I'm Tired....

I'm so tired!  Half term holiday and thousands of kids arrived at my door.  Just after Jean remarked that it was quiet, 10:30 ish is always quiet, we were inundated with mum's bringing the kids in.  The sun shining brightly fooled them into thinking it was warm, it wasn't really, but they had to get put of the house and here they arrived.  Not only but also there were human beings also visiting, lots of them. Many others came with queries, asking re photographs or tourist information, one visitor liked to talk as being far from home and alone he was a bit lonely, very nice he was.  Then I had to return later as the lass had to go visit a woman to record information re her wartime experiences. So I missed my much needed afternoon siesta and this is not good.  Adrenalin kept me going and now it has ceased!  
I might not be able to keep my eyes open during the football, this is bad....

.

Night & Football

Having spent most of the weekend watching mediocre football matches on TV or laptop I took myself out into the dark night.  The place I headed to was unobtainable so I wandered around streets I have not known for a while.
How different everything is in the early Sunday evening when dark.  
Away from the main roads all is relatively quiet, even those main roads have much less traffic. Lights at windows shine out revealing through open curtains adults wasting their minds on brain blurring TV, kids playing with tablets and policemen asking why I am looking at the buildings.  The family is quiet and at rest, the kids safely locked into their rooms, all is quiet.  
Had I ventured round here late on Saturday it may not be quite so quiet.  Late night revellers, parties here and there, an occasional police car.   At least when I delivered in this area that was the norm.  The austerity life has changed this somewhat I suspect.  
One noticeable thing then was the unfortunates who fell for Thatchers foolhardy idea of selling council houses.  These were erected to give folks a decent home, and the Conservatives under Harold MacMillan built three million themselves, she flogged them for a few votes!  The problem came when sickness or unemployment arrived and these people, fooled into buying cheap, selling high and moving 'upwards' now found themselves out on the street or in Council 'half way houses.'
In the past few years I suspect many more from here have fallen this way.  The happy contented families may be less contented than my quiet walk indicated.

      
I spent so much time watching football and being unsatisfied I had to start the day watching a game rerun on BT Sport.  It also was rubbish!  From Airdrie to Rome the games were not good. Still it's better than working.  Anyway I must go, Preston play Man U tonight and I have to watch it in case something relevant to the WW2 research comes in.....

.

Fire Valentinus!

Interesting isn't it when you see the inside of a house that you pass daily.  The chimney stack is a beaut innit?  Shame it has to come down!  The result of a fire is quite awful and a very expensive repair is now required on two or possibly three, listed buildings.  The water damage alone will take a while to dry out. The man alleged to be responsible has appeared in court today charged with arson. I suspect we will not see him again for some time. 

Today I offer to the pretty young women who frequent this site this bouquet  of roses. Women so perfect as yourselves deserve these.

Today, as if you did not know, is another jumped up commercial money grab known worldwide as 'Valentines Day.'  The History of this one time saint is obscure, there are at least three of them, and you can take your pick as to which was the one given a backhander to start this codswallop.  The whole thing has hung around since the third century or thereabouts making many men guilt riven for not spending enough, spending too much, and no matter what he spends she still blames him and says her mother was right all along!  Why do we keep falling for these commercial led emotional robberies?  Surely men run after their women all the time?  Surely he informs her of his love daily?  Surely he has no need to spend cash because the florist says he will not be getting any if he doesn't?  Cards, flowers, eating out, events, money, holidays, all for a Valentinius we know nothing about, or if he actually existed!  Bah!  I will not fall for that!

Naturally when I wandered downstairs to greet the postwoman it goes without saying that she wandered right past my door offering a multitude of reasons why there were no cards, no flowers, no offers of dates, nowt, nil, zilch NOTHING for you!  It may of course be the lack of a tip at Christmas might still rankle with her.  Whatever I received no cards, again, this year, including the one I sent myself, and have spent the night wandering around restaurants, hanging about the windows holding a large sign saying "Divorced and able to afford TV Football!" In large black letters.  This of course is a lie but it's a giggle innit!

.

Fire, Library, Butcher.

Returning from a day in Chelmsford Library looking at microfiche and searching through books I stopped off to look at the fire damage.  This building has stood here since the late 1500's and has of course been much changed over the years. I always loved it, the jetted front, the small dated windows, and I suspect creaking stairs inside.  In recent years the bottom has been a wine bar, restaurant and so on, all have failed and now the premises are used by a church group working with the 'homeless.'   Up above rooms are let and a variety of types make use of them.  In spite of original complaints there appears to have been no problems, at least none I have heard of anyway. Last night however rumour tells us a young man was informed he would be leaving, evicted is the word, and he apparently was none to happy about this.  

It has become obvious he was none to happy as his method of expression was to throw White Spirit about the place, light a match and stand well clear.  The chap who rumour claims was in the shower at the time was not happy with this expression of opinions.  He was high up in the three story building when he discovered the smoke choking him.  He got onto the roof and a double decker bus returning to the garage was brought close and he leapt onto the roof from where the firemen rescued him.  

The top floors are damaged, water damage from the fire hoses has reached the shops on the ground and the poor florist on the corner may end up losing her business.  Three of them were working on the Valentines Day (none for me thanks) flowers when the firemen knocked on the door to tell them the flats above were burning!  Luckily an empty property in the centre has been given to them for temporary use. Her business may still suffer badly mind.

Police are looking for a nineteen year old man, so there is no doubt who is responsible, and work on the building, if it survives, may go on for months.  The smell hangs about in the air as the fireman slogs his way dampening down the place.  

This blocked the road and caused my bus to drive the long way around town to head south.  In fact we arrived a wee bit early while I expected it to hinder us. I therefore headed through the town, stopping at the Cathedral for a moment and found myself impressed with a sculpture in the prayer chapel.  It is not often such things attract me but this one, photographed discretely from a distance, did look OK to me. Less impressive was the price on the second hand cameras in the local camera shop.  Certainly asking £45 for an aged Olympus Trip was excessive so you can imagine the prices of the better stuff!  Following an attractive thin legged well dressed woman, by accident obviously, I came to the market where I had a butcher at the butchers while not surprisingly I lost her as she entered a show shop, drawn irresistibly as a moth to a light bulb!  Looking at the butchers was useful however as my fridge was as empty as my intellect, and my chances as it happens.  

So I found myself in the library (pronounced 'in t' library' for those in Yorkshire) climbed down the stairs to enter, climbed up the stairs to the quiet local reference area and began to browse.  It amazed me that such a building should house the library and the Essex Council Buildings when so many stairs are in use. To enter the council many more stairs climb up and down, only a council could get away with it!  There are lifts obviously but really!  

Anyway I browsed the books, grabbed very little info and discovered the microfiche of the WW2 newspapers!  I browsed, once they had been unlocked and instructed on how not to break the machine, a suitable periodical and was impressed as to how little difference there was between those editions and today's.  Certainly tales of war derring-do are limited today but the theft, complaints letters, and sensational headlines are similar.  One thing was very good, the ability to advertise for male or female staff!  How lovely to see PROPER ADVERTS again!  Mind you the housekeeper adverts never revealed how much you were paid, so that was not good!  I loved the advert for 'Craven 'A'' Cigarettes, 'For your throat's sake' it claimed!  Another interesting point was how little was expressed in this weekly newspaper.  A German 'Junkers 88' aircraft brought down by anti-aircraft fire 'a bright orange glow in the sky' was said to have crashed 'seven miles north of an Essex town.'  No town name is given in 1944 just in case the Germans find out.  In fact considering the years of war past so little was said in the paper, but that is to be expected.   

Now I know all about this I must go back and research better when I have more time and know what I am looking for.  On returning I went to see the boss to discover a lead as to what next and found her elsewhere. Tsk!  Typical!  So I made my way home clutching the chicken, meat and pies I bought at the butchers.  £11 for a few days meals is not bad all things considered as this will do for most of the week now.  

One thing I noted is the attitudes in a large town, now called a 'city' in comparison to those of this sleepy market town.  How miserable they appear, how unwilling to speak, unless selling something, although the staff at the library were acceptable in their behaviour.  I did note the unsmiling nature the larger the town however.  Incidentally Chelmsford was granted 'City' status not because it is the centre of Essex, a boring centre I say, but because Colchester, a much more interesting place, turned it down.  The peoples if Colchester regard their town as the 'oldest town in England,' this title they would lose if they became a 'city' so they avoided it to keep the tourists!

Ah fame!

    

.

It's a Good Day.

It's a good day when you cross the park in the sunshine and hear a wee bird, so small you canny find it up there in that tree, chirping its heart out looking for a mate!  This is good as it means we are almost in Spring!  Yes indeed the wood pigeons have been giving it laldy in recent days also, even though they keep this up all year round,  as the chill wind dies down and the temperature begins to rise ever so slowly.  Indeed the wee bird had removed his gumboots and only had one sweater on

today.  That tells you how much warmer it has become.  I however kept the 'Long Johns' and the thermals on when outside.  Actually I keep them on inside also but that's by the by.  Sunshine, Daffodils desperate to blossom, Bluebells poking through and chirping Spring birdies, what more could you wish for?

I watched Sportscene while scoffing what passed for evening meal tonight, let's not bring that up again, and was somewhat surprised to find that in a programme almost an hour long nearly half was devoted to Raith Rovers win over Rangers in the Scottish Cup.   I thought such praise of Rovers worthwhile however on closer examination it transpires that the majority of the discussion centred on Rangers themselves. How a club containing the dirtiest player in the country, the crookedest board of directors, the sectarian bigots who form the fan base, and have certain referees at their beck and call can get such support from BBC Scotland surprised me a little.  I wonder, should this TV company not employ journalists to examine and bring to the worlds notice the corruption and misdeeds of the Ibrox men over the last ten years, you know, the stuff we all know about and the Glasgow media keep quiet about?  Huh?  I wonder why the slavish obeisance to Rangers?  Is there a reason I ask?

More pertinent news however arises from the sad end of one of Edinburgh's most important successes. The chap who runs Ross's Confectionery Company is retiring and nobody in his family is willing to take over.  Having received an offer for the building he wisely is selling up and ending the sweet 'Edinburgh Rock'  that has kept dentists in Scotland and abroad well paid for many a day. The loss of this famous sweet is similar to losing a Cup Final, something fans of Hibernian understand well.  This is a major loss to the nation.  There are certainly those who will wish to take over this product, buying the machinery required from the owner and continuing the destruction of children's teeth. However they must be quick about it  or the population may find being healthy an enjoyable experience and lose the desire to suck on one of these delightful rocks.

Actually that is nonsense, of course we will reject health and demand this great tradition continues and by now I already have several missing teeth anyway.

.  

Chant, Election and Art

Gregorian chant is a delightful sound in the background.  So many choices, often of professionally made albums not by monks, spoil the selection but this one is genuine enough.  Played in the background it can ease the pressures of the day - or drive you up the wall!

Jeremy Hunt

One reason to play light relaxing sounds comes from the election propaganda shoved down our throats by the media.  Lies, promises, bribes continually fill the press and some are fooled into believing what these self seeking liars say.  I am not!  Today we read in the Sunday Telegraph the minister responsible for the NHS claiming he is bringing in reforms to end the deaths caused in the NHS by mistakes, poor care and incompetence, deaths he numbered at around 12,00 a year. 

Twelve thousand! !2, 000 deaths and not one prosecution?  'Something must be done' is his cry, while blaming the previous Labour government (who have been out of office for Five years!) and not acknowledging his governments failed 'top down' changes which are responsible for so much of the mess in the NHS. He also forgot the privatisation (and he has shares in US private companies he wishes to use in the NHS) which his party's ideology favours.  

Let's go back to this, 12,000 deaths caused by mistakes and incompetence and nothing is done as it is all hushed up by the powers that be?  I worked in the NHS some time back and am aware mistakes occur daily, overwork causes this, and nobody can be perfect.  I am also aware things are hushed up, sometimes to save a doctors reputation, mostly to save the NHS paying out any compensation.  Cover ups come not from staff so much as office dwellers who care nothing for anyone bar themselves!  Why have no charges been brought by police to those responsible?  Why no investigations?  If so many are dying why are the police not bringing charges?

No charges will be brought, this is merely another PR stunt by the caring Conservative Party who promise so much, easy promises are their main PR, and nothing will happen except a few cosmetic changes while the girls (and it's mostly girls) running the NHS line their pockets, pass the buck and patients suffer.

  BBC

This bright but badly drawn painting by Paul Gaugin has been sold to a museum in Qatar for £197 million ($300).  It is believed they also bought a Cezanne for £158 recently.  If this shows anything it reveals the depth of stupidity and corruption in the art world.  It reveals how arrogance and pride dent the thinking abilities of the human mind.  Now 'art' has its place.  It can be useful, decorative and decent art is worth a reward.  However much of what passes for 'art' is not art, it is just selling to stupid people with too much money and a sponge where their brain should be.  

The painting shown is one of many the artist offered while sunbathing in the Pacific, each one rather naive and usually of half naked women.  He could at least have drawn them properly!  However there exists those who consider art worth having, some because they like it, some because they must have what is important as this gives value to their empty lives and some because they have too much money and too little taste.

Art is merely what you like.  Sure some is better than others, talented artists abound, but in the end it either 'speaks to you' or it doesn't.  Most of what is art today reflects a dead culture but many admire it as it is where they are sadly to be found, but they do not realise this yet.  The Damien Hurts of this world are not artists as such even if talented, these are people who have realsied that getting a famous name makes you rich, the art that follows can be meaningless but they know it will sell.

Francis Bacon was clearly mental yet people pay millions for the results of his damaged brain, Edward Munch could not draw yet the 'Scream' was sold for £74 million and Jackson Pollock did not even bother pretending to draw, just squiggles on the floor made his name.  

Why pride should require an outlet in overpriced art fails me, if only it would spend its money on something worth looking at, there is plenty around.  

Life?

"Life," the man said,"is what happens to you when your making other plans."
Today the plan was simple.  Sleep, buy veg, sleep, watch football, type up the notes, sleep, watch football, sleep.  Easy to write, easy to plan, easy to follow.
Didn't happen!
It began OK.  I slept long this morning, had breakfast, began typing notes when I could read my writing, and then went for the veg.
For a start the weather was still freezing cold, then the veg man who is always there was not there.  Has he been kidnapped or bumped off by the man at the other veg stall I wondered?  This now means using the other veg man who I consider to be a bit of a git or use supermarkets overpriced stuff.  I used neither to save money and will struggle through on frozen stuff.
Then slouching my way home I passed the museum.  A knock on the window invited me in to chat, then informed me the lass on that morning had not turned up as her car was broken and I soon found myself there all morning even though I was dressed in the 'unshaven Saturday scruff' look. 
This threw out all my sleep plans and little typing occurred as the football was on the laptop and priorities indicate football comes first!  I miss the sleep the most!
Now having nothing done that ought to be done, just look at the mess in the sinks, the football was flat, the notes unreadable, sleep unavailable as the dire football kept me awake, and this has not been written yet. 
I did however manage at last to get round all your blogs in the last 24 hours. Normal practice takes me there daily but WW2 is making things difficult.  My routine is gone and my life is falling apart.
However I will not bleat about it.

Day Out

So my day of rest (most days) was ruined by visiting the Record Office.  The 10:26 bus left right on time at 10:32 but made it to the bus station dead on time.  Then the problems began.  Do I walk to the right along the long canal path or go through town and cut through the big shop?  Town it is, this is quicker and I always go for the quick route.  
Once through the big shop, past the unsmiling painted faces at the perfume counter, avoiding 'women's shows' and squirming at the prices on the men's jackets I came out almost on top of the path by the canal.  My poor knees and I limped along the path past the huge shopping centre, over the bridge and then the doubts began.  Once I had gone miles along I found a board with a map and details on it.  No one had told me that while the River Cam runs through Chelmsford the River Chelmer does also!  No-one told me that turning left took me to nowhere and turning right took me to the Record Office!  My knees muttered loudly under their breath as they took me all the way back, over the bridge and to a place where I could cut through to the back entrance of the said Record Office.  If I have not lost several pounds in weight by tomorrow I will wish to know why!

Passing through town I stopped of for a moment in the cathedral.  This is a nice place to sit and ponder, unless some event is going on, and I always stop of for a moment.  Much altered in recent years it has not replaced the Victorian stained glass windows and here is one of St Cedd, the first Bishop of the East Saxons.  Not that I can remember much about him, nor that he would look anything like the Victorian ideal, indeed he would not have fitted in well with them I doubt, but he was a strong efficient man in his day.  The sun was not bright enough to reveal the depth of colour in the window.

I spent hours in the Records Office, mostly looking through incident reports of WW2 bombs and V1 and the like that fell in this district.  These reveal the confusion when an explosion of some kind occurs in the dark 'over there somewhere.'  This has to be investigated, damage or casualties reported, and few if any of these men were professional.  However they dealt with bomb damage, individuals made homeless or wounded, and a hundred other events including being shot at by passing German aircraft.  
I was left with something of the lifestyle the man in the street endured as each day he risked passing aircraft, bullets and bombs while going about his everyday business.  These were the men at home, often with family members away on service, 'carrying on' and 'muddling through' while this great event erupted around them.  We are lucky we do not have that situation daily as they had.  
Naturally the bits I really wished to read about came late on when I had lost my mind by reading all the comments and struggling through a mass of carbon backed paper.  I will haven to go back next week and look at some of these again.  

Naturally the bus home met with the 'rush hour,' streams of red lights ahead of us, yellow ones to either side, and roundabout after roundabout hindering our advance to home.  Now home, fed badly and watered just as badly I ache all over, await the pains in the knee keeping me awake, and worse still there is no football on the TV!  
Bah!
  
  .

Miserable City

Aberdeen, you may not have noticed, has been awarded the 'Plook on the Plinth Carbuncle' award for the first time.  And not before time some would say.  The 'Urban Realm' magazine, no I've never heard of it either, chose Aberdeen ahead of Cumbernauld, and that says something and also East Kilbride in the west and Leven on the Fife coast.  

Aberdeen is famous for being the hub of the Scottish oil business.  The fourth of the main Scottish cities it is one of the coldest in the UK let alone Scotland.  I can assure you the cold grey mist rolling in of the sea that Sunday morning in 1968 still remains in my memory when a few young lads looked desperately for some entertainment before returning to civilisation in Edinburgh.  Aberdeen is also famous for the civic pride of Victorian days that caused them to tear down buildings, realign the main road 'Union Street' and rebuild it with Granite!  Sadly the costs were so high Aberdeen went bust!  It became the thing to joke about miserly Aberdonians, probably dating from this time.  Harry Lauder the Edinburgh singer invented a Scottish stereotype character who wore a 'tammy' on his head, carried a crooked walking stick and was incredibly miserly.  This must have been based on Aberdeen people.  

Now it is some time since I visited the place, we won by two goals to one last time I well remember, but council men are no different there than elsewhere and money talks and developers spoils even the heart of Edinburgh Scotland's magnificent capital city with modern day architecture and backhanders aplenty (allegedly!).  Aberdeen is no different.  

At least Aberdeen does produce a speciality, the 'Rowrie' a type of 'Aberdeen Roll' that is well worth buying, not that they would pay of course. 

The fans of the football club it must be said 'stand free' from the sectarian bile often found in Glasgow and follow their club with a good away support.  They remain however the most miserable outside of Glasgow however.  Never happy, always innocent, always finding fault elsewhere.  Fans of Edinburgh's glorious Heart of Midlothian would never act in such a manner, it would be unthinkable. 

Cities and towns ought to have something individualist about them but the larger shops always wish to have their own shop fronts.  When I cycled form Edinburgh to London in 1974, I was younger then, I could not help being aware that every town had the same High Street.  Often there was once some individuality but now the ground floors all looked like every other town.  Looking up we can see many differences in the buildings but on the ground cheap plastic fronts make every town a place of takeaways, opticians and newsagents, all alike, all cheapening the town.  

Side streets often reveal something original, houses from before the war show fine details, but since the financial side and the invention of plastic all has deteriorated badly.  

This town also has too many charity shops filling the High Street.  People ask what can be done but no councillor suggests lowering the rates.  I wonder why? Maybe specialist shops and the town might thrive?

.

I Forgot

I forgot to bother about posting something.
Having endured a half day of the museum, until the schoolkids came into the shop at one o'clock when I ran for home and left the girls with them, I stumbled through the rest of the day not sure what I was doing.  So many things lie around in heaps requiring action that I cannot decide where to start or what to do.  Eventually I made a move - I went to bed!  This has proved to be the best idea.

I have no thoughts, nothing to say, nothing worth saying as usual, and caring little about all the other oppressive or seemingly important things others are saying, so I will not say anything about what they are saying.  
Between 1978 and 1986 I did without a television.  People around me kept informing me of the 'really good,' 'can't miss' television that I was missing. However when I saw those programmes I wondered if I really missed anything. I read the bible and books instead.  I listened to the radio and got better pictures then when the BBC World Service was good.  This radio service has been badly mauled now but the news still remains excellent even if many other programmes are best avoided. To few people decide what goes into radio these days.  All come from similar backgrounds, all possess the same outlook, none wish to be courageous and offer an alternative view as this will bring their peers to oppose them, and that takes a strength they do not possess.  
Books open up worlds unknown.  They enlighten, offer insights, educate and it is easier to find opposing views from any opinions offered within.  Thoughts can be allowed to wander into various ideas, not forced into what sells or what suits the director.  Books can also be read anywhere, but not, I can tell you, while riding a motorbike!  

What was I saying?
Anyway I forgot to think so I will go rest the few remaining brain cells and see if I can think tomorrow.   

.

Everything Works, Well Almost...

So the BT equipment arrived this morning.  It was well explained, simple to adapt and after my siesta I discovered the switchover had occurred and soon all was working as normal.  The only slight problem was signing in to My BT as it were.  I had to re-input my details, get confirmation and carry on.  Now I try to sign in to BTSport and it tells me I am not signed in.  Typical.  Small gremlins which will soon be worked out....hopefully.  However all works otherwise and comments still come through, even if the transatlantic cable is dodgy!  

That apart it has been difficult typing while sitting with feet on the radiator and fingers numb with cold. The heating goes off and several minutes later the feet join the fingers.  I look forward to tomorrow when I can sit in the museum and enjoy the free heat there.  A few days cold weather and the gas man is laughing his head off as we all tun up the heating to avoid hypothermia.  The millions salted away by those (mostly foreign) shareholders will not make them happy I tell thee.  By cutting the price they can however make me happy!  Oh to suffer in Australia, Uganda, Mumbai or some other warm place.  

.

Stats and Changeover

As I am moving to BT Sport tomorrow, if it works, I have been wandering about amending email addresses removing the Pipex one that ceases tomorrow and inserting a workable email.  This as you will know is a never ending task.  At least I will lose much of the spam that has followed me for umpteen years.  

One problem is the electricity people.  They will not allow me to change the address unless I give them a mobile number.  I do not use a mobile, well I carry one but only for emergency's, as only people with friends require mobile phones.  Therefore the electric folks will not allow me to alter my email, at least their on screen robot won't.  They may have to shout then.

Statcounter however was not a problem and for the first time in ages I wandered about their site looking into who visits me.  How interesting to see people arriving for short visits arriving for anything from 'Old Troopships' to 'Oor Wullie.'  People pop in from Portugal to California, strangers passing by and not stopping.  Someone in Russia was impressed with a cartoon, this one:-

So impressed that his mate a few hundred miles away soon came on to see it too.  Folks in Germany, Portugal, many US states and much of Europe pop in and ignore me.  Few I noticed hang around for long.  I suppose only the more intellectual types would do that.

As I said, tomorrow is the big change over.  Sometime or other Talk talk will switch off and immediately (or later) BT will turn on.  If there is silence for a while it means there is the usual BT interminable delay or I have everything I require except the wherewithal to make it work, which is most likely.   

.

Make it Stop!

I took my frostbite across the park to the market this morning, spent vast sums (£4:50) on fruit and veg and shivered my way back home.  Next thing the snow returned and according to the forecast is on for 24 hours.  
It's good to be alive!  

The intention was to write up some stuff from yesterday but frankly I just canny be bothered today. Carol questioned whether memory was influenced by others memories or stories and it is an intriguing thought.  A memory of an event can be very clear but time makes the edges fuzzy.  Those who spoke of aircraft passing overhead have clear memories of the event, sometimes bombs are dropped, bullets fired, explosions and damaged houses or people stick in the mind.  However if the memory was to be compared to a film of the event it would be clear some things have altered with time.  The 'gist' of the event will be clear, the facts amended somewhat.  I don't think this removes authenticity from the memory but it does require confirmation and 'cleaning up.'  
Luckily someone took photographs of bomb damage in the town after the event, this enables memories to stay sharp. The events such as a local lorry driver delivering goods to the airbases or taking POWs to local farms to work depend on memories alone.  The stories will be true but no confirmation can be provided, which is a shame.  
One man incidentally,  a German POW in a camp a distance from here,  was involved in a administrative error.  He should have been repatriated at one point at wars end but the paperwork failed.  He ended up sleeping near the camp and making his own way home.  Till he died he claimed he was still, legally, a Prisoner of War!  Many such men however remained in the UK alongside Poles and others afraid or unable to return home.  Their memories would be interesting.  One such lives near here but age and weather made it impossible for him to visit.
My memory is of course perfect, well, I cannot remember where I left my pen but 1956 is quite clear in my head!

Snow, Talk, Listen...

This disgusting sight greeted me as I rose from the fourteen blankets under which I attempted to get some repose.  All night great drops of this white stuff had fallen, blanketing the fields, endangering the roads and pavements, and freezing bits left unfrozen from the last lot.  This made worse by my having to go out into this treacherous stuff also.  I mused on how unfair it was that others winge about to much heat yet we have an abundance of cold they cold share, non I note make any effort to come and collect it!  Worse still I could not get my car to start this morning because of the snow.

What do you mean 'not mine?'  Would I lie to you?  wot?...oh! 

Anyway I walked to the museum because of this and participated in a drop in meeting regarding folks memories of the second world war.  This was an excellent but tiring time.  Quite a few dropped in and told of the stories of their dad's, granddad's, neighbours and such like war activities.  So many stories regarding German planes bombing the town, shooting randomly when they passed, and attacking folks working in the fields.  V1 flying bombs and V2 rockets fell near the town or towns nearby, men went off to join the forces and many never returned, and thousands of US servicemen entertained the girls, though nothing was said about that today I noted!  
Evacuees arrived, mostly from north and east of London, some from grinding poverty and remained here, the families not wishing to collect them again.  The child was better off, well fed, and not a burden to a mother of a dozen children who could not feed them.  The treatment received at the country homes was very different from that back home.  It took a while for both sides to adapt but many did.  One thing that did arise was Brucellosis a disease caused by untreated milk.  The resulting suffering of he children unused to country milk led to the introduction of pasteurisation and a more healthy milk supply for all.
The emotional turmoil for many kids is a story all in itself.  While some benefited from being away from the crowded slums of pre war London the lack of parents had an effect also.  Sometimes this led to a better life, sometimes more difficulties for the kids.  Others who were left with a space inside were the children of passing servicemen, some who wished to take their girl back to the States and couldn't, others who just passed in the night.  Emotion is a strange thing and life leaves a lot of damaged individuals.
However we had a great time, excellent cake which my diet would not allow, in public, and met many people i have wished to meet for some time.  Now all we have to do is sort out our notes, type this up, and work out what to do with what we have.

.

Cold Thursday

It is of course part of life that when noticing big black clouds stumbling across the sky I check the direction of movement and today noticed the end in sight.  I made off for the shops as the clouds drifted north east.  By the time I crossed the park the wind changed and small hailstones began to cut through those of us caught out in it.  It had become a blizzard by the time I reached home 'Nanook of the North' like.   I knew my cheap shoes leaked, I know by how much now!

Bah!  I only went out to get away from the laptop.  My weight will not decrease unless I exercise, this however is limited by the need to discover POW camps and those who were held therein or actions involving the Home Guard, that's Dad's Army to most of us.  This exercises the ends of my fingers as I type, and both are showing signs of blisters, the position taken leads to blood not running to my hands properly so the arms ache, the feet do also with the cold weather as I stretch out to reach the heater when it is on thus doing my weary muscles no good whatsoever.
But not being one to complain I just get on with it, unless my fingers go numb of course.

Reading through Bede's 'Ecclesiastical history of the English People' some time ago, not the greatest book I have read but interesting, I was interested to read how the weather affected the monks there. Based on the north east coast of England, just below what is now the Scottish border, they had the delight of the North sea on their doorstep.  This is a marvellous place to live but with an east wind arriving from the Arctic, coming via Siberia, Poland and anywhere freezing cold in between, it can be a bit nippy.
Consider that one of the main jobs the lads had was the writing of those illuminated manuscripts. Great huge hand written bibles featuring large artistic letters, delightful drawings, flowery letters and all on hand made parchment. Imagine scribbling away on these, once you had made both the writing implements and the ink to be used, when your fingers were numb and the stone building in which you worked did not possess electric or gas heating systems. On one occasion an Abbot far away in France wondered why the books ordered did not arrive and was informed the weather was so bad they could no longer write!  
Aestheticism can be a way of life some choose however it is not biblical and living poor does not mean freezing yourself or your mates to death!  Quite why they did not invest in better heating when they had the technology is a wonder. The peasants in those little 'Black houses,' the ones where the animals have one half and you the other, would be warmer by far than the monks.  Tsk!

However I have no parchment, no inks, and no talent, so I type from an awkward position, more awkward when sitting here in my bed in an effort to keep warm on the cheap!  The snow has stopped, the wind has not, the cold is cold and my fingers are not as warm as they ought.  But it must be said I will not complain about the situation, it could be worse, I could be English!   

.

Shop the Politicians

Rather pleased that while Tesco have made a hash of their accounting procedures, or fiddled the books very badly indeed I should say, they are not closing any of the THREE shops in the town. Only one is withing walking distance but as we also have Sainsbury's, Lidl and Morrison's it is interesting how they manage to make so much money.  All claim to be losing profit, all customers claim to be broke, yet the shops are always full and the people fat! There are two small 'metro' Tescos also, one already open and another being built, who will use them?
I find it difficult to comprehend how a store of this size could mismanage the cashflow so badly. Can it be the other supermarkets are innocent of such accounting?  I doubt it.  Can other businessmen be less guilty?

You may not have noticed but there is an election occurring.  A brief nod at the media will reveal the present Prime Minister 'Vowing,' 'Promising,' and 'ensuring' things will be done.  The things that appeal to the Tea Party that is. So far none of the 'vows' made in the last five years have arisen but they will not notice.  Ed Milliband struggles to appeal having no idea what he stands for. For a while the failing Lib-dem ledear Clegg was never out of the media telling us of his marvelous deeds and actions, none believed him, and all the others keep appearing with smiles on their faces and lies in their mouths.

I fear for the UK after this.  Whoever wins the only hope lies in a massive turn towards the Scottish Nationalists getting around forty seats in Westminster. That way they can influence all that occurs to the benefit of the entire nation. A Tory victory will be disastrous as  the rich only will benefit and 'Dave' will still be there, and even the Tories want rid of him.  It looks dire, the future is bleak.

If only a Gladstone would arise!

.

Museum Day

One of the delights the kids go for in a big way are stones!  There is nothing in these except coloured stones!  Just bright coloured stones of little value (70 pence each) but loved by kids and adults also. Once there were a wide variety of such but it became impossible to deal with a dozen excited kids and attempt to identify and price each stone so we appear to be letting it slowly die off except for these cheap colourful beauties.  
This does reflect the wide variety of material that comprises the earth on which we travel through space. A lump of stone, chopped up, polished (not by hand surely) and sent on its way looking marvellous. Quite a number of places sell such stones, usually larger ones aimed at adults, but few around this part of the world.  Hippies loved them because they were of mother earth and brought peace man, except when they through them at one another, some believe different stones affected the mood and I suspect sat holding different stones in an effort to remove ill emotions, bad vibes and warts.  I doubt this would work myself.  
They are just stones, delightful right enough, but just wee stones.  I like them but have no need of them.  Hold on, I just remembered, I have some stones picked up when in Israel long ago, something many people do I suspect.  These were marked with sticky notes to indicate when each came from, all have long since fallen of and I know have a handful of bits of small rock!  These originate somewhere in Israel but no longer can I separate them.  Not bright and shiny but nice to have and surely we all have something like this as a memento of places?  
"Stone me, what a life!"  A phrase not to be used in Saudi Arabia.


.

Laptop View

My eyes! My eyes!
This has been my view all day, this laptop and screens of missing men!  Five from the first war and two from the second have been dealt with but it appears to be unending.  Scrolling down long lists of names, census returns, deaths, military, births, on and on and on.....
Stopping only to eat, I had to eat as I forgot to eat on Saturday and have been a bit off ever since, this ruined Sunday I can tell you, I nourished myself with thick lentil soup and struggled on.  I eventually drew back the curtains at lunchtime and discovered the grayness outside.  It remained there and I did not invite it inside.

Elsewhere the Aussies spent today, well yesterday, celebrating Australia Day! This I am assured has nothing to do with inventing cheap lager or stuffing English poms at cricket, indeed it is a moment of great pride when Aussies celebrate being themselves.  Good on them.
Famous for being discovered by Captain Cook sometimes in the seventeen hundreds, ignoring the Dutch who got there first, large rodents called Kangaroos, a large desert region and the majority of the population being descended from English and Irish criminals!  The Scots of course are neither criminal nor willing to go to Australia, Scots went to New Zealand and farmed sheep instead.  The glaciers there reminded them if home more than any desert might. 
The Australian is a great individual, at least I have met many when in London and all were the best type. Hard working, humorous, and the women all good looking.  Let them celebrate, they deserve themselves!

p.s. don't confuse them with Austrians, they are different.

BBC

Much excitement in politics as the Greeks stand up and rebel against austerity, an austerity much worse than that found in the UK.  It is implied by this victory by what is called the 'left wing government' the European economy will collapse when the Greeks refuse to pay their debts, and the debts are huge! Fear stalks the world and the papers are excited, especially the German ones who are paying for all this. Mind you the Greek holiday spots may be cheaper this year. Our best loved tourist guide may well be considering a return this year.

A Tribute

Edward Wexler

In tribute to Rabbie Burns....

TO A FISH SUPPER *

Proud partners o’ the deep-fried pan,

Oh whit a boon ye’ve been tae man,

While ower the coonter ye I scan In bilin fat,

Ye are ma prey, as there I staun Just like a cat.

Bereft o’ scale an skin they took ye,

An in a pail o’ batter shook ye,

Haddy, whitin, skate or fluke, ye Couldny escape,

Syne in ten meenits, oot they hook ye In golden drape.

Tae add mair noise an’ steam an’ skirl,

In neeborin pan your partners whirl,

Sizzlin an’ dancin’ wi a birl Till golden broon,

An’ syne like garland on a girl, Adorn you roon.

Oh ecstacy! On plate or paper,

A shake o’ vinegar, sa’t an’ pepper,

That’s all ye ask tae gie ye savour, An taste supreme,

Ye’ll nivver, ivver gaun ot o’ favour, Ye’re sure a dream.

I prefer broon sauce masel...

*Author unknown.

.

Train Ride

.