Almost Homesick

Periodically I get a bit homesick for Edinburgh.  Unlike when I lived there and was sick of home, but I was a wee bit younger then.  As I approach my decrepitude I sometimes long for things I once knew, the family, the attitudes, the football, the rain.  After all these years falling flat on my face in this dead end I am beginning to wish for other things.  Being closer to the family up north is one thing, being nearer to friends down on the south coast near the sea is another.  So I indulge myself in an occasional fantasy of life in one of these places, or indeed in a place where the sun shines each day rather than once in a blue moon - or whatever the phrase is.  

However these remain fantasies.  Money prevents any move, unless someone rich pays.  More importantly life is not a fantasy, reality moves in and slaps you across the face, rather like that lass on the No 19 bus that time...   Edinburgh has changed a great deal since 1975.  A vibrant, diverse (a word usually meaning gayboys!), multi-cultural place today whereas in the past....now just hold on a minute!  Edinburgh has always been 'vibrant!  It is Scotland's capital city, with a financial centre second only to London, and constant contact between both, Fred Goodwin anyone?  'Diverse?'  There has always been 'diverse 'folks up Calton Hill I can tell you.  I was followed by one when I was about eleven years old and that was diverse enough for me!  We all knew about the 'Abercrombie' in those days, although I never went near the place.  Whether it still exists I know not but they say that in the past the Police would round such folks up (probably during the Festival) and dump them on the London train to haste them 'back where ye belong!'  'Multi-cultural?'  The University,  the Medical school, a wide variety of embassy consulates and business interests (Heart of Midlothian played a black player a few times in the late 19th century.  His dad ran a business in Leith.  He wasn't that good mind, belonged at Hibs!)  At primary school several kids form such places attended, one black lad playing football in the playground in bare feet!  He was brilliant!  

However while it has always been such a city it has changed.  Better in many ways, worse in others.  Would I fit in there today if I could afford it?  Do I really want to live in a city?  Somewhere nearby may be better, a place a bit like this one, but without the neds in the park opposite!  The south coast would be similar to Edinburgh, with a warmer sea than the Forth!.  Nearer to good friends but not my 'home,' as it were.  Expensive but by the sea, which means tourists, which is not good.   Of course you will  note I have not mentioned whether the family or my friends would wish me to be any nearer than a few hundred miles away.  I will not ask, and people tend to prefer me at a distance I find, so possibly better not to disrupt that!  Ah well, back to reality.  Changes in some circumstances are afoot, at least I don't mean my foot is changing, what I mea... never mind.   Maybe in a months time something new will have changed my mind again.  I may have a better fantasy to work on by then, a cheaper one hopefully.

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Writing

That bright young lass RDG made her best ever post the other day.  You can find it here - RDG  A short post maybe, but to the point!  Writing!  Writing is such a fantastic tool we take it for granted.  The written word takes you into the heart of the author, no matter where or when the author penned the words you find yourself captivated by the situation referred to. 

Take this man, Yapahu, the ruler of Gaza, asking his overlord Pharaoh Akhentaten for help from his enemies about 3400 years ago.

To the king, my lord, my god, my sun, the sun in the sky. Thus says Yapahu, the amelu  of Gazru , your servant, the dust of your two feet, the stable-man of your horse: At the two feet of the king, my lord, the sun in the sky, seven times and seven times I prostrate myself both upon the belly and back. And to all that the king, my lord, has told me I have paid close attention. I am the king's servant and the dust of your two feet.

He goes on to ask for help, and you can see similar situations around the world today, although the terminology may be rather different.

He wrote on a  clay tablet, discovered deep in the dust of his lord's city long after it too had become dust using the Akkadian script that was common for the day.  The script or the language does not matter, what matters is the writing, his words.  They take us right into his life, and hopefully archaeology can fill in other details for us.  Using similar script we can go back into the beginning of writing via baked clay tablets.  One such is the 'Epic of Gilgamesh,' the story of the King of Uruk who goes looking for eternal life.  Written down around 2200 BC but relying on tales that go back deep into Mesopotamian history we find the lives of those who have gone before.  We also discover that the one thing History teaches is that human Nature never changes.  The culture may appear different but humanity remains the same. From the prologue:-


He who saw everything in the broad-boned earth, and knew what was to be known
Who had experienced what there was, and had become familiar with all things
He, to whom wisdom clung like cloak, and who dwelt together with Existence in Harmony
He knew the secret of things and laid them bare. And told of those times before the Flood
In his city, Uruk, he made the walls, which formed a rampart stretching on
And the temple called Eanna, which was the house of An, the Sky God
And also of Inanna, Goddes of Love and Battle


Who first thought those lines?  Who first wrote them down? How long have they been uttered on the earth?   Interestingly the discovery of items, dated to 2600 BC, belonging to Enmebaragesi of Kish, mentioned in the story as father of one of Gilgamesh's enemies gives some historical value to the tale. Their versions, there are several,  of the Biblical Flood also indicates such an event took place and left a deep mark on the society of the day.

Writing grew from the need to keep a count of produce and tally sticks of bone or wood were used around 8000 BC. As men gathered together in ever larger towns and cities such accounts became more important and by 3000 BC various forms of shorthand tallies were known, early writing followed soon after.  From record keeping to communication between Kings and their servants, from legends and spiritual instruction we move on to more advance writing styles and in today's world the internet and worldwide communication by the written word.  Sometimes this is less important to us than it would have been at the time of writing.  The Roman asking for socks while stationed on Hadrian's Wall may well have been desperate at the time, just as the woman enquiring about the her friends back home considered their situation important.  She would have written on a double piece of wood that would be folded and tied and posted to wherever.  I have no idea what she used for stamps. 

It fascinates me to read such letters.  These take us right into another's life.  They may well be in China or South America, what is now called Iraq or may even have lived not far from home in the distant past, but we are with them as we read.  Their trials become ours, their joys are shared.  The good, the bad and the ugly are found there, just like today.  Human nature never changes, whatever the culture may be, the heart remains the same.

Dictators know the written word is dangerous.  The printing of pamphlets allowed the Reformation to succeed, the banning or controlling of newspapers allows governments to dictate what information the people receive.  Today the web and phone technology make that so much harder to control, ask the Iranians, the Libyans and the Syrians.  As we know words can build up or bring down, they can heal or they can hurt, and the tongue is difficult to control, although we can of course erase the written word before we post, sometimes.    Stand in any library and look around you at the world exposed there (No I do not refer to 'Fifty shades of cheap novels').  The world and all therein can be found in a decent library.  Imagine what can be found at the British Library if you had the time to browse every day?  The written word is one of man's greatest inventions, when put to good use.   

What am I trying to say here?  It just struck me forcibly when reading RDG's post how words down the centuries bring us together with the authors from long ago, both good and bad, and that is a thought I find incredible!  Cogitate thereon and you, being educated, might be able to understand this amazing thought better than I ever can!


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Nothing to Say!

Nothing to say.  I kind of forgot to eat again and my brain is a bit dull.  I will eat something tonight, if I get time, but I have been busy doing nothing and that's very wearying you realise.  However I can offer you a picture of Cramond to ponder.  Enlarged you may just see the top of the Forth Bridge in the distance.  Ah the sea, the sea, how I miss thee.  I miss egg and chips also it seems.... 

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Does it Never End?

The Olympics are still dragging on!  BBC TV is full of it.  The press cannot get enough of it.  Real news is pushed aside for people winning Gold!  Naturally they have the Olympics at the time when England is on holiday.  Scotland begins earlier but that is not known down here of course, 'Team GB or no Team GB!'  With little news the media have to fill space and with home based folks winning Gold they are making the most of it.  Each star is built up to the heavens, while each grubby little tabloid hack scourers the dustbins for tales of scandal and depravity to bring them down again.  Folks wish for happy stories, especially in summertime, so the problems in Syria where thousands die and the Great Powers play dangerous games are pushed down the page.  A mass shooting will be mentioned but clearly not as often as a 'Brit' winning a medal.  The 'Daily Mail' reader whining about paying for the NHS and Benefit claimants happily allows billions to be spent on the Olympics, and the reward is a jingoistic handfull of medal!  I noticed also that the 'Brit' Andy Murray won an Olympic Gold medal for playing tennis, while the 'Scot' Andy Murray only managed a Silver one in the tennis doubles.  Typical!  What is tennis doing there anyway?  How many other daft sports feature here?  Does Synchronised Swimming still get a shot?  Basketball?  Baseball?  Cricket maybe?  Dearie me no thanks.  The football season has started, get this rubbish of the screen and ...hold on, wait a minute.  If the Olympics finishes I suspect the banal pap that was there before will reappear.  More Simon Cowell shows, more empty dance contests. Hmmm, OK, keep the Olympic coverage going for a while, spending another £40 Billion on this might be worth while after all.

That tactful, one time Italian leader, Mr Berlasconi has used one of his Italian newspapers to have a go at the German leader.  Under the headline 'FOURTH REICH'  a picture of Frau Merkel appears.  A picture which tactfully shows her giving a wave which looks awfully like the salute that Herr Hitler chap used to give.  Could he be attempting to imply something perhaps......?  Shame on him.

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Caught Ya!

As I emerged from my late morning nap I espied this gent scribbling a ticket for the folks in the car here.  I am wondering what went wrong here?  Did mum break a traffic law, or did young son fling stuff from window?  I'm hoping it is a ticket for stopping on double yellow lines to collect brat from Skatepark.  I think she has done this before and has paid the penalty, and on a busy Saturday at that!  Well done Mr Polisman,  that happens too often and needs to stop.  The horn blowing and traffic congestion is a pest, well done sir!  

He looked pretty chuffed with himself afterwards, possibly his first £60 ticket I expect.  Good idea putting cops on bikes, lots of lonely pathways around here.  Had I been better clothed at the time I may not have had to snap through the closed window, hence the reflection, but had he seen me I may have got a ticket, or worse!

The football season restarted today, and naturally the Heart of Midlothian began the season with a two nil victory over St Johnstone, as I foretold,  and at this moment sit proudly where they belong at the top of the table.  Excuse me while I gloat a little.....

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Hearts Greatest Games

Buy this book from Amazon

I was awoken, just before lunchtime,  by the postman kicking the door in an effort to indicate his presence.  I enquired, as he shoved a packet in my face, why he had not put it through the letterbox, it was big enough to take it.  "I couldn't reach," he grunted, "And I knew you would be asleep, so there," The letterbox stands at eye level and he is six feet four!  So my second sleep of the day was disturbed, and I was anxious it was disturbed for a good reason.  It was!  In my hand I held another tome from the prolific, yet strangely humble, author of good books, Mr Mike Smith!  This time the work concerned the Heart of Midlothian, featuring fifty (only) of their greatest games!   A smart cover, a solid hardback that fits nicely into the hand, full of historical fact, written in a concise yet highly readable manner, excellent photographs, I canny wait!

From the foreword by Hearts great John Robertson, through over a hundred years of top games Mike Smith takes us into the heart of what it means to be a supporter of the Heart of Midlothian. Those who support clubs where money is no object fail to comprehend the reality of football supporting.  The real fan rejoices with each victory but hurts with each loss. The Heart of Midlothian fan hurts often!  Being reared on the mighty Hearts side of the fifties that swept all before it I attended my first game to see the remnants of that glorious side thrash Airdrieonians by six goals to one, I thought it would always be like this!  I watched us struggle to win the next game, versus Raith Rovers, and was given an understanding of reality a week or so later when relegation bound Queen of the South defeated us by one goal to nil. Reality said life is not perfect, and the heart of the Heart of Midlothian fan contains much cynicism!  It still does......

However the bright spots in such a life are indeed brighter for the fan of the Heart of Midlothian than for those 'prawn sandwich eaters' that follow cash rich giant clubs with no heart.  Indeed the book mentions how the Hearts victory over Kilmarnock in the 1962 League Cup Final (a game my father would not let me attend because of 'the crowds' Bah Humbug!) was the last major trophy to reach Tynecastle Park until that marvelous day in 1998 when Stephan Adam slotted home the winner and ended forty years of pain by bringing the Scottish Cup back home. (Excuse me while I wipe away tears, I'm so happy!!!) 

From the first cup final win over Dumbarton, to the double victories over Hibernian, by three goals to one in 1896, and by five goals to one in 2012 (and we all know it ought to have been double that score) through night games versus Lokomotiv Leipzig and Bayern Munich, via the destruction of Celtic by Rene Mollar and comrades that damp November in '69 (a game I well remember) this book speaks the language of the Heart of Midlothian, Edinburgh's Premier Football Team!  Few teams have the record of 'Scotia's Darlings,' few have such an intellectual following, few can begin to compare with the Heart of Midlothian.

Mr Smith offers a glimpse into the Scottish psyche with this book, touching on Edinburgh's history and culture (try saying that about Leith!),  on the desire of the fans for success, and their wary appreciation of how close disaster can be.  None understand that like the cynics at Tynecastle!  Fifty games here mentioned show however that this football team is indeed the 'Talk of the toon, ' and I claim that this book will stir the heart like no other.  And that is 'No idle talk!'

One of the best heart of Midlothian books I have read!

     

Stop press! News has reached us that a Hibernian book along similar lines has been cancelled.  They could not find fifty games worth mentioning.

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Cogitating

Syria, a land mostly ignored and up till now stable under its Assad dictatorship.
Suddenly it is rent in two by rebels, why?
The Assad regime forced a secular dictatorship on the land, this found much support among the Shia and indeed those who call themselves Christian.  While it ruthlessly suppressed any opposition in the Middle Eastern style it also allowed a great degree of controlled freedom.  People were educated, including women, and as long as you obeyed you survived.  Israel was however not keen, the border too close, previous wars left their mark and support for Hezbollah in Lebanon irked the Israeli's a wee bit.
The great powers did nothing.  Indeed deals were done which included Syria, did Assad not interrogate Islamist for the Bush regime in the US?  Now however somebody wishes to destabilise
Iran's nuclear threat and Syria is the place to do it.


A simple technique is used.  Sunni Saudi Arabia, who fear the Iran threat, and oil rich Sunni Qatar, are used to supply material to unsettle Assad.  They supply the money, the arms and other help to these 'rebels.'   Using Turkey, a key member of NATO, to supply weapons and protect the 'innocent civilians' along their border with Syria also threatens Assad.  This settled almost peaceful nation now has an army bent on slaughtering anyone who opposes the regime, uncontrolled militant groups on both sides happily killing young and old, and a 'rebel' force, now said to possess heavy weaponry, who are a mixed bunch with policies of a wide and varied kind. Nobody really knows what many of these people really look for.


Yet the west is happily encouraging this to worry Iran.  The danger is clear.  Russia and China may well take Iran's side, for whatever reason, and a new cold war, which will soon turn hot, is almost upon us.  Let us realise also that the divisions within Iran also show that nobody knows what their long term idea actually is!  Unsettling a peaceful dictatorship in Syria to attack Iran may be a clever plan to some but the results may well be catastrophic for us all.

Following on from 'friends' yesterday I got to thinking about how some folks collect 'friends' on social media sites.  In my humble opinion, and humble is the word, we only ever have two or three really close friends.  People who stick with you whatever your faults, and this because they like you.  We may also have a larger collection of a dozen or more 'friends,' possibly up to fifty or so if we belong to clubs or groups, who we regard as friends but are not going to be there forever.  We may also have a further larger group we know from such groups, work or whatever who we regard as acquaintances.  So I ask how do some folks have two or three thousand 'friends' on the 'facebook' or 'Twitter' accounts?   Are these real 'friends?'  Possibly we need another word for this?  Now famous people get followers, important folks, footballers, journalists etc, get similar followers who know and respect them, but these are not real 'friends.'  So why do folks gather hundreds of people they never will know and add them to their list?  maybe it's just me being jealous?  A handful of good people is better than hundreds you do not even have time to read or understand surely?

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Friends

Friends, how nice to have them.  Two, and I have at least one more, arrived on a visit today, the first time we have met face to face for about fifteen years. They are staying with their friends who have moved into this locale, and good luck to them, so took time out to meet handsome young me.  How they have aged while I stay the same!  They have not changed mind.  She immediately went off for a nose around into everything, typical woman!  She did ask first, which was most unlike her.  Had I said "No!" she would have gone ahead anyway.   

We first me forty years ago when I wandered into the church on Westbourne Grove, London, he was running at the time.  Having only been there just over a year he was young and eager, and delighted to trap another into attending.  Three years later I returned after a period back in Edinburgh, this time I was indeed trapped and found a home there.  Most folks who walk into 'The Grove' find it becomes a 'home.'  Many around the world have been there for a few short years (very London that) and have memories of their time there.  Once the pair had left and moved to the coast many kept in touch and as my 'spiritual adviser' (if shouting loud 'Why?' can be called advising)  we have been close ever since.  They became my second family, the first rusting away in the Edinburgh downpours (how lovely summer is up there) and I miss them and all their adventures.  Sometimes being far from folks is a good thing, but not always.

To sit for a couple of hours and discuss this and that was a treat, even though I had to rush around cleaning the place, looks like another new Hoover bag is needed already!  What laughs gossiping about other folks,well she did, men don't do that.  What a funny old world it is as people from their time at the 'Grove' are found all over the world, even in Mongolia of all places!  Folks we knew have been through some strange experiences, some good some bad, and even the renovated building now has flats at the top that cost over £2 million each!  Looking at pics of the modern flats where broken pews and peeling paints once stood is quite something.  'The Grove' itself remains the same as always I suspect.  Time marches on, and the mice run up the clock as someone said, or something.  OI!  I've just realised, that git has gone off with my pen!  Typical!

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Nothing to Say...

Nothing to say, so here is an old cartoon. 

That looks like my granddad reading the paper! 

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Every Silver Lining Has a Cloud.

Typical UK summer.  The sun shines brightly, the sky is blue, and a chilly wind blows the big gray clouds in front of the sun and continues right up your trouser leg.  So it was today as I rested from my paperwork trials.  I have three lots of paperwork to deal with.  Each needs info from the other, half the info is not available, none of it is easy for my wee mind to follow.  Financial stuff goes over my head, counting my change is OK, but beyond that I struggle and today my mind has been wearied much.  I managed to get two important, but incomplete, excuses into the post this afternoon, the third one is just beyond me.  Hard work in the morning for me.  

I may put the horrid word verification back on for a while.  This morning I had 19 calls from Mr Anonymous waiting for me as I looked up the email.  Several more came during the day.  His broken English was added to by broken German at one point!  If he keeps this up I might go round to Peking or Vladivostok or wherever and break something he possesses!  I also had an offer from someone attempting to get another $20 million out of their country, probably our Chancellor George Osborne.  I ignored him.

I'm off to look for a calculator.....

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Town Hall

I was tempted to write, 'I saw this and thought of you,' but several young ladies are looking in so I will avoid that.  This creature you see before you, no not me, the one in the photo, hangs from the town hall wall and was intended to spew rainwater upon passersby in times past.  Whether it works now I am not too sure.  It was brought to my attention during a quick tour of the town hall as was.  I say as was as the building long ago grew too small for use of the council. The dolphin shape, for that's what it is, goes back a thousand years to the other half of the town, as I explained earlier as those who did not fall asleep will recall.  Built in 1926, a 'gift' from one of the kindly Courtauld's, a family we have met before, it contains several interesting  wood lined rooms.  Originally it appears to have been rather austere but later decor added paintings of some interest.  Difficult to photograph them as we sped through, the guide not at his best,  however I did get a couple of quick shots.  This being the window over the grand staircase.

The town crest at the top contains the line 'Hold to the truth.' Fabulous line to have amongst town Councillor's I suggest.  As if the suits that gathered could be trusted to pursue the 'truth.'  I am sure many did a good job, and some probably did seek the 'truth' at all times but the cynic within me is not sure about that phrase.  Anno Domini 1927 reflects the year of completion.  Originally the cost was around £10,000 but at the finish, as the Courtauld man insisted on only the best material, the cost rose to £50,000.  A wage of £3 or 4 a week would be good then!   The Courtauld's family, being Unitarians, believed in 'good works.  They built hospitals, schools, and the like for the towns in which they operated.  However by increasing the wage by a shilling a week they may well have done a lot more, but this way they get themselves a more permanent memorial. 'They said "Let us  build a tower that reaches up to Heaven and make a name for ourselves," or something.'  The generous man was rewarded with a gift of a Gold casket afterwards!  Jings!  

Sadly I cannot show you the chairs, mostly backed with pigskin, the murals reflecting the towns history, going back around a thousand years and sending a boat load to America to found a similarly named town in Massachusetts or somewhere, the big breasted girls chosen for the large map on the chairman's ceiling, or the valuable grandfather clock that possibly doesn't work.  One thing is clear the pretentious importance of those involved in the building.  The powers of the day considered themselves important, they do today but not in the same 'class' manner.  The importance of the town, busily industrial as it was, required they thought such a building, and the creator desired his memory to be revered also, though he would not say so.  Sadly while he is remembered he does not find the world really cares.  Once we have gone few really care do they.  Had the family considered increasing the wages slightly, and losing out themselves to some extent, they would have created an eternal memorial, and that would be better I think.     

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James Keir Hardie

On September 25th 1915, with the Great War in full flow, James Keir Hardie passed away. His life had been dedicated to improving the lot of the working man, and the working man's lot at the time was terrible indeed!


Born illegitimate to a servant girl in Lanarkshire on the 15th of August 1856 he started at the bottom of life. Eventually his mother married a ship's carpenter and the family moved to the new area of Partick in Glasgow with the intention of finding work. The young lad had to work himself from an early age and at eight years old became a Baker's delivery boy working around seventy five hours a week! With his father unemployed, his mother pregnant and with a brother to care for he became the wage earner of the family, at three shillings and sixpence a week! When he was ten years of age his brother lay dying and the young Hardie tended him through the night. This caused him to be late for work so he was sacked, and fined a weeks wages by his boss! Some people still question why unions came into being?


With work difficult to find the family left Glasgow and returned to Lanarkshire  and after his step-father had gone to sea, he was a ships carpenter, the young lad became a miner, at the age of ten, in Newarthill Colliery!  Working as a   'Trapper,' he spent ten hours a day opening and closing doors enabling air to reach the miners. The  unschooled boy was taught to read by his mother and became literate by the age of seventeen, and this in spite of twelve hour shifts down the pit. This was not unusual in the second half of the nineteenth century. David Livingstone the missionary,taught himself to read and write by placing books on his machine as he weaved cloth in nearby Blantyre. A hunger for self development to improve an individuals position spread throughout the nation.  Reading newspapers taught Hardie that others were forming unions and taking a stand to improve their working conditions, and in an effort to improve his own mine Hardie formed a union and led the first strike in 1880. He was dismissed!  


Moving to Ayrshire he found work as a journalist, having been 'blacklisted' by the mine owners, and married a fellow temperance campaigner, Lillie Wilson. She was to find a life of struggle bringing up the bairns while he travelled around addressing meetings while he fought for the miners interests. In 1886 he was appointed as secretary to the 'Ayrshire Miners Union,' and shorty after the 'Scottish Miners Federation.' This was a time of growing economic wealth in the United Kingdom, and many men had formed guilds and unions to improve their conditions and educate themselves. Miners also desperately wished for change and a fairer share of the wealth. In 1887 a newspaper was produced as he attempted to educate the miners, called at first 'The Miner,' and later the 'Labour Leader.' In 1888 he decided that a new political party was required to benefit the workers. The Liberals, in whom he had trusted up till then, were not seen as being supportive enough of the working class, and Hardie stood, and came last, as an Independent Labour candidate at the local election. At this stage only around one man in three had the vote, and while artisans had received the privilege most had not. On August 25th 1888 the Scottish Labour Party came into being with James Keir Hardie as secretary!



In 1897 Hardie became a Christian and claimed the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth had been the main inspiration for his ideals. He had been brought up an atheist, but one infused with the teachings of the 'Sermon on the mount.'  Hardie described Jesus teachings as 'Communistic,' meaning a sharing and caring society as opposed to the Stalinism that grew up in the east.  A great many leaders of the Independent Labour Party were from a Christian Socialist background.  It is difficult to relate that Tony Blair claims he also belongs to that class!  


In 1892, after travelling the world investigating working class politics and conditions, meeting leaders of similar organisations throughout Europe, Hardie stood and won, as an Independent Labour candidate in the West Ham South constituency, a rough industrial area. John Burns in Battersea and J. Havelock Wilson in Middlesbrough were also elected as Independent Labour men. The MP's dress of the day required top hats and tail coats but Hardie entered the house wearing a cloth cap and a tweed suit! A sensation resulted! A year later he became the leader of the newly formed Independent Labour Party. MP's were not paid at that time, most had sufficient wealth to avoid the need for salary, however this, and an increase of tax on the rich were among the policies campaigned for by the new members. Pensions for the old, free schooling, votes for women and abolition of the House of Lords were also on his menu.

In 1894 a motion was presented congratulating the monarch on the arrival of a grandchild. On the same day the French president had been assassinated and over two hundred and fifty men had died in a mining accident in Wales. Sir William Harcourt offered the motion of congratulations on the birth, and condolences to the French for their loss and Hardie asked if an addition, regretting the deaths of the Welsh miners could be added to this. Harcourt refused and in an offhand manner offered regret to the miners. Hardie then launched into an attack on the monarchs privileges and continued in spite of the House viciously attacking him as he spoke. He then opposed the motion. His loss the next year in the 1895 general election may well have been the result of this action.

In 1900 Merthyr Tydfil sent Hardie back to the House of Commons where he joined by Richard Bell from Derby. He then produced a masterstroke by agreeing with the Liberal Party not to stand against one another in thirty seats at the next election, this meant that at the 1906 election the Labour numbers rose to twenty nine and the Liberals won the election. This also led on to pensions for those over seventy, Labour Exchanges and many other much needed reforms. During the early years of the century Keir Hardie involved himself in many issues, including calling for equality of races in South Africa, independence for India and many others that brought him much opposition.

He suffered much more opposition on the outbreak of war in 1914. His pacifism led to him addressing large meetings calling on working men to refuse to enlist, and he suffered taunts of "Traitor," although he was never a traitor to his beliefs like some in his party. Many of his former colleagues and friends disagreed with his stance, and it must be recalled that the socialist leader in France who opposed the war was shot in a cafe at this time! The workers did not listen to Hardie and by December 31st 1915 over two and a half million men had volunteered to enlist. The strength of character and determination to speak for his beliefs in spite of opposition from friends and foe did not stop him speaking out. Opposition is always the reward for truth! Much of his life was of course spent in being opposed! A sick man, he suffered from strokes, suffering a heart attack in late 1914 and unhappy with the pain of war, along with his friends decision to support it, he shrank away slowly. Returning to Glasgow to die in hospital there on September the 25th 1915. His heart would have suffered much had he known that as he died thousands joined him on the Loos battlefield, dying for the war he had so strongly opposed.

What would James Keir Hardie think of the Labour Party that now sits in the House?  He would be frank about their leadership certainly, especially the lack of real work experience and lack of understanding of the working class today.  His willingness to sustain opposition would certainly lead to a full and frank expression of opinion on David Cameron, George Osborne and Ian Duncan Smith that's clear.  The 'belief empty' front bench would remind him of much that he saw in the House when he arrived.  The late 19th century house of Commons had seen great men like Palmerston, Gladstone and Disraeli.  Today we have Cameron and Osborne, Milliband and Balls.  What a contrast, what would Hardie say?

James Keir Hardie

Pitwork Keir Hardie

Spartacus Hardie

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Opening Ceremony

So I turn on the opening ceremony and am confronted with an overenthusiastic songster, standing on a false hill, surrounded by people masquerading as ancient Englishmen, and I mean English not British, and am I captivated? er NO!  This is followed by the pratt Andrew Marr, again overacting, while browsing the history of London.  Then more pap follows while the 'actual' ceremony begins. I noticed among the bad actors a cricket match, supposedly taking place in the late 18th or early 19th century.  So why focus on a wee black boy?  Do you really think he would be with the lads playing cricket at that time?  Poor soul would be in the hold of a ship dying as he crossed the Atlantic not playing cricket!  

Now you may be surprised to hear that I am not a fan of opening ceremonies.  As far as I can tell they have as much relationship to the event they open as I do to a multi-millionaire play boy!  Tonight is no difference.  London Games ought to celebrate London, and Team GB (or Greater England as they prefer it to be) should reflect the nation.  All this does is show how badly History is taught and how Greater England is all that matters.  Another over the top waste of time that will no doubt get the designer a knighthood while  a move to Afghanistan might be more useful.  

I note the industrial revolution is given the overdone treatment and the suffragettes (terrorists that they were) are given a show, but Wesley and Whitfield and others who transformed the lives of millions of those downtrodden are ignored.  How PC is this?  

No, I cannot go on!  I have been agitated for weeks now with this virus and to sit through such rubbish is too much!  Call me a cynic if you must, but in the middle of a recession we do need a party or two, but we should at least get a well organised one!  What this has to do with the UK, sorry, GB, I know not, it certainly has nothing to do with the Olympics!  Garn, what a load of rubbish!  

I'm off to read a book, 'Grumpy Old Men!'

(There's weeks of this to come!)

Lock Up

The old town lock-up.  In times past rogues, and often late night drunks, were deposited inside one of the two small cells.  As the building is only 12 feet long and six wide it may appear a little cramped.  This jail served the town well into the 19th century when a better police force, and later police station, were provided.  it was helpfully situated in the centre of town and in one of the worst roads.  I say 'worst' because there were then many public houses in the place and three down this road became notorious.  One was called 'Little Hell,' a second had the name 'Big Hell,' and the third was referred to as 'Perdition!'   None exist in the redeveloped street today.  Actually I think one does as now operates as a restaurant, whether it was one of the famous three I have yet to discover.  


the lock-up served its purpose, later became a store for ammunition belonging to the militia or Territorial Army as it became, and now some wish to preserve this as a relic from the past.  Not sure what use it could be put to today, suggestions welcome, although some may consider a lock-up after the football on Saturday nights finishes may be the best idea.  Personally I consider dumping adolescents there for a night the best plan.  

It appears the kiddies were attempting to set fire to the skatepark again last night.  Since this blight on the landscape arrived the brats have burned off the covering tarmac on the site, set fire to at least two trees, not counting the ones they just vandalise, burnt down the shelter provided, burnt down an empty hut, burnt all the litter bins, set fire to much else besides and yet the council provided a too noisy 'funday' for them last week?  Can I suggest a 'funday' for the neighbours?  I suggest locking the brats in the lock-up and leaving them there for a we...no, just leave them there! 

British Gas, who demand I pay extra each month, have disclosed today profits of 23%.  Centrica, the owners, made £1,45 BILLION profit.  Gas consumption rose by 3.5% but revenues by 21%.  No wonder that nobody would appear to answer questions on the BBC's 'Today' programme this morning!  It appears that while even the banks are hindered from lining the pockets of their directors energy companies can ignore the recession and grab what they can with no sense of responsibility to society as a whole.  It is time for nationalisation of these greedy companies.  Thatcher's bonkers idea that privatisation would benefit the nation has proved wrong so many times, and the energy companies are the biggest money makers of them all!  I will be phoning them today, I do hope the man has his ear plugs in.....

Mons Meg

Mons Meg

High up on the ramparts of Edinburgh Castle stands the colossal 'Supergun' known as 'Mons Meg!'  This monster weapon was capable of hurling a cannonball weighing around 385 pounds (or one American) over two miles distance. If it were to be fired today, just as it was in 1558 to celebrate the marriage of Mary Queen of Scots to the French 'Dauphin' François, the shell would do no good whatsoever to the Granton Harbour area! 


It was the French connection brought this behemoth to Edinburgh in the fifteenth century. The Duke of Burgundy, known as 'Philip the Good,' a title probably given him by some PR groveller earning a high fee, donated this gun to James II, King of Scots. Philip, being James uncle by marriage and wishing to ensure the Scots kept disputing with the English and thereby aiding the French fight with the imperialists south of the border, sent him the most powerful gun ever made as a gift! Being brought to life in the small (now Belgian) town of Mons, later to find fame as the place Britain entered the Great War against Germany in 1914, the name 'Mons' stuck to the gun. Quite which 'Meg' was responsible for giving her name to the gun is disputed as this was only added very much later. From early accounts it is possible she was just known as the 'Mons Gun.' 


The gun was used in anger only rarely. The weight of just over six tons made travel difficult and roads were of course just dirt tracks. The effort required, the number of oxen prodigious (which is another way of saying I don't know how many), and in those rainy days that frequently affect Scotland the mud would make travel very difficult and cause even the gentle folk of Scotland to express curses while pulling the beast. While 'Meg' was powerful it was also difficult to fire more than half a dozen shots at a time because of the heat given off by the powder required during firing. 'Mons Meg' was indeed trundled down to Roxburgh Castle in the borders to deal with a dispute there in 1460 but only once dealt with the English foe and that at Norham Castle, now just on the far side of the border. Cannon frequently exploded while in action and a smaller cannon did  just that fatally wounded King James II at Roxburgh. 'Meg' visited Dumbarton Castle in 1489 in an effort to impress the Duke of Lennox regarding his obedience however the guns progress was slower than a woman through a shoe shop and in time meant Edinburgh Castle became home for 'Meg' where she became a 'saluting gun!'


Apart from the 1558 firing when Mary married her Frenchman the gun was also fired in 1689 to greet James, Duke of Albany and York. He, as you will know, later became James VII and II. (That is, for our English audience, James the Seventh of Scots and James the Second of England. The English have a problem in forgetting that the James's were kings of two nations, not just theirs!) James VII & II by the way was rubbish! His grandson became known as 'Bonnie Prince Charlie, and a right Charlie was he as you probably know! It is interesting to note that when James the Duke of Albany and York arrived the gun was fired in salute by an English gunner. The barrel burst and this led to accusations that the gunner had deliberately overloaded the gun because the English were jealous they did not possess so great a weapon! I couldn't possibly comment!     

English grabbing of Scots property after the sell out in 1707 continued with the removal (by Pickfords I ask?) of 'Mons Meg' to the Tower of London' in 1754. She may well have remained there still had Sir Walter Scott, busy inventing a colourful Scots history to pay his debts, persuaded George IV to return her to where she belonged and so she arrived home, tired and weary, in 1829. Since then the huge gun has been attended to on the Castle rock by the keepers of antiquities and the numerous children who insist on clambering all over her.  Many a house has photographs of such hidden away in an album!

Day By Day

I originally posted this on another blog, but no-one read it and I kept forgetting to use it.  I will now transfer anything worth reading (in my opinion!) and dump it here.

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Will Justice be Seen?

The long awaited announcement concerning those to be prosecuted for 'phone hacking' came today.  Former editors of the Murdoch press, Rebekah Brookes, a friend of Prime Minister Cameron, Andy Coulson, an ex 'Director of Communications' for the Prime Minister, and several others, including one private detective who has already done time for phone hacking, are now up for prosecution.  The world rejoices!

The scandal came to light when a murdered young girl had her phone hacked by someone believed to be working for a media source, allegedly.  This fooled the parents of the missing girl into believing she was still alive, when she was in fact long dead.  Public outcry forced the Prime Minister to begin the Leaveson inquiry, which I suspect he hoped would be a whitewash of his friends.  Instead the cat is out of the bag in many ways.  The closeness of the present and former Prime Ministers to the press was no surprise, politicians wished the press on their side believing this brought votes.  However the depth of corruption between the police, and the Metropolitan Police in particular shocked people, (The 'Met' is the London Police Force). None were surprised at some connection but the extent was a revelation, a surprising closeness between those at the top of the police and News International, the largest news agency in the UK, and more may arise yet. None would be shocked at the depth of phone hacking and dirty tricks used by the media, and the extent was allegedly huge. The media will do anything to expose peoples private lives and many of those hacked were celebrities, all 'research concerned their private lives alone most likely. Now this will be brought before the courts and the public await with baited breath the results of this investigation. Almost all defendants have already claimed they were innocent of any crime, and will defend themselves 'vigorously!

It has to be said that most of the hacking appears to be directed towards celebrities private lives.  We are not talking here about 'journalism' exposing crime, wrong doing, or things, as the say, that were 'in the public interest,' as those would indeed be justifiable.  The desperate search for individuals sex secrets is what matters to tabloid editors.  'Journalism,' the investigation into important stories, does not sell tabloid papers.  

Andy Coulson, a trusted confidant of the PM, left his job editing the 'News of the World,' to join Cameron after one of his men had been jailed for phone hacking, a criminal offence.  Cameron believed Coulson when he said he knew nothing about it.  Good Human Resources work there Dave!  Possibly the 'Eton Boy' liked the fact that Coulson lost an industrial tribunal case after bullying a sports reporter.  That cost the company £800,000.  I suppose Dave thought that a laugh!  Oh and while he has been charged in this instance, he has also been charged with 'perjury' by Strathclyde Police.  I wonder when that will come to court?  Oh yes and while working for Cameron News International were still paying him!  Not that this would affect his judgement in any way of course.  

Rebekah Brookes, who has a house near Cameron's private home in the Cotswald's, cannot be said to be a fragile lassie.  She has managed to worm her way up the ladder of News International, she has edited her friend Rupert's biggest selling papers, 'The Sun,' and the 'News of the World.'  She has been horse riding with the PM near home, cultivating friendships maybe and has launched many a campaign in her papers, hopefully successful and cash productive for her titles.  One such campaign was 'Violence against women!'  This her paper claimed was 'nasty,' 'repugnant,' behaviour, and men ought to 'stop hitting their wives.'  This was of course somewhat one sided as such campaigns always are.  She ignored the many men who suffer violence from their spouses, at least she did until the campaign suddenly ceased.  It ceased when she herself was charged with assaulting her then husband, TV hard man Ross kemp!  They divorced!  Her campaign against sex offenders led to many innocent men being attacked and near riots in some areas, including one where a Pediatrician had her house, which featured a nameplate giving her name and job description on a brass plate at the door, attacked by a mob thinking she abused children!  'The Sun' reader, at their best!   

The readership of the papers reflect the people who write them. Immoral, uncaring, lacking a moral standard.  Journalists investigating news which is relevant and 'in the public interest,' can only be a good thing and a 'must' for a free press. What matters here was something else, the need to give the public what the public wants. The public does not wish for journalism, the public wants scandal and sex stories. Nothing beats a female teacher having it away with a fifteen year old, unless it is a film/pop/football star who has been playing away with a slapper. A politician on the make sells some papers, but in the end sex sells best! That is what keeps the media alive, whether true or not, and that will continue unless proper controls come in. The present 'press Complaints Commission,' (PCC) has long been seen as friends of the press. Public complaints, if ever upheld, make not the slightest difference. The media just gets away with almost anything. Those that dare to go to court face much opposition and even victory does not stop the bile being thrown at them. the much maligned (and that is his own fault) John terry reflects this. A new independent PCC is required (and I would love to run that!) Leavason might well suggest this, but much opposition, and embarrassing headlines await any government that attempts to force one on the media. It is to be questioned whether any government has the guts to stand up to the press, although with some sections of the public on their sides now is indeed the time!

We await the trials, we await the judgement,  we await the rebuke for breaking the law by talking about it probably.  We await the facts being revealed for all to see, and we await the new press laws and Press Complaints commission that will end the 'licence' that allows the media to run riot now. 

Press freedom comes with press responsibility! 

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Unbelievable!

Unbelievable!  The sun shone hot all day, and the wind was merely a cooling aid for us all instead of the usual tempest.  How jolly it all was as I traipsed into the big city once again.  All around lassies were disrobing, sadly so were the men all to often.  Swifts soared through the skies, seagulls languidly floated around, cats sought cool shade and dogs looked distinctly ruffled.  The heat was such that I scurried back to the station rather than chase pictures, hold on, read that again?  "The heat was such.....,"  that is not something you will read here throughout the year.  This is the first real summer of the year and guess what?  I return home to find the Gas Bill awaits me.  What is more the price is increasing come September - just in time for winter!  "Grumble, crooks, robbery, nationalise, etc...."   


I should add that Edinburgh is still suffering rain, and will again tomorrow.  Under no circumstances have I passed that sky picture on to the family.  I sent a different one He He He!


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Funday

Once again I can post a pic.  Thanks to 'A,' the wise young lass.  Still not sure how to work those albums mind but I did find this old cartoon from way back when.  I laugh out loud at this still! 


If Blogger/Google give such probs I may move to Wordpress.  I must look into this as I already have one, rarely used blog, on that.  I wonder if that is better?  They all have weaknesses I suppose.

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Complaints Answered and Others Not Answered!

One misery grumbled in a manner I never myself go in for, that there had been no pictures of park benches for a while.  Needless to say living in an area of desert where the temperature never falls below 'blistering' will fail to understand the difficulties of photography when the weather is dreich!
And may I say constantly dreich this year!  The American weather system that flows to the north over Norway has shifted south and given even Edinburgh more rain than she is used to at this time.  We all know that July, being the beginning of the holidays, means folks tear of the mittens worn all winter and replace them with those woolen gloves with the fingers cut out, as in the normal Scots manner.  However the rain has indeed been excessive and flooding common, so common the annual English hosepipe ban imposed to save the water companies actually fixing their leaky pipes had to be ended early as there was more than sufficient wet stuff for all.  Quite who uses a hosepipe when it's raining I am not sure.

Anyway, early this morning before you lot got up I wandered across the park to fulfill my duties as the sun had decided to return to us. Indeed some claim this will be the situation for a while now, so will buy new wellies tomorrow! As I passed I watched these two men with a variety of happy dogs, running around and barking excitedly. Even in the rain these boys enjoy their run about, happy with little things and not looking far into the future, well apart form their dinner obviously! Their fun did not distract me from picturing a dusky bench however, a bench strangely clear of the detritus usually left behind by the brats overnight. There were plenty shouting and yelling through the night that's for sure. It was late in the morning when I noticed the van arriving. At first I thought it was workmen arriving to fix the broken bits of the skatepark, but unusual for that to happen on Saturday I thought. I was right. It was unusual, in fact the van, and several others which slowly trundled in were setting up a 'fun day' for the brats! FUN!!?? Fun for brats? What about fun for us lot living here I ask?

Now as you know I am not one to grumble. I am always pleased to be of service to anyone, hence my desire to deal with the adobe dwellers complaint in quick fashion. Grumbling is something I cannot be doing with myself, yet here they were setting up a DISCO!!! Yes a 'disco, one of those places where distorted sounds pass off as music for adolescents who have yet to form a sensible thought. I was of course right! Around midday, with the sun high in the sky, behind a few clouds right enough, the beat started. Now 'beat' when accompanied by music is good. 'Deep Purple' used a lot of 'beat,' but they were accomplished musicians, they did not play a 'rap' (with a capital 'C') number, stick their fingers on it and pull it backwards and forwards like this meathead was doing. Nor did they stop this appalling sound and allow a young 'band' attempt a half hour show of their own! Simon Cowell where are you? This band was just what you wished for. No talent, an inability to understand the reason for strings on the guitar, and an organ sound that appeared desperate to become a police siren, although that of course may well have been the female singer! The beat was there, it did not appear to vary, believe me, and was indeed louder than the 'professional' disco operator. He appeared to be attempting to control his sound, the band could not. Difficult to control sound when you cannot control your fingers I say!

Now I break off to whine myself for once.  I try to upload a picture, you need to see this, and find Google claim my 'Picasa' 1GB is full, and no more allowed!  What?  What has Picasa got to do with anything?  Why are my pics up there?  Now I have to work this out as to post pics I must buy more space for my pics?  Get lost.

  

  

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Bland Picture, Bland Day

Nothing but a bland picture to end the day.  When I got out it either stopped raining or was threatening to rain, and in between it was dreich and gray.  No pictures to find, nothing exciting happening, little to stir the little gray cells.  I did manage to save a young female jogger from a pack of rampaging hounds, well she thought they were rampaging I thought they were just excited at being allowed to run about the park myself.  I saved her as she cowered against a wall, as if that would stop a few mutts!    Interestingly the dog owners merely smiled that half hearted and disinterested smile folks wear, they made no attempt to stop the dogs when she showed her fear.  The dogs were not a danger right enough, too old for that even if they wished to be wild.  


The days excitement mounted as I pumped up the tyres on the bike, but didn't use it, hoovered the condominium and indeed the hall stairway, ain't I good,  and even spoke nicely to one of Tesco's misery checkout girls.  usually the regulars are OK but this one is an ageing Essex girl.  I suspect she goes home to watch videos of 'Big brother.'  That meeting sums up my day.  I attempted to be good and do what needs done, but it didn't quite get done that way.  The rain is still falling, and even by Edinburgh standards this is a bad summer.  The first two weeks in July represent the 'Edinburgh Trades Fortnight,' the time factories used to close down for a holiday.  Life is not quite like that now but the schools still come out, and the rain still falls.  I have memories of damp streets and 'Pacamac's' while on what we called our holiday, which was a day here and there. 

Lord Coe has banned the up to date rings being shown.

The Olympic disaster is about to start and they promise sunshine all through.  I believe them!  They do not promise security guards turning up, rail, tube, and bus transport arriving on time, nor roads being clear.  They can however promise sunshine, hmmm.   The Olympic Torch running has been a shambles, tickets sales the same, Ministers whining they cannot use ministerial cars to attend the games,  immigration controls so badly organised no competitor or fan will be allowed out of Heathrow to watch,  and residents will be up in arms at the vast array of closed of streets and diversions that will blight their lives.  had they held it in Manchester when they should it would have been a success.  Lord Coe has a lot to answer for.   

I notice Rangers, now to eb called 'The Rangers,' have agreed to a transfer ban that begins once they have signed good players.  Where does the cash come from?  Why have the bills not been paid first?  Why are the SFA still running after their team?  It's a disgrace!

Look at the time, it's past cocoa time.....




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