Old Troopships

Rummaging through some old photographs I came across pictures dad took during the Kings Own Scottish Borderers trip from Hong Kong to Poona in 1930.  He included this postcard of the SS 'The City of Marseilles,'  ship built in 1912.  I suppose many would call this a 'tramp steamer' these days but she sailed happily from 1913 until 1940 including time between 1923  to 1930 when she carried troops around the Far East.  A mere 8250 gross tons she managed 14 knots with the wind behind her.  Ellerman's Hall Line provided accommodation for 141 first class and  46 second class passengers, what the troops were classed as I would not like to say.  A tough old girl she was attacked by a submarine en route Liverpool - Bombay in 1915 and hit it by her gunfire but survived by running!  

For me, a journey over the sea waves in tropical warmth would be an acceptable adventure.  For a thousand troops it may have been less enjoyable.  The playing of 'Housie Housie,' was allowed, probably to avoid the men throwing their cash away on gambling, deck quoits and other innocent pursuits may well have appeared to some the height of luxury, or as high as they might reach anyway.  The thought of leaving Hong Kong where five years had been spent kicking the Chinks around defending the Empire and moving to another foreign soil, India, may have been seen as exciting.  India had been the 'Crown Jewel' of the Empire had it not, surely this was worth visiting?  It appears dad liked a change from the routine.  His sense of morals had led him to spend time in the Military Police while in China and now in India he joined the RAMC and worked as an orderly, or nurse perhaps, in the Hospital there.  I have his note book of drawings and medical information which shows he was well taught.  I suspect Beri-Beri may have been the biggest problem!

Sadly the poor ship continued to plow its course until once again requisitioned by the needs of world war two.  She survived hitting a mine off the River Tay in 1940  but repaired having journeyed later to Ceylon she stranded herself in 1943.  She was scrapped 1947.

'HMT Nevasa.'  This card accompanies the above ship and suggests they both were involved in moving the troops in some way.  HMT, as you know, stands for His Majesty's Troopship.  Not that we have many of those these days, if we have any boats left at all under this cost cutting bunch of incompetents!  Built in the Clyde, as most were in those far off days, the 'Nevasa' became a troopship in 1915 and later served as a hospital ship also.  During the twenties she returned to commercial work travelling to East Africa and India.  Consider for a moment how many people were on the high seas in those days.  Today the vast number of ships will probably be container vessels, with a large number of ugly looking cruise ships touring the warm bits of the planet, but between the wars vast numbers of people sailed the seven seas, many on Imperial business.  Today we fly and think little of it but then travel took time, enabled the passenger to adjust to the differing climate, and allowed the young women to look for wealthy, proactive men heading up the gravy chain as they sailed.  Sometimes they just looked for willing men of course.  A month long voyage, away from family and friends, possibly with several years abroad ahead, this sounds a better way to go than crammed into a Jumbo Jet!  I can hear the splash of the waves a s the boat cuts through them, the gentle thumping of the engines down below, I feel the warm air, note the helpful service, the pretty girls, and the pretty awful ones who will cause trouble, the clink of glasses filled with gin and tonic, all this while typing in woollen gloves with the fingers cut out.  'Sigh'                                               Roll of Honour : Ships

Also spotted on what I think may have been a Kodak Box camera, the folding ones would be too dear, and I remember one being used by us as kids, we see a blurry 'HMS Enterprise.'  Protecting the Empire demanded the Royal Navys presence in the Far East Station and 'Enterprise' spent time there from 1928 onwards.  Yet another John Brown ship she was launched in 1919 but not commissioned until 1925, I know not why, they wouldn't tell me state secrets.  Her twin gun single turret was an experimental type and the heat must have been great as in the picture a shelter is provided for the men working beneath.  This gallant little ship was reduced to the naval reserve in 1938 yet when war cam she served in the Atlantic, Norway, South America, the Indian ocean, the Med and also on D-Day.  She served well right through the war and was rewarded by being scrapped in 1946.  Not much different treatment than what the sailors themselves received.

Look close, in the middle of the Chines harbour there lies an aircraft carrier!  Squint your eyes through the heat haze and note the difference between this one and the huge beast being built for the Royal navy today.  Yes, that old one has aircraft!  You like the harbour, I wonder how different it appears today?

How peaceful with no skyscrapers, flashing lights or hordes of people.  It is however busy and many still live on such craft today.

No, he didn't take the last two did he?  His album is full of pictures he bought out there.  Small pictures, the originals only a few inches as some will remember.   I am fascinated to see the type of picture he took, his keenness to photograph the men, often happy to pose, and wonder whether my brother and I took after him this way, my brother having the talent.  Every time I look through these pictures I learn more about the father I never knew as a selfish brat of a child.  Too young to comprehend his past, too selfish or stupid to care about anything but myself, and now I want to meet him anew and see how we would get on together.  Ah, it's that 'if only' once again! 

The Gas Bill

Today the Gas bill arrived.  Naturally we arose to frozen landscapes, home and feet!  This in the week the Gas company ended the connection with their chairman, offering him a mere £13 million payoff.  The tax payer however will be happy, the taxpayer is not paying for a nationalised gas company.  Those who 'Told Sid' under the Thatcher tyranny and rushed to buy shares in these companies can possibly gather enough from their dividend to pay the colossal bills 'Sid' and his greedy friends are charging for the gas.  I wandered round to the library to keep warm reading books but found the place full of poor people reading books to keep warm there.  

The Electric company have generously warned us the bills will all rise because of this governments absurd energy policies so I am looking forward to that increase.  I have modified the payments to suit myself, and now will be running on the spot and stretching a lot to avoid hypothermia.  

Good job I am not one to complain.....

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BBC Heir Hunters

I'm watching this programme where companies search for relatives of those who died leaving no will and no next of Kin can be found.  When an individual dies leaving no will and no heir can be found the estate goes to the Treasury.  There are variations in Law between Scots Law and the Law of England and Wales, but in both cases the end result will be the same, the Crown wins.  If no relative is found within 12 years the money goes to the Crown.  The Treasury publishes a list containing the names of the outstanding individuals, the 'Bona Vacantia' list.  'Bona Vacantia' means 'Ownerless Goods,' as you know.  Many companies now operate a search system hoping to discover the missing heirs and obtain a cut of the cash.  Some £14 Million goes to the Treasury each year therefore a large estate will pay well.  

The 'Heir Hunters' programme concerns the efforts made by the gold diggers companies to find relatives and take their cut.  The individual stories reflect a wide variety of people, many sad, some heroic.  Yesterday a solitary woman who gave away no information turned out to be a wartime member of SOE and operated in France during the war.  Her suffering included a time spent in Ravensbrook Concentration Camp, from which she escaped and made it home.  She only spoke on record once to a TV documentary, and never to any other it appears.  Rich and poor it appears end up dying alone, lacking contact with relatives, sometimes happy and sometimes sad and lonely people.  Life can be hard for some, even in a populous town.

However what strikes me is the viewer who makes this programme popular.  The viewer lives in hope their name will appear on screen, they await the stranger knocking on the door and carrying news of a large windfall, their tongue hangs out as the programme reaches a crescendo and some lucky relative receives a cheque!  I see similar people queuing at the Lottery desk, especially when a large turnover is available.  We have all been there, at least once in our life.  

Hold on, someones at the door, must go, quickly.......   

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Cultural Differences

Reading the excellent 'The Venomous Bead,'  I began to muse on the differences in 'culture' that have befallen my miserable existence.  It was in 1969 that I first encountered London life.  I had been in one or two norther English places, to visit or watch football, but London is a world apart from everywhere else.  The buses were different, poor quality, noisy 'Routemasters,' rough but eminently suitable for the job.  Edinburgh always prided itself on decent quality buses for the citizens.  People stood outside pubs in London, something never done back home, although weather may play a part in this.  The biggest shock was cricket!  I left the Leadenhall Market one midweek day while wending my way around the City and as I crossed the road I noticed a crowd gathered outside an office window.  In this window was a TV, set to face the road quite deliberately, and offering the Cricket Test Natch being played 'somewhere in England!'  I was amazed!  A crowd of 40 or more people were standing watching this event, with a City of London policeman ensuring a path  was clear for passersby!  Incredible!  Some of the men were actually standing in the gutter to watch cricket at lunchtime!  Goodness gracious!  Never would this happen in Edinburgh, unless a football match was being shown obviously, but cricket?  Don't be ridiculous.  When I began to work in North Finchley in 1975 again I was surprised to hear working men getting excited over cricket.  It would never happen among normal Scotsmen.

In '75 I settled after a rough month or so in Swiss Cottage, in a slum that I believe no longer exists, I think it may have fallen down.  I would look to the newsagent for news of Scottish football and be disappointed.  I could get papers from Egypt, France, Spain, even the USA but not from Scotland 400 miles up the road!  The radio, a small very cheap radio, offered London and national news, and later what was then the excellent World Service of the BBC, but little concerning Scottish affairs.  Had I learned several languages I could have been knowledgeable of world football everywhere but north of the border.  It was as if Scotland did not exist!  This has not changed.  

Getting the Routemaster to work showed me a different culture, and one that would not work up north.  There were two types of bus stop, a bus stop where buses stopped, and a 'request stop,' where you had to stick your hand out or they just passed by.  Edinburgh drivers then, and most likely now, can tell if you want the bus and stop for you.  The 6:09 bus, when driven and conducted by a regular able team, always came on time and did the job happily.  However on many occasions a wee black fellow was the conductor.  This driver would stop at all stops, irrespective of passengers or not, and wait until conductor pressed the bell.  Conductor, who never collected fares, merely stood and stared out the door.  Driver sat there awaiting the bell and refused to move until it rang.  Incredible!  I would be more 'assertive' today than I was then. 

I had spent a year between 1971-72 in Notting Hill and after returning north I found Edinburgh old and boring.  Shops opened at 9, closed at 12, reopened after lunch at 1 and closed at 5, in London I had a 24 hour shop around the corner!  When the Indians were chased out of West Africa by the Idi Amin's ( a King of Scotland apparently) and arrived in the city they changed it overnight for the better.  Shops opened at 8 am, and closed at 6!  What a revelation!  Some even    stayed open later and more, they stocked exotic fruits like peppers and eggplants.  Incredible to think so many things had only been found in the expensive shops if found at all.  

One culture that destroys Scotland is the hangover from Northern Ireland.  The sectarian divide between protestant and catholic, neither side seeking God of course, which lingers throughout the land but is very dominant in the west of Scotland.  Both sides are at fault and for most it makes no difference to their lives as whatever and whoever you are the treatment offered is the same.  However there are quite a few who relish the difference and would happily contribute to trouble if it arose.  The vile history of Rangers and Celtic, the 'Old Firm,' encourages such attitudes and only by removing the sectarian bias from both clubs can this ever be eradicated.  They decry this as that is the cause of their wealth, and anyway, isn't it all the other guys fault?  In England it is difficult to explain this divide to those who cannot understand it, and no wonder. 

The difference between two cities can be very wide,  Six miles from here is a similar sized town full of 'London overspill,' where vast numbers commute regularly down to the big city.  Their town has an 'London attitude,' while here we are all 'nice,' well usually.  Further north and the town there is much more rural and the thought that most of the locals are related is difficult to remove from the head.   That's country life for you I suppose.   This blog encompasses the world, and the cultures vary enormously, imagine if you will towns full of Yorkshiremen!  Just imagine that!  On second thoughts......

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An 'Acquired' Video

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One Dreich Morn

While Australians sit on the beach grumbling about the 40% of heat I wandered across the damp park looking for a chink in the gray clouds above.  They fight fires in Tasmania which destroy homes and lifestyles, around here we light fires in the streets just to keep warm!  It's no fair so it is!  I was inspired this morning to sit here after what passes for breakfast and watch the folks outside cough their way to market.  By lunchtime the dank atmosphere has lightened to allowed me out for the cheap veg.  "Happy New Year," greetings came from the veg stall, desperate to keep their loyal customers.  (The other stall has many more for no good reason)  It made no difference to me, I am still using up the left overs in the fridge!

Glory be!  The afternoon saw the sun appear and left us with this lovely dusk view, Once I chopped of the view of the back streets at the bottom of the picture.  It is always a good piece of advice to ;look up' rather than around you.  The place you stand may be a dump but the sky almost always looks good, unless the clouds are gray of course!  Tonight the sky was fab, and hopefully it will stay this way, well, not when dark I mean.

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Flippant Friday

Tactful

Austerity knocks on the Chancellors door.

Rev I.M. Jolly

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It's a Terrible Thing....

When the good pictures run out and there is nothing left to say.  However while passing through Shenfield Station I saw this run down apparition parked at the far side.  A guards 'brake van' from the days of long ago.  Goods wagons in the past had no brakes, they merely clinked and clunked against one another when the train slowed down or stopped, the brake van would be used to control long goods trains, often carryinhuge amounts of weight.  When young, the shunter  sorting wagons far from us on a dark night could be heard at my home, the soothing clinking sound coming miles through the darkness.  No such sounds exists today, and the Edinburgh I once knew is far noisier at night than it was then.  Mind you down here in the wilderness the night is quieter but no romantic noises are ever heard, unless you count the Sainsburys lorry passing by of course.  I wonder what this brake in need of refurbishment is doing there?  Please explain.

At Stratford the underground, national rail and the Docklands light Railway meet together along with other transport termini.  A huge amount of work has been done here since I last passed through.  The Olympic Games led to much improvement (they say) and the Euro trains also helped.  However so many of the buildings are modern, shapeless or just plain ugly to me that I find myself thinking the acres of electric pylons and rail lines of the past more worthy of praise.  Note also the strange yellow, blue and white shapes in front of the office block.  I think these are an attempt to deflect noise away from the buildings, I wonder if it works?

Talking of 'dereliction' reminds me of this picture I took while passing by Waterloo on Saturday.  Dismal and gray, and this just after noon at that, this was the best pic my weary hulk could obtain of that palace of rogues.  I see what looks like a large poster high up in the middle of the building, I think it reads 'Guy Fawkes wanted, Apply within.'

That's my lovely warm Christmas now at an end.  No more living amongst warm, generous lovely people, no more good food that has taste, no more warmth and happiness, reality begins to hit home now.  So some rant or other will appear soon, grumbling and complaining and scowling at the world will once again be my lot I suspect.  We'll see.    

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Cold and Wet

The day we wandered to Poole Bay the weather was cold and wet, the wind blew a gale, and the inclination to believe this was a summers day was strong!  Such was the power of the wind that holding the camera was difficult, hence the pictures are not sharp, and the water was jumping over the edge towards us as we walked.  Many of the small dinghy's near the waters edge were in two minds as to whether they ought to just sink the 18 inches to the sea bed or remain half submerged.  In the distance stands Brownsea Island where Baden Powell held the first Boy Scout Jamboree before the Great War.  Owned by a rich woman for years the island became protected, so we were not allowed to walk over the water to visit.  Instead we forced our caps down over our heads and returned to the car.

Winds like this bring out the windsurfers and many are found in the safe bay area.  Only one was there today, many others crammed into a large van pulling a trailer of such boards and resisted the temptation to catch frostbite.  This fellow spent some time roaming around at speed, falling over, struggling up, and racing off again.  The fact that the bay slopes also encourages water skiing!  The houses overlooking this point start at around two and a half million and rise steeply thereafter. 

   

The calmer waters around Christchurch suffered the same cold wind but revealed the money available for some in these days of austerity.  The narrow opening from the Bay ensures this is a quiet place to moor.  Large numbers of boats can be seen sheltering here on Google Maps.  Personally I find the hard work involved in sailing such craft needless now that motors are available, some folks however take their boats around the world, fighting the raging seas by pulling on ropes and watching the waves at varying angles.  

I have to admit however this looked a fine little ship to me.  Looks older than the rest or maybe it is my fertile imagination.  Does it ever see the sea?  Has this wee boat visited lands afar off and have stories to tell?  It seems a shame to buy such as a mere 'tax dodge' as some do, or waste thousands on a boat and never use it.  The idea of sitting aboard such and just letting the world pass by while drinking tea and cogitating on a fine day has great appeal to me however.  What thinkest thou? 

   

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Waterloo Station

Waterloo Station boasts very this impressive entrance which doubles as a memorial to the railwaymen who served during the Great War.  A fantastic offering for the many men who fell, their names are listed just inside the entrance.  The armies in France required professional railway operators specifically for the British forces.  These ensured the goods and men reached the intended area on mainline and light railways throughout the British lines.  Hard work, under fire often, just as dangerous as well as those who served in the army directly.  The picture is difficult to obtain because of the road traffic behind.  Most using this station will enter and leave by the underground entrances rather than this door, I wonder how many who do come this way stop to look?  

In spite of carrying a ludicrously heavy bag I wandered through the maze of tunnels under the street to the embankment in an attempt to obtain a picture or two.  Naturally the drizzle came down, the place was crowded with damp tourists getting in the way, I was tired, afraid of missing the train connection and found the whole experience of being back in London quite unsettling.  For 21 years I lived here, I thought I knew the place and was disconcerted to discover how my unfit hulk could no longer run about like I used to here.  What would have taken ten minutes now appeared to take for ever!  The bag did not help of course.

This colossal brute was not here in my day.  Who dumped this here?  And why is there a long, damp, queue waiting in the drizzle to climb aboard and slowly go around in a circle aboard this creature?  A view from high up can be a marvellous experience but I wonder about being trapped in a space bubble while doing so myself.  It seems somewhat out of place against the huge imperialist buildings and associated history all around it.  

I made it to Waterloo on the two hour and five minute journey from Bournemouth.  Because of engineering work on the line between here and Poole the trains were often using the wrong platforms.  This meant I followed instructions on one platform and almost ended up aboard this train which landed in Manchester!  Good job that porter was there!  The difference in the people aboard the intercity trains and those on the underground remains notable.  While there are some similarities the step down from the train to the tube is like entering a dark world, a darkness not caused by being in a tunnel either.  I'm just glad I used the new Jubilee line and not the old Northern!  Could I live there now?  Even if I had the money I wonder if I could cope.

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2013

A Good New Year to all my good Friends!

The year ahead will bring its share of wars and rumours of war, destruction, floods, terrors, and woe.  Hunger and thirst will rise and fall, nations will cry against nations, prices will rise, weight will increase, disease will remain.  Murder, crime and corruption will continue.  Life will proceed as it always has and will until the end of time.

However you and I can make our world a better place.

Where we are depends on us, not on the circumstances around us.  These will often be awful and difficult to bear yet we can help one another to make life a little better by our response.  

So let's ignore those problems we are not directly involved with, let us instead concentrate on what we can do to make a better world for ourselves and others.  

You can do this if you choose to.

Anyway I'm glad I know you.

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Christchurch Priory

To get away from her indoors for a few hours out of the house he and I drove around the edge of town looking at the horrendous flooding that has occurred in this region.  Huge acres were covered in water, much more than in previous years.  The fields were covered in numbers of swans rather than horses.  Interesting to look at from the safety of the car, although not when the stuff swamped the roads, but not what I would wish outside my door.  Driving through some small interesting red bricked villages, never designed for vehicle traffic, we arrived eventually at Christchurch where we sauntered among the Boxing Day walkers braving the howling wind.  The swans eagerly gathered around those foolish enough to wear themselves out and sit on the sheltered benches for a sandwich.  The tide here was so high at one point it had actually reached as high as the benches, these were covered with the detritus left behind by the water.

Much wealth found around this area.  Even in the days of long ago this area was inhabited, it was well developed by the time the Romans arrived and later saw the Saxons move in.  It is thought a chap named Birnius erected a minster here around the late 600's.  This was demolished by the Norman chaps once they took over and in their humble manner they rebuilt the place in solid stone.  The church was part of the Augustinian Monastery which began in 1094 and lasted as such until Henry 8 dissolved the monasteries in1539 to find himself an heir. It Typical Norman stone arches stand proud and are always worth a look in my (very) humble opinion.

The 'quire' stalls are decorated with intricate carvings.  It was here the monks would worship during compline or matins.  Whether the constant construction and reconstruction bothered them I know not.  Today I notice the stalls have red cushions on them, I wonder if this was always the case?  

Christchurch took this name in the 12th century when the story of the 'miraculous beam' began.  Since the dissolution the church has served as a parish church for the area.  Just as well this is a wealthy area, the upkeep must be enormous.  It must always have cost a fortune to keep the fabric of the building in shape.  The number of masons and such like who have worked here must be enormous also.  The carvings found here are worth a look.  When in such places I cannot help but think of the thousands who have passed through for whatever reason in the past, some leaving their graffiti as they did so, others their memory is found on a tablet folks rich enough have placed on the walls.     

Today the vicar is a man who actually knows his God, something unusual amongst Anglicans I can tell you, however he is far from perfect, he is an American!  Imagine!   The Victorians naturally decided the vicar required a home equated with his status and a red brick house stands at the edge of the grounds.  As always I cannot ignore the lovely door, note the beginning of the yellow lines at the bottom of the steps.

What a way to spend Boxing Day, while stayed where she ought to, cooking lunch for our return.  What a great woman!  The one thing that keeps her inside at such times is the idea of passing by the waterside, especially in a cold wind.  She hates that.  Such trips ensure a constant supply of fabulous dinners.   

2012 ends soon and I will be glad to see the back of the year.  Hogmany will hopefully bring a better year tomorrow.  I hope so for all our sakes.   

   

O Happy Week!

What a lovely Christmas time that was!  I was so happy I never thought about the missing laptop until I wanted to play around with the photos I'd taken.  Goodness gracious, who would have thunk it?  A whole week without reading the online Mail, grumpy folks on football forums, 
and spam merchants clogging up the web.  Wonderful!  Of course Mr Anonymous had left several thousand posts for me to remove but that has been done and the papers really don't need reading do they?  

I started on the Monday in the hope of missing much of the weekend traffic, and bar a pair of women gossiping behind me forcing the aged Walkman out of the bag the train was quite enjoyable.  Of course I had to change at the new interchange at Stratford and climb aboard the Jubilee line.  How long since I endured an underground journey I fail to remember but little appears to have changed.  Almost no English to be seen, which is not something to complain about, no smiling faces, no helpful gestures, no view out of the window after we left West Ham.  Glancing around I noted the majority no longer read newspapers, now it is ipads, tablets and the like.  My Walkman hid quietly at this point.  At Waterloo the one real problem was the daft idea to buy a coffee before boarding.  There I was suitcase in one hand, coffee in another, and no hand left to put the ticket through the gate!  A smiling lady employee used her key, rushed through, smiled and let me wait outside!  Grrrr!  However I managed to balance the £2.05p worth of coffee (worth about 15p actually) on the far side of the gate, maneuver the ticket into the slot and barge through without spilling anything.   

  

How lovely to stay in a clean house, warm, well fed, and not required to do anything but look out the very wide windows at the birdies squabbling among the feeders hanging in the garden.  The Robins, Blackbirds, Finches and Tits fed happily undisturbed, bar the intrusion of a Buzzard which spent an hour or two hiding in the corner until we decided it was better chased off.  Having found the garden empty on arrival, been fooled by a fluttering leaf to dive to the lawn the bird sneekily hid behind the garden shed and watched carefully through the windows at the feeders.  You may find it difficult to believe how enjoyable the garden scene is but I assure you he and I spent many an hour, with her grumbling in the background, discussing the activities of the feathered folks.  Of course it would have been better still if the sun had shown up a little more often, sulking behind clouds was it's major occupation most of the time. 

Can you see the Buzzard?

Some folks have difficulty finding one family, I have two!  How lucky to be able to find two families!  Not only that I get on with them.  I suppose I would not be there otherwise.  Work and poverty stopped me getting down there for years and it was a week of restful tender loving care - for me at least!  So much so that I spent hours watching the kind of TV I would normally abhor!  More than this I found myself enjoying what was on offer and getting involved with the hero's problems.  The feeble young Viking befriending the injured Dragon brought tears to my eyes.  Quite why he and the girl hero had American accents and the older Vikings Scots accents escaped us.  Do Americans not realise Vikings (who do not have horns on their helmets) come from Scandinavia   Look it up on the map!   So slouched on the couch, yet another mug of tea in hand, chocolates around, possibly home made fruitcake in hand, I passed the week amongst intelligent conversation and laughter.  Made a change from talking to myself.

A trip to Poole Bay to be blown away and around the corner to watch the ferry and sit admiring the view of the sea.  Gales of wind blowing folks hats from their heads while aboard the Swanage Ferry gave us a laugh.  The view gave us reason to sit and stare for a while.  There is something healing to the soul sitting and watching a view, either of the sea or the land.  Some wrongly call this 'spiritual,' what they mean in 'tranquil.'  We need deep inside to get away from the workshop or office, the sink or the routine and refresh the mind by sitting and just watching the almost still view.  Try it today!

The view of 'Old Harry,' the rocks at the far end of the bay from high above on Canford Cliffs was well worth a look.  'Old Harry' is the solitary rock sticking up at the end of the land in the centre of the top picture.  What a day to be there!  This has been a favourite view of mine since the day I first came here in the late 70's.  The beach below is clean sand, well controlled by the lifeguards, although only one dunderhead was actually swimming in the freezing water, and the long slow walk along the front is one I long to do once again, possibly next time.  

The view in the other direction, to the left gave a clear view of the Isle of Wight.  The chalk cliffs reflecting the sun.  Wonderful!  The flats behind us along Cliff Drive in Poole have this vista daily and I want it also.  Please lend me half a million and I'll pay it back  as soon as I can.    

Now I am back in the smelly home with a bagfull of dirty laundry. Rejoice, rejoice......   On the other hand I have dozens of the other photos to post, can you wait....?

I hope your Christmas week was a good as mine!

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The Reason For Christmas

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Christmas 2012

As I'm off (hopefully) for the week may I wish all my online friends

A Happy Christmas

And may this week be all you wish it to be!

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Penguins

Dead Penguins - I never knew this!

Did you ever wonder why there are no dead penguins on the ice in Antarctica ?

Where do they go?

Wonder no more ! ! !

It is a known fact that the penguin is a very ritualistic bird which lives an extremely ordered and complex life. The penguin is very committed to its family and will mate for life, as well as maintain a form of compassionate contact with its offspring throughout its life.

If a penguin is found dead on the ice surface, other members of the family and social circle have been known to dig holes in the ice, using their vestigial wings and beaks, until the hole is deep enough for the dead bird to be rolled into, and buried.

The male penguins then gather in a circle around the fresh grave and sing: 

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"Freeze a jolly good fellow."
"Freeze a jolly good fellow."

The Shortest Day

At last!  The darkness has descended and the night has begun!  At last the days will begun to stay around that little bit longer.  At last the year is turning and Spring is on the way, after a couple of months of hail, snow, wind and freezing weather of course!  How lovely to think there will be more light, buds on trees, blossoms and gaiety all around once more.  The shortest day celebrated the fact by almost allowing the sun to shine.  The rain fell where it belonged, elsewhere, and when I sauntered around the town the clouds had a bright golden edge to them.  

I wanted to do a post full of insight and significance but the bug has worn me out again.  My little brain is dull tonight, and wasn't much better this morning.  As I did the women's work today, hoovering and such like, I left the front door ajar.  An ambulance paramedic approached enquiring for a shop selling hot food.  When I have a bug the mind often blocks things and as I attempted to send her to the bakers shops for overpriced pies and soup I could not remember the shops name, it has only come to mind now I write this, 'Greggs.'  It has taken all day to arrive, and possibly it has taken the ambulance crew all day to find the shop after my directions!  Why does this 'block' happen I wonder?  I am sure my mother had this, and I suspect it runs in the family, like debt.  

I am worried about my week away over Christmas.  I will not be able to take the laptop as they use Sky and not Talk Talk.  There is growing within me a sensation of desperation here.  A week without fingertapping on this wee keyboard.  A week without emails, a week without anon spamming me, a week without contact with the real world.  A week in which I will have to talk to people!  Oooooh.  I think I am off to bed, I feel giddy.....

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Bright Lights

Howling wind, pouring rain, freeezing cold (this is the weather forecast) and in the shopping centre we have a man selling Candy Floss!  Now when young I LOVED candy floss, who didn't? However I just could not find enough pennies in my pockets (full of holes) when required so had to do without.  As it happens the man appears to have gone walkies so I am out of luck anyway.  I was hoping for pictures of people with brollies against the bright lights but it did not work out they way I wanted.  In fact it is very difficult to picture rain.  You can photograph umbrellas, rain drops, rain on windows, puddles etc, but rain itself, even when heavy, is hard to picture.  Another problem is that the photographer gets wet, and I can do without that thank you!

Roll on tomorrow, the Shortest Day!

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UK Sunshine

The TV these days is stuffed full of adverts crammed with smiling people offering things we don't need.  Glitter abounds among the adverts, whitened teeth constantly flash, fat red clothed overpaid men insult the intelligence by playing Santa (Father Christmas to the middle classes) and amongst the gifts, false happiness,  bright lights, and girls giving the 'glad eye' to the producer of soap operas, we find snow!  Snow!  The horrible stuff that blocks the roads, stops the trains, grounds planes, destroys industry, kills and maims thousands, and NEVER FALLS AT CHRISTMAS!  The chances of snow in the UK at Christmas anywhere south of Aberdeen is  as likely as my Grandmother playing professional football.  And we all know she preferred rugby!  Our weather, and years of experience proves this, is yucky almost all the year round.  Some times the summer is long and hot, sometimes the winter is full of snow, but only every twenty years or so.  The adverts, made in May, are full of the stuff!  Shopping centres full of those false smiles are surrounded by snow, yet not one damp patch appears on screen!  Sleighs fly through clear skies over a snowbound world yet never at any time does that blasted sleigh run into dark brooding clouds.  Nor at any time do the reindeer smash head first into one of the passing 'Easyjet' flights heading for Christmas sunshine, with real sun, in the Med.  This I feel is something of a shame in my view.  Today the shops are full of miserable unsmiling folks fighting over mince pies, Christmas cake and Turkeys.  The gray sky darkens as evening approaches (roll on the 21st!) and my picture captures the sun almost at the zenith.  No snow, just mirk!  

Bah!

AND another thing, why are adverts for perfume so bloody awful?  Each one makes less sense than the one before.  Either a slapper rolling around as if on some drug, a bunch of 'yoof' dancing badly to aboriginal music, or a blue tinted one where some bint fancies a bloke posing at the microphones.  Poor lass, such men are usually queens dear.  Read the Sunday papers!  Why do these ads have to be so obscure?   Could it be they like the 'wrinkle cream' and 'face paint' ads which are banal and meaningless, appeal to women?  If so take the vote from them now!  The cost of each bottle of this pong is enormous.  Huge profits can be made by the producers.  Many years ago at work I used to see invoices from the producers of these substances, the price they charged was huge, add to this the companies profit margin and overheads and lassies pay enough to clear the Greek debt by the end of January!  Someone somewhere is making a lot of money out of little. 

Bah!    

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Megalithic, Mesolithic, The Past

I bought some reduced price books from the museum a few weeks ago and have been enjoying myself pondering life here several thousand years BC.  After the 'Ice Age' went away, and some occasionally fear may not have gone that far away, the land soon sprouted grasses, trees, animals and human life.  At that time the British Isles was connected to the European landmass until the melting ice caps flood water created the North Sea and flooded the area now known by some as 'Doggerland.'  Fishermen regularly collect bones of Mammoths and other long dead creatures from this area, the depth not being great.  

Peoples spread from the continent and made their way to the very tip of the land mass.  However it was not until around 6000 BC or so that they took to creating the many mammoth monuments that dot the land.  These often took the form of tombs, sometimes containing bones, sometimes not, and when bones were found these were often incomplete!  Later occasional pieces of pottery were to be found.  Different areas offered a variety of such tombs, some containing several niches, others additional tombs were added much later and the 'barrow' increased on size, often by a large mass.  Usually these comprised earth piled high, in northern regions stones expertly worked together creating very large barrows.  Many still remain almost untouched, others have been flattened by farming methods over many centuries.  

Winterbourne

Questions remain regarding the ceremonies that took place at such places, no writing was left, and the lack of personal material implies we may never know what really went on there.  A few years ago a man from Madagascar was taken to one area of 'Standing Stones.'  He was informed that no-one could understand their meaning.  In surprise he mentioned that it was obvious, these were commemorating the dead!  That is what happens in his society, and it is a decent enough observation, although no other evidence appears.  Did thousands gather to remember their dead, the past generations?  Could it be that these Barrows and Standing stones were less to do with the solstice and more to bring peoples together?  Today we so similar.  Families gather at weddings and funerals.  Nations gather at Armistice Day, or around major national events.  Sometimes football matches can be used in this manner.  Did Stone age man use ceremonies, possibly sporting or other activities, and certainly feasting at some places, to unite the peoples of an area, sometimes a quite large area at that?  What a shame they did not write this down.  

What happened before such tombs were built is generally unknown.  Hunter gatherers left little in the way of memorials,and possibly were constantly on the move.  It would be a more static society that combined to erect large monuments.  Possibly these were stating this was their area to outsiders, possibly it helped them sink roots deep into the land through their ancestors.  Nations need a 'myth' to build their self esteem.  The Athenians held to the belief that they had 'always belonged in Attica,' even though historians indicate they actually moved in from the north some years before.  The 'Myth' keeps the nation together.  Whatever the reason almost suddenly things changed.  Possibly it was wealth, or an increased population, but most likely ideas coming through contact with the continent.  The large works, which may have taken generations to build, were no longer constructed.  These continued to serve as places for ceremonials however, but individual tombs began to appear, and these began to contain grave goods.  

Wessexarch.co.uk

All this changed when the Romans arrived.  Not only did the world around them become Romanised, the incoming gods accepted, but the arrival of Christianity saw the end of any connection with past ceremonials.  The Druids concerned were probably wiped out by Paulinus before Boudica began her revolt.  She and hers followed almost immediately.  Six, seven or ten thousand years ago people just like you and me wandered the land, hunting, farming, building shelters, developing tools, and going forth and multiplying, and evidence for that is found amongst some items left at the meeting places!  Did they have a philosophy?  Did they sit at the door of their round huts or cave dwellings staring at the sky and wondering?  Was the daily struggle such that little time was left for cogitation, or did they just wish they could watch TV and read the tabloid press?  One thing is sure, the women gossiped, the men boasted of their imported stone hammer from Poland, someone was proud of their expensive pot with intriguing design brought from far away.  Human nature never changes, whatever the culture.              

I find them fascinating, and several 'Time Team' programmes this week on one of the obscure channels have encouraged my fascination, with their existence in those days.  How trees could be felled by brute force and stone axes, flint could be made into a razor sharp knife, and deer antlers could be used to create the huge embankments and Barrows, and later hill forts, all makes me wonder at the human ability to make the best of the circumstances.  Great stuff, but I am glad I live in the days of photography and laptops myself.  Especially when the weather is rough.

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