Need Sleep

Picgifs

I need sleep!  All this work and no play, the having to stay up late to watch football is grinding me down.  While aiding the museum and watching football I am being worn down.  On Monday I had to stay awake watching Manchester City being shown up by Chelsea, last night I was forced to watch Sheffield United make fools out of Fulham and being a cup tie replay meant there were thirty extra minutes being played. Tonight once again I was, under duress, made to watch Preston North End play Nottingham Forest.  This plays havoc with my sleep patterns you know, especially as once the game is over I have other things to do, a blog to write maybe or emails to send, sometimes I must read other blogs and they insist I respond, even though my mind is clearly elsewhere (if found please return to sender), or there is a game of 'TetriX' or 'Bouncing Balls' that must be played.  

To make matters worse today I was set to endure a long siesta after lunch however the lass from the museum rang and by the simple ruse of crying her eyes out forced me to go in and cover one of the new girls, others having gone off because of family illness.  Being prey to crying women I put aside my ex-army blankets decent lunch 'to do' list and found myself at the museum all afternoon. Would ya believe others are of on a razzle on Friday and I must go in and cover them also!  Jings it's like having a job!  Apart from a sarky woman when I made a mess of the credit card machine and the school party wearing us out it was quite straight forward, but did require a lot of running around. especially after we had finished with the kids when we sat and drank tea and stared at the rain lashing the window, we were unable to do anything else! Lovely bright kids, well controlled and keen, but so many at a pace to much for old folks those of us no longer working full time.  After this we busied ourselves on easy tasks!  A good day in fact, but tiring. 

Of course this means almost nothing has been done here.  The hundreds of jobs awaiting doing are still awaiting.  My desperation to do them is somewhat awaiting also.  My books are lying, each with a bookmark sticking out plaintively screaming at me to open it!  The dust is also lying everywhere screaming at me but I turn a deaf ear to that!  Now I have written this I am finding myself wider awake than when I was watching Notts Forest moving through the rain into the next round of the English Cup, is that not typical? 

Well maybe I can force myself to sleep.....zzzzzz  

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Good Health

As I proceeded in a westerly direction on leaving the museum this afternoon I was hindered in my perambulation by a man with a van.  It transpired and came about that he was offering a 'FREE' 'Health Check.'  Now normally in such circumstances I would call a constable however I quickly realised that this was an authorised NHS service.  The idea is of course prevention rather than cure, a worthy plan and one most people agree with, and then ignore!  I had considered visiting the doc to get such basic tests to ensure long life and happiness but they are too busy these days, in fact my doc has closed the door or newcomers and will only deal with those suffering a disease of some sort, idiocy doesn't count.  So I took advantage of this free check up which was all conducted by digital machinery!  
Everything was done by use of a wee hand held computer.  This calculated all the measurements he obtained including cholesterol, obtained by a pinprick on the finger, then the trained, but not professional nursing, staff were efficient.  A male dealt with me, a female for the other lot. Nothing you wished to keep secret was exposed or discussed, that is for the GP, no stethoscopes were hurt in the making of this diagnosis.   
My weight, height, waist, cholesterol, Blood Pressure like were tested and he pronounced me to be alive, much to my shock, in fact the results were much better than I thought.  By referring to a series of colour coded charts he pronounced me FAT SLOB!  This led to advice I already know on eating, exercise and not eating cheese.  This last I objected to because I must eat cheese or I die I told him.  It appears many men make the same objection but that is one thing that must decrease.  Bah!  'Porage' rules now.
I was impressed by this mobile health check idea, it reminded me of the mobile X-Ray vans that toured factories in the 50's and 60's.  A very good way to encourage good health.  Naturally a lot of people would not take advantage of this as they are afraid they will discover some illness, or indeed that they require urgent weight control.  The refusal appears somewhat sad to me but I was the ninth today to undergo this quick procedure.  Many things in the NHS require change, and NOT by privatisation through the back door Mr Cameron! The idea of a wee van stopping folks in the street and offering a free check for simple procedures can only be good.  


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Late Night Scribblings

I have a strange compulsion to write.  I have nothing to say, little articulation of my thoughts, and no readers to er, listen.

The last bit stops me from being mistaken for the ‘Daily Mail.’

As far as I can remember this desire first found life once I left school, well actually two or three years later as far as I can remember.  On occasions I would sit on a train heading north wondering if it were possible to write about the experiences, such as they were on the journey. Rarely did anything come of this, and the world rests in peace because of it. 

It flared up when Blogger came along and I decided to influence the world by putting my ill thought out opinions on line.  

No-one replied.  

It took a while to work out how to contact the world, and often times it spoke back.  It did not always encourage me to continue.

The good people still speak to me today.  The bad people either stop reading or have sadly missed the opportunity to consider my thoughtful contribution to er, literature.  They have a point I suspect.

Why do I wish to write?  I left school at 15, well 14 actually, the day before my 15th birthday, with no qualifications and a suggestion that I could get an 'O' level if I stayed one more year. That was like asking POW's if they would like to stay another year and get a qualification!  I ran away!  I did obtain an English 'O' level a few years ago through answering questions via buttons on a screen. This gave me a certificate but I suspect the one on offer in Edinburgh would have been harder to obtain!  

So why attempt to write when I have little idea of grammar, syntax (wot?), or the use of a full stop?  Is it because I have something to say?  My words tend not to change the world when I speak to people personally, however I do get a response, but let’s not go into that!  Could it just be my itchy fingers wishing to run across the keyboard?  That certainly is a phenomenon that occurs when I have been unable to use the machine for a while, I need my fix on the keyboard.  It can be worse when the PC or laptop breaks down and I have to leave the house and actually speak face to face with folks! 

No, I think I just want to write something, anything, and so I have.  Therefore I am quite content.  I have had my fix, I have spoken, no-one has listened, and I have said nothing.  Another day at the office then?

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The Wireless, Daffodils and Books!

BBC Radio 3

I am very much enjoying the 15 minute programmes found on the wireless these days.  Both Radio 4 and Radio 3 have a good selection of these all well worth a browse.  Above we have a picture of Andrew Martin the writer (what do we mean 'the writer?  Especially when we have never heard of him until today?).  He offered us five 15 minute programmes on Radio 3s 'The Essay,' and although time is running out to hear the first one I found these very interesting and thought provoking, almost as if I had written them myself, they were that good, what?...oh!

These five programmes come under 'England Ejects' heading, ignoring the fact they cover all the UK rather than just one small portion thereof!   'Boasting,' 'Eating too much,' 'Rules, gentility,' 'Manual work,' and 'Sunday church going,' are the headings, each one very enjoyable little talks. His voice is good for radio, unlike far too many these days, and his honesty is welcome.  You will probably enjoy these, if you are quick!

The advantage of 15 minute programmes is that of they are not too good they soon end, if they are worth a listen there is often the promise of more to follow. Nothing worse than finding Radio 4 is filling all such slots with mediocre or uninteresting rubbish.  I feel robbed when I note this, and it does happen. Finding Radio 3 also doing such offerings was brilliant.  I wonder what else is hiding on radio stations world wide, hidden behind hours of music blasting around the world and found only by looking in dark corners of the wireless?    

The lack of real winter has seen the daffodils rise early this year.  All these bulbs that ought to be welcoming Easter a month or so away are poking through now.  These will bloom in the next few days and while welcome they do indicate how mild the winter has been so far.  I expect the electric and gas directors and most put out by this and attempting to discover ways to increase prices because of the mildness in the air.  The million pound bonus's may not be quite so good at Christmas and a trip to their bank in the British Virgin Islands may be on the cards for these struggling men.  I however am quite happy not to have the heat full blast most days, and look forward to Spring bouncing in as soon as possible!

I should tell you I am almost finished with two more books, and have started another.  This means I may refer to them sometime soon.  Are you waiting for this?......oh!

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Arab Uprisings

Book Depository

If you wish to understand the Syrian situation, or indeed the Middle East today in any way you need to read this book.  The BBC Middle East correspondent Jeremy Bowen has 12 years experience of the region, sometimes in great danger, occasionally being shot at and occasionally hit.  
Bowen takes us through the last few years of 'revolution, from the beginning in Tunisia, through Libya, Egypt, Yemen, and of course a great deal of the book covers the Syrian situation.  The whole area is split into many factions, religious and political.  In some states such as Tunisia a 'secular' approach is found even though the majority call themselves Muslim.  In Egypt the Muslim Brotherhood won the first election because they had a well ordered organisation that had been working since the time of Nasser, the middle class secular city dwellers did not possess such and lost out through squabbling amongst themselves.  A violent uprising in Libya, supported by the western air forces, removed Qaddafi from power but has not led to a peaceful settlement.  Militias, Islamist''s and criminals hold much power yet.  Saudi has thrown £100 billion at avoiding rebellion in the state, more on offer in an attempt to keep the Kings position safe. Yemen alone has begun a six month 'conversation' to decide the future of that troubled state. Some secular people find themselves at odds with Al-Qaeda types from the mountains in the north. Iraqis seek to go their own way in spite of being allies but not lackeys of Iran, and Iran aids Syria and Hezbollah in Lebanon while saying little.  
Iran finds itself Saudia Arabia's main enemy, and the Saudi's have attempted to invite a US invasion.  This has not found much support in Washington where foreign adventures are harder militarily and public opinion opposes violently!   Iran is of course Shia Muslim, Saudi Arabia Sunni. That sectarian divide runs through the region threatening to explode and involve many nations. Syria, led by 'Alawite' Assad who finds himself supported by rich Sunni businessmen and minority Christians now is being opposed by Sunni extremists who are proving stronger than the original rebels, who just wanted a more prosperous and safe life without the secret police beating them. This conflict falls over into Lebanon where the delicate balance is under threat. Here some 18 groupings share power.  Already sections of some towns are unreachable because of the conflict there and almost anything could lead to this part of the world giving us a war of First World War proportions.  That conflict was savage enough, this would be much, much worse! 
Bowen provides no answers here.  This book merely covers the ground, explaining the background, allowing us to see from both sides and here the words, often truthful in spite of the dangers, exposing the immense difficulty anyone has in producing peace quickly in this area today.   The west has little understanding of what to do, William Hague the UK Foreign Secretary spouts comments often but Bowen leaves us in no doubt as to the limited information and government double speak on offer here.  The west wish to support the good side and now, after Iraq, find they have an Iraq government that is friendly to Iran the west's enemy, support by the million given to rebels in Syria, the strongest of whom are Al-Qaeda types, the types that threaten our troops and encourage bombs and murder on UK streets!  The confusion does not stop there just look at the Islamist's in Libya who we provided air cover for!  
To understand the Middle East it is imperative to read a book like this.  No doubt there are others around but I found this book full of clarity on the situation from a man who risks his life, carefully, to meet the people and report the situation.  One of the BBC's better journalists his writing enlightens the minds of those who wish to see the Middle East as she is today.  
  
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Friday Sayings

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Curry

Cook Yourself Thin

I have been listening to Mark Steels in Town tonight, a programme where he visits places and laughs at the people.  This edition finds him in Southall, once a boring a suburb in south west London, now known as 'Little India.'   Here masses of 'Asians,' have settled and filled the hall to here themselves ridiculed. This series is a good one, Steel visits many out of the way places and brings some attention to them.
It was the talk of curry that got me thinking.  In the days of long ago when I was a sweet, blonde haired, skinny child, yes that long ago, we had never heard of curry!  It may well be we in fact had, dad served two years in Poona so must have mentioned it, but we never ate it.  The diet, cooked by mum as we had little money, used a slot of corned beef, mince, spam fritters, home cooked chips, far too many sweets, potatoes and lots of salad stuff in summer.  Dads hobby was the garden and he grew a great deal of veg for us, his potatoes were indeed the best we ever had. Mum made potato soup that kept us alive, brilliant stuff, so good she was forced to continue making this until she died for the younger ones!  Sticks of rhubarb and a wee jar of sugar were used to keep us on the run, and fish came from the wee van that arrived from Port Seton regularly, fish straight from the North Sea!  The cat enjoyed this van more than anyone. Sadly an outbreak of Typhus in Aberdeen in the early sixties was traced back to Fray Bentos in Uruguay if I remember correctly, this resulted in a massive clean up back at base and corned beef, the 'bully beef' beloved of the troops, suddenly rose sharply in price and was soon out of our league.  

One day a new exciting foreign food was made available for us, 'Vesta Curry!' We took absurd delight in the arrival of such exotic foreign foods!  This was the early sixties remember!  We got excited by a lemon in those days, that was alien enough for us.  Only the 'best' shops had anything other than oranges and apples, bananas and grapes in those days, Edinburgh people would not see a 'pepper' on show until the Asians arrived in the 70's!  How we lived then, no wonder folks considered 'chips' to be 'salad!'  Today such foreign delights once found only in the shops frequented by the rich are daily obtained in Tesco's, where dates were once seen only at Christmas they lie, overpriced, next to mango's and yams.  Potatoes however take up much more space, rhubarb is found only in tins.  
The influx of immigrants has been so powerful that many probably believe that curry, Britain's favourite dish, was actually a home grown meal.  Not that I suspect the UK population to be that stupid in reality......hold on!  In the eighties I delivered around Southall with a typical English driver.  Long past any desire to work while retirement approached we drove slowly through the streets while he muttered about the immigrants.  I mentioned my mate was supposed to bring me down to Southall for a proper curry but the promise had not borne fruit so far.  
"Grnnn, I had an Indian once," he growled, "I was sick for days."  
"What did you have," I asked innocently.
"Chilli con carne," he said.
"Isn't that Mexican?" I ventured.
"Grnnnn it's all foreign muck," said he.

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Nothing Day Again

I have nothing to say!  The day has been filled with torrents of rain hindering my attempts to walk the streets looking for lost coins so instead I did the washing.  Now how do you make that sound interesting?  You shove it all in the machine, and leave it for an age while it whirs round, remove the sodden pile and hang it up somewhere.  There it remains until dry, or kind of damp I find, and gets ironed (ha!) later.  There, that's interesting innit?  I paid a debt, bought milk and cheap cheese from Tesco, froze while crossing the park, and warmed my feet on the heater.  
Can you take much more of this?  I can't.
There is a pile of things to do noted on the recycled pad beside me.  In fact I just remembered I did one of those.  Mince!  I made mince, with veg, and it sits cooling on the hob.  The taste will be interesting when I get round to it.  Not quite sure what it will taste like, cooking is not so much a boring necessity, it is an experiment!  Who knows what that brown mush will actually be flavoured by?  
The rest of the 'to do' note glares at me.  Rather in the way women often glare when I say things. It is not an unusual glare, at least I often come across it, like that time I used the word 'fat' to a group of women awaiting the arrival of the woman from 'Weight Watchers.'  Man glaring in unison!  They had reason to use that diet organisation however.  
Indeed I was so lacking enthusiasm for anything today I looked up the 'Daily Mail' to see if the world had changed, it had not.  No news of anything important but lots of terror, death, outrage and fear, usual stuff then.  The real world had little news either, repeats of floods, Syria and the like but nothing new to excite pressmen.  The fact that Liverpool easily defeated Everton last night, that Manchester United also won and that the Heart of Midlothian play tonight was all pushed into second place in the 'Sport' section of the 'Today' programme on Radio 4 this morning.  Why?  An England team had won something!  It was merely cricket, and worse just a bunch of lassies winning, but to Rob whatsisname et al this was important news!  Tsk!  Some folks have no understanding of reality I say.
Possibly my feeling a bit light headed today may have helped my lack of interest, it certainly has resulted in two burnt hamburgers, mash spuds and beans for tea, and possibly an early night is called for, after I have listened to the Hearts game on the radio that is.  

Right, let's clean up this dinner....

 
   
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Tiring Tuesday

Having spent a tiring morning in the museum rushing hither and thither, searching for pictures for one while searching for a card for another, watching the next job(s) piling up on the desk and failing after all this to finish my tea I was glad to escape after lunch for a walk in the sunshine filled park.  Naturally by the time I got there this was the scene.  As I settled in to open the windows and clear the fug that fills the dwelling the rain began teeming down.  The cold attempts to cover my fingers in frostbite, my toes have fallen off inside my socks and the electric people have happily told me they will check my meter, aint that kind of them?

After the day I had, non stop, so busy that I never realised the boiler was off!  Others noticed but I didn't as I was doing all the work.  However.....

Hold on, Liverpool are playing Everton, must dash......

Sorting Out files

Trieris, a replica of an Athenian ship.

Computers are wonderful machines, this wee laptop I use these days can be quite slow but it does the job.  I should say it may be slow but that is because I am listening to the radio at the same time and some things go slow.  One reason it is slow may well be the amount of stuff on it, therefore I have spent the entire day wandering through the files deleting things in preparation for downloading onto disc the items I wish to keep or don't require often.  I discovered the other day my pictures were somewhat messed up.  That is I had doubles and trebles of some, others had moved to other files by themselves, honest, and many left me completely baffled as to why they were put there in the first place.  

   Oxford Street 1897

Some of the pics were quite interesting, this one appeared from somewhere, who knows where, but shows a different view of Oxford Street than that seen today.  You will note some obvious similarities, rain, crowded pavements, shops, and generally dreary appearance overall.  The main difference I suppose it that the photographer can stand in the middle of the road and remain alive....if indeed he did remain alive!

Flitch Way

Some pictures reminded me that Spring sunshine is not far away, well in theory anyway.  I am also reminded that I used to cycle every day, now hardly ever. The weather is against it, icy cold today and looking likely to stay that way all week, the energy appears lacking and the desire also. As the mornings get lighter my desire will return.  Then I rise from beneath the duvet and seek the bright lights outside, unless it rains of course!  The cycling early in the morning, before dog walkers and folks heading for work arise, is enjoyable.  If I go out earlier all sorts of people block the way, hinder my progress and selfishly consider themselves entitled to be there, as if!  

   
This is a self portrait by Lady Clementina something or other, a lass who took to photography in the middle of the nineteenth century.  If I could remember more I would tell you what it is but my dim mind tells me she took pictures of her friends, and women dressed like that make very good photographs, but from her Kensington home she made the most of her hobby.  You had to be amongst the wealthy to be a photographer in those days.  The cost of the camera, the glass negatives, the time and staff required to develop the pictures all combined to make photography very expensive indeed.  George Eastman, and those like him, did the world a huge service by developing his 'Box Brownie' and other cheap cameras. The delight of seeing a successful photograph, no matter how inept to a professional, is just that a delight!

Most of my time however was spent amending the huge amount of Great War pictures that somehow got split into a variety of places.  So many duplicates, so many I canny mind obtaining.  The laptop is not the easiest machine for a hamfisted eejit to operate and the files kept disappearing into one another. This led to more confusion as I fought to get them back where they belonged only to find I had confused two similar files.  Like hitting your head on a brick wall it was so good when it was all over, at least I hope it is now.

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A Question....

 My best looking and most intelligent niece contacted me tonight asking:- 

'Who are you writing for when you are writing your Blog?'

It appears she is doing one of those college courses we do to keep the brain alive, or possibly make herself some money.  So I sat down and answered her as well as I could.  

"Today I try to write what I think about the world and its doings.

That is, something crosses my mind and hopefully I can get something out of it. 

I find an appropriate picture and blether away, usually from the top of my head, as most must realise. Sometimes I have something I consider important to say therefore I may make more effort to make this readable.

 

I have found several friends blogging worldwide this way, very different from me in many ways, but we get on well chiding one another rudely but decently.  There is an ever present temptation to write towards them rather than write for myself.  On the other hand maybe that makes me look at a wider variety of subjects?  I tell others to write for themselves, not for the reader.  If you write for the reader you do not say what you wish, you say what they wish to hear or what you wish them to hear.  Neither is truly honest.  I attempt to say what I think, which loses readers on occasion, but maybe gains them otherwise, others remain even if they disagree.  This is good.

 

I find sometimes I am writing just so people will read, that is I am not writing for myself when I write what I think,  I am writing to be paid some attention!  Is this good I wonder?  It can be fun, but is it truly honest?  With such friends however you get away with a lot, bad grammer for instance.... 

 

The blog began because I wanted my voice heard, how selfish and arrogant! Before the internet the small man might be able to vote, write a complaint or two, possibly make his voice heard by not using some facility or going on strike, but today with what is referred to as ‘social  media,’ and this can be unsocial also, the small man can be heard.  By blogging his thoughts, or lack of them, he can throw out his voice to the world, by e-mail he can remind his MP that ‘UKIP are doing well round this way’ and make him take notice, by using forums he can keep in touch with a variety of peoples, in short his voice goes further, and sometimes they listen.  Even dictatorships can be shaken this way!"

So I blethered on and wonder what she will make of this.  Indeed why do any of us blog?  Some have something to say, some blog from political or religious reasons, some for money others to keep in touch with a widespread family. Why do you blog?  Do you find it worthwhile?  You must if you keep it up. Some give up and sneak back again, what is it that drives them back? It would be interesting to know, would it not?  

 

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Media, Man U, Haggis and Aussies

For over  a week now I have ignored the news for the most part.  Instead of rummaging through the papers each morning I listen to the headlines and have occasionally pursued one or two interesting items only.  This means I am no longer fearful of a million south east Europeans, possibly Muslim, stampeding into the UK stealing our jobs and living off the dole.  Nor do I worry that the apple I eat may give me cancer nor do I rejoice that the coffee I drink seven times a day will cure that illness.  The screaming headlines have not made it difficult to sleep at night through such fear simply by my choice to ignore them, life outside I notice mournfully  however has continued despite my absence.  

I have been tempted occasionally to turn on the radio desperate for a fix of the news but have manfully directed my attention elsewhere and survived.  The world did neither miss me nor change in any way.  I am oblivious to what she from the telly is doing with whom, not upset about the tree cut down by a neighbour, care little for the lies poured forth from Westminster and worry not about a court case featuring the high and mighty who have fallen on hard times.  I remain in the real world quite happily, the week has been quite good, and placing life's priorities before the screaming of the world has made me gentler, more considerate and relaxed enough to walk the streets without my chainsaw in hand.  I merely carry the small axe instead.

One thing that never changes about English newspapermen is their desperate desire to destroy someone.  The present target is David Moyes the incoming manager of Manchester United, a football team you may have heard off.  The previous incumbent, one Sir Alex Ferguson, managed to keep the job for 25 years, something unheard of today.  During his time he won the English title about a dozen time, the English Cup, the UEFA Cup and the Champions League Cup (the top trophy) and has now retired to travel the world and annoy the wife.  Interestingly when he began the job the media attacked him relentlessly as his first three years were far from a success. However once he began to win the media changed their tune and became scared to upset him, losing contact with Manchester United could lose them their job after all!  The attack on Moyes is less from a football perspective and merely the desire to knock someone down when he is down, also to use the Manchester United name to sell their papers and programmes. 
There is no doubt Moyes has a hard job on his hand.  many of the players at the club are past their best, one or two others are not 'top four' players and some players he wanted at the beginning of the season failed to appear.  On top of this Wayne Rooney and Van Persie are both missing through injury. These two men could win games by themselves, missing both is a huge loss for any club.  
In my mind Man U would possibly finish around seventh or eighth this season although is Rooney and Van Persie return in time they may yet finish in the top four, I suspect that is a real possibility myself. The manager has a tremendously difficult job ahead of him but I believe he will succeed and succeed well.  The naysayers will fill pages of uneducated pap to make money but the football fan knows this club is not dead and has too much going for it to fail now.

The wise amongst you will realise that this is Burns night, the night the great Rabbie is celebrated with Haggis, mash potatoes and mashed turnips (neeps to you!), washed down with a wee dram of whisky. Large gatherings are taking place tonight, the Haggis is carried in behind a piper, the 'address' is made and tales told, poems read and whisky imbibed.
I am poor and merely had a cheese sandwich myself.

     A Red, Red Rose

O my Luve's like a red, red rose, 

That's newly sprung in June: 

O my Luve's like the melodie, 

That's sweetly play'd in tune. 

As fair art thou, my bonie lass, 

So deep in luve am I; 

And I will luve thee still, my dear, 

Till a' the seas gang dry. 

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, 

And the rocks melt wi' the sun; 

And I will luve thee still, my dear, 

While the sands o' life shall run. 

And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve! 

And fare-thee-weel, a while! 

And I will come again, my Luve, 

Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile!

Rabbie Burns 1794

Robert Burns Country

Tomorrow, or today if you are in Australia, is 'Australia Day!'  This is the day Aussies celebrate being, er Aussies.  Much celebration is happening as I write, lager is being swallowed (they do not appear to drink proper beer), 'Barbies' everywhere are burning lamb, chicken and sausage, all run by men naturally and the sun shines, the sky remains blue and people are eaten by great white sharks in Botany Bay. Today we celebrate their tomorrow unless you are in the US where yesterday has yet to finish while the Aussie tomorrow, which is their today, is almost over, and we share their delight in being Australian, a very good thing to be.
Even if they are all descended from English convicts.....  


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Another Book Review

Some people are born soldiers.  They consider any other lifestyle a waste of time.  It matters not who they fight for, where they fight, and often what the cause may be, but if there is a bit of bother they wish to be involved.  This does not necessarily indicate callousness or brutality, in fact the best soldier takes good care of his men and not just for the sake of their efficiency.  The subject of this book was a man born for soldiering.
His war involvement is impressive.  He ran away from Oxford and a boring Law Degree to get shot in the Boer War, after recovering he returned to action and later spent a few years in India hunting pigs! Physical fitness after he was shot became his life's priority, he hunted, rode, played Polo and any other sport, exercising at every opportunity.  Like many who had been to the 'right schools' and universities, even if they failed, he met friends and influential people who arose at various intervals in his life.  The 'old school tie' always helps, though not if it was mine I can tell you!  His eagerness for action saw him head to Somaliland to put down a rebellion and then find himself disgusted that the Great War had broken out as he was half way there!  He helped put down the 'Mad Mullah,' (funny how Islamic fights affected Britain so often then) and lost an eye and a bit if ear while doing so.  He managed to rise through the ranks while serving on the Western Front in spite of having one eye.  He passed the medical, which he hated, by promising to wear a glass eye, an eye he chucked out of the taxi on his way home and wore an eye patch ever since.  
During 1915 he was wounded in the hand, pulling his fingers off after the doctor refused to remove them, at the Somme he was shot in the ankle and also the back of the head, at Passchendaele he got one in the hip, one through the leg at Cambrai and one in the ear at Arras. He was a regular at a Park lane nursing home where I suspect he was almost one of the staff! 

All this time De Wiart was not British!  His father was Belgian, his mother Irish and it was King George who insisted he became British!  

During the attack on La Boiselle as part of the Somme 'push,' he commanded the 8th Gloucester's.  This attack on the night of the 2/3rd July met with fierce resistance.  During this he met a man cowering and he requested the reason, the soldier indicated he had been hit four times before and couldn't face any more, De Wiart pointed out he had been hit more often and they both continued the advance!  In this book the author mentions almost casually the situation pointing out they took the village, a mere jumble of rubble, after others had failed, The author mentions heavy casualties but fails to mention that he was the highest surviving officer from three battalions and his work, in the open under heavy fire, directed the operation and resulted in his receiving a Victoria Cross.  This he omits from the book.
At the end of the war De Wiart admits he had 'enjoyed the war,' and sounded rather sad that it was over.   

In between the wars the now high ranking officer liaised with the Polish government, distrusted by London, as it fought five wars at once.  His attempts at providing aid via London against Lloyd Georges wishes brought him friends in Poland and once he resigned his army duties he lived an idyllic life in a free house in the Pripet Marshes.  Had 1939 not brought another war he may well have remained there happily shooting wildfowl and anything else that passed by!  

1940 saw the Acting Major General De Wiart given command of the failed Norway expedition. Too far for air support, badly equipped, lacking support, even the French troops prepared for winter fighting had no straps for their skis, the whole sad operation was doomed from the start.   Quickly they returned home under heavy fire and much criticism.  Because of this Winston Churchill became Prime Minister, and the war was, eventually, won.
However while acting as liaison with Yugoslav forces De Wiart travelled to Cairo by Wellington Bomber, one of the more successful aircraft.   Before they left Malta where they stopped to refuel a mechanic claimed to have checked the engines personally, was he a spy wondered our author as later he swan for shore as the plane crashed a mile of Libya.   For the next two and a half years De Wiart spent his time as a prisoner of the Italians.  While treated well it was an embarrassment to him and his fellow captives.  One escape plan did work for them and he spent eight days on the run before returning to his prison and friends.  In August 1943 however the hero of our tale was transferred to Rome.  The Italians wished to seek an armistice and he accompanied, dressed in an excellent Italian suit, a General Zanussi to Lisbon from where he made his way home.

The importance of De Wiart to the British government was seen in when he was sent to represent Churchill in China with General Chiang Kai Shek.  He became effective in his new role although most of the time he was ready to rush to any war zone and enquire as to the situation.  He would have joined in even in he was older than me!  By 1947, aged 66 and in spite of an offer from Chiang to stay his time was up and retirement neared.  However he managed to fall down stairs while visiting in Rangoon and broke his back and other bits also!  Back in London he recovered but surgeons operating on him found many metal bits from previous wars while they removed!  He then retired to Ireland, hunting and fishing.

The book is written more as a diary than a racy narration.  He constantly refers to people who he met, most likely by use of his diaries, if that is he kept one, and the whole appears almost cursory when regarding the dangers he faced.  It appears to me this was how he lived his life.  He faced danger, and was not keen to be hurt or indeed killed, but that was what his job was. Understanding the dangers he was not a man to become obviously emotional about them, the 'stiff upper lip,' writ large.  His ability to get on with people, especially in Poland and China must have existed while in charge of Battalion, Brigade or army.  I suspect his men regarded him well, but possibly not in Norway!  Hi character is revealed in that neither his Victoria Cross nor his wife appears in the book, such things are either taken for granted or not relevant. I suspect there would be much to like about this man if we met him in real life, unless be objected to shooting animals of course!

He died in 1963 and is buried in Ireland.  His wealth was a few thousand pounds, money meaning less than his 'sport,' which is typical of the man.    

Sir Adrian Paul Ghislain Carton de Wiart. VC, KBE, CB, CMG, DSO

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Fotos

Sloth and apathy have joined together to stop me offering a review of a book received at Christmas. You may cry 'Boo! Hiss,' at this point if you wish, what?.....oh!  It will turn up one day I tell thee!  So as the football is about to start I find I have no time to write and instead offer a foto of Edinburgh.  This was taken yonks ago and I find the conjunction of a Zebra grazing with the wild Pentlands looming (faintly) in the background somewhat incongruous myself.   You will know Scotias capital has lots of Zebras running around. People are always crossing them.  You will understand that I spent a wee while going through the old albums this afternoon.  This saved prevented me from working on the seven projects I ought to have been working on but allowed me to remember just how many poor fotos I have hidden away.  It is now unusual to finger actual prints, especially Matt ones, and as they have been encased in plastic for so long many show signs of wear, a wee bit like me.  Not that I have ever been encased in plastic....

So many fotos taken who knows when!  I think I took this up the Highlands some years ago but it may indeed be the Ochil Hills as seen from Edinburgh.  I asked the sheep to pose for me, I know I shouted "Hey ewe, over here," but they ignored me and kept chomping.  I suppose one hill looks like another to a 'townie.'   I canny mind taking it but in those days I dwelt in the centre of London and wide open spaces were a strange delight, indeed a few days of such views remain delightful, not many hills round here. 

The Thames about twenty five years ago.  I think that is Wapping over there and all those warehouses are high priced flats.  You can guess how much they cost!  Not very exciting but I like this sort of view. That afternoon was spent wandering along the south bank far from the tourist spots, finding those rough back streets which often contain historical treasures and one or two strange people.  Pleasure boats awaiting tourists and the occasional barge awaiting use. Just forty years ago all this was crowded with boats from across the globe carrying cargo one way or the other. Hundreds of 'lighters,' also and thousands of men nicking things as fast as they can assisting the economic development of the nation. The river is vastly cleaner than it was in those far off days, a huge effort to clean it, the loss of shipping leaving oil all help the improvement.  Had I been less lazy I could have kicked stones around the banks of the river and discovered odds and ends going back years, possibly to and beyond the Romans. If you know what you are looking for artifacts are constantly being dug up by man and tide, all you need is a wee bit knowledge and history is yours.  Of course you might just find sewage!   

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Yawn!

A hard day at the museum today, very tired, so here is a picture of a bus!   Sorting cards and books, dealing with a visitor or two, answering queries from the people from the 'Friends,' and ensuring I have enough tea to keep me going is very difficult.  A typical situation was the workman who came looking for the ladder.  He was sent to me, who knew nothing, I sent for Jenny who knew nothing, she ask Julie who had sent him to me as she knew nothing!!  His lorry blocked the yard so I ran to the old Town Hall, who we work alongside, and discovered it there.  Such simple things give me exercise and waste many minutes running around when my tea was getting cold.  A 'Do' was under way in the big hall, featuring music and fish and chips, for older folks.  Most would enjoy their day out and it enabled me to get a free dinner as extra were ordered!  By the time I left, two hours or more late, knees aching and mind warped, I had collected another left over one from the leftovers.  Two fish suppers in one day, that's eating!  However now I am asleep on my feet.  The difficulty of keeping my eyes open make it...zzzzzzzz  

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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