A Day Out

The museum took all the volunteers for a day out today, a trip up the road to the Finchingfield Guildhall.  Finchingfield is described by some as the 'prettiest village in England,' and the description is indeed fitting.  The village, or at least a settlement of some sort has existed here since at least the days of the Normans and evidence of a Roman villa lies nearby.  Agriculture was the main occupation and ancillary occupations provided for the needs of the village.  The Guildhall was erected in 1470, not for wealthy merchants but as a religious order, the 'Guild of the Holy Trinity.'  Here a priest was employed, the black marks from his tapers are preserved on some of the beams, the members met, with due ceremony to pray for one another along with other activities.  

The rooms downstairs held what are thought to have been shops to pay for the running of the building, and later the building housed almshouses for the poor. A school for boys run by the priest was one of only four in Essex at the time. All this in a village that was not the richest, the beams used are not the best and indicate cost cutting during erection.  The west end of the building dipped at one point, water running of from the church behind possibly the cause, but while shored up the dip was never mended, it remains still.  

Glass would not have been used in days gone past, large wooden shutters would keep out the cold but no evidence for heating the original building has been found.  In 1548 the guilds were abolished and the hall went on a seemingly downward spiral.  In 1627 the main landowner, Sir Robert Kemp bought the building adding a wing and a huge fireplace at the far end, later he sold it for £50 to the village.  He then used that money to set aside three fields to support the running of the hall and provide for the education needs.  

The entrance to the church is through the Guildhall doorway, shops on either side would happily greet those passing through, and no doubt pay a higher rent! One part of this acted as a lock up for the drunks and baddies of the day.    

The church of St John the Baptist stands behind the Guildhall and appears to have originated in the 13th century.  It has been developed somewhat since! Today rich folks flaunting their wealth and position buy fancy cars, houses, football teams and newspapers, in the past the people gave to the church, for their souls protection and local pride.  

The tomb of this rich lass features several 'Beadsmen,' employed to pray for her soul.  She died while the wife of a rich man and while her name is on the tomb his was left off, as he then married another his name remains absent.  Not unusual to find this on tombs from the past. The church possesses 'Rood screens one in the chapel dating from 1350, the other in the main church from a hundred years later.  I always find myself standing in such buildings trying to imagine the people who past through during those 800 or so years.  Many had as little knowledge of scripture as people today, some priests indeed being unable to read let alone inform the people what the book said!  At least during the halls time some effort at education occurred.  

This particular church is clearly Anglo Catholic, the smell of wax hits you as you enter.  The building inside is large and today quite cold, indeed it was warmer outside where the sun shone over the frost covered fields.  They are proud of the organ, not may favourite instrument, and a selection of memorials are found there, one chapel given over the the 'Ruggles-Brise,' soldiers of fame and clearly influential in the area.  

There is always one of these chaps on the old churches!  No idea who he is nor if there was another on the other side as I was being harassed by women.  A church visit requires a certain amount of time and at least a short (free) history, it does not require females insisting we rush back to the coach!  Bah! At least it was a great way to spend a couple of hours.  Interesting buildings, good people, tea and cake, and a few pictures and a chance to get out of town into the bright countryside where the sun glinted of the frost and the mist lay in the distance at the bottom of the hill. 

Oh and there is a war memorial down there, opposite the duck pond.

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The World Tonight

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Fresh Air

Today I decided to return to a lifestyle from the past.  I had begun to wonder what difference it made whether I listened to the world or not.  That is my reading of the press, all covering the same story mostly in the same small minded manner, the radio with the questioners ignoring the answers and the interviewee lying in his or her teeth, and the TV talking about some happening on a soap opera or a Saturday night 'spectacular.'  I remember that in 1978 I got rid of the TV and went without until 1986, and then mostly for the football and news only.  During the time I read a lot, certainly the bible was the main source but other things also, and of course I sauntered of eagerly and daily to work.  To me that is fresh air from the pap that claims us daily.  So I thought let us improve my life by using only the BBC website, or short bulletins for news and spend some time working out what we are here for.  We are certainly not here just to linger over the 'fear' on offer from the 'Daily Mail,' nor the dross on offer elsewhere.  Listening to George Osborne the other morning was not doing my head any favours, the steam also covering the windows in condensation, and I can do without he or missing out on real life. Switching his nonsense off produced an opportunity to experience 'fresh air!' 
The only way we can change parliamentarians is by contacting them and expressing our views, and not expecting any change there, or by voting in an appropriate manner.  Recently I contacted our Tory MP and threw in the thought that he was 'very brave voting for the 'bedroom tax' with UKIP being so strong in this area,'  and letting the thought sink in.  Be nice but catty I say.  Will anything change?  No.  It lets him know how some feel however.  The only other changes we can make are within the areas around us and within our competences.  We cannot change 'The' world, but we can change 'the world around us.'  
The best way to change the world is by inner change within our selves.  For me this means allowing Jesus to change me, for while I assume myself to be perfect the strong desire to strangle the woman in front of me at the supermarket this morning indicates a shortfall in the patience department, though I was right!  A quick bible check indicates placing her in a trolley and sending her down the slope was the incorrect response.  I believe she was recovered just outside of Chelmsford.  Having proved I may require adjustment I feel the constant negativity of the media does not help.  Often I see the troubles of the world and look up at the sky above, the clouds continue whatever the situation, seasons roll on, time passes and our troubles are smaller than they appear, mostly. While serious situations arise contemplating eternity, and the creator thereof appears to me to be a better option than allowing the world to crush us.  He has seen it all before and knows where it is heading. He has a plan, using  a shopping trolley in an inappropriate manner apparently is not part of this plan.      

The view is from Cramond, looking over the Forth to the distant Ochil Hills.
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Now What?

I awoke, early, and rested my tired eyes further listening to liars, the devious and the self seeking on the wireless telling us how wonderful the world is under their government, opinions, ideas and, er, art! As a bleary gray blue light crept slowly into the clouds outside I trudged unwillingly through to the East Wing for a sumptuous healthy breakfast of bacon rolls.  As the bacon burnt sizzled in the pan I started the laptop.  All went well until I attempted to login to the outside world.  No connection!  The bacon fat spat less loudly than I did at this point! "Gosh, golly," I said, "This is inconvenient at this time." So I stuffed my fat face while grease dribbled down me while I watched the mindless Breakfast TV on offer. Why do these people manage to make news so uninspiring?  BBC would rather talk about film stars and bulimic girls while Sky spends the whole time on one story, today the rather sad story of the missing three year old in Edinburgh.  Journalism wherefore art thou mush?  
After breakfast I returned to the laptop wishing I had swallowed some of those tablets women get on TV programmes.  I prayed, then began the brute once again.  Problems on a PC are bad enough, but not getting a connection was like being held incognito, I must however admit I have no idea where incognito actually lies, possibly Italy I imagine! 
According to the Laptop Windows the modem was not connecting.  After some considerable time of fiddling with things I fell back on the old remedy of turning it off and on like windows had told me to. Still no help.  Gulp!  I turned it off and waited longer, and once again (Hooray) it sprang, slowly, to life and allowed me my life back.  It was at this point I decided I must get that old PC fixed!  So now the laptop has served me through the day I make plans for rushing into town tomorrow and visiting PC World. I will find what I need there and get to work immediately, sort off.  This is indeed an emergency and nothing, absolutely nothing, will hold me back!
Late this afternoon an emergency call from the museum means I must go in at ten a.m. tomorrow morning, just when I should be on my bus.  Volunteers, you canny trust them!  At least I can now consider what I am doing on the broken PC properly rather than rush off and buy what looks the right thing.  
My life is so exciting, don't you think.....?

Nothing Happened Again....

Nothing happened again!  Just as well as I felt lousy all day and ate almost nothing.  The skies were gray, occasional rain fell, the streets are damp and the above represents the brightest spot!

Bah!  

Nothing happened, except one of the tiles I put back on the wall fell off again.

The dust settled happily on everything,

The dwelling stinks so I open the window and the cold goes through, I shut the window and it stinketh.  There is a problem in such old houses with a kind of mustiness that comes from ageing timbers and things under the floorboards and in the roof, I think a small damp spot has arrived high up also.  I need to climb up inside and look around, I will know doubt fall through the ceiling when I do!  

The market was even more boring than ever as so many stall take the month off.  Some of these poor hard up stallholders disappear to Hawaii or Guam to sun themselves while we suffer.  No doubt one or two will be grumbling in Australia also.  

The papers were boring, George Osborne talking tough is boring and meaningless, PMQs a waste of time, and no-one has done my ironing yet! Where are all the women I ask?

Boring, gray, sick, weary........

What?.....oh!

  

Now There's a Strange Thing....

My bleary eyes were not deceiving me as I struggled to keep them open this morning, the bar on Google Chrome was mixed up.  I checked on the Firefox browser and all was well there, but Chrome was very strange.
It appears that for reasons of its own links long dumped were resurrected and added to what was there now.  Several folders are on the Bookmarks Bar and one or two of these were also stuffed with long forgotten links!  Aye Aye though I, is this a virus, Malware or just Chrome doing its own thing?  I know not but have deleted the excess, except Jazz Radio as I deleted that because it was blocked by something unknown but now works!  These old inks go back at least a year, so where did they come from?  Tsk!  As I was rushing out to the museum I had no time or patience to work this out, now I am too knackered! Hopefully it has now fixed itself.  Running the usual checks produced nothing. I am putting most of my links onto Firefox, Chrome is faster but very 'thin.'
Have you noticed the strange additions to Google?  Links rush out from either side, unwelcomed by me, and irritate by offering me links I do not want or need!  Anyone know how to dump them?   I do wish they would not 'improve' things unless they are an improvement.     

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Today's Lunch....

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Sunday Lunch

Friends were around today, yes I know you thought I didn't have any, and they treated me to lunch at the local 'Brewers fare,' on the edge of town.  How lovely to eat properly and not have to pay!  How lovely to listen to two old (very old) friends, my spiritual mentor and wife, my second family in fact. Sitting in the busy place scoffing food and just being with folks you see oh so rarely was a most enjoyable experience, even if I missed the Inverness v Dundee United game because of it!  Roast beef that was not burned, a vast choice of veg, huge salad bowls and an excellent Guinness made the lunch perfectly acceptable.  It does show however the cords I wore are shrinking hanging in the cupboard. Some folks don't like such places, I suppose they can afford better, but we are not choosy or rich and having had nothing can enjoy something better than nothing quite well.  It was indeed a very busy place.  This couple I owe a great deal to, so much that I could never repay, and naturally I told them I would not bother in that case.  Having known them since 1971 and watched the family grow up, we will not go into the natural bother that brats cause, it always leaves me with a warm glow inside after being with them.  They had come up to stay with an old friend of theirs who now resides in the town, he runs a small church here, and naturally wanted to ensure I was not yet dead.  I am glad they are concerned for my welfare although it may be they consider I have money hidden under my mattress of course, they are from Aberdeen after all.  Hold on while I check under the mattress.

There was of course a problem!  She wished to buy boots!  Now I don't know about you but buying shoes with a woman takes a lot of time, and I have previous with this one.  However we trundled along to the Freeport Outlet Centre and headed for any, indeed all, the shoe shops.  This place is overpriced in my opinion, supposedly cheap stock yet costs more on sale than anything I would buy normally!  I decided to take my stand outside while they ventured in to shop number one.  This was advisable as I recalled the day we went into Southampton to buy her sandals one hot summers day years ago.  Her favourite shop is John Lewis, though it has a different name down there, we ventured in, me expecting a short stay and then moving on to the rest of the world, she 'just browsing,' he ready 'to help'.  There was perusing, both him and her, while I sat and waited looking at the assistants enjoying the view. After half an hour she was trying sandals on, boxes appeared, suspiciously piling up beside her.  About an hour later the room darkened as the boxes blocked the light from the windows as they continued the search.  Much later I was asleep when the security man woke me up muttering something about 'Going home time sir.' The lights were going out, staff putting their coats on and they still 'discussed' which pair to select.  A pair, I know not what, was chosen paid for and we left, much relief all round.  As the car headed for home I heard her say "You know I think I preferred the gray ones....." 

To avoid being arrested for loitering I remained outside the shop today as when I did enter the price tags hurt me badly.  "It's cheaper in Tesco," I muttered several times but no-one was listening.  Crowds mobbed the place leaving me to wonder how sad their lives were that a shopping centre was the place to go on a Sunday.  Now sometimes there are jolly good practical reasons to be there but surely, especially for those with kids, there must be better ways to spend a chilly afternoon?  The majority of us work for five days of the week, Saturdays are usually free for such activities and surely Sunday can be a day to do something different?  Maybe it's just me.  As I sat I mused about murder as adolescents screamed their way around, giggled at young parents attempts to control toddlers enjoying the chance to run in and out of doorways, I sniggered at men clearly dragged away from the football/pub/DIY/to the joy of shopping, I stared into the cloudy sky at the tree for about an hour while she entered 'Hobbits' or whatever it is called for the second time.  Once I suddenly remember, on a day long ago, I left them in M&S or C&A or similar while I wandered around their town.  Up the street, down the street, round unusual corners, back and forth, here and there and when I returned much later they still had not bought anything and were at the same spot!  

Without this couple I might not be alive.  They have had such an influence on my life.  Many others have passed through their hands in the days they ran a church and could say similar.  Their clear honest, self sacrificing 'love,' not love of the falsely sentimental kind, has resulted in the world being a better place through those who have met them.  Their retirement, such as it is, still brings benefit to people as it did to me today.  For once, including the shopping, I have no grumbles and no complaints and sleep peacefully (though I did get to watch the other football later).    

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Squawking Saturday!

I like Blogger.  Since beginning this drivel several years ago Blogger has brought me into contact with many strange and far flung parts of the world. The system is simple, like me, easy to use, accepts pictures usually without difficulty and is easy to read.  There are a variety of templates and I find it somewhat better than the much praised 'WordPress.'  However every so often things happen, as they do with Google owned items.  Today I notice the wee line at the top, the one where you sign in, move to the 'next blog,' and all that has disappeared.  Actually I noticed this last week but thought it just Chrome playing up (Chrome also owned by Google!).  Why have they done this?  Is there a reason?  Is there a fault?  Do they think they will make money from this action?  Usually that is the only reason they do anything.  I note also that on the Google page on the browser we now have links forced upon us jumping out for no good reason whether we like it or not, and I don't!  Who suggested this? I certainly didn't!  Get back to how things were and stop annoying me will you???

Community?  What Community?  Every TV commentator, police spokesman or half wit that appears on air talks about 'Community!'  The shooting of  a black gangster has caused much resentment in the 'community,' or so we are told. Now regarding that situation I am somewhat skeptical.  A violent drug seller who gets shot by the police while possessing a gun is not a reason for rioting in my humble view. The fact that he was black is irrelevant here, many blacks would agree but will wisely not speak out. However what is the 'community?' The word first became the word to use in the early 80's.  You will recall the riots in Brixton, Liverpool and elsewhere.  You will also note no petrol bombs were thrown in Glasgow, Edinburgh or Aberdeen, at that price no-one there was going to waste petrol on a few bombs! It was in those riots that 'Black Community Leaders,' came to the fore, others soon followed.  Who elected these people?  Not me, you or indeed the 'community' they represented.  As always they were the ones on the make willing to serve the 'community.'  No-one elected or chose them.  Now the word 'community' appears everywhere as hacks are too lazy to use other words, words such as town, city, area or district. PC PC's use the word constantly as it helps them climb the constabulary ladder, TV news folks use it because they only read the prompt, written by a lazy hack, politicians use it as they do every other word, with double meaning and only to avoid repercussions upon themselves.  

There is NO community!  There are towns and villages, cities and areas where people live but don't lets pretend there is 'community' there where human beings reside!  Certainly some areas are friendlier than others, some places are a joy to reside in, some are not, some contain many friendly people but all contain miserable selfish types also, both amongst the rich and the poor.  Let us drop all the PC terminology and let us instead talk only about 'people,' they after all  matter, not an imaginary 'community!'

I'm feeling a little 'liverish' today.  I realised this when I wandered through Tesco and dumped one of the rude customers inside the 'Birds Eye' freezer compartment, used a chainsaw on a chap who attempted to pick up a five pence piece I dropped, then detached the head from a woman with a trolley when she rudely barged past me.  I was remarkably calm and patient through the Heart of Midlothian's game with Motherwell however, except for that incident with my neighbour and the cheese slicer.  Maybe my diet requires changes.....

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Lt. Col. T. Gibbons, D S.O. Wee Book.

With the 1/5th Essex in the East.

by Lt. Col. T. Gibbons, D S.O.

There is nothing like first hand accounts of an incident or occasion and Lt. Col. Gibbons book gives us a fascinating insight into the 1/5th Essex Regiments time during the Great War.  The Colonel makes no pretence to be an author, well educated though he was, he merely wishes to put on record, before it is forgotten by himself and lost in the peace that followed.  His book emerged in 1921, soon after the conflict, and covers his beloved battalion as they took on the Turks, Austrians and Germans, and anyone else who got in their way!

In 1909 the British Army was reorganised on a more modern footing.  Local regiments, and the local connection was strong, regiments were divided into two battalions, one would serve at home for three to five years and the other abroad.  The local Militia were transformed into the more professional but part time Territorial Force with the aim of defending the homeland in time of invasion.  A third element was the army based in India giving a total membership of just under half a million men.  General Haig, who assisted Lord Haldane during the reorganisation demanded a million men as all generals saw the German war approaching, he was to be disappointed!
Essex had its two battalions and added to each were the Territorials.  Each was linked to the first battalion and in this town we had the proud 'F' Company of the 1/5th Battalion Essex Regiment.
The militaristic attitudes of the time, in which Imperialism was the order of the day, was felt strongly here as elsewhere.  Young men enjoyed the comradeship and adventure, plus the 'holiday' of camping during training days while playing at soldering.  Such men had few other outlets for their energy in the days before the First World War, money was short, work hours were long, and all were admired by the girls when in uniform!  The 5th had its HQ in Chelmsford and many local towns supplied a 'company' for the Battalion. 

When war was declared on August 4th 1914 the 5th were at Clacton on the summer exercises as part of the Eastern Division.  For the next few months confusion reigned as the nation geared up for a long awaited but unexpected war.  The main issue at the time was the possibility of civil war in Ireland, the major European was came as a surprise.  When things settled down in 1915 the regiment was on home defence duties in East Anglia.  Many had volunteered for overseas service despairing that the war would be over before they were overseas, the duty of 'home service' was seen as 'demeaning' by many. However by July they were aware action in the East, most likely Gallipoli awaited them and on the 22nd they left Plymouth Docks full of excitement for the Mediterranean.  Those who remained were the older married men destined for home defence alongside those considered too unfit or too young for action.  Their turn would come later.  The Battalion sailing as part of the renamed 54th (Eastern Division) was 29 Officers and 649 other ranks strong.  It was said many were young men, too many actually younger than they ought to have been for active service!  The then Major Gibbons joined the S.S 'Grampian' with the rest under the command of Lt Col. J.M. Welch. T.D.

The Gallipoli campaign was a shambles.  Churchill, as First Lord of the Admiralty joined with others in pushing for an attack on the Dardanelles by aged Battleships of the British and French fleets thereby forcing Turkey to surrender.  An absurd idea spoiled somewhat by the sinking of two ships and damaging of several others.  Some time later General Sir Ian Hamilton was sent out to attack the peninsula, he had no staff, no maps, no aerial photography and no army!  By the time he had arrived the small bad of Turks occupying the area had been massively reinforced, strong defences installed and the Turks were defending their homeland, and 'Johnny Turk' proved to be a very determined and competent soldier not given to running away!
The battalion landed on Suvla Bay on August 10th while serious fighting roared on the heights above them.  For the next 17 weeks the battalion along with the rest of the Division fought high on the hills, losing men to bullet and shell but mostly to disease.  The difficulty of burial in the hard ground, unsanitary conditions, flies swarming over the food all led to serious dysentery which laid the toughest men low.  The fighting on the hills lasted from the heat of autumn into the floods and snow of December when the battalion was relieved and headed for Egypt.  Of the 649 men and 29 officers who landed in August only 100 men and six officers had 'stood it' for the whole time.

The battalion moved to Egypt where it took a small part in guarding the railway during the short 'Senussi rebellion in 1916.  After Gallipoli their duties here were not onerous and Gibbons, by now Commanding Officer after replacing the wounded Welch, found time to visit a few historical landmarks and reveal his knowledge and reading of history.  The men also did such activities although many preferred the few miles walk to the beach for sea bathing!  At the end of this time Gibbons took his men to the far end of the Suez canal defences where they toiled making trenches in thin sand.  Their language at this point is not mentioned!  The sand is fine, much finer than elsewhere it appears and ruins everything, especially your 'Bully Beef.'  However being in such a place meant patrolling the Sinai looking for Turks encroaching.  Night patrols could easily get lost and attempts were made to find the way home by the Polar Star, taking the young men from Essex into a world far removed from that they had known.  These men probably never travelled far from where they were born, although rail travel had encouraged many to move, however the idea that one day they would traverse a desert was unlikely to be one they grew up with.  

During March 1917 the battalion now with a strength of around a thousand men marched along the coast of Sinai towards the Holy Land.  So impressed with this is Colonel Gibbons that he devotes a short chapter to those who previously marched this way.  Abraham, Egyptians, Hittites, Assyrians, Babylonians, Persians, and Muslim armies all made their way back and forth, now the 5th Essex joined the unseen throng.  The Colonel rejoices in this, biblical knowledge, probably along with a classical education enabled him to note the History of the world around him and it is clear he really enjoyed this!  
However at the end of the march the battalion once again returned to the fight.  The many replacements who joined no doubt included wounded or sick from Gallipoli who had recovered, others were less experienced and thorough training had been undergone at Suez.  The men were now fit, disciplined and regarded themselves as an efficient fighting force.  Their chance came at the First Battle of Gaza.  Here they, alongside the sister battalion the 1/4th Essex, were deployed to attack Green Hill, while the 6th and 7th Essex attacked to their right.  Some 4000 yards of bare ground had to be covered, cover did not exist anywhere yet the men pressed on and as they came within range casualties were indeed heavy.  Colonel Gibbons himself was shot in the thigh and could only lie their watching proudly as his men did not hesitate until they took the enemy position.  All however was in vain.  The 'fog of war' led the Generals in charge to fear for their outstretched force and they called a halt at the very moment victory was at hand.  It all had to be done again, twice!  The second battle was a rushed affair in which the 5th took little part and led to a change of leadership when General Murray, competent and successful up to this time was replaced by General Allenby, sent out after his Arras attack had ended. His stature however enabled more constructive planning for the third battle in which the 5th took a major part.  Their attack, this time from shoreline of the Mediterranean took them into the enemy positions and after heavy fighting and many losses Gaza was taken.  Colonel Gibbons had returned in time for the battle only to be hit once more in the hands.  Heading for medical aid in the dark misty atmosphere he was not easily recognised and was amused when he overheard one man complain "It's not right sending old boys like him out to fight!"  

Gibbons describes the 5th adventures as they head north along the coast, past Jaffa and the many orange orchards, fighting the last great battle of Megiddo and the continued journey north following the Calvary who raced ahead bagging thousands of surrendering Turks.  Allenby had sprung a surprise by feinting to attack over the Jordan towards Damascus and instead sent the cavalry over Mount Carmel through Haifa and routed the enemy.  The 5th marched north through Lebanon and soon the war against the Turkish forces was over and thoughts turned to home!  On November 11th 1918 the armistice in Europe was declared but few men rejoiced.  Happy that the war was over and glad to know they would soon be home they also counted the cost of the men left behind on Gallipoli, Gaza and elsewhere.  Not all had been found and identified, not all lay in a decent grave.  Soldiers memories never leave them though they cannot reveal them to non soldiers, sometimes the soldier cannot allow himself to remember his war.

Throughout this book we see a man of his time.  An educated middle class officer, proud to be British and proud of the way his men stuck with extremely difficult situations and 'stuck it like Britons' at that! His stiff upper lip, his understanding and care for his men shine through as does his desire to do the best for all he meets.  His job was to fight this war and do his duty properly, he may have to kill but he would rather be at peace, and attitude many soldiers still carry.  He understood the pain and suffering of war but just got on with the job, determined to do whatever must be done no matter the cost.  The impression left is of an officer who a soldier would be happy have as leader, especially a territorial soldier.  While not a professional writer he writes a book that takes you into the mind and heart of a Territorial Officer of the day.  This book gives witness to the action of the 5th Essex, it also gives witness to the man.  This book is worth a read for that alone.  He wrote his memoirs so that the sacrifice of his men should never be forgotten and I doubt he ever forgot them himself.  His books dedication reads, 

'To my Comrades, 

on both sides of the veil.'    

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Tawse

There was an interesting discussion with a couple of chaps who visited the museum today.  Like many visitors the visit took a couple of hours to wander about, getting involved in some of the displays.  One, became interested in the Victorian death rituals, the black crape made by Courtauld's being a massive seller in those days, and the other being a recently retired teacher found the Victorian classroom interesting and talk got round to the use of 'the cane.'  In England the cane was much used to install discipline into recalcitrant brats, and in public schools possibly to train them for high office and oskuokuhyl&$fhs£njhjuvfdevgtlcdo (censored by the editor).  Anyway the ex-teacher informed us he had only once used such an implement and did not desire to do so again.  My first thought was that he was not in one of the rougher areas of this world!  He clearly was a decent man and most probably a good teacher and I recalled the best teachers we had were men who cared for the lads and used the belt very hard!  The 'Lochgelly Tawse,' so called because they were manufactured in the Fife resort of Lochgelly, (the term 'resort' is not to be taken at face value)  and was used instead of a cane by all Scots teachers.  As I said the better teachers used it and used it well and we liked them a lot in spite of this! We ended up as dumb as we began but some teachers stick in the memory for their efforts.  The belt ended its days after a woman in Cowdenbeath, just round the corner from Lochgelly, claimed some sort of human rights injunction after her adolescent son suffered six of the best for his misdemeanours.  The court ruled in her favour and indiscipline has ruled the nation ever since! While many can learn with discipline based on other means there is a hard core who will never change, the vast number of pupils banned from classes proves this.  The use of the belt enabled control and allowed teaching to continue, even the brat blowing on his hands could still learn, no need for separate tuition!  On the rare occasion the teachers unjustly offered me the opportunity to receive this tawse my loving parents, if they knew about this, would ask "What had I done?" Once informed the attitude was "That served you right!"  If only they had met that woman from Cowdenbeath and her delinquent, advice on child rearing was available for free!  I wonder how the mannie who made these straps survived the loss of earnings, did she ever think of that I wonder? 

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

Now I am not one to complain, everyone knows that.  However in the months leading up to Christmas I have been inundated with chancers informing me that I must re-insert my details, so the thieving crooks can rib me.  Ninety percent of these pretend to be from Nat West Bank in some form or another. Not only do I get them daily I am getting three or four at a time some days, all Nat West! Occasionally they change to 'Smile,' or 'HSBC,' but mostly it is 'Nat West' customers who appear to be so stupid as to reply to a document that does not contain their name, account number or any other authenticating details.  We all for for them at times but come now!

Eusebio one of the great footballers has died at the age of 71 from heart problems.  A sad end to a great player and a great man.  Mozambique born he qualified to play for Portugal where he spent his time playing for Benfica, making them one of the 60's most powerful sides.  He played in cup finals, European Championships and was regarded as second only Pele!  During the 1966 World Cup Portugal found themselves three nothing down to a then popular North Korea.  I was one of many who saw Eusebio take the game by the scruff of the neck, score four of Portugal's five goals and rob Pak Do Ik and all of their moment.  It was an astonishing feat at the time.  Only rarely were football matches televised in the 60's but a friendly between Manchester United and Benfica was shown one night. Nothing much about this friendly game sticks in the mind bar one free kick.  The ball was placed about fifteen yards inside the Benfica half and Eusebio lined up to take it.  I recall commentator Kenneth Wolstenholme exclaiming, "I think he is going to shoot, he is!." The Manchester United goal was in the other half off the field!  Eusebio did indeed have a seventy five yard effort on goal and this shot went straight and true slipping a few inches past the post!  He would never have scored but it was a fabulous effort!  This man played 745 matches scoring 733 goals, a feat few will ever equal if any!  One of the world's great players.

George is laughing again!  He has told of his intention to cut £12 .5 Billion mostly from the Welfare budget.  How interesting that the 'Daily Mail' readership, who vote for this, will be impressed but not as much as the corporate tax dodgers who will be left untouched with their millions.  Robbing the poorest is easier than taxing the rich, who are Georges friends. There is around about £100 Billion available if George stooped tax dodging, but this is easier and a sure vote winner!  Rob the poor and pay the rich, it's the Conservative way!

Is climate change causing problems?  Around 1966 I noted a small story in the 'Edinburgh Evening News, in the days when that was a newspaper, mentioning that the Polar Ice Caps were melting. How come it has taken so long before action results?  Many time politicians have gathered to discuss the climate, notes were made, agreements reached and almost nothing has occurred, except climate change!  The US is suffering a great ice age this week, the weather stream comes all the way across the Atlantic and reaches far into the Mediterranean.  Snow, rain, storms, mixed with high tides, all bring trouble and yet we still think climate change is a lie.  We have had our share of rain, but no floods, and I feel for those who have seen large areas of normally dry land disappear under four or five feet or river water.  The ongoing effects will never leave them.  Oh and it's raining as I speak!

  

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Saturday Night Music

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Ah, Oor Wullie and the Broons!

I've been doing my teeth no good whatsoever by stuffing, with both hands, into my gob the 'Oor Wullie,' 'Scottish Butter Fudge' that my favourite, best looking and most intelligent niece gave me at Christmas. This combines several Scots habits in one,  there is 'Oor Wullie,' himself, sweets eaten by the ton, and teeth eroding as you eat!  Scots dentists always have work!  The fudge is available in many guises but here is presented as a money maker for D.C. Thomson's, the great Dundee press giant, as they like to be known.  'Oor Wullie,' is a cheeky chappie character developed in the late thirties by the D.C.Thomson Comics editor R.D. Low.  He it was who produced comics such as 'The Hotspur' and 'The Wizard,' in the twenties and thirties.  He also later introduced 'The Dandy,' 'The Beano' and 'The Topper.'  Low introduced an eight page comic section into the 'Sunday Post,' Thomson's 'family paper,' these were the wee rascal 'Oor Wullie,' based on the typical young boy of the day, and the family called 'The Broons.' While 'Wullie stayed with his family in a ground floor of an unidentified town the Broons were tenement dwellers in an industrial city, very like Dundee. The strips began in 1936 and reflected much of Scots life of the day, my family of six emerged from a tenement in 1953 to dwell in a modern flat, allowing me to understand something of the 'Broons' plight.  His cartoonist was a famous man Dudley D. Watkins.   Watkins illustrated and created many strips for the Thomson comics working for them from 1925 until he died from a heart attack at his drawing board in 1969.  His popularity and importance was such that he was one of two only cartoonists allowed to sign their work!   His attitude to Mr Hitler and his expansionist policies were reflected in the strips and it is said he was on Hitler's list of those to be dealt with.  

'The Broons' and 'Oor Wullie,' are part of every Scots kids life, even though most of the other comics have closed down.  As such there is great trade in sending annuals, sometimes facsimiles of old editions, to ex-pat Scots to remind them of home.  Some would say the 'Sunday Post,' is the reason they left in the first place!  These are not cartoons that cause much laughter today for me but the characters enshrined I have known in past times, but the world moves on and the hardships of the pre-war era reflected have been eradicated for the majority.  It could be said many fail to comprehend a family life where both a mum and dad exist, and brothers and sisters dwell in unity, excluding the family feuds!  'Willie,' has parents who care for him and far too many today would not understand this, the majority may but our disjointed and confused society finds happy family life difficult.

My favourite such comic was and remains 'The Beano!'  Their were many others offered to us, the folks encouraged us to read as much as possible, and vast amounts of cash was paid for these.  'The Beano,' is my favourite because of the anarchic outlook and the items at the side.  For example there was the stagnant pond, we knew this because of the broken notice board giving this information and the ducks are all wearing gas masks!  Adverts pinned on the fences in the background told us to "eat more MINCE," and featured a bowl holding mince three foot high! Such absurdity abounded in the past and hopefully still does today, 'The Beano,' appearing to be the only comic left in the UK these days.  Ha! Kids today, they know nothing!

      

Recognise yourself....?

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Almost Back to Normal.

Thursday sees this part of the world return to normal, supermarkets are flooded with starving people eager to resupply the empty cupboards, businesses clear away the cobwebs after a few days closure, staff struggling to open eyes now used to mornings spent in bed and the damp streets once more resound to the noise of traffic, delivery vans trundling round and postmen struggle to justify their day as even 'junk mail' is in short supply.  The English world returns cheerlessly to normality, few signs of humanity are noticed amongst the throng, except the sun shines brightly, indeed warmly for several hours.  Of course the Brit knows that as soon as the days off are over the sun will shine!  In Scotland as always the second of January is a holiday, partly to aid recovery from the previous nights, mostly to allow for another shindig!  New Years Day once saw the Scottish football clubs playing local derbies against one another, however for many years this was ended by the intolerably bad behaviour of the fans of Celtic and Rangers.  Tsk!  Such activities never occurred at the Edinburgh derby! There are several reasons for the difference.  For one Edinburgh clubs are not crushed by sectarianism, for another Edinburgh folks are nice and wash behind their ears, and history reveals that Hibernian fans have usually gone home by half time after another thrashing from the 'Big Team!'  The advantage they gain from this is the requirement to pay 'half price' to get in as everybody knows they will not see the end of the game.  Tonight however, on the second of January, the Edinburgh game will take place for television reasons.  TV has far too much say in when games occur, and they do not pay nearly enough cash in my view for this privilege, but there you are. By the time you and yours read this I, and all sensible people, will be engrossed in another Heart of Midlothian victory.  I am preparing my smugness for friendly Hibbys as we speak!

Not that I'm one to gloat......

I was chatting to a friend about his job today.  he has been in a 'caring' occupation for a while dealing with what they call today 'learning difficulties.' That could mean anything from mentally impaired (Backwards we used to call that), or have emotional and other problems.  Recently he moved to a 'care home,' where he works 12 hour shifts on a rota of seven days out of fourteen. For this he ears about £7 an hour, that is the minimum wage!  His point was that as this kind of occupation is dealing with people with needs surely it needs to be better paid.  I did not mention the £36 a week I was paid until 1980 by the NHS, it may have upset him.  Now he is a great lad but he does not appreciate the way this world works.  'Caring' is important but expensive, therefore the NHS and all care organisations are being sold off to save the taxpayer, at least those who usually earn more than the minimum wage, from paying tax.  I think all ''care homes' are now privatised, these are desperate for cash as the running costs are high and only so much can be charged to patients. Part time and cheap staff, usually foreign these days, fill such care homes. There are good ones it must be said, although the 'BUPA' homes in Scotland have recently been exposed as in some need of change, and staff in such homes are never on a financial winner.  I am not sure the homes can ever make much profit.  

His point is good, if people are important why do we not care for them?  The answer is that votes are found by cutting costs, not helping people!  Private care homes cannot pay much, even the best ones, and no government has the guts to improve such places, old folks vote, but not when trapped in a home!

Some things do not change when the year does.  

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A Guid New Year

Wishing a Guid New Year to ane and a,' 

and mony may there be!

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Hogmanay 2013

The year endeth as it most probably began, with rain lashing the town.  A close look will reveal in the far distance the ebbing sun, thus indicating the last vestiges of the rain cloud that arrived at four this morning and has drenched its way slowly past ever since.  That far end has still not reached me!  When I came here this was described as the 'driest county in England,' and several houses round about had workmen employed strengthening the subsidence as the foundations were under threat.  That was seventeen years ago and it has not stopped raining since!  I could have gone back to Edinburgh instead of coming here if I wanted rain!  Rain is expected there, it is supposed to be dry here, what went wrong? Good job I am not the complaining kind.

Tonight is 'Hogmanay' the Scots celebration of the New Year, the proper time for a booze up mid winter festival.  This activity is not what it was in past days in my humble opinion, and my opinion as so many have helpfully indicated is indeed humble.  In my late teens we went door to door 'first-footing,' even though others had been through the door first, where drinking lots in a controlled manner joined with singing, talk of a humerous manner, dancing in some places, and a night to remember, usually. The delight of asking certain souls if they were ready for bacon and eggs early the next morning was a delight!  Today it appears to my little mind that just getting drunk is more important and the old enjoyable get together appears to have gone. Living in this wilderness of sin amongst English folks who have never worked out how to celebrate Hogmanay properly this is understandable, however I think a new attitude is around in Scotia itself.  Time moves on I suppose and maybe it's just me?
Oh listen, I can hear the kiddies out there already, 'Buckfast Wine' anybody?

Again we have the strange phenomena of parts of the world now into 2014 while other areas are still in 2013's yesterday!  A few of those well in the lead may well wish by now they had stayed back in yesterday I bet.  Just wait until the pictures appear! Fireworks have been seen in far away skies and even if the rain returns some bombardier will spend an hour or more attempting to emulate their colossal effort by bombarding the area with his left overs from November.  I will look forward to that from my bed I can tell you!
  
Shall we do what many do and look back across the past year?   No!

Good things may lie ahead, Scots Independence, Heart of Midlothian's survival, more delightful, intelligent bloggers arriving here to join the crowd that gathers, a few days sunshine, and maybe me doing what I ought.  Things can only get better, mind you that's what Tony Blair said before he copied Thatcher!

Today we hear that John Fortune has died.  he became famous as a satirist in the 60's and more famous still when operating alongside John Bird.  The two John's spoof of the world around them was always hard hitting and usually unscripted!  Here he plays an adviser to then Prim Minister Gordon Brown.

 

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National Ponderings

I was listening to an old radio programme on an old tape recorder and got pondering about something that was said.  The people of Iran see themselves as one of Asia's two great nations, themselves and China.  Everything else is regarded as the leavings of imperialism.  Quite what the Indians think about this I am not sure.  The fact is both China and Iran go back a long way, much further than Scotland, much further than most nations.  Iran dates itself right back to Cyrus the Great, the man who toppled Babylon two and a half thousand years ago.  He did this, creating one huge empire, while the Greeks were still fighting among themselves, the Egyptians had had it, and the great Europeans civilisations were still living in mud huts.  Iranians are proud of this long heritage, making ours look insignificant in return.

It is this pride in the history that stuck in my mind.  What is it about land? These folk were proud of the land they came from and it brought to mind Stone Age man and his need to place standing stones, not always in circles, as if attempting to find someplace he could 'belong' to. The standing stones commemorated the dead some say, giving him roots to his life, and we all need a root to come from. We have a need to belong to an area, a district a town, someplace we call home, the centre of our life and meaning.  Stone Age man found this in his circles and their ceremonials, possibly in the barrows he built throughout northern Europe, and Iranians look back to Cyrus and claim they have a heritage to be proud off, something politicians have not understood in recent years.  

Now as a Scot I have a history, a heritage to be proud off, not that I have ever mentioned this before or indicated Scots superiority over the rest of you as like all Scots I am too humble to do that.  I am proud of this humility!  This need to belong to a bit of land is strange as it leads to pride, the pride that considers itself better than others and demands all it can get form others. Such attitudes lead only to disaster.  In the end we all come from the same place, we are all 'Jock Tamson's Bairns,' in the end.  I am often amazed at how boastfully proud some Americans can be of their nation, especially when Soviet citizens were just as proud of theirs.  Pakistanis are proud of their nation, or at least happy to defend it if anyone, especially India, attacks it.  'Pride,' or 'belonging,' a group to be part off, a place to say 'this is mine?'   

I attempt to stand on Jesus, he told me to get off his foot the other day, and this lifts me above the nationality problem to a great degree, and it gives me a place to stand and face the world. This was not my intention but he turned up one day and changed everything.  Am I right in thinking people need a place to belong to, a street, a town, a nation a group within those based on age, sex, colour or employment?   Do we really need each other, and if so why is it so easy to dislike others who disagree? 

It's a funny old world saint, as some puppet once remarked.

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Jack Frost Arrives

Late last night I spent some time attempting to identify a high pitched whistle. Being late, cold and dark I wondered what sort of bird would be hanging around at that late hour.  Imagine my surprise when I realised it was no bird, it was my wheezing chest!  Therefore this morning I restarted the failing exercise regime, the last one having failed after a few days you will recall.  So bright and early, well just after eight, I was found creaking my way up the old railway heading for Rayne Station.  It is several months since I got that distance, a whole two miles, and my knees let me know about it as we reached the top of the slope.  How those old engines steamed their way up here I do not know!  The sun shone brightly, the fields were white with the first real frost of winter and the scenery was wonderful!  Smiling dogs led their well wrapped owners a merry dance as they raced about their favourite haunts.  A jogger or two passed in ridiculously loud clothing seemingly under the impression this made them either faster or more 'with it.'  In both cases they are clearly mistaken.  

   

At the station the Rangers (not that kind) who run the line (now called the 'Flitch Way) have installed an old railway coach.  It appears the plan is to use it as a museum or an enlarged tearoom, thus enabling the station itself to be a better museum.  I hope whatever they decide works for them.  This is the first time since the late 70's that rails have been seen on this line.  Oh to see a proper train, one with steam at the front and compartment coaches once again! How romantic and atmospheric a steam train can be, something the more efficient diesel and electric machines cannot match.  These may well be better in every way but in spite of this they have less romance about them.

This coach never saw a steam engine pulling it that is for sure, and it is far from the aged wooden coaches used until 1952, the date the last passenger train ran on this line.  The charabancs that abounded after the Great War, plus the vast number of ex-army lorries that came available at the time led to a drop in numbers both of people and goods.  It was only the presence of the huge sugar beet factory half way along that kept the line working and even they turned to lorries by the 70's.  Soon after it had all gone.  Our station survives and many commute to the pleasure dome that is London for a means of earning their high wages.  Most of which goes on the fares to get them to work.  I came home that way one night and feel sure the crowded train would do my head in if I used it five nights a week. One derailment, accident, jammed door, body on line and the hour and five minute journey could take a week!  Interestingly the Transport Minister is based in Chelmsford, just down the road.  He was caught out using his chauffeured car to drive him to work rather than the train.  So for a short while he was made to rise in time for the 6:00 and he was not pleased! He may well be back in the car but he has announced he will not stand at the next election, retiring to a directorship or two I suspect, probably concerning railways!    

Naturally I decided to get up on the platform, in spite of my weakened hulk having strained its way up here, and so I placed my toe in that little step used by railway men to onto the platform.  I did this, got almost up, my knees gave way and I went splat on my face.  No-one amongst the handful in the vicinity around appeared either to notice or be surprised.  The coach had been used as a money making idea Santa Claus den just before Christmas and the windows were decorated appropriately, well according to them anyway.  Nothing exciting was seen bar this angel, possibly this is the one that enabled me to get down without falling flat on my face twice!  You may well be bored of this coach by Summertime. 

Home Jeeves, down that slope, and don't spare the horses dogs.  The sun shining through the trees as I cantered homewards could well have done me damage if I were epileptic.  Bright sun then dark shadow, it was like a thousand flashbulbs one after another.  Flashbulbs?  We are not old enough to remember flashbulbs are we?  Home at a degree of speed not imagined earlier, shaking of the attentions of the dogs I rejoiced in the bright morning, always the best part of the day, and breathed fresh cold air to remove the whistling noise.  Home in my mind meant hot bath, a continuation of the sleep I disturbed when this daft idea entered my head, breakfast and a hot massage.  I still await the hot massage!  I will ache all day tomorrow, to be honest I ache now! Bah!

Saturday Historical Cinema

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