Policing, Dangerous Work.

Late at night, after I finished posting yesterdays blog, it struck me how strange a job policing can be.  The girls on duty yesterday had a simple enough routine role but for such as they life could be more, er, interesting.  The lass at the top of the road blocking traffic is what they call a PCSO, a kind of lesser policewoman.  Many police officers consider this role irrelevant and want the money spent on fully qualified men on the beat however the idea is to give a (cheaper), more easily accessible individual, closer to the people, leaving proper police to get on with their job. Hmmm, while those I speak to, by choice I must say, are capable I can see a full time officers point.  
I am digressing from my thoughts.  The thoughts were that not that long ago two policewomen answered a routine call to suspicious activity at an empty house.  On arrival they were met with gunshots and a couple of hand grenades!  Both were killed.  Another copper had a gun fired in his face which blinded him a while back, numerous have been assaulted to some extent 'in the course of their duty.'  I suppose that stopping you riding the bike on the pavement, blocking the traffic at an 'incident,' or asking you why you loiter in shop doorways (admit it, you do that too!), are all troublesome to the personal freedom we all enjoy, however stopping a bank robber, a guy with a knife or risking life to save another gives a different view on things.  

What does it take to do such a job?  My father attempted to join the police after the war but in those days the minimum height rule, six foot two, stopped him by a wee bit.  he would have been an ideal copper in the forties and fifties.  Helping old women over the road, controlling yobs,  and if required dealing with drunks in pubs or men with guns.  Twice in the army, and a military policeman for a while at one point, prepared him for the job.  Today however he would not cope with the political correctness required, nor the absurd requirements put upon an officer today. There again most men of those days would feel the same.  Anyone, including some of the dafter officers, deserves some degree of credit for this job.  Few of us would take the risks, most demand them to come when called, and without delay, yet rarely d we praise them for what they do.  Maybe the corruption of those at the top, the backhanders lower down, and personal experience put us off, but without them, full proper police or PCSO's, life would be intolerable.

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Braintree & Bocking Remembrance Sunday 2013

It was under a bright blue sky, sunshine filling the chilly air as Braintree and Bocking gathered to remember their war dead.  The memorial contains the names of 202 from the Great War, 85 from the second, and we know that there are others who's names were omitted from the memorial for one reason or another.  Maybe one day we will add those who have fallen in the 'End of Empire' wars and other conflicts since 1945. The British Legion members led the parade, the Air Training Corps followed, and several youth groups of various types brought a huge turnout for the commemoration.  The police, the firemen, the Salvation Army joined many others left their wreaths as individuals left small wooden crosses remembering family and friends also. 

I was impressed by the number of others who attended, whatever their reason.  Two hundred or more people felt sufficiently interested to appear, because of personal interest or a family member on duty in the parade.  Whatever it was a good turnout. As is usual in such situations a short service, led by an Anglican vicar, was held.  A prayer hoping for an end to war and friendship between enemies, a reading from John's Gospel, possibly the only time many will hear this in today's world, and all accompanied by the commands to "Attention," or "Stand at ease," offered as you may expect by a chap who had no use for the microphones on offer!  Was he a corporal once I wondered...?  

 
I found the discipline of the march, the commands, the obedience, quite strange.  We live in such an indisciplined society that anything that veers away from the 'me first' attitude is indeed strange.  Yet discipline, for ourselves and others is so needful.  Without it anarchy does indeed reign, both within and without us.  Formations of troops, as here, could not take positions without proper leadership and acceptance of their orders.  Sometimes this can be somewhat funny, usually it gives at least an organised parade where each knows what is expected of them.  Today's society lacks both discipline and an understanding of where they are in the world.

The High Heid yins turn out as they ought, to lay a wreath, to remember, to represent the electorate.  This is not wrong, indeed it is their duty.  Last night during the commemoration at the Albert Hall we saw a ten year old lass burst in to tears as her father, who she thought far away on service, enter the arena.  Who was not touched as she ran to him in front of the  assembly?  What I wondered did David Cameron, Prime Minister and the man most responsible for men's lives, think then?  The camera caught him as the war widows entered, did he flinch, or was that just my interpretation?  Some say such men have no thought for servicemen when an order is given to advance, others are aware of the pressure that command can leave.  The responsibility to send a man to what may mean his death is an awesome one, generals usually can take it in a professional manner, most having been at the front line themselves at some time, politicians do not always appear to comprehend the enormity of it all.  Of course many have been at the front.  Harold MacMillan spent two nights and three days in a shell hole at the Somme with a broken pelvis, Churchill had been a soldier, of sorts, Jim Callaghan served in the Royal Navy during WW2 and Ted Heath in the army, these men understood the nature of war and strove to avoid it.  What can a man like Cameron, who was young during the 'Punk' era, really know about war?  

The Lady Mayor lays a wreath at the separate memorial to the Braintree supported sloop HMS Kite that was sunk by enemy action with the loss of 241 souls.  Only 17 were picked up as the ship went down in a ball of flame within ninety seconds!  Of these only nine survived.   I understand the last remaining survivor passed away a short time ago.

Amongst those responsible for crowd control was this personable, friendly and efficient young WPC.  Luckily for her she was given a position where the sun shone upon her while the cold breeze was deflected by the trees and shrubs around.  The rest of us noticed the weather I must say.  While such work is a requirement on such occasions it must be boring for the officers who can do little but stand around being mostly ignored by the crowds and enduring the weather often with no chance of escape.  This attractive young lass was doing her job very well, as indeed what her companion further up the road.

As always, even in England, a piper is called to play 'Soldier Laddie' as they march past the dignitaries, he being led by the big base drum, which may have been playing a differing tune, I am not sure!  A sight seen throughout the land today, a sight seen since the years following the Great War when memorial large and small began to appear in town and village, factory and office.  

 

Once the streets round here were flooded with uniforms of one sort or another, we ought to be glad that those days have gone and the minority are required to serve.  Still it is somewhat strange to see military uniforms pass by on parade.  Hopefully the young, eager members of the cadets never see the action their forefathers endured.

 Braintree & Bocking Great War Memorial

Braintree & Bocking WW2 Memorial

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Remembrance, is it a Bandwagon?

There is something not right about the nations 'remembrance' today.  A few years ago the UK had almost, but not quite, forgotten how to remember the war dead.  Today it is in danger of exploiting them!

Remembrance began after the 1914-1918 war ended.  With the armistice in November 11th the world attempted to return to normal, no matter how impossible that could be.  With over 300,000 men missing somewhere under the soil of France and Flanders, Mesopotamia, Salonika, Gallipoli, Africa, and of course so many lost at sea, relatives were desperate for a place to mourn, to remember their dead.  The Cenotaph, the empty coffin at the top of the memorial, stood for those who's bodies were never recovered.  Millions responded to this.  Towns and villages, churches, offices, factories, railways stations and clubs placed their own memorials to their lost and each year paid tribute, with many doing so knowing the truth of the sacrifices that had been made.

Following the 39-45 war the nation continued to remember, but wished to create a new world and move on from constant war and deprivation, deprivation that was the lot of the majority in previous years.  By the sixties when my generation were pretending to be Hippies and find a new way to live life, Peace, Love and 'Make love nor war,' which was more, 'Make tea not war' in reality, people at that time did not want to remember the war or encourage uniformed military society.  This was not to denigrate the sacrifices made, we knew all about those, but young folks look to the future not the past, new happenings were, er, happening.  It was later we realised human nature does not change, life as it always was continues.

The need for an army returned during the Irish 'troubles.'  While army requirements had lessened during the end of Empire, conscription's last intake being 1959, the tendency to ignore military matters ended when troops were placed on Irish streets.  Several years of murder and mayhem did not attract the nation to uniforms, we really did not want to know about those murderous Irish who used religion as a shield for their political malevolence.  However soldiers did gain some respect for their courage and in 1982 the Thatcher inspired jingoism (mostly English it must be said) that erupted during the Falklands dispute gave a degree of respectability to men in uniform once again.  Relatives if those killed in Ireland were noted at memorials, more took note of the following memorial services after 1982.  The Gulf conflict in late 1990 and fear of Arab terrorism, the second (needless) Gulf War and of course Afghanistan brought the requirements of the servicemen to the nations conscience more deeply.  A rise since the early eighties in the study of the Great War itself helped a new generation to appreciate what those men had gone through. The aftermath of the second world war hiding the sufferings of the first a great deal.

Today it is both popular and it appears almost compulsory once again to wear a poppy and remember the war.   TV stations will not allow any individual to appear without one, thereby debasing the thing entirely, and a rise of talk, discussion and forced remembrance is leading us not to 'remember' but to remember in a false manner.  Many rightly recall their fallen friends, especially those of recent years, but there is an underlying falseness creeping in of which we must be wary.  

I am all for remembering the dead of all wars and on all sides.  However the present attitude is in danger of becoming a passing fashion.  This makes it obligatory to 'remember,' and leads once the emotional side has passed to a wearing off of remembrance and a falling away from the whole thing.  

We need to remember, I do not wish the dead or their struggles to be forgotten, but we must remember correctly and for the proper reasons.  Otherwise it will all once more fade away like an old soldier, and we don't want that. 

   

Weekending

What a different week that was!  The past few weeks have involved much time at the museum or failure to get things done.  This week I was only 'worked' on my normal Tuesday, however I stayed on till after three as there was a 'do' for older folks and free fish and chips were involved.  The rest of the week has been mine enabling much getting done.  The new video has been set up, even if I canny work it, Christmas presents bought, only one left, the house tidied, even dusted, and all those things lying around the place that have been dropped, mislaid, brought out and forgotten and now dealt with.  The washing still hangs damp and dreich and the ironing is waiting on a passing woman to get done. Small things you may say, but not when they have been omitted because I was slothful busy elsewhere.  All I have to catch up with now is sleep!

Sadly this has been disturbed by taking the laptop top bed each night and watching football!  Every night there has been a game, and the bigger the two teams involved the worse the performance, very disappointing.  Tonight is no difference as I watched Wimbledon playing Coventry in the English Cup. Enjoyable enough but I prefer proper Scots football myself.

The Christmas presents were easy if expensive, Gift Cards!  Small enough to go inside a card, easy enough to operate at the other end, and I need spend little time choosing, that happens at the other end.  The girls get cards from 'New Look,' a females shop I have never looked in before obviously, however the young lass was very nice when I obtained mine.  In Tesco tonight I asked where the gift cards were and a nice supervisor took me to the stand full of cards that was in front of my nose.  Immediately understanding she was talking to an idiot she put on the 'wife like' approach and talked to me in a slow voice, repeating where needful, intoning certain words with emphasis so I could understand, then placed me at a checkout to pay.  The new young lady there also quickly cottoned on and treated me in similar fashion.  They almost walked me home after taking my money as they realised I was just a male with no idea what I was doing.  They have lucky men at home I say, if indeed the men are bright enough to realise this.

One thing  that was clear in Chelmsford is the difference in peoples attitudes. The desire to walk through people as if they did not exist has a tendency to show there, smiling is outlawed, and 'Essex Girls' is a way of life many appear to admire.  They have not yet reached London levels but they appear to be trying that attitude.  The dress code is Londonish, terrible!  Men well past middle age pretending they are punks does not indicate a life lived to the full I say.  Young folks are always badly dressed, that's normal, but men who do not stop dressing like a youth when past 35 need to see a doctor.  I was glad to get home!

 
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Tsk! Old folks...

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Fireworks Saturday

Because of a failed attempt to kill a King several hundred years ago people today still make bonfires and set of fireworks to celebrate.  Most of them cannot tell which King this was )Google it!) but they do know a guy called Guy Fawkes was involved.  As they stand around in the rain on a Saturday night while they attempt to roast potatoes in the fire that keeps going out, could someone justify the noise levels that are keeping me awake?  The houses behind me are sending up sufficient gunpowder to bring down half of Bomber Command, the houses in front and to the right have worn themselves out by seven O'clock sending rockets high above.  In the far distance the battle of the Somme occurs amongst the lower orders, however that may just be because it is Saturday night.  All this while yet another 'storm,' is beginning to blow.  While cats and dogs everywhere run for cover and I long to join them I ask, do I ever complain?  Well not normally, so it must be them being a pest right enough! Ban them!

While dodging the Friday night fireworks I discovered my old albums are beginning to fall apart through damp and age.  During the rescue attempt I found some long lost pictures that might be of interest.  This one features an early post box.  You will note the original colour was green, changed to red because these were indistinguishable from the greenery around, or so the 'Daily Mail' reader of the day claimed.  These were first used in the Channel Islands for some reason and when found to be a success placed all over the nation. Anthony Trollope, the writer, was an employee of the Royal mail, writing much of his output on the train between Ireland, where he was based, and London. Some say these were his idea.  This was a somewhat dark picture so I had to fiddle with it a bit, hence the grainy appearance.  I cannot mind where I found it but I think it may have been at a heritage railway somewhere.  

Bournemouth somewhere I think.  Not a great picture but the wave patterns attracted my little mind.  How I wish I was by the sea!  It's not Black & White, it is just the way I 'improved' the tones.

This indeed is in B&W, found in 'Postman's Park,' London, the long wall erected in the 19th century by a man who wanted to commemorate those who died while attempting to save others. Some succeeded, some failed.  All lost their lives.  Men and women, young and old, policemen, firemen, passersby, all gave themselves to save another.  One of London's most poignant and most forgotten memorials.  

I suspect this area is very different today from when I took this view of Kings Cross.  The gas holders may well have been removed or destroyed, they have the same troubles with the ones in Edinburgh, and the road from whence this picture was taken has certainly been rebuilt.  The dereliction will have gone, but probably not the derelicts that exist in the area.  The St Pancras complex, the new buildings, the renovation of the housing opposite, most likely for sale at high price, makes this image historical.  

You may tell that my mind is dead this evening, in spite of the bombardment overhead.  Rising early I deposited myself in the museum this morning because whatsername was not in.  naturally she turned up anyway!  Women!  A quiet morn with the exception of an eight year old who placed himself behind the alcove as I made my way to the kitchen.  He kindly yelled 'Boo!' just as I rounded the corner and almost sent the cups i carried across the entire complex!  How he laughed!  I wondered if I could get the stone age axe out the display unit without breaking the glass but he got away in time.

My dear niece, who decided to take a stroke, appears to be well.  She remains in hospital awaiting Monday morning test results and another telling off from the doctor for misbehaving.  It appears she is walking and talking as normal, and that the physio has been ensuring she exercises (HA! That's good for her!) her limbs appropriately to ensure no loss occurs.  Her grumbling and complaining have returned, so all appears to be well.  I suppose I will have to get her a Christmas present after all.....

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Castle

It can be no surprise that once again Edinburgh Castle has been awarded the prize as the most popular Heritage Attraction in the UK.  This nation is awash with ancient buildings reaching back into the distant past and even after a thousand years the castle is far from being the oldest. With this is mind it reveals just how well the castle operates, how popular such buildings are with tourists, how excellent the setting in which the castle is found and how wonderful the city and its people deals with tourists.  The years of history fascinate the tourist.  Tales of English barbarity, the activities of kings, some who lost their heads here, the Scottish Royal Regalia (Which any king must wear if they wish to be King of Scots I say pal!), prison cells for misbehaving soldiers and the Scottish National War Memorial. During the Napoleonic War prisoners of war were lodged here for a while.  To keep them occupied and to provide for themselves they were allowed a weekly market.  here the citizens would buy the trinkets they made, exchange foodstuffs I believe and buy one of the facsimile Scottish pound notes that they sold to visitors for a few shillings.  Both sides happily enjoyed their profits from that line of work!

With the Great Hall once the dwelling of the Kings, the room in which Mary Queen of Scots brought James VI & I into the world, the many army museums which you must visit and of course the One O'Clock Gun, the Castle is a must visit for a tourist.  The views are wonderful also, although some complain that the gray cloud that covers the land on occasion might be a bit of a dampener, and I mean 'dampener!'  In Edinburgh it has been known to rain on occasion, accompanied by a west wind sent over from Glasgow to annoy us.  However usually being so high up it is possible to see forever, apart from the horizon getting in the way.  Of course as well over a million folks visit the place it might be crowded at times.  Just ask them if they are English, if so, chuck them over the wall, it's traditional!

It is interesting to note that of the dozen Heritage Attractions only one came from Scotland yet that one came out the clear winner.  Now I could draw conclusions here, couldn't I?   

Edinburgh Castle

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No time to post...

Anything sensible....

Today was to be a quiet day.  A late rise, about seven, a bath and it's not even Sunday, a big breakfast, make lentil soup, write things on history and sleep. The bath and soup occurred, but not at the same time, and a call from the museum took away my Saturday morning, but most of the other stuff did not get done.  How come?  

'Private Eye,' did fall through the letterbox and offer me another dose of corrupt MP's, bankers, businessmen, and local Councillors, to cheer me up.  There were some aspects of Cromwell that possibly had an advantage over what is called 'democracy.'

However I did work out all my Christmas needs and began to fill out the Christmas cards already! It may be that I have spent so much time in Tesco that I have been influenced just a bit too much by them!  

The shock of the day came when my sister told me my niece (49) has decided to have a stroke. Naturally this worried me, I thought I may have to spend money travelling north for a moment!  I think however she will be OK.  It appears to be mild, if there is such a thing, and in a few days we will have a better idea of the problem.  Damage does not look to bad and she talks well enough considering.

Tsk!  The things people do to you!  

I had planned such a skillful post for tonight also, now I have forgotten it.  More rubbish to follow tomorrow!

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I've Nothing to Say,

So here is a picture of a cat sitting under a car.

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A 'Penny' for your thoughts.

After the storm the world has returned to normal sadly.  A thousand children, plus mums, arrived in the museum before I woke up this morning.  Money was exchanged however, Kids and mums were happy, especially the two who got in for nothing, and the place was put back to normal quickly enough.  One mum phoned to book the kid in for an event and asked about 'Penny Farthings.'  We have one and tomorrow she and her kid can see one for herself.  What a great idea these were.  

The 'bone shaker,' that went before (pictured above, made by Lake & Elliot) enabled the eager rider to achieve a decent speed however the large 'Penny' wheel of the later bike gave their rider the speed advantage with no more effort.  Bright young things took to these willingly, even though the first 'Penny Farthings' bikes had a very simple brake which if handled badly left the rider far ahead of his bike!  These interesting creations were not found on tarmac roads such as we have today, the majority of the roads would be poor quality I suspect, and not very comfortable in winter. The 'Bone shaker' was well named! Of course the safety bicycle came along both these were left far behind.  The safety bike had wheels the same size, gears, and brakes.  No wonder it was safe, although it may well cost much more than a man's weekly wage.  Now I am in the mood to jump on my bike and race off down the road, oh dear, it's dark, I had better forget that idea for now.    

Note the broken brake (string) cable!

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A Good Dying Day!

For days they have been on TV and Radio informing us of the impending storm. The papers of course were hoping for another 'Hurricane' such as blew through in 1987, it did not arrive.  What did arrive was a storm indeed, houses were damaged, tall vehicles turned on their sides, trees fallen over, trains halted because of, "leaves in the line, attached to the tree," shop fronts damaged and lots of rain hammering into the already sodden earth.  Sadly at least four people were killed, two of them quite young.  

The media reports were desperate to build this up into a howling gale equal to 87, the fact that it failed did not stop the large pictures and hyped up reports. Certainly the wind reached 79 miles an hour around here this morning, it did make a mess of my hair, however little real damage occurred overall.  In the afternoon however I noted the remarkable clear sky.  The sun shining at an angle gave a very clear light.  The gale had stopped the Sainsbury's heavy lorries running around, the road traffic was lessened and aircraft were not landing at nearby Stansted. All this contributed to a clear sky along with the wind clearing the air and leaving an interesting sparkling light.  I attempted to capture this with my wee camera but it was not easy as no decent subject showed itself.  However the owl on top of the aged drinking fountain in the town did reflect the light brightly and the sky behind was a lovely blue.  It was the best I could do in the circumstances.  The drenched bench did not quite work.

It strikes me as unusual that this is almost November and the temperature is still mild.  Does this indicate the winter will be harsh from next month on I wonder?  Lasting until April probably? It may be the jet stream moving south may give us a mild winter, I hope so, just to annoy the energy people!

The title?  In Edinburgh such 'storms' are referred to as "A good drying day," by the housewifes.

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Museum's Twentieth Birthday!

It is twenty years since the museum moved into the old school.  Today as a small celebration we had old Austin Cars outside, Face painting (for kids!), a World War 2 group with lots of stuff, spider making for kids and other activities likely to bring in the punters.  Over two hundred wandered through.  

My day was spent rushing around obeying orders or talking to a variety of people about history, or children!  Do you understand how difficult it is to blow up balloons and attach them to a stick?  I do now!!!  All the high heid yins turned up for the presentation at the end, when we had chucked the public out, and cake and imitation champagne was the order of the day.  However I ended up washing the glasses once again.  Just where do the women disappear to when washing up time comes around?  

                                                            An Air Raid Warden on Duty.

Watching the man turn balloons into a variety of shapes for the kids was a great experience. Stupidly I forgot to take pictures of them as their faces were brilliant!  He and I wandered the streets giving out leaflets and offering such balloon creations to whoever wanted them.  No better way to disrupt the street market on a busy Saturday!   Now my feet and all else are killing me and I have tons of research bits to do.  A good day all round.

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Sergeant Edward James Cuming 1270898

Wellington

A few days ago Tony contacted me re his research of a downed Wellington Bomber, and in particular the Wireless Operator, Sergeant  Edward James Cuming (1270898). (note the spelling)  As always I find things such as this interesting in so many ways.  During Tony's research he discovered the wireless operator came from this area yet was not one of those mentioned on the Braintree and Bocking WW2 War Memorial site that I created.  That indeed intrigues!  I had no details of this man and it appears like so many others he has left little imprint on the area, although by 1939 Braintree had around 7500 of a population. From the details given I looked around but nothing comes up which always annoys me.  Plenty of RAF sites and some indication regarding the operations at the time but nothing re the man's home or family.  However it is indeed amazing what arises when you search 'Cuming!'  

The Bombers story commences at the RAF base at Protville in Tunisia at six thirty in the evening of the 16th September 1943.  It must be remembered that the Italian campaign had only just begun, Italy surrendering on the 3rd of September, the war at this time was far from over and victory uncertain, and the crew knew they were flying into heavily defended territory.  Nevertheless the Wellington Bomber, FU-K, of 458 Squadron (An RAAF, Royal Australian Air Force Squadron, flown by RAF personnel) headed out into the night on a routine scouting mission along the coast of Italy beginning at Civitavecchia and heading up to the Savona Gorjona islands from where they intended to turn towards Bastia in the north of Corsica, and then run down the coast of Sardinia and home. This appears to have been a common routine for this squadron at the time with the danger being clear as several others were shot down, alone, in similar fashion. Nothing was heard from the aircraft after take off and it did not return to base. One man's body was however recovered, Flight Sergeant E.L.Wilson, the second pilot, who now lies buried in the Florence War Cemetery. This indicates the plane came down as it approached or passed over the islands but the wreckage has so far not been discovered.  Was there engine trouble, did enemy fire deal with them, German anti aircraft fire was very effective, or did a night fighter bring them down?  The second pilot got out and possibly the rear gunner, why not the others?   If they got out they may have landed in the sea, and during the day this was hazardous, at night such a situation would be perilous!  No message was sent, does this indicate the wireless operator or his equipment were hit and put out of action?  German pilots entered details of their hits into the squadron log, I expect German efficiency required anti-aircraft guns to report in similar manner.  One day the details may hopefully be discovered

The crew of FU-K comprised:-

RAF FO Driver, P R Captain (Pilot)
RAF Sgt E L Wilson (2nd Pilot)
RAF FO Holt, G (Navigator)
RAF Sgt E J Cuming, (Wireless Operator)
RAF Sgt G R Potter, (SE/Operator)
Sgt D A E Salt, (Rear Gunner)

Driver, Holt, Potter and our man E.J. Cuming, are commemorated on the RAF Malta memorial to those missing in the the Mediterranean area. Wilson in the Florence Cemetery and it appears no record can be found re Sgt D.A.E. Salt, possibly he survived, but like so many other war mysteries it may never be known what happened to him. He, like so many others, remains 'Known unto God.'

With so little details regarding Sgt Cuming it would be good for Tony to discover more about this man and his family. Sadly people often leave so little trace and no details of their lives are ever found. The hope is one day more information will arise. I have placed Edward James Cuming on our memorial along with two others who were not placed on the official memorial by their relatives. On occasion there are good and various reasons the names are withheld. It would be good to know why those omitted were left off the memorial also.

RAF Memorial Malta

E-Mail Woes!

I'm having a wee bit of trouble with e-mail.  Some comments have been landing in the Spam folder for some reason.  It took me a moment to realise this.  This is unusual as normally comments go through straight away without bother.  Add to this one of my four e-mails, I use them for different purposes, often hangs for no reason, that is the Microsoft one, and the ISP email, where all the spam normally lands, is once again finding spam for me.  Now Yahoo is the e-mail I use for contact via my War Memorial websites, and the woman in charge, it had to be a woman, has changed the thing and upset the regulars.  The colour is OK with me but I am having great difficulties working the blasted thing.  One contact has been asking about a missing aircraft and when I attempt to reply I am finding it very difficult.  Three times he has answered and with each attempt to reply I am flustered more and more.  It was simple enough before, bah!

On the other hand where would we be without E-Mail?  It is the easiest way to keep in touch, useful for imparting knowledge, humour, and in my case rubbish!  It also saves time wasted in phone calls.  E-mails can be read and left to be dealt with later, phone calls cannot.  I suppose all the rich with their iPods and Tablets live their lives without e-mail as I know it these days.  This however does not appear to be my way forward, not at the price of those items!

  

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Renovation

The Death Trap Whisky Bond

For some reason today I contemplated my first job, way back in 1966 before you were born, and made the strange discovery that almost all my previous workplaces had disappeared!  The whisky bond where I singularly failed to make any impression moved shortly afterwards outside of Edinburgh. The death trap building itself may well stand down the bottom of Leith Walk but I have no idea if it remains in use.  Wooden floors, stairs and tons of cardboard boxes mixed with a vat of whisky and thousands of bottles of the stuff do not enable Health & Safety men to sleep at night.  Having departed before being encouraged to leave I moved to Slateford Road where a company making biscuit tins and their plastic inserts paid me almost £6 a week to prove I was not cut out for that job. The company realised that making the inserts was more profitable than the tins and last I heard were developing that side of the business.  The do not exist today.

W&P

Today a modern housing development that greased somebody's hand stands there.  In the modern world 15 and 16 year old's seldom find employment, the government keeps them at school to avoid paying them dole money, but in the past companies throughout the land were employing feckless youth who took the money, chatted up the women unsuccessfully and offered little in return, at least that's what the company secretary told me with an uncompromising stare.

Shortly after this conversation I found work at the brewery.

Tenents Heriot Brewery

Here I remained almost four years, enjoyable years at that.  The work was not difficult, even I could do it, the women threw themselves at me, well if you used a can or two of 'Husky Export' that is, and when my life changed I departed for London and a new life.  The people, almost all of whom I actually got on with, gathered together sufficient funds to pay a one-way train ticket to London for me.  Wasn't that nice?  Now the one time brewery, not far from Tynecastle Park home of the world famous Heart of Midlothian, is a block of overpriced flats.  So that's three jobs where the company has found the premises demolished after I left.  This cannot go on can it...?

After a year of London life, where I found a church where Jesus would speak to me and a job with a charity rehousing folks, I came back to what appeared to be old fashioned Edinburgh, well it was 1972!  The shops shut at five in the evening whereas in London they stayed open longer and one worked 24 hours! After a few months away it seemed so boring to a 20 year old.  I was employed eventually at a Cash & Carry where I happily upset people daily.  Deciding to do something a bit more worthy I embarked on a healing career by joining the Royal Infirmary as an orderly.  Here I was so good the other wards attempted to head hunt me!  I wish they had!  While happy at the time I discovered just how difficult women could be to work with.  Until then I had found no trouble working however in this ward bitchiness from the sister towards her superiors and to her nursing staff did not enable a happy atmosphere.  The patients, even the female ones were better behaved, there again I suppose Sister had the needles!  I returned to the Cash & Carry for another year or two.  Both the Royal Infirmary and the Cash & Carry have been redeveloped!  That's five jobs and five redevelopments, so far.  Naturally I should add the building we resided in while working for the charity London no longer operates as we did.  Our 'Hippy' like approach did not go down to well and that place is now someones home.  The organisation has become another council and who knows what goes on with them today!  The old hospital now has many grand flats, for the rich.  

In 1975 it was important to return to that church in London.  This meant leaving the family that I missed, especially those lovely nieces, how hard that was, and found a few months work in a highways depot in Finchley.  That is now a small housing estate.  After a few months I moved to a slum in Swiss Cottage, since redeveloped, and worked at Maida Vale Hospital for several years. 

This was my best ever employment.  Whether the others agree I know not but this place still appears in my dreams at times.  Happy place to work, something new each day and the people on the whole good to me.  Working amongst the long term sick and others dying gives a differing view of the world.  On occasion this place appears in my dreams and I suspect appear in the ladies dreams also.....what..oh!  The hospital is now a block of flats.

Sadly my long years which followed at Selfridges, in the vans, warehouse and then dreadful office, did not result in the stores imminent collapse.  Maybe I was unnoticed there?  Running from that dead end to temp work and eventually I escaped to the wilderness of Essex.  Here those who employed me know about it.  One closed the warehouse and moved, actually two did that.  One almost collapsed but thanks to cost cutting, e.g dumping staff, survived and one was badly run then collapsed, one lost the account and died and Royal Mail has been sold off in a disgraceful manner and soon will become like the private energy companies, greedy, expensive and out of control. 

How strange I find that so many places that once saw me wandering about in a dream no longer exist.  Was it ever thus I wonder.....?  

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