Starmer is visiting this region today.   This offers a temptation to rush over to him and ask if he has ever heard of 'Keir Hardie?'  

Keir Hardie is the man who made the Independent Labour Party, out of which grew the Labour Party of today, a very different beast now.  

Born illegitimate, in the small Lanarkshire mining village of Legrannock, Lanarkshire,  on 15th August 1856, to Mary Keir.  The father was a local miner.  Three years later his mother married David Hardie, a ships carpenter and the family lived in various poor areas of Glasgow seeking work.  Money was scarce and young Keir found himself doing various jobs from the age of seven.  How many children today would enjoy that?  By the time he reached 10 years he was a bakers roundsman, supposedly of three shillings and sixpence a week.  This possibly meant ten hour days, six days a week!   Near Christmas he was fired because he had been caring for his pregnant mother and sick brother, this made no difference and he lost his job.  We are led to believe the Baker was doing well and possessed a well stocked household.  Hardie and his family lived in run down 'single end' housing in Glasgow, the cheapest possible, and struggled like so many others.  

Soon after this the family moved back to Mary's mother in Newarthill, near where he was born as David Hardie took the only job open to him and went back to sea.  The boy failed to obtain apprenticeships and was therefore forced into the only work available, mining!  

At first this meant sitting in the dark opening and shutting the doors as pit ponies and men passed by.  When aged twelve he himself was guiding the ponies up and down the shafts.  On one occasion a fall of rock left him entombed, however, when rescuers found him he was lying asleep by his pony in its stable.  This event left a mark on him however.

The boy's education came only from night school.  He would practice writing on slates covered with coal dust.  By his teens his reading was filled with Scottish writings.  Robert Burns, the Covenanters and Thomas Carlyle influenced him greatly.  Burns especially with his 'A man's a mans for a that,' alongside one portion from Carlyle which led to Hardies' strong pacifist ideals.   

His mother was also a strong influence on his youth, she may have been an agnostic, but they say, she was a Scots Presbyterian agnostic!  The culture permeated Hardie, influencing his teetotal life, and he learned how to communicate by leading the 'Temperance' movement around the Pits.

The speaking for Temperance was good practice for speaking on behalf of mineworkers.  However, this also upset the mine owners and by 1878, the year he claims he became a Christian and joined the Congregationalists, he had been removed from the pits and banned sine die.  He never worked down a mine again.

By the end of the 19th century the nearest thing to workers representation was the Liberal Party.  Hardie soon saw himself as a 'Gladstonian Liberal.'  The great William Ewart Gladstone a man who found favour with the working man.  This in spite of Gladstone's opposition to the 'socialism' that grew in Hardies' mind.   Hardie earned money by writing for a local Liberal paper but his ideas were much more radical than those offered by the Liberals.

By 1888 Hardie was standing as an Independent Labour Candidate, losing, but gaining some support.    Keir Hardie entered the House of Commons by winning the West Ham South seat in 1892.  No miners in this area, however, the conditions replicated those of working men elsewhere and many chose Hardie before the Conservatives.  

Being a man of independent and strong mind Keir Hardie refused to wear the top hat and frock coat that members of the House routinely wore.  Hardie came in tweed suit, with deerstalker hat, the appropriate hat at the time.  The press attacks were merciless, nonetheless Keir continued to speak for a radical agenda, votes for women, free schooling, pensions and the abolition of the House of Lords. 

He remained in the House until 1895.

The growth, first of the Independent Labour Party, and after 1900 the Labour Party, came from the hard work Keir Hardie endured.  Consider the opposition, from both Liberals and Conservatives.  The outcry, when during the congratulations for the arrival of a new Prince, (later Edward VIII) he asked for condolences to be added regarding the deaths of 251 miners in a Welsh mining accident.  This outcry led to losing his seat.

Elected once again in 1900 for Merthyr Tydfill, he continued to pursue radical policies.  All around the Labour Party was developing and though elected first leader in 1906 he resigned the post in 1908. 

Keir Hardie continued to represent Scotland's miners, to such an extent that he wished to end immigration from places like Lithuania, their workers were cheaper than Scots miners and jobs were being lost!  However, he supported votes for black men, though none were in his area, votes for women, and freedom for India.  

He became more unpopular when he refused to back the Great War.  His pacifism, and the idea of working men killing one another went all the way back to his reading of Thomas Carlyle's work.  He refused to support war, and gave support to those who refused to fight.

Illness led to pneumonia and in September 1915 he died in a Glasgow hospital.

His legacy can be seen in the Labour Party, though much changed since his day.  That change can be seen in Keir Starmer, a stranger to mine workings and heavy labour, and today a stranger to socialism.

Still, whatever gets you elected...

This book is far from young, published in 1975, and at times is very dense.  This is caused by the detail given to the development of Hardies opinions and then the growth of the Labour movement.  This, as you can imagine, was not straightforward.  Neither is the book.  Worth a read if you have the time.

  

Idiot!

Idiot!
I sent some paperwork into the council on Friday morning and returned to my place of obscurity.

Satisfied all was in order I wandered through my day with the usual grace.

Late afternoon, as I was trying to help a friend understand how to work 'Whatsup' on her new mobile, I received a call.  This was the nice lady from the council informing me that she had received my covering letter, but no documents.  The old fool had posted the letter while returning the papers to the desk.  She told me I could send them by email, but as we were struggling with the mobile tech I thought this unwise, and told her I would post them.  The council office is just across the park from here.

So, before 8 am I was up and running, well, hobbling, across the park passing all the other men of a certain age exercising slowly before people are up and about.  This was a day of rest for me, three football games to watch, and all the while across the road in the park a 'Skateboard' exhibition is about to start.  So, noise and crowds of yobs will soon gather and annoy me while I watch a quiet football match at Tynecastle where a mere 18,000 will be drowned out by skateboard activities.

Bah Humbug etc...

Have you noticed how little news there is?  

All appears quiet on the political front.  Sunak is away in Japan trying to increase his riches, Starmer is about but nobody is sure what his beliefs are this week, and nothing of importance is occurring anywhere.

Has all crime ceased?

Have the Tories turned honest?

Tsk!

Ah well, at least the football is good!

Western Front Way

The purpose of this book is to publicise 'The Western Front Way.'  This is an idea based on the thoughts of one 2nd Lieutenant Douglas Gillespie of the Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders.  His dream, in late 1915, was o a pathway lying along the 'Front' between the opposing armies, the intention being to look upon the cost of war and perhaps bring reconciliation and peace between enemies.  All very noble but a dream that came to little at the time, Gillespie himself being killed in action during the Battle of Loos, his body, like so many others never recovered.  The effect of his family back home in Linlithgow of his loss, and that following on the loss of his brother a year before, must have been heavy.  Well educated middle class sons who went to 'good' schools, usually one offering an 'Officer Cadet Training Squadron,' saw the loss of many 'sons.'  Such officers, often with much less experience than their men, were always the first to go 'over the top' in any action.  As a result, such officers suffered proportionately higher loss than that of the private in the ranks.  

The war rumbled on for another three years after Gillespie died at Loos and there was little desire for reconciliation or peace in the years following the war.  Belgium saw the vast majority of the nation under German control, only flooding the land in the north prevented further incursion.  France hurried to remove the mess left by the war, hidden explosives removed, trenches filled, land once again ploughed over to return to farmland.  The idea of 'reconciliation' was far from many French and Belgium minds in 1918.  

In recent years Gillespie's words have reappeared and many took up the idea of a long path along the line of the Great War Front.  'The Western Front Way,' now appealed to many, especially in Belgium where support for remembrance of the war has always been strong.  Whether this was in regard to the wars memory or the idea of thousands of tourists searching the land where their family and friends had fought is not easy to determine.  Many of those financially able did seek out the graves of their dead, some hoping to find their by still alive, somewhere, somehow.  Tourism covering now two wars is indeed big business in this part of the world.

Sir Anthony Sheldon, a head of private schools, had often taken students across the battlefields of France and Flanders.  He had acquired a great interest in the war and had picked up some History on the way.  Along with others he worked to bring the idea of the 'Way' into reality.

In an effort to publish the 'Way,' as well as recovering from the loss of employment and the death of his wife, Seldon decides to walk the entire length of the proposed pathway, almost a thousand miles.  His intention is to begin at the far end, the Swiss border, and from there walk towards the North Sea.  This is a simple proposal, and a noble one.  There are however problems here.  For a start he is not a long distance walker, he is 68 years old, the walk takes place late in summer, and Covid restrictions hinder progress and ensure almost all businesses are closed, this means hotel and other facilities are very limited.  However, he manages to survive and eventually finishes the course.

Several problems concerning the war remain however.  The majority of the 'front' has been swept away, especially in France where there appears little desire to 'remember.'  In the southern parts, where it was France v Germany alone and thousand died on both sides, little remains of the conflict.  Occasional villages stumps can be seen, the evidence of heavy shelling, instead of rebuilding the village a new one is often created along the road.  Memorials exist but the indication here appears to be that these are not visited much by locals.  

Elsewhere the border itself has moved and for a 'pathway along the front' the author appears far from the actual battle lines in my view.  Modern day construction, woods, farmers fields and the roadways interfere with a war 105 years before.  The needs of today take priority.  

Belgium is more interested in the 'Way,' and already the path is marked out in places.  There can be no doubt that such a path will bring tourists interested in war and visiting Europe to walk or cycle, France prefers cyclists to walkers, and small business along the way will indeed benefit.  Will 'peace' be encouraged by such a walk?  The idea did not stop a second war 20 years after the first, it has not stopped fighting in the Ukraine, Cameroon, Syria, north Africa, southern Sahara, and many other places.  Human nature does not change, and somewhat hopeful attempts at 'peace' will not defeat the human 'self.'

The writer managed a very difficult walk in hard circumstances.  His emotions were disturbed, his feet painful, and while it is a requirement of such books to mention all such instances I found it became somewhat embarrassing as the authors life unfolded before us.  There is a limit as to how much of the author needs to place in such books.  

I also found his History of the war to be somewhat unsound.  An example is his condemnation of the generals for the battles at Loos and the Somme.  He ignores the politicians demand that forced these battles on the generals.  Possibly this is because he himself is an honorary Historical adviser to No 10?

Theses two battles were rejected by the generals as being impossible places to fight.  However, London 

preferred the opinion of French generals to British ones and thousands were lost because of this.  You can add Gallipoli, Salonika, Mesopotamia and Africa to this list of London failures, yet the generals are blamed.  The generals did not have friends in the press!

The idea of this walk is a good one, many will make use of it, but any idea of peace comes from hope rather than an understanding of human nature.  Far many the book will be a good starting point on a journey, but for me with Covid hindering progress much required information for the walker is missing.

I also found the author tiring and struggled to finish the book.  While he offers historical insights into some fighting as he passes this is overshadowed by too much of his own troubles.  It is to be hoped a better guide will be forthcoming in the near future.

@Punch 1981