Braintree District Museum

I spent an enjoyable morning at a volunteers get together at the Braintree Museum this morning. (Where most of the pictures come from) Delightful to see so many willing to do something to aid the town's history.  We had an lovely time attempting to decide what we liked and disliked about the museum.  Small groups gathered to discuss the various sections, I managed to claim one Warners section was not my favourite, it just happened to be the company the lass next to me had worked 28 years for!  I meet people when I am rude.....

It was generally agreed the outstanding aspect of the museum was the Victorian school room.  This receives groups of young folks (children were considered 'small people' not 'children' in Victorian days), dressed in period costume, who endure a Victorian type education for an hour or so before experimenting with this or that elsewhere  Playtime features suitable games, no iPads allowed!  As the building was a school built by one of the Courtalds in the late 19th century it seemed an obvious idea.   

My primary had desks like these!  The teachers however had more appropriate 1930's style desks, containing a 'strap' (a Lochgelly Tawse) for punishment.  I am not quite sure where the spears at the back came from.  There are shields and drums of an African origin elsewhere and I wonder if these are the fruits of English imperialism?  We heard of future projects and priorities for the museum, and the Warners Archive, for which we were shown the new website.  Warners had a large mill nearby and the archive not only keeps alive the history it is an active producer of material.  Silk manufacture is a highly skilled affair and designs and materials are still produced and sold there today.  Not quite the same volume as in times past of course.  Warners Archive

Note the obvious mistake with this Victorian tableau!

I love the Victorian era, especially as I did not live through it, but my aged family were close to it, one uncle being born in the 1890's.  The attitudes of the day was seen to some extent in the family members throughout the seventy years or so they lived.  Much of Victorian infrastructure lies about us still, railways, buildings, crowded High Streets, churches for a sample.  We are much closer to Victorian days than we realise.  

However I also like the distant past and artifacts that reflect life here from 2000 BC or thereabouts are very interesting.  To be in possession of a daily object from so long ago releases a strange emotion.  I am not sure what it is, maybe I had too much porridge for breakfast.  Anyway I love bits of aged pottery, a coin or an axe head from the distant past, it connects us to those who lived and died here so long ago.  Why should people be forgotten?  I am frequently amazed at how little information appears concerning men who lived, worked and served in this are from a mere hundred years ago.  Many of their houses remain but just as many have long since been demolished, and with the house goes the memory of the individual.  It often appears as if they had never existed, but an effect of their life remains with us all, usually never realised.

When the school took us to the Royal Scottish Museum in Edinburgh as kids we were forced to sit in front of a large glass display and listen to a wifie discussing the stuffed birds found therein!  How enthralling!  At least on one occasion we were confronted with a Japanese crab with claws six foot long.  Why I have absolutely no idea, there were few of those around our way.  Some people find Museums to be boring and kids need to do something, not be lectured about stuff.  Make them enjoy something, even if it appears to be boring, and they will remember it.  Folks remember humour better than dullness.  Dressed up like 19th century waifs, but smelling much nicer (well up to a point), the urchins have a more 'hands on' affair in the museum today.  The RSM had one or two very expensive machines that revealed the working of coal mines and the likes, but miserable teachers insisted we ignored those and stopped sliding along the polished floors and sit down and belt up.  I am happy to report no miserable, bullying, harridan like witches were found teaching there today.  Instead I found a group of interested knowledgeable volunteers who wish to discover more and make the towns history known.  I myself am happy in a dogsbody role, to me this is a promotion, and I am learning from those that really know.  I am well impressed with the knowledge found here amongst professional and volunteer workers.  

So that's where my old bike got to!

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What a Great Day!

Heart of Midlothian F.C.

Never in all my 25 years did I ever expect to see a Heart of Midlothian versus Hibernian Cup Final!  Today, by defeating the green half of the evil twins, the Heart of Midlothian stormed through to that very final! Of course after a hundred and what years these two Edinburgh sides have met before in cup competitions, with the Maroons usually, but not always, coming out on top.  The last time was a few years back when the Heart of Midlothian walked all over the wee team at the semi final at Hampden by four goals (count them) to nothing (count them!), and continued on to win the oldest cup trophy in football once again.  

Today we merely scored two delightful goals against Celtic, for some reason cionsidered favourites.  Lord Rudi Skacel's delightful left foot (seen above) scoring the first just after half time.  We continued to look good after that, with no failures of any sort amongst our maroon clad side.  Allowing the overhyped Glasgow side an equaliser (and offside at that) was not a good idea so close to the end of the game.  However minutes later the smiles were removed from the knuckle dragging beasts when a hand from a Celtic defender blocked a goal bound shot and ensured we had a penalty right at the death.  They even had a cheek to claim a clear handball was not a penalty!  Tsk!  That nice Mr Beattie sent the idiot goalie the wrong way and we were through!  

You may now stand on a chair, raise your voice, and yell WOOOPEEEEEEEEEE!  

I just did.

Heart of Midlothian F.C.

The Edinburgh clubs did meet once before in the Scottish Cup Final, but that was back in1896 and even I was not around then.  Hearts won by goals from Davie Baird, Wullie Michael and Alex King.  The Irishmen, and there were twenty five thousand who had emigrated to Edinburgh by this time, scored through Jo 'O Neil. Jo then disappeared into obscurity where Hibs folks belong. Seventeen thousand that day attended the match, the supporters of the Maroons, in the majority, throwing their hats in the air as victory was achieved.  Their descendants will do likewise in May.  I suppose the Irishmen just vanished when the game was decided, usually there are a lot of them disguised as seats at these games.  The final was actually played in Edinburgh, at a place called 'Logie Green,' the one and only time the Glasgow based SFA made a sensible decision.  There will be suggestions that this game ought to be played in Edinburgh, at rugby's Murrayfield Stadium, but I doubt this will happen.  It must be remembered that the Hearts have defeated Hibernian so many times that to equal our victories it would take Hibs, at four games a season, twenty years to equal our victory totals.  The present Hibernian side comprises many loan players, two or three neds, and a dope.  

I feel confident.  

London Hearts

London Hearts

TV coverage was poorer in 1896 I must say.

Another Sign of Spring

Just as mist heralds the dawn, daffodils and bluebells brighten the world, umbrellas in many hands, and men in shorts appear so cricket reappears in our midst heralding Spring!  The first chance to dress in whites bring the English male out in huge numbers, age and lumbago not wearying such men.  The sun is shining, the windchill bad, yet there they are, sweating off the pounds gained watching cricket from overseas on the couch throughout the winter.  What do they see in this slow, ponderous, yet still more intellectually satisfying than baseball, game?  One overweight man throws a ball towards another, armed only with a flat stick. He swipes at the ball hoping to hit the thing far away, if he misses the balls flight may take it onto other sticks embedded behind him, if they hit he loses his place.  When the ball goes any distance those surrounding shout and run to collect and return it, while the batsmen run back and forward the 22 yards between sticks.  With no less than six or seven hours a huge score of 200 or more 'runs' can be gathered this way.  How enthralling.  Everybody claps at such a score. From eleven in the morning until six or even later in the evening the chaps stand around, clapping occasionally, taking turns to swipe at thin air, and then replace the poundage lost by sitting  in the nearest pub until 'last orders' is shouted.  Using the ground this way is better than building yet more desperately needed homes I suppose, especially as no-one can afford them these days but just what is the attraction that grabs Englishmen so?  In Scotland working men rarely play or even consider cricket, in England this disease affects all classes.  Vast volumes are scribbled on the rules, personnel, history, events, places connected with the game.  If rain hinders play two men, any two, will find an eager audience willing to listen while they drone on endlessly about any of said subjects.  Have these men no lives?  They certainly could not have wives!  Think also of this, today is semi-final day in the English cup and these men ignore it to play cricket instead of watching the football, are they victims of  'mad cow disease' perhaps?

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Springtime in Utopia!

By popular request I have been forced to stand outside on an early Spring morning to photograph the sun rising over the park.  Quite why people are so obsessed with the park is beyond my befuddled mind, but who am I to object to a request from one of my deluded readers fans?  So I have been out, the damp soaking through the soles of my aged trainers, choking in the mist as the frost rises from the ground filling the air, if it can find room there with all this low lying cloud around.  On the far side of the park bright yellow daffodils shiver and curl up in an attempt to prevent a premature death, their luminosity at variance with the world around them.  Heads down, the few passers by failed to notice and be cheered by them.     

The few passing through, scurrying to work, may grunt a short greeting to those who gather at the park bench in the early morn for their 'breakfast.'  Each day, before most have pulled back the duvet, three or four chums gather to imbibe a varied breakfast from different labeled cans.  Often subtly hidden behind a plastic bag or placed at their side as one passes.  Friendly enough, harmless, not as young as they once were, and humoured by the way the dog insisted on shoving its nose into my Tesco bag one morning in an attempt to steal my (proper) breakfast.  

Spring is indeed with us, rain (and the hosepipe ban continues in this drought), wind, mist, with more showers to follow, indicates Spring is well under way and soon Summer will be declared officially.  I expect Thunder, lightning and floods.  The hosepipe ban will continue however.  

Springtime is here.....   

  

Sympathy

Telegraph

The Macmillan Online Dictionary tells me that the word 'Sympathy' refers to, 'a natural feeling of kindness and understanding that you have for someone who is experiencing something very unpleasant.'  Most of us have experienced this emotion on numerous occasions, this does not however lead us to sustaining an appreciation of the situation and speaking honestly about it.  Alan Davis however has discovered that speaking thus, honestly and with sympathy, does not always go down well.


The Hillsborough Disaster occurred on April 14th 1989.  The weight of the crowds entering the stadium, where strong fences to deter hooliganism were erected, led to crushing which left 96 dead and 766 injured.  All were Liverpool fans.  Add to this that TV was covering the match at the time and pictures were shown nationwide of the tragedy unfolding, I sat with friends watching this as did millions of others.  The official report blamed police for failure of crowd control.


This disaster left its mark upon Liverpool football club and their fans, many of course who would have been there or knew the deceased.  All will sympathise and understand Liverpool's wish to commemorate this event each year.  Alan Davis raised a reasonable point when he questioned the postponement of Liverpool's game with Chelsea, leaving Chelsea only three days to prepare for a major European game, because the original date was April the 14th, and Liverpool as an act of remembrance do not play on that date.  "Why not?" he asked, pointing out that Manchester United play on the date that commemorates the 1958 Munich Disaster in which their team was almost wiped out.  Rangers, who lost 66 dead in the Ibrox Disaster of January 2nd 1971 play on that date also.  Bradford City play regularly on May 11th in spite of losing 56 dead and having 256 injured on that date in 1985 when the stadium suffered a flash fire, why should Liverpool be different?  We should not of course omit the Heysal Stadium Disaster of 1985.  Liverpool fans attacked the Juventus fans at the start of the European Cup Final, 39 Juve fans died, 600 were injured.  Yet Liverpool play on May 29th in spite of their fans guilt.  Do they not wish to commemorate this action?


While all football fans empathise and understand clubs remembering their dead, whether an individual or a larger group, I cannot get away from the 'attitude' which appears to arise whenever Liverpool are concerned.  It seems to me that the city of Liverpool considers their traumas greater than any others.  Liverpool fans have indeed 'made up' with Juventus fans, they appreciate the disasters elsewhere, I am sure they would give aid if required at any such event if asked, however there is a mental attitude that says 'Liverpool is more important.'  This is an attitude that in this tragic case is holding them back, not helping them.  It is not possible to forget the dead and sufferings of Hillsborough, it is right to commemorate them year by year, it is also I must say using that  awful popular phrase, 'time to move on.'  The remembrance does not allow the relatives to overcome their pain, indeed it probably exaggerates this.  Constant reminders, annual games changed on that date, all bring up once again the pain of loss, and we all know how hard this is to overcome.  Possibly now is the time for Liverpool to end the ban on playing on that date and have a simple minutes silence instead?  This does not do an injustice to the deceased, it respects them in a proportionate and considerate manner, it also allows the relatives to continue their lives their own way.

Alan Davis has of course suffered much abuse through Liverpool fans loudly objecting to his comments, especially as he is an Arsenal fan.  Abuse, threats, and even threats to his life have been offered.  His reply, on Twitter he suggested he should go outside in disguise, this :- 'Scouser outfit.'  I suppose when an actor/comedian is attacked fro making a reasonable suggestion he will respond in suitable manner.  It must be noted he apologised for any offence caused, and offered a donation to a suitable cause, this was rejected.    


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Old Pump

The Aldgate Pump, pictured here in 1880 surrounded by local worthies, still stands on this spot!  The pump marks the official beginning of the 'East End.'  It is found at the junction of Aldgate and Fenchurch/Leadenhall Streets.  There is a report of a pump around here in the days of King John back in the twelve hundreds, streams were near by so it is likely, and this pump, dating from the late eighteenth century, was itself was re-erected on this spot in 1876 when London's growth led to the streets being widened.  Pollution of the water occurred around this time when calcium leaked from the bones of the dead buried in new cemeteries to the north of the City and filtered into the stream which fed the pump. It is said several hundred people died because of this.  However some years later Whittards, the tea people, claimed to always have kettles filled here so they could use the 'purest water.'  It is important to know your local History!  Mains water replaced the stream when the pollution was discovered. The spout is a small brass wolf's head seen on the front of the Portland stone pump, this represents the last wolf shot in London.  This replaced the stone spout sometime before the Great War.  I think there are still wolves in the City of London myself. There appears to be some dispute as to when the water was turned off as the pump is no longer in use.

Situated in the City of London, surrounded still by heavy traffic, the pump is ignored by the masses who pass by each day, London after all has vast numbers of historical artifacts in every direction. Few if any would know the story of the pump, many might not know who King John was, although they might listen if someone claims to have found his lost treasure, and I doubt many temporary locals care as they pass by these days.  We live within our lives and immediate troubles don't we.  At one time the real locals, who actually lived here unlike the million or so employed in the area today, depended on this pump.  Like so many others throughout the nation a pump was the only water supply.  Any fouling of the water therefore caused great suffering to many, and usually this meant the poorest and least able to help themselves.  Many village pumps remain in this area, some well maintained and on public view, others found lurking in peoples gardens.  Our purified water today comes through the tap, however fussy folks can buy a variety of bottled waters, I never see a jogger without the magic bottle for instance, it is almost a fashion item with some, and working pumps or water fountains are rarely seen today.    

  

Historic UK

Spitalfields Life

Wiki

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Shocked!

George Osborne, our world renown millionaire Chancellor of the Exchequer, claims in a Telegraph interview today that he is 'shocked' to discover how the richest millionaires do not pay enough tax, using a variety of legal loopholes to keep their cash. I am somewhat taken aback by this.  If George, who has around £4 million to his name, was unaware of the £15-20 Billion tax avoided by his rich friends can we conclude he is either lying in his private dentist teeth or just too stupid to do his job?  Has he forgotten already how that nice man in charge of the Tax Office, after a decent lunch, gave the boss of Vodafone leave not to pay his £6 Billion tax bill?  "Just give us £1:25 Billion, and take your time in paying this," he said, "and that will be fine."  He even let one of your Tory donors off with a few million also, have you forgotten this too George?  Has George not noticed the Cabinet is full of millionaires just like him, does he think they pay all their taxes, really?  


In spite of his fathers successful business a privileged education and a Modern History degree,   George joined the real world by data entry, at the NHS he entered the names of the recent dead into the computer.  He moved on to a solitary week at Selfridges folding towels for ungrateful customers, who can blame him for leaving that shop?  I worked there in the early eighties and the nickname 'Selfishes' rings a bell still.  Joining Conservative Central Office Osborne soon found a home and gradually worked his way up, until becoming the MP for Tatton at the age of 30.  Like David Cameron PM, and so many other members of both sides of the house George was from the 80's youth.  These privileged young, a very different generation from mine, have no experience of the war, the "Never had it so good 50's," or the problems of the 70's, and I do not refer here to the music of that time!  Osborne and the rest have a mindset far from any 'Babyboomer.'  Their nation has always been wealthy, and not just because of their good fortune, everyone had enough, no-one appeared to starve, the UK, indeed the west, spoke of 'good times.'  How can someone with that outlook understand the needs of the nation, economically and 'spiritually?'  What does Osborne's nation stand for?  Can he really appreciate what his statement implies?  


I confess, as if you had not noticed, my mindset was reared in a working class family of the 50's.  A left leaning, but voting Conservative if they were better, family, and Scots nationalist when they arose in the late 60's.  Of course a quick perusal of the bible changed much of my thinking, but that leads to a natural left of centre approach.  (Thatcher in the 80's turned the evangelical church from right of centre to left of centre by her hard hearted attitudes.)  For George to say he is 'shocked' by something I heard about when I was 15 or so, and from those able to practice such tax avoidance, I find it hard to accept he really understands the responses to his every utterance.  Maybe he ought to go back to the towel department and ask a few questions of those rifling through the stock?


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Penguins

Rained all day, life was boring, so here are some penguins.....

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Where's the Sunshine?

Early morn I ventured out looking for pictures while the streets were quiet.  Sadly the gray clouds overhead spoiled things somewhat.  I did attempt a shot of the golden owl grasping a black mouse with its beak but the light was too poor for a success.  From behind I did get a good shot of him looking towards the 1926 town hall, given by the Courtauld's, and recently refurbished. Why an owl on the drinking fountain I know not.  Old 'Frith' pictures show a light there but a skinny bird on top, possibly a thrush not someone out of the celebs pages.  By the seventies the light appears to have vanished but the owl has been there since I brought my presence to the town.  This too was expensively cleaned and renovated a year or so ago.  Now the town wasters hang out here, no not me!    

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Sanity Saved, Slightly....

The blessed postman brought sanity this morning, sanity to some degree that is.  The language used by the operator on this laptop has been worse than that used by corporals discoursing on new recruits ability. The guilty party here is the speed, or the lack of it.  I suppose those who first used computers twenty years ago would have paid thousands for a laptop this fast, however we who are now spoiled by the massive improvements since that time consider this machine frustratingly slow.  And I was irked!  My neighbours noticed, I could tell by the way they avoided me....  
However I have put to good use Crucial's excellent scanner which searched my laptop and told me what RAM would fit.  This works well, and I have used Crucial happily in the past, and so today I inserted an extra 2GB of RAM, which arrived by post, and within three days, and now the speed has increased to normal!  This simple system, costing me a mere £10:79, has prevented me losing self control altogether, and allows me to work almost normally.  I of course use the word 'work' in a (very) wide sense.  Therefore I decided not to take the chainsaw to the 'self service' machine in Morrison's, you know, the who keeps telling me to insert my cash when I already have, and insists I remove my bag before she has returned my change, yes that one, I bet the bitch is divorced! Instead of offering vengeance to her I just paid attention to the football, which was rotten, all of it!  However the difference to my life when the computer does not work is difficult to describe, and new RAM has brought peace and happiness back to me, and Morrison's know about it.


I wonder if someone can install a couple of GB of Ram into me, I might have enough energy then to continue my new found happy existence?

Daff

Lots of bright yellow Daffs brightening the park this morning.  I am amazed at how bright the colour can be in the morning sun but find it difficult to photograph the things.  This was the only one looking my way, maybe the rest are shy? The usual Easter weather has arrived, the sky has turned gray with cloud, a chill is in the air, and yet some men still insist in walking around in shorts convinced it is summertime!  A long weekend is upon us, so it will be snowing by Monday.....

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Choried Picture

I had to officer.  You see I needed a background picture on this laptop and after searching through the few I had I concluded none were suitable.  I decided I required a picture of the sea.  That would be relaxing yet involve a sense of movement at the same time.  I had nothing remotely suitable myself but it was clear where such a picture could be choried, as we say in Edinburra.  So of I went to the young lass who constantly offers pictures of sea, sand and sunshine, 'A.'  I would love to be by the sea again, I miss the haar, the seagulls squawking, although they do pass by here, the birds chasing back and forth as the waves hit the beach while they grab the beasties for lunch, the smell of the water and the relaxing attitude it leaves behind.  'A' has it outside her window.  Life is so unfair!   I could have travelled all the way to Perth in Australia where PDP also offers bright sunshine filled pictures of tanned happy folks beside a blue sea, but preferred the B&W version I found on 'A's blog.  

Thalata! Thalata!

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Another Day Out

The crops are beginning to show through now, as this pic taken from the speeding train shows.  The sweep of the fields always catch my eye, although it does not make for the greatest picture, especially when the sky is gray.  I listened to the messages Richard Branson and his MI6 friends give us secretly as we sped along, but mostly my attention was taken by the smartly dressed young lass who journeyed one stop only and the smell of disinfectant that came from an Asian man suffering a cold.  With my luck I suspect I will be a Man Flu disaster area soon.  Why do such people leave the house I ask?

The weeping willows appear to be bright intelligent trees.  If you must weep, weep into a river I say.  I did wonder about the drought at this point.  Farmers want water and here we have a full river, why not put it to use?  Rather than let it flow into the estuary use the water on the fields.  there must be a legal way of doing this?  No point in farmers, and ourselves, losing crops I say.

  

I am not keen on 'candid shots' of people, I see them as an intrusion, however I did wish a shot of this man's bike.  I would say it was somewhat overloaded myself, and the bag on the ground he had on his back!  Was he off camping?  is he one of the homeless?  Is this how he makes his living perhaps, a travel writer with an angle?  When I made my mammoth ride I had two saddlebags and as little as possible in them.  How much does he carry?  Is he a member of 3 para, stationed here, on his way home for Easter?  I found myself a little intrigued, but just looking at him and imagining the struggle up hill made me tired.  I climbed aboard the train and went home to bed.

The gratuitous train picture!  You all want to see one, admit it!  

  

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Balloon

Breakfast this morning was intruded upon by spies from MI6 watching what I was typing on the keyboard.  I think they may be taking this surveillance stuff a bit far now!  It's one thing to demand ISP's hand over the record, it's another that they actually watch you type, sneakily!  These balloon trips (starting from £99) often fly over us, usually at dawn or dusk.  Quiet enjoyable if you have money, are over 4' 6 inches, and under 20 stone.  Virgin Balloon Flights   Yon Branson will do anything for money his country, even give lifts to special agents spying on me!

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George Galloway is back in parliament.  Some see this as a welcome addition to the House, others as a distraction from real life.  Whichever you fancy it is clear that there will at least be some life in that dull, well suited, public school boy front bench talking shop now.  George has some daft ideas, but he is clever, very clever.  While a member of the Labour Party many thought he could one day become leader, and then Prime Minister!  Sadly he was not only to far to the left for the Blair types, he is almost certainly barmy!  His victory in a by-election few knew was happening took many by surprise. This was a sad indictment on the political class and their followers.  George was clearly going to win, and how do I know?  Muslims!  George was never keen on the wars in the middle east, and made this clear.  Many of us agreed with him there.  he often took things to far, including meeting Saddam Hussein and even referring to the dictator as 'indefatigable!'  He suffered a lot of loss for that remark.

However in Bradford he has clearly taken note of the people, mostly Asian, centred his outreach on the Muslims, his posters were found in no other areas but theirs, and concentrated on their prejudice and understanding of the UK/US and the middle east.  Pandering to their beliefs, right or wrong, he won by a huge majority.   

Listening to the radio early in the morning I was reminded of others who have used the same tactic.  Moseley the Fascist became a clever rabblerouser in the thirties, Enoch Powell and his 'Rivers of Blood' speech in the sixties, was another extremely clever and well spoken politician who said what he thought, but missed out what he did not wish to see.  George is following their line, although from a different political colour.  Tell the voters what they wish to hear and be elected, then forget them and do your own thing!  What will George do about the economy in Bradford, especially as the council is Labour and there are two other MP's, one Labour and one Lib-Dem?  How many jobs can he create?   His party, 'Respect,' had, and may still have, one MP in East London, another very Muslim area.  It is also riddled with corruption but nothing has changed there.  No jobs have flooded in, possibly the opposite.  I suspect we will hear a lot from George Galloway, a Scotsman, but all to no avail.

Too many have pandered to race, too much time is taken up with sex discrimination, to many Gay rights activists shout others down.  It is time we took another approach, it is time we spoke only about 'People!'  It is people who matter, those who live where we are, and we ought to spend no time discussing from a minority attitude but instead from an attitude of what is best for all, not just a few.  No more 'rights,' but 'responsibilities' and indeed 'duty.'  Care for others rather than 'me first.' 

Race was in all the papers in Thatchers Britain, but a Church of England report, much despised by the mad baroness, showed clearly that race was tenth out of ten priorities for inner city dwellers.  Jobs, homes, schools, hospitals all came way ahead of race, and this when there were riots blamed on 'race,' rather than 'criminality!'  I lived in the middle of London and race hardly ever got mentioned, the other things did, and by folks of all types, there again we were not on the make.

I look forward to seeing George in action, but I expect little advancement for Bradford this way.  This video (1 of 5) reveals something of his ability as he smashes the senate committee into the ground.  This was the high point of his popularity in the UK.

The Grove

Westbourne Grove London, in the 1880's.  At this time the Grove was the place to be, just look at the Brougham's and Hansom's outside Whitley's shop.  Whitely was a man who knew how to bring in the customers.  Very much influenced by the Great Exhibition of 1851 Whitley was determined to open a store providing goods from across the globe, and make a name, and money, for himself.  He succeeded!  His personality did however bring problems, seven times his stores were burnt down, and while he left behind a very smart building around the corner from this photograph he himself was shot dead in the building shown.  A young man believed Whitley had used his mother and he was the result!  In some degree of anger at the store owners attitude to his mother he took it upon himself to converse with the man he believed to be his father, took out a pistol and shot him dead.  Sadly he was mistaken, sadly he was also sadly hanged.  I suspect however more people felt sympathy for the gunman than for Whitley!

This was the place to be seen in London.  Not far off lay Kensington gardens and Hyde Park.  There folks would promenade just to be seen.  Royalty and the people that mattered might pass by, or rub shoulders in these very shops, common types were not required.  The houses nearby were very much the 'Upstairs Downstairs' type.  many a butler or footman would be employed in the large dwellings, servants occasionally being allowed out to see the sky above, and the sumptuous flats would enjoy possession by London's elite.  Shops remained open until late in the evening, indeed this was common throughout the land I believe, and assistants were housed, and strictly controlled in employers dwellings.  Their conditions were poor, as were the wages, the hours long.  A 'Punch' cartoon shows a shop owner grumbling at an assistant because a lady left without buying.  'We had nothing she wanted' says the lass. The owner informs the assistant she is there to 'Sell what I stock, not what she wants!'  Typical of the service of the day, which we are told constantly was better than now. I see little change myself.

  

I spent many years in this area, not as a butler or during the heyday of wealth.  Somewhat rundown and ill treated the area has however been popular with the trend setters of the day.  While I lived in a small flat, paying a cheap rent and being told 'It's cheap,' whenever a roof was requested, today the flats have all been modernised to a very high standard.  They have to be, the cost of a small one bedroom apartment ranges from half a million to almost a million!  Rich trendy pop folks, media people, and country dwellers looking for a 'townhouse' fill the gap left by derelicts like myself.  Not sure if I can afford to return..... 

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Knockers

As I trundled around the world the other day I noticed the aged door on the Norman arch at Felsted Church.  An aged door, although I know not how aged, with this large knocker on the front.  How much more reliable is such a thing on the door in comparison to the electric bell that only 'ding dongs' if the button is pushed correctly, if the batteries work, if the thing is in the mood.  A dirty big knocker like this will always get an answer as such an iron brute will be heard all around the town when the postman calls.  Not that the postman would be delivering to the church tower I suppose but you never know.  You do know he will ensure you hear him knock however.  Well you would if it was me!

     

For those interested, and you are interested,  this is the door upon which is found the knocker.  I love these aged doors.  The iron nails and spars along with the aged wood do have a certain charm and attraction.  Compare these to modern hollow doors that are found in most houses, the glass horrors in modern buildings, which are difficult to see at times, and the general quality in comparison to modern rubbish!  Good job I'm not one to complain eh?


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Just a Minute

'Just a Minute' is my favourite Radio 4 programme.  Hosted by the ageless (well almost 90 actually) Nicholas Parsons the simple format requires each of the four panelists to speak for one minute on a given subject without hesitation, repetition or deviation.  Simple yet very difficult when put to it.  At any infringement of the rules others will jump in and collect a point, if correct, and often huge hilarity does come about.  

Today however saw yet another attempt to transfer this long running show to television.  During the forty five years since it first began, in 1967 before I was born you understand, there have been occasional short lived TV adaptations, none of which have worked.  It took just a minute to realise that once more it will fail!  The whole power of the game lies in the spoken word, and television looks for image, not words.  The gimmick on this occasion, to enliven the programme for stupid people, was to keep the camera constantly moving slowly as the panelist spoke.  Worse still was that other needlessly annoying habit of closing slowly into the speakers face until we are right up their nose!   Not something we do in the normal conversations we have I believe.  

I couldn't look!  Instead I played a solitaire game, not easy on this laptop, there again nothing is easy on this brute, and listened while they made their hesitant way to completion of the programme.  Indeed there were good moments, although heightening the laughter needlessly as TV does was not one of them, but this is a standard for radio programmes, and will not succeed on TV until TV people consider the viewer rather than their trendy ideas.  The image, and the trendy fashion of the day, concerns TV people far too much.  The last thing they care about is the viewer.  Return the programme to the radio please, and another blessing is we don't have to look at Sue Perkins either!

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17 Mile (ish) Trip

Huge covering of mist greeted us today, however by half seven the sun broke through as I pedalled slowly past the early morning dog walkers and huffed and puffed my way to the back roads.  Here I delighted in avoiding dead rabbits and various birds left by speeding careless, or uncaring drivers and as yet undiscovered by the crows.  And were there crows?  I'll say!  Of course they could be Rooks but as no-one can tell the difference it makes no difference.  Each time a skwack was heard each nearby tree had a dozen nests.  Soon they will be full of raucous young, deafening anyone within earshot.  I would have pictures but they are remarkably shy and the mist hid the brutes anyway!

The idea when I began was to trundle around the back roads in the sun looking for interesting things.  The mist did hamper this somewhat, as did interesting things that were too far away or too near the windows of the expensive houses that I passed.  I know these houses are expensive as there were Mercedes and the like parked there in abundance.  Now I am not one to look through folks windows but I did notice few people were up and around.  Few closed their curtains either!  While I enjoyed the trip I did make the slight mistake of going down a new road and enjoying the slope downwards.  Great relief from the pedalling but the road sign at the far end pointed me towards Dunmow and unwilling to go back up the slope I foolishly went on, this was far too far from home for my knees.  There was nothing for it but to continue until and hope for a way back to appear.  Luckily I stumbled on a road back and ended up in Felsted instead.

Felsted has yet another 12th century church and I suspect a Saxon one stood there for a while before this time.  Again possibly this spot was used as a pagan site even before the Romans began their tour of Brittanica.  A lovely church, closed today sadly while they spend money renovating the place.  Nice door at the base of the tower, with a Norman arch (please confirm).

Just how many people have passed through this door over the years I wondered?  Today I suspect merely those intent of playing the bells that hang high above, certainly not to fix the clock on the side that appears to have been stuck at three minutes past twelve for ten years!  Right next to the church is an old school building dating to the 1500's.  I wondered why there were names cut into the wood.  Graffiti has always been with us.  We must let the world know we exist.

The flash was required as they lie in a darkened alleyway, but it is possible to make out some names, and the date 1806.  About that time the school moved to an impressive site just down the road and became a major public school.  The school was popular enough for special trains to run from Liverpool Street to carry the sons of the rich to their education at beginning of term.  

A gurgling river would have made a better picture had I not been looking into the now bright sunshine.  The scene would also have benefited from not having an empty water bottle lying there.  Plastic has brought much benefit to us, as well us filling us with toxic chemicals, but people's inability to dispose of it properly is a pain!  Wallace would agree!

   

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Lift

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The Sunny Chancellor

The UK budget occurred yesterday, I missed it.  Usually I sit through most of the hour or two while the man responsible for the British economy mumbles on, sipping whisky and water and supported occasionally by gruff cries of "hear hear," from his side of the House.  This year I just couldn't be bothered.  Whatever they say it is clear you will suffer.  This year it appear Gorgeous George has made a complete hash of things, lowering taxes for the rich and raising taxes for pensioners, good vote catching stuff Georgie!  When asked if he would benefit from lowering the top tax rate he claimed he did not earn enough!  Just his MPs salary. Hmmm I believe him, but he is lying in his teeth!  (Sue me George!)


This morning I jumped on the bike to avoid his smarmy lies on the radio and made my way, slowly, to Felsted station.  Actually this has been a private house for many years but the 6 miles and 12 chains distance was more than I have managed this year! That's 12 miles and 24 chains plus a bit more today.  I'm getting so fit I may soon be almost human. (A chain is 66 feet by the way.  Railways, estate agents and others still require to use this measurement today. 10 chains make a furlong (used in horse racing) and 8 furlongs make a mile, but you knew this.)  I almost went a bit further however the bridge at Felsted has been removed and this means a roundabout meander to continue.  Behind the old station house lies a Gypsy camp and I wandered into this by mistake.  The dogs were quickly awake at a strangers approach, one keen to eat my leg was a bother, and a chap standing by a huge bonfire, there is always a bonfire in such paces, pointed out the way to go.  As I made my way back, once again assaulted by the dogs, I was impressed by the amount of broken glass lying around.  One or two skips overflowed into the road, but the glimpses inside the caravans, mobile and static, through open doors showed a high standard from the women of the house.  No surprise there.  I would have continued on but at the beginning of the trail lay another pack of dogs so I decided to return home.  Just as well as I was knackered by this time.  Two slices of brown bread and cheese is not sufficient sustenance!


It impressed me that the dogs I encountered were all small 'yaps.' No big dogs to be seen.  Very good watchdogs, loud and aggressive, but the bites considered less dangerous and newsworthy than the bite from an Alsatian or Doberman.the fact is such dogs are much more likely to bite, just ask any postman!  Appearances deceive and these folks are no fools.  It is about ten years since I was last there, and the camp appeared very much tidier the last time, maybe it's just me?  Some folks complain about gypsies, the mess they leave when they camp unwanted, and I have endured that outside my door before now, the criminal element, and the all round trouble they cause.  Much of this is true of course, and gypsies, or 'travellers' as the media has decided we must call them now, do not do themselves any favours all too often. On the other hand I have seen similar conditions in this town, from the noble locals, and big cities have areas so 'deprived' no traveller would dare park a caravan there overnight.  There was a report that some in that camp were Christians and did a lot of good in the area, and a radio programme recently revealed a christian group composed of gypsies, and proud of it too, running an proper evangelical group on the outskirts of Edinburgh.


I wonder if it is within us all to make barriers between us?  What comes first, crime or rejection, being different or being bad?  The chap who gave me directions was friendly enough, although all the other eyes contained suspicion and glares.  Mind you I find that walking the streets everywhere I go, maybe it's just me.....


Anyway, do you like my style?  geddit?  Style, see....oh forget it.

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Underground Heritage

London Underground History

Jenny's excellent post regarding her outing along an old London Underground (but overground) disused line brought to mind the websites devoted to disused stations.  These stations are historical masterpieces, well sometimes, and always interesting to inspect.  Many overground lines have been turned into pathways much used for leisure purposes while some, if the remain recognisable, are derelict and much vandalised.  Two very good site on the underground are :

London Underground History

and

London's Abandoned Tube Stations

British Railways lost most of their stations and rural lines in the early sixties.  This means the vast rail network left behind a vast network of pathways, many now developed for leisure use, and ageing station buildings.  For some years rail enthusiasts, often called 'anoraks' round here, have photographed such places. These also are fascinating, especially for the nostalgic who once used them when steam was king!  Obviously only me then......

Check this out:

Disused Stations

and

Urban 75: Railways

You may also be sad enough, like me, to enjoy this:

Derelict London

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Timber!

Just a bit peeved at the site of trees that have been chopped down.  In the UK removing trees requires permission from the local authorities because of a variety of reasons.  So I was surprised to find the folk controlling the old railway line have chopped down lots of the trees that graced the path.  I accept many were getting old, and that one or two looked a bit dicey, but there is now a row of stumps awaiting beasties to move in.  The colour is much brighter than my picture shows, it appears a bit feeble on this laptop so use your imagination here.  The bright yellow wood stands out against the leafless trees and not yet grown weeds around.  No doubt the Rangers know what they are doing, but it still seems a pity to lose so many lovely trees.

Joyce Kilmer. 1886–1918 119. Trees I THINK that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree.   A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;   A tree that looks at God all day,         And lifts her leafy arms to pray;   A tree that may in summer wear A nest of robins in her hair;   Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain.     Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree. Bartleby                                         Joyce Kilmer   (A man by the way) .