Hypocrisy?

I awoke this morning to hear tales of the condemnation heaped upon the French Magazine 'Closer' for publishing pictures of a bare breasted Kate.  Kate of course, if you are unaware of such things, happens to be married to an RAF Officer who is second in line to the throne.  The response to this 'outrage' is found in the 'Daily Mail,' the 'Daily Express,' the 'Sun,' and the 'Mirror,' all of whom offers several items, plus numbers of photographs, going into as many details as they dare of this, er, exposure.  The Online 'Mail' itself showed restraint the other day by offering a dozen large pictures of Kate, with her man in the background, as they paid their respects to the dead in a Commonwealth War Cemetery.  I consider it an outrage that men who died, often from disease, torture and beatings, should be used as a backdrop so that the press can use this woman to make money!  These papers condemn the French paparazzi, scream that she ought not to be 'used' like Diana was used, and all the time use her in the same fashion they did Diana.  The 'quality press, Times, telegraph, Guardian, Herald, Scotsman, are just as bad.  While offering a more thoughtful approach they too know that her picture will help sell their papers.  The word 'quality' I must add is used in a very wide sense here.  

I am no Diana fan, and I am sick to the teeth of pictures of Kate taking up space in the press.  Why were these women there?  Because far too many other women live their lives through these women.  Diana was as false as a six pound note.  The 'fairytale Princess' who used the media to get people on her side, and the media went along as long as desperate women lived their divorce, children or looks through her.  She sold papers and magazines every time she appeared on the cover, Kate does the same.  Now having an interest in something or someone is good, using them to live your life is bad.  Whether it is a princess or a football player (David Beckham, a waste of space is ever there was one, sells papers and magazines although he has nothing to offer!) those who wish to read the minutiae of their life need to step back a moment.  It is indeed interesting to know the story of your latest superstar, but there are limits.  For one you will never be they who you follow (those eight goals I let in at Dunfermline ruined my goalkeeping career) and they have a right to a private life.  More importantly not only will much that they offer be half truths and lies, an image as opposed to themselves, you find that most 'celebs' are broken people, desperate for attention, and require much healing, a little bit like the rest of us who lack their attraction.

The media rush to grumble about the French when really they know the public today would not let them print these pictures in the UK.  Although they may be available online (I couldn't find t...er....) the public do not wish her exposed this way.  The public (women and sad men) will still rush to read about her, mostly waiting to gush when she announces her first pregnancy.  Oh joy...

The hypocrisy of the papers that use this woman, the anger amongst them because they cannot publish the pics they have now stuck up on the office wall, the petulant outrage concerning this tale, on several picture filled pages, makes me hope Leveson and his enquiry actually makes a real decision and does not offer the whitewash I expect.

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Friday Frolic

I frolicked among the graves again today, I had permission from the various bodies concerned.  This was a required return as I had missed somebody yesterday, I found him where he lay, right under my nose.  Isn't it always the way?  Another kept himself hidden, after four years in the trenches he would be good at this.  Imagine however spending all that time avoiding bullets, coming home after your regiment is disbanded in early 1919, then dying of appendicitis a few weeks later?  How sad is that?  I found him through an internet search and this means I must return again on Monday, unless he has moved elsewhere.  There is good exercise to be had wandering about, sometimes the earth has sunk somewhat and falling into a depression is always a danger.  This almost happened to me but I recovered quickly as I'm sure I heard a small piercing voice cry "Do come in...."  I found myself several seconds later at the gate and on the way out.

I came across this while scouring the old pics.  I may have shown it here before, maybe not.  This I found in a village close by a while back.   A lovely touch in a building that faces the main street, and a very noisy one at that.  An excellent renovation I would say.  That is if he actually did put another door in around the side.

In days of yore this used to be the only way to hear music outside of the wireless and the local brass band.  These days it must be impossible to buy the needles, although many must still have records and use the thing.  Oh the delight of scratching a record and having the best track on the album jump as it played, worse still to repeat the same note over and over again.  How we suffered!  Kids today, they know nothing!

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To Cheer Myself Up....

After Scotland's feeble efforts last night I decided I needed cheering up, so I headed for the cemetery.  Early this morning, just as the sun was shining, I wandered down the hill.  The purpose of my visit was to replace the photos of certain dead servicemen which had gone a missing when the PC went down. (I mean the pictures went a missing, the men stayed where they were.)   Having decided to search out the WW2 men also, having lumbered myself with this, I went looking for those I had not found before.  One reason I had not found several was that some lay in another place but no one had told me the cemetery was divided in two!  Bah!  However I was not the only one with a camera!  I espied another gentleman snapping a WW2 grave, and enquiring of the attendant concerning others.  He ignored me so I returned the favour, but I am left asking who he is, what he is a looking for, and is there money in it?  Anyway I found almost all I wanted, careful to avoid one man attending his deceased, one he clearly misses, and now seek only two from here and five from the other place.  It amazes me how many other war graves I found there who's names are not recorded on the memorial.  Sometimes there are reasons, others appear to be ignored.  I found one Polish gent from WW2 and am reliably informed a Vietnam Air Force veteran was buried there in 1969, I will go seek him soon.   

The small Gothic structure at the entrance appears too small to use as a chapel, but contains other useful rooms, however the entrance door features this King, and on the other side a Bishop, awaiting to greet those who arrive, one way or another. What and who these represent I know not.  I can find nothing about them after a swift Google.  Handsome aint they?

Handsome is not what last night was about?  A draw that more or less entails yet another World Cup fiasco for Scotland.  We are out already, and only two games played, or so it appears to me.  Craig Levein certainly showed a much more positive approach to this game than he showed on Saturday, but retained the one up front with no-one anywhere nearby policy.  The set up was supposed to bring midfielders right up to the one man, Miller, but as they were too busy helping out the defence it failed!  Also once again we enter a game considering the opposition 'small beer.'  We consider such teams, from smaller countries, as the type we ought to beat week in, week out, instead of realising the real world is not like that.  Macedonia contains some excellent players, and their individual skills showed early on when our overrun defence could have left us five down had they not been unlucky or misfits in front of goal.  The individual skill on show was greater than ours, and we still regard them as sides we ought to beat!  Such sides no longer exist!  Our strengths may be different, but when our desire is less than the opposition things need to change, and change soon.  Sadly I feel a new man is required, otherwise the end is nigh. 

There appears to be a problem occasionally with comments.  Some appear to be missed and turn up later awaiting approval.  Quite how this happens I know not.  Apologies if you comment and it appears to run off.

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No Time

No time to post.  I need to prepare for Scotland playing Macedonia tonight.  (Isn't Macedonia where they grow mixed vegetables?) It's a must win game, and with a numpty of a manager, who has replaced one of our best players while leaving the worst on the field our chances are slim.  Still we are used to this and when we get beat we will be rid of him.  That's the things about supporting Scotland, we are always positive!

Still, whatever happens I've got the stores in for emergencies.

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Blue Skies

For reasons unknown this RAF Sea King Air,Sea Rescue helicopter flew over us today while I sat enjoying ten minutes in the hot sun, the last of the year probably.  I attempted a picture and found the sun so bright I could not see through the viewfinder and I just guessed where the brute was.  On the original pic it appears as a dot in the corner!  How difficult is it to capture a flying craft while right over your head?  This blurred image is all I can make out of it.  The ferocious sun has disadvantages after all.  I could see nothing whatsoever through the viewer, and could not see him even as a dot in the sky. I obtained an even worse shot when he returned some time later, blurry is the word.  Maybe it is my eyes?  I am left asking why was he overhead?  Near the coast this is not unusual to see, occasionally it is possible to watch them rehearse lifting survivors from the sea.  Not much call for that here.  I wonder if it was that William man using his machine to run home to Kate for a wee break?  The visit probably only cost £10,000 but that's OK.  

The Olympics are over, the Paralympics finish tonight and there are millions of women who usually hate 'sport' in all it's forms now demanding more of this on telly!  Anything is better than the dross that fills the screen normally.  I watched a documentary on Egypt the other day on the BBC iPlayer, the way I usually watch BBC these days, and was peeved.  The man never stood still!  Every new scene found him walking up a street, coming up stairs, through a door, at no time did he just stand there and speak!  This is a constant feature of such programmes today, movement is all, flash images and a movable presenter, it has become difficult to follow the story as we are made to expect him to jump up and run off before finishing a sentence.  It seems to me radio is becoming the only place to follow a documentary today, we can see the image in our mind better there.  

Now I am not one to complain as you well know, even though it has taken me until now to get over my exertions at the museum on Friday, and in fact complaining has never been an important part of my life, unlike folks who use the local bus service a lot.  No, I prefer to let things slip and lead a quiet life.  However I did find myself beginning to get irked by Craig Leveins use of the 4-5-1 system while at home to Serbia on Saturday.  Goodness gracious I thought, one innovation from the tried and trusted failures of before, Robert Snodgrass on the right side.  At least that was clearly working, that is why he was replaced with the clot Forrest!  I note also that Dixon never got an opportunity while at Dundee United but now he plays in England he gets a cap?  Black & Templeton on Tuesday I wonder?

    
Some of my readers may well be interested in this, not for themselves perhaps, just to remind another to exercise more and eat less maybe?

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Friday Chat

RAF High Garrett

An enjoyable chat at the museum today with two ex-US airmen, based during the Cold War near the town.  The area of course is dotted with airfields built during the second world war and some still in use today.  On the edge of town lies RAF High Garrett, used during the war as a prisoner of war camp for happy Italians who had no intention of escaping.  Some indeed stayed on in the town after release.  The base had no runway but was used as a 'Micro-wave relay site,' during the Cold War.  One of our visitors was based there, and like so many others he took back to Wisconsin one of the ladies of the town.  Having settled back there she has lost all trace of an English accent, so it's not all bad!  The other chap had been based at Weathersfield airfield during the early sixties, possibly the most dangerous period of that era, and he also was accompanying the woman he removed from the town on a visit home.   

There must be many Essex girls now resident in the United States.  The bases were begun while Hitler was still a menace, and many young men flew from the bases nearby and never returned, and continued in use, during that fraught period, some until the late eighties.   This town has been used to servicemen since the first world war of course, and many must have good memories from those days, the publicans certainly have!  This is an interesting site created by one of the men, MSgt Cecil Eversoll, which  contains 'before and after pictures of his time in the town.  Interesting to see the world around here on the video from 1966, how times have changed.  RAF High Garrett

One thing is clear,  without the continuing presence of such men during the years following the war we may well have had to endure a more dangerous time.  I suspect many more will wander in to the museum in days to come.  An enjoyable conversation, and they also appeared to enjoy meeting the others who discussed the things they remembered so well.

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Tell Her Mister!

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Sour & Sweet

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

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

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

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

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

New Villains

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Statistically, 6 out of 7 dwarves are not Happy.

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


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

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Sunday Evening Music

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Afternoon Duty

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

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

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

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

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

Braintree Museum

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

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

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

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

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

This is irrelevant to the previous post, but funny.

So is this.....

Crops

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

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

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

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

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

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A Walk Into the Past

Braintree Museum

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

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

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

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

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

Ruminating

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  

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Big Bang Theory....?

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August Bank Holiday

Rain!

More Rain

And MORE to come!

Summer?  Bah!

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Friday Night Music

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Cowdenbeath and the Black Diamonds

Fife-Scotland

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

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

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

Pit No.7 Token

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

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

Sir George's Big Hoose

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

Winding Gear Pit No.7.

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

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

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

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

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

The Pug

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

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