A Mill, A Bull, A Pond and A Church

Townsford Mill stands on a spot used by mills of many types going back centuries.  It is thought grain was first milled here in the midst of agricultural land but over the years weaving became the norm.  Samuel Courtauld, one of a family of Unitarians, became sole owner in 1825, one of many mills he was to possess, and soon developed a powerful steam worked silk mill one of the biggest in the country.  However by 1850 foreign competition hit deep into his output this led to a development of Black Crepe often used in funerals, which with a stroke of luck brought him much profit when prince Albert died.  With Victoria descending into deep mourning the nation followed on and Courtauld's Black Crepe was in much demand.  The Mill soon employed over 1400 women using a thousand looms.  Weaving of one sort or another continued until 1982 and soon after the closure the antiques people moved in and what a success this has become.

 
Where once a thousand looms deafened the girls working them now a variety of units peddle items some of which my family still put to good use.  Imaging how many items now considered 'antique' are still lying abode the abode?  There is a restaurant in the bottom and two floors of junk valuable items much of what I found very interesting and a great deal of it not too expensive either.  If I had money and wall space I could have gone for several pictures and the number of books on show tempted me, I kept telling myself to go back to charity shops for them.  After wandering I retrieved my bag from reception, they somehow did not trust me, and asked the young lady about the gun she had by her side.  A rifle of great age lay there which she said she kept for troublesome customers. she waved it in the direction of her friend who ran for it.  However  it turns out to be a toy!  An expensive toy for a young lad 150 years or more ago I suspect.  I decided not to buy as getting on a bus these days with a rifle gets funny looks from others I find.

These two houses are part of a row which Samuel Courtauld built for his workers.  He was not penny pinching when he asked George Sherrin to build them in 1883 was he?  I suspect the more loyal workers with their families were placed in here.  Courtauld employed 70 men and boys as well as the women, many of those rescued from London's workhouses and offered jobs in Essex.  Long hard hours for seven shillings and sixpence may not seem much now but it was better than a life on the street which was the future for many of the girls otherwise at that time.  The weavers cottages from yesterday were probably built by him for his workers also.

     
 Amazing how dingy clearish brown water runs up to the mill but on the other side the river is overgrown all the way along.  Reed clutter the river bed and had I the energy I would have walked along for a few miles to see a bit of countryside.  Instead I came upon this bedraggled old building once a hive of industry and now awaiting its fate.

Originally part of the railway yard this large double sized building looks derelict and rather sad at the moment.  This is a reflection on how important railways were to industry in times past as the goods yard was big for such a town and business must have been brisk.  Today little remains although one or two station building have been reused, however I suspect few under seventy remember the line in operation.

Some folks like it however.  Three windows had such a bird taking ownership of the place.  Plenty large windows to go round for everybody.

As I avoided spilling my lunch in the Bull Inn I gazed at the thick aged beams that hung above me.  These may have been part of the original building when created in the 1400's.  Imagine, in spite of adaptions and renovations over the years, imagine how many have supped here over the past seven centuries?  Impossible to miss at the bottom of the hill the bridge over the river is outside the door and I wonder if any careless driver or runaway horse and cart have clattered into the Bull?  I can see many drivers of both horse and car doing so.  

  
Waiting at the door for the taxi to come through...

 
The public gardens are well maintained by the excellent council workforce and here the memorial to the lost of WW2 is found.  A small four sided plinth is engraved with the names of the lost and the gardeners have created this magnificent Lancaster Bomber as tribute to the airmen who lost their lives.  Apparently this is the second Lancaster, the year before that a Glider was made.  I see this as a magnificent gesture and who knows what they have in mind for the next one. 
Well done to the council gardeners!

The gardeners also maintain the excellent pond which has found favour with several ducks.  So happy are they that mum has produced at least four chicks who stumble around the pond searching for lunch.  Kids are always hungry, at least when it suits them.

Not far from the pond stand the disused Holy Trinity Church.  The architect one Sir George Gilbert Scott a man famous for many buildings such as the Midland Hotel, The Foreign & Commonwealth Office and the Albert memorial.  This was one of his earlier works in 1843/44 and now stands bare and rather sad.  The outside is impressive but as almost everything relevant has been removed the building is in the care of The Churches Conservation Trust.

It was as I turned and looked down the nave that I suddenly became rather depressed by the disconsolate appearance a disused church has.  It matters not that this was a 'High Church' in times past (It appears a golden cross was offered  for processions and some objected, possibly the protestant types. This cross soon disappeared and was later found bent over in the River Colne.  It was returned to the vicar in 1911 and soon back in use.)  

One of the few remaining items is the Great War Memorial which appears to be still made use off.

Some people have not been forgotten.

 

Scott had a sense of humour it seems to me.  Just what encouragement these faces high above every pillar in the church gave I am unsure.  There was a variety of faces and I winder if he had someone in mind for each of them?  Were they posed I wonder?

 
OK, you can wake up now.  No more from Halstead that I will show.

Healthy Place

The idea came to me last night to travel north to the far flung (six miles) town of Halstead.  This appeared to me to be a good idea until leaving the bus I realised just how steep a hill the town was built on.  What sort of clown builds a town on a hill?   
The name of the place 'Halstead' comes from the Saxons who lived here before my time.  It could translate as 'Healthy Place' or 'Place of refuge' depending on how well you understand Saxon.  There was enough settlement here to be recorded in the 'Domesday Book' under the Normans by that time of course. 
The River Colne probably had something to do with the settlements origin and at the top of the hill lies the crossroads of the east/west and north/south highways.  That also may have encouraged settlement as time past.  The lucky thing is that it was the women who daily had to drag the water up the hill while the men got on with the hard labour either in the fields or in the pub.  
The town stands on the route from London to Bury St Edmunds so for many years pilgrims trudged past heading north.  This would have enabled Inns of various quality to make a living out of the passersby.   Agriculture must have been an important employer until weaving arrived then everything changed.  
Whether the Flemish weavers (the term Flemish must cover those from what is now northern France, Belgium and Holland) who moved into Essex established themselves at the top of this steep hill which I mention again is not known to me however in 1818 Samuel Courtauld built his mill here and began a business that lasted until recently.

At the top of the hill today stands St Andrews church which as is nearly always the case a church that goes back to the Normans and possibly to the Saxons also.  There was indeed a church here when King John (reigned 1199 - 1216) gave the town a market, that certainly led to the towns prosperity  growing.
You will note I found a war memorial at the top.  A once proud remembrance of the fallen the fallen the stone is sadly beginning to fade and decoration is fading fast which is a pity as we can see.

  

St Andrews Church was renovated by the Victorians in a manner that impressed me and I am not known for being impressed by artworks.  However it is a fetching sight when seen inside and luckily the locals mange to keep the doors open.

Apart from the stained glass windows, very good in the usual Victorian almost pre-Raphealite form the walls of the chancel have also been painted strikingly!  The colour on these pictures is too bright as I had to fiddle the camera to get a decent impression of the painting.  

Imagine a slightly more colourful version of the wall behind.  The walls and the ceiling have been done extremely well in my view, even though I would not have it in a proper dour kirk!   Who was the artist responsible I have not discovered as there was no booklet on the church history on sale as far as I could tell.  An impressive building, well maintained and still in normal use.  

A much better system for removing rain water than the plastic pipes which dominate the world today.  These gargoyles are all around the church, many have them, and might be a spot of Victorian humour.  

Back down the hill past the many houses going back to as early as the fifteen hundreds.  Most have been altered over the years occasionally the outside also and certainly inside they can be changed considerably however many are still pokey wee places for those using them.  Small rooms, low ceilings and it is easy to imagine the many who have passed through these houses, mostly shops today and it is possible many have always been businesses. 
I searched the important shops, the charity ones and bought a dingy black jacket for £5 which seemed a good price to me and went some way towards aiding the St Helena Hospice.  At least in the shops I was away from the traffic.  The highway is still the main road north and as such is extremely busy.  No chance of a bypass for this town however.  

By now I, like you, was becoming weary and was tempted by the 'White Hart.'  Lots of these places around here as the 'White Hart' was the sign of one of the prominent nobles and I have forgotten which one, he became king eventually I believe but don't all English nobles think they are king?
Anyway the place was not yet open so I trudged on down and came upon this!

This was found in the fancy shopping centre.  No I don't know what it is either but someone will know and soon inform us.  

"Time for bed," said Zebedee...

Caesaromagus

An old picture chosen as the sun was shining then so long ago.
Today I trundled into Caesaromagus (Caesar's market place) and wandered through the shops surprised that the town was quite quiet.  I was also surprised when checking the prices in the popular shop called 'Primark.'  There jackets were on sale for under £30 and on the sale rack I noticed a reasonable one on offer at £10!  Jings!  Just a pity that as usual these things were the wrong size as they always are.
The thought crossed my mind that either 
a) the girls back in Bangladesh making these clothes are paid less than we think or 
b) the bigger shops are ripping us off big time!  Jackets elsewhere ranger from £69 to £365!!!
Of course it might be 
c) the workers are vastly underpaid and the shops rip us off.  
I reckon the last one comes closest.

Nothing else worth saying so...

Stone Me!

Putting aside my enormous workload and cup of tea this morning I began to make a list of the buildings donate to the town over the years by the Courtauld family of weaving fame.  
The museum itself is housed in what once was a school, erected 1862 by George Courtauld for the young of the town.  The stone above commemorates the erection in 1897 of an infants school to go with the rest of the building.  Note this had 257 pupils in a small school!  The school in total contained over 600 pupils according to one source I came across!  Jings!  This lasted happily enough until 1990 when to many pupils distaste the school closed and they were forced into larger less happy establishments.  All who were taught here at the end retained happy memories of the building. 
The Courtauld's were Unitarians, a heretical but popular movement in the 19th century, and they insisted that while the bible should be read every day no particular slant could be placed upon it.  This they ensured by the use of a slab 20 feet high and ten feet across including a portion of the deeds which hangs high above the main gallery.  In the 19th century poverty affected at least a third of the people and that was during the good times, earlier in the century things were worse.  However many rich folks spent their cash on improving their workers lives by providing things required for daily life, although not always increasing their wages while doing so.  
George Courtauld was keen on education as with mills elsewhere he also created schools for the young in those places and in town here in 1864 added a Mechanics Institute, a popular item for helping artisans and others educate themselves and join another Victorian passion 'Self help.'
Sydney, who lived in a proper 'Big House' had a very large estate part of which was divided by a road.  In 1888 he gave that portion of the garden to the town, parks were a major part of improving the towns and cities at the time.  This garden continues today and Julian Courtauld is one of those trustees keeping it going.
William J. Courtauld gave the town a new and splendid Town Hall, always worth a visit and of course I cannot find any pictures as I have 'sorted them.'  This cost an enormous amount but he never informed people of how much but even for 1928 it was a huge financial cost to him.  He also gave a cottage hospital that operated (get it?) until a couple of years ago, it is now a number of houses.
William created modern Almshouses in 1936 although I am not sure what goes on in these today, and in 1939 just in time for a war he gave a splendid nurses home, now used for storing troubled young folks.
Why am I mentioning this? 
It is just that with all the cash swilling about folks pockets today it is remarkable that few of those living in houses worth 20-30 million rarely are seen benefiting their workers, more like they are benefiting themselves and robbing the pension fund.  In times past several built housing estates for their workers, as indeed the Courtauld's built some houses for some workers.  Hospitals and doctors were provided, working conditions improved and usually staff here at least were content to a great degree.  Many mill workers were young girls rescued from London workhouses and given a new but hard life in the country.  Few returned to London.
Why is it people with many millions in the Panama banks feel the need to increase this cash rather than put it to good use for the world around them?  I am aware of one Scots millionaire who's name I forget who has donated large sums to many needy organisations, how come so few do so nowadays?
Of course when I am a millionaire....

Musings

The Hancock programme last night got me thinking about the changes to society since that was broadcast in 1960.  Fifteen years before these men had been young lads sharing a wild adventure, one that shared real danger both for them as individuals and for the nation as a whole.  The actors themselves knew the reality of both war and reunion parties as all had served somewhere or other. Those trapped in normal work were able to escape this through war service and great numbers attempted an acting career after demob.  Hancock and the others clearly succeeded while others fell by the wayside and returned to real work.
The contrasting attitudes of Hancock and Sid to reunion tells much.  Tony is desperate to see his old chums remembering them as they were fifteen years before, Sid couldn't care less as his mob were self seeking types and he remembered them for that!  How many millions of men watching this programme (and Hancock could get 25 million watching at the time!) identified with one or the other?  How many had similar reunions?  I wonder if reunions became more important as time past? A reunion after fifteen years finds men possibly building a family, a career or deeply involved in survival.  Thirty years on when in their early fifties life is different for many and looking back becomes more important.  Comradeship from dangerous situations revives and family or work pressures may ease up somewhat.  
Many men endured the Great War and enjoyed it!  There was death and hard slogging, mud and bullying NCO's but the comradeship and even fun behind the lines was unlike that found anywhere else after the war.  Those men could find comrades throughout the country, some known others merely men with fellow feeling and similar memories.
Civilians never get that sort of comradeship.
Hancock could not be broadcast today.  Thousands may have served in the army but the vast majority of the nation would not understand the feelings engendered nor the need for old soldiers to reunite.  I doubt they would understand returning empty bottles to get the 'tuppence' on each either!  While Hancock was making a thousand pound a week making these programmes ex-servicemen were lucky to get double figures, and this was at a time when 'we never had it so good!'  TV had become the norm in most houses and only two channels to choose from.  Radio was seven years away from 'pop music' and people on there still spoke 'with a plum in their mouths.'  Only in 1960 did the working man find a bit more money and some even ventured into buying a car!  Crossing the Atlantic was still made by the Cunard line ships and only the very rich boarded the BOAC jetliners such as the 'Comet.' 
I was still at school.
My dad served in the 'Kings Own Scottish Borderers' 2nd Battalion from 1925 - until 1932 protecting the Empire and keeping the natives in China and India compliant.  He never forgot his regiment!  At the outbreak of WW2 he, like all others, awaited conscription which eventually came his way.  He attempted to return to the KOSB's but was refused on the grounds that he was 'too old!'  He would be 33 then!  Instead he was placed in an artillery battery where he spent the war however I think he still saw his regiment as the Kings Own Scottish Borderers, soldiers are like that.

Sunday Laughs

The Kirk has Died

Having travelled across much of the Roman Empire establishing churches in many parts the apostle Paul made his way back to Jerusalem via Ephesus a  once important port situated on the western edge of what we now call Turkey.  He did not enter the town but met with the leaders of the church there in Miletus instead as time was short and the weather dictated travel by sea.
His point was straight forward, he made clear he believed he was nearing his end and therefore left them his final message.  One point was of great importance and reflected his understanding of human nature and how churches operate.  He made clear that 'savage wolves' would come among them, some even from the leaders own number, drawing 'disciples after themselves.'  He warned them to commit themselves to God and the 'word of his grace' to protect themselves from deviation from the truth they knew.
Some years later the apostle John, then resident in Ephesus, entered the public baths with several friends, on hearing that a renowned false teacher was already settled within he ran out shouting 'Watch out, the roof may fall on our heads.'  How serious or sarcastic his comment was is unclear but it reveals how such 'savage wolves' had taken root in a church as large as the one at Ephesus. 

Today I read of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland a place where seven hundred or so elders and ministers gather to debate major points of theology or public interest.  Sad to say that while several spoke out in favour of Jesus Christ and his good news it was clear the Kirk has departed finally from any trust in the 'Word of his grace,' and has followed the way of the world and allowed the false teachers who have since my time in the church above like leaven brought corruption to the body.
The debate ended sharply with many not voting and it has been decided that ministers in same sex marriage will be allowed to continue as ministers yet the church will not allow same sex weddings in the Kirk!  No doubt that will end within a year or so also.
The hypocrisy of the position is clear, the deliberate ignoring of scripture even clearer!
No longer can the Kirk claim any basis whatsoever for its existence bar following the fashion of the day, pretending this is 'Love,' and pushing Jesus the Living God to the background.  

Now it is time for those who know their God to stand up and be counted, it is not possible to continue within such an organisation, even if the local Kirk is indeed one that knows its God, the church must leave and start afresh within a denomination or by itself and follow Jesus his way, not theirs.  I say this knowing that I have been attending an Anglican church while Anglicans are in the forefront of such a heretical position and many there shudder at what happens elsewhere.  It is time for evangelical Anglicans to leave also.
The time is short and getting shorter daily.  The love of God shown in his death for us on the cross leads to repentance and forgiveness, faith following from this and seen by changed behaviour.  That cannot be seen in many churches today and the Kirk is leading the way in ignoring repentance and obedience to follow the worlds path, disaster only can follow.   

 

Noisy Breakfast

As I haul the brain out of the Valley of Torpor where it has spent the night the last thing I require is a gaggle of screaming Starlings having breakfast outside my window.  Worse indeed is the result of their breeding experiments in that now they are accompanied by a large brood desperate to eat!  The birds spend their time screeching and fighting and flapping wings at the best of times so it is easy to imagine them when several young are attempting to join in.  One or two of these can feed themselves , others require attention from parent but all have breakfast as loudly as possible.  The fact remains that feeding children is never fun at any time.
There are those who have the recurring ideal of the family sitting around the dinner table for foodstuffs and claim this reflects a happy family.  I fail to see this myself.  This is an adults dream, a child just wants fed when hungry and then wishes to play or indulge their own activities.  The 'happy family' ideal has always been a dream.  Some claim technology spoils this but they are wrong.  It used to be TV that got the blame and now it is social media, both wrong, it is merely human nature, kids are not adults and do not share adults perceptions of what matters.

A Long Day

It's been a long day.

The morning would have been enough.  Having trailed round Camolodunum yesterday I just wished to sleep this morning.  As I arrived I felt I had not the energy to continue so nipped over to Tesco for an early lunch which, being me, I forgot to eat until lunchtime.  I brought in my laptop, in spite of having to fight a 'downloader trojan' that appeared yesterday.  The brute slowed everything down and I had r run a boot scan to remove it.  The thing lay in the Windows Live email system and was 'recovered' from there.  How long it lay I know not but it has gone now.  

So as I hoped nothing would happen I began to work my way through the research (if that's what it's called) on the ship 'Lyon.'  As always whenever I turned to it someone came in.  Really it is very difficult to get things done when people keep coming in to the museum!  It crossed my mind to lock the door but then some smart person will complain.  In fact the first man was at the door asking for the curator boss before I unlocked the door this morning two minutes late as always.  He wished to find pictures of WW2 bomb damage and even had the audacity to consider what I told him was wrong!  Really, just because he was there does not mean he is right!  Pictures later proved I was. (Enter smug grin here)

People browsing the shop, others again for the curator offering items they wished to donate, always an interesting time and some who wished to visit the museum and look around.  This was not helping me scribble and or was I being supplied with tea as I ought.  The service was better in the past.  

Anyway One young chap lumbered by the curator with a job he enjoyed spiffingly (I think that's what he said) tried to get me to swap at one point.  My heart does not enjoy such moments as the job was awkward, so I left it with him.  I rewrote several sentences, paragraphs from what I wrote on Tuesday. There I could only write a little because people kept coming in and today I was struggling to rewrite this in readable English because people kept coming in!

I was given the opportunity to leave the ball and chain that the curator uses to keep me at the desk and made myself tea.  Then I was forced to eat my stale egg mayonnaise sandwich and keep watch still unable to scrawl as folks still came in.  At least I made a sale - two cards!

Today was a long day as the 'Friends of the Museum' had a bus run into London for a special tour of St Paul's cathedral, naturally all the old girls went along and the young ones, like me, stayed behind to cover.  I indicated my desire to go but the impossibility of me walking out and leaving the place bereft, the old dears cared not and went.  

A bus to the door, a guided tour and an hour or two knocking back white wine in a local hostelry (chosen for the historical relevance I bet) or sitting by Old Father Thames while I chewed my white bread tasteless lunch probably made them all very happy indeed.  The weather was good enough also.  Typical!

The Curator, Claire, the best and hardest worker in the place, allowed me tea later, by then I was already half asleep as I could not write without forgetting what I wrote and then fund her attempting to read my scribbles as she came round to tighten the ball and chain.  As if!  Read my writing when she was mentioned?  No privacy in here.  I will probably sleep all day tomorrow after this.  I hope those women who left me in the lurch feel guilty!

A 'Drookit' Day

They threatened rain, lots of rain so I put of my idea of visiting Camolodunum and headed instead for the local grossly overpriced 'Outlet' centre.  However as I got to the bus stop I saw the other bus awaiting so I went into town as planned.  The weather folks said the rain was spreading to the east so I guessed that it would be dry all the time i was in town and the rain would arrive as I left.
The moment the bus started the rain hit the windows.
Rain heading east comes from the west?  No, it came from the south, so it rained all the way in, all the time I was there and all the way back home. 
I love weather forecasters, preferably fried by burning at the stake!

So I wandered from charity shop to charity shop, visiting expensive shops just to check on the 'reduced price' stock and took in a small graveyard on the way.

It crossed my mind that the tree in the background had been there a long time.  Look at the girth on that!  Two or three times the normal size of such trees.  I suspect this one goes back to the 19th century, possibly earlier.  How long do they live?  Clearly this one has been around a long time and many branches have been chopped off by someone professional.

'Jumbo' the massive disused water tower seen at the top, stands close to the 'Mercury Theatre.'  Not a place I would waste money on but at least they have a magnificent statue of the Roman version of the Greek Hermes.  Hermes was not just the messenger of the gods he was also the god of thieves, but I suspect you knew that.  I wonder if there is such a statue in the Houses of Parliament?

The remains of this church always grab my attention the top of the tower looks somewhat Italianate, the entrance door looks about 1100, the rest look Victorian.  Either way it makes no odds as it is just a big hall now and next door in the 1990's building the church meets.  Not sure what they use this for now, behind that closed black iron gate a sign says 'Come in, We are open,' but the entrance is the other side!  

This is all that remains of this part of the town centre, the rest was bombed during the war and is now hideously shop centred.  Very good for shoppers as all the right shops are here  but not an architectural delight.  The wee narrow streets around remain and have potential but I always feel this is a dirty town, lots of character but needs a real good scrub up. 

My weary head pondered on the way home about many things.  Not the sixteen year old's blethering on the bus way behind me, not the aged couple on the other side dropping grumbles about 'all these migrants' but two things only.  

One was the greenery brought out by the rainfall these last months.  The fields were green, the tractor delaying us again was blue, the white blossom flowered magnificently all over the huge hedges by the roadside, especially on the relatively newly built by-pass, and had we been able to stop the yellow and blue flowers were abundant in many fields we passed.

No-one appeared to notice.

The other thought concerned the report that when the Conservative Party came to power there were only 66 'Foodbanks' in the UK, now there are over a thousand!  However from the top deck we could see many large, newly built homes with several bedrooms and either a large Mercedes or a BMW parked outside.  We passed many vehicles that cost a plenty as well as the cheaper, second hand, runarounds.  The shops were busy in spite of the constant rainfall, people carried bags that were full, shopkeepers still sold expensive items and people were happy to buy.  

Like me many were chasing 'shiny things' but I was doing so in the Salvation Army Charity Shop, they elsewhere.  'Shiny things' are good and we need them but where is the money coming from?  Are the shoppers once again using credit and heading for another fall?  I hope for their sakes we are not as under this government, which will be hard to remove, they will be left to rot!

Let us all sing a song of joy...

I Have Nothing to Say

Bad News

The football season is over!
All that is left are the dregs of competition, cup finals, play-offs, and the like.
I could be sat here at nights seeing spiders rather than football!
I suppose there are the foreign Johnnies, Australia andChina for example, and the European Championship will start soon but really these are not my lot we are talking about.  My lots start in June or July, almost weeks away!
In the past the footballs eason ended in May.  The cup final was followed by the Scotland v England match and all stopped for three months.  I hated that time!  No football and nothing to do.  I was so glad when August came and football restarted with one pre-season game against local opposition.  On one occasion the Heart of Midlothian first team took on the reserves, that was the pre-season!
Today clubs travel around, play a host of teams, starting with small ones and building up to big ones just before the off.  This year Hearts begin their season with a European game somewhere or other and pre-season starts in June!  
Still, it's a long time to wait....

 
It would have been lovely to get out and about in the almost sunshine like world today but I was so busy.  After a very enjoyable church service this morning, using balloons to make emoticons to help folks understand Pentecost (It would never happen in the 'Wee Frees') I wandered past the wee kids playing very organised football with few shouts from the parents.  When we were that age we just ran about, this lot are organised and now their positions.
Getting home for a vegetarian lunch, there was nothing else, I then proceeded to watch several football matches.  Some of them rank rotten but at least they were available.
Looking around I noted so many things that require attention so have put that off until tomorrow, again.  This means tomorrow will be busy so I had better have a long lie in the morning and rise about ten so I have eneergy to do all that requires doing.
Of course most of you will be working but I will think of you all as Monday progresses...

 
 Does Tony Blair know of this guy...?

From Darness to LIght as it Were

Here is a picture of a tree.
The sky above is blue, with a hint of cloud and the stream from a passing jet liner.
The grass is green, the sun bright.
I mention this in comparison to the Eurovision Song Contest which is on telly at this very moment.
This however I cannot confirm as my laptop, like me, is musically minded and will not allow it to be turned on.  This laptop has some taste I can tell you.
The difference between light and darkness is seen between the sun filled park and the dark concert hall.  One has bright sunshine with birds singing, the other bright flashing lights with birds singing badly.  One brings contentment the other bribery from that nice Mr Putin.
Sadly having tried again the TV now works on here and I turned on to find an overacting young man with expensive jeans ripped at the knees pouting into the mike and making me reach for the off switch.
I first saw this contest when Pearl Carr & Teddy Johnson won it and that must have been around 1960.  Cliff Richard and Sandie Shaw both featured at one time but rarely if ever did music make an appearance.  Bland songs or exhibitionist crooners certainly appear and at one time the songs made an impression on the pop charts, they never do now.  Indeed it's just horrible.
Years ago in spite of my entreaties I failed to get the family to switch this off in times past so I could watch the football on the other side, for some reason they considered this tripe important and sat entranced discussing the bubblegum music that was laid in front of them.  It appeared to me they enjoyed it and I remain surprised even after all those years.  Even today there are people who hold parties just for this occasion while music lovers everywhere sit watching paint dry and feeling somewhat more satisfied than the party goers.
Why is this contest so popular?
Apart from the fact that almost nobody knows the words of any song and few indeed are ever memorable only the judging and points totals make it interesting for many.  This is incredible considering half of eastern Europe must vote correctly or Russia invades, France will not vote for Anglaterre (They still refuse to call it Britain the racists!), Russia will not vote for Poland nor will they give much support to Ukraine!  Let aone that so many songs follow on quickly one after another that few can remember what went before. They all run into one another like the 'bland leading the bland.'  One day proper musicians rather than the leftovers of Radio 2's late night output might appear and bring something new and interesting to the show.  I suppose this is what is popular today, empty music with no depth, flashing lights, rivalry at the count but little reality.  It speaks for people today.
The Anglaterre attempt has arrived, a two man Boy Band with a drum set each for no apparent reason and quick changing camera images and more flashing lights making me run for the sights far from the blandness and the monotone that is Graham Norton.  I'm off to the park even if the night is dark.

          

Spring

Spring has been springing all day today, I could see it through the museum window this morning.  However I was only out in it for a wee while afterwards as I had to shop in the charity shop for other people and then eat, something I appear to have forgotten to do recently.
Coming home I was amazed at the leaf filled trees, all those different shades of green, and the joyous sound of the many birds heard at this time, chaffinches, blackbirds, thrushes, robins and many things that I know not the name but love the sound.  The sun shining all day made it better as we are so unused to that.
Very tired, my mind is not working well this week, either not enough protien or carbohydrate or the mind is dyng.  I remembered to shave this morning two minutes before I was about to leave, then I forgot some stuff I had to take with me, and when at work I took my laptop but forgot glasses that enabled me to see what I was writing.
I suppose it's just another day...

Technology and I are Strangers

The other day the boss spoke of an attack of 'ransomware' malware.  In his case this beast attacked one or two files on his work computer  and he was advised by the company IT geeks to wipe the hard  drive completely.  This he could do as the IT has copies of all files so nothing was lost but time and effort.
Therefore I decided to obtain a flash drive and store lots of things thereon and be ready with the most important items, or as many as possible, that matter in times of such attack or any other problem.  It seemed good to take all the pictures amassed on many disks and collect them, in better order, on the 'stick.'
So of I totter to the shops to gaze at things very different from when I last gazed at them some time back.  It was clear prices were not as I'd hoped so after thought I went to E-Bay.  Here I found one for £3:99 and within a week it arrived.
Quickly I placed on the 32 GB monster one very large file.
It worked!
I added another.
It didn't!
In the end the files I added disappeared and the original turned into gobbledygook.     
That one lies over there where it landed.
A second, more expensive, one soon arrived.
This one worked, indeed it worked so well, once I had strained my little mind on the instructions, that by late last night I had transferred over a thousand pictures onto the disk with masses of space remaining. 
Marvellous, and feeling very happy I looked into various other parts of this device and noted some things that arrived when i first used the stick wrongly earlier that day.  I deleted them, that should fix it thought I.
When I went for the pictures collected and already on the stick I discovered they had disappeared as I had by mistake deleted everything.
Now I have to start again and once more go through the long arduous job.
The instructions on such technological items ought to have a warning on the top.

"Do not use if you are an idiot!

What's That in the Distance?

During the second world war (1939-1945 in case you missed it) a mistake was made.  Fear of invasion led to the erection of many 'pill boxes' around the land and those in charge of defence made one little error.  A line of 'pill boxes' and other deterrents were strung across southern England in an attempt to stop any approaching army.  When placed in charge of such defences General Alan Brooke quickly caused this to stop and followed the correct procedure, one later used by Field Marshall Edwin Rommell along the Atlantic coast, which was to make every effort to stop an invader on the beaches so they could not secure and establish a 'bridgehead.'  Therefore he turned attention away from inland and beaches everywhere were crowded by builders busily working out their profits while ladling cement onto little round boxes suitable for two or three machine gun armed men. In the distance while passing wearily home from the crowds in Chelmsford's centre I noted this lump in a field.  At first I thought it was hay bales that farmers often pile up, usually however next to farm buildings, and later realised this was one of the old 'pill box' defences.

On Friday after wandering around the churchyard I came past the field and crossed the path well worn by dog walkers toward the concrete box.  It was clearly well used by the younger generation and the original door long removed for other use and a hole large enough for my bulk to enter had been created.
I have wanted to get inside one of these for eons.  Here I was in the smelly, plastic bottle and other crap littered den, plastic not a substance that has been left by the original users.  This was a mess, the concrete worn and corrugated iron sheets peeling from the wall however it was large enough for me to stand upright and I moved into the separate compartment inside where the rubble made waking difficult and darkness made it hazardous.  

 
The field of view was interesting however and would not have been welcomed by the folks living in the houses over there.  Had an invasion occurred most of the Regular Army would have been placed down at the beachhead and places further inland such as this would have possibly been occupied by Territorials or the 'Home Guard, 'Dad's Army.  How would they feel in this dark place lit by candles or oil lamp probably when confronted by a large German force intent on blowing them up?  It would be a case of hanging on as long as possible before they finally shoved a grenade through the hole and finished you off.

This field slopes down towards the River Chelmer, a small narrow stream at this point and I suspect it often overflows in winter almost up to the 'pill boxes.'  I say 'boxes' as I had not noticed until I got near that there was another tucked away at the bottom of the slope.  Crafty indeed and if the enemy came when crops had risen and were still green this box would be completely hidden until too late. 
In spite of weariness I dragged my bulk across.

 
This smiling face was very different possibly reflecting the constantly changing demands of the War Department (WD) something else that gave the builders much to think about, possibly however they thought more about the great time lag before they actually received any money from the WD!
This was cosier, the wall inside, the door has long gone possibly to use as firewood, and this one is almost untouched.  Behind the blast wall visible inside the door there is nothing but five wee windows opening out over the field and over the river behind.  An excellent position but suicide for anyone occupying this if under fire.  This too was tall enough to stand upright in, little litter was found and looks to me as being almost perfect.

This one does give excellent cover for his mate in the first box and with the 'Home Guard' being trained in their use could it be they fired some sort of projectile by accident into their pals box?  Just asking!  That brings to mind the 'Dad's Army' on the island in the Firth of Forth.  Their job was to fire at enemy aircraft heading towards Rosyth Naval Base and Glasgow further on as well as defend Edinburgh.  However some of the shells were large ones and practice consisted of firing dummy shells out to sea.  On one occasions our heroes managed to fire a large dummy shell into a house in Leith causing considerable damage and irritation.  The residents comments have not been recorded.

From the Firth of Forth to the Chelmer!  A pretty little river here but this area has not been built on and I suspect this is because of midwinter flooding.  Good, this is a pleasant area for those walking dogs or just wanting to commune with creation and I hope this remains like this for some time.

An abundance of this was found by the path as I made my way for the bus, driven by a friendly driver.  Is this 'elderberry' I wonder, as you know I'm not good at plant names.  This type of thing flourishes at this time and the councils have learnt to let it stay until some moaning minnie  grumbles about what it is doing to their coats as they pass.  The beasties must love it and so do I.  Not that I actually eat it you understand.

I noticed this house as I waited for the bus.  The design is typical of Essex.  Small semi detached workers cottages once lived in by farmers labourers and the like.  I note this one has been extended at both ends adding a door one the near end and similar at the other but there an extension, possibly a kitchen has grown on also.  Many similar are found in the area but I wonder if the occupants can put aside the Satellite TV for a while to plant potatoes and cut the grass in the garden?