Cowdenbeath and the Black Diamonds

Fife-Scotland

Around about 1967 time I passed through a small town in Fife by bus, while visiting relatives there. Through the smeared bus window I saw a group of retired men waiting at the bus stop opposite. Sunday best suits, three piece and with watch chain hanging from the waistcoat pocket, best flat caps, shoes polished, and under female orders to "Behave yourself!"  Most notable however was the fact that none of them were standing up, they were all crouched down, as if dodging a sniper in the houses behind them.  These were retired miners.   Men who had worked down the pit since boyhood, probably beginning as 13 year old boys during the Great War,  and progressing to the pit face, digging for coal with pick and shovel in tunnels so low that they could not stand upright.  This meant that stopping for their 'piece,'  they had to crouch.   Now here they were, all well passed retirement age, more comfortable crouching than standing for any period of time.

All my uncles in the Kingdom of Fife worked down the pit, they had to, there was nothing else!  Like those men at the bus stop, probably they would have known some of them, from the time of the first world war they joined their dads and uncles, being 'Knocked up' at five in the morning to walk down to the mine for a shift.  When they got to the coal face the pick and shovel method was used to cut the coal,  often lying on their side in a seam two feet high,  then piling the hewn coal into the 'Hutch,' a small, wheeled truck, that was tagged with their name and sent by human means or pit pony, to the top.  Those two or feet high shafts would contain a straining miner in a badly lit, dust filled, dangerous workplace.  Before lamps there would be candles, and possibly a canary or two as a warning for gas.  Some miners preferred rats for this as they were quicker to warn of any build up of gas down the pit.  

These coal seams would be 70 - 100 fathoms or more deep into the ground. (approx. 6 feet to a fathom).  To get there a slow ride on a lift, and then a walk, possibly of some miles to the pit face.    As a miner entered the cage for the rickety journey down he handed over his token.   This token identified him by his number and the pit number also, and indicated he had gone down the mine. This was used in case of accidents to keep track of missing men.  Even when mines operated in recent days accidents were possible and occasionally a small fall of rock may trap one miner or more.  It was also imperative to keep down coal dust by spraying it constantly as any explosion, usually caused by methane gas, would cause this dust to ignite. Smoking also was banned and only a fool would attempt this. In the late 50's several were killed in one mine and the reason, disowned by the union, but clearly identified, was a miner who had been found with cigarettes and matches on his body after an explosion.  Several were killed that day.   Smoking was never allowed underground and ought to have been handed over for safe keeping as he entered the cage.  There had been a collapse at one mine not from from where my mother was born killing several men as the earth caved in upon them, and there was always the danger caused by a runaway 'hutch,' one of which killed a man at the 'Moss-side' pit the day of my mothers birth in 1915.  In 1974 when working in the infirmary we had three miners brought in and different times that year with injuries caused by small accidents.  A wagon toppled over on one, the roof collapsed on another, small individual situations, and this in a modern mine in operation until Thatcher closed it down.  Imagine the conditions in the 20's?  Death or injury was a part of life to the miner. 

Pit No.7 Token

The Kingdom of Fife has many attractive little fishing villages adorning the coast.  Towards the North East we find the ancient University town of St Andrews and alongside we find the world famous golf course that is indeed the home of golf.  Falkland Palace was once home to the great of the land, and Culross (pronounced Kooross) on the Firth of Forth is considered one of the most attractive ancient wee towns in the nation. Under the town, and indeed the central region of Fife lay 'black diamonds,' coal!  During the nineteenth century the mainly agricultural rural scene was to become transformed, and not much beautified, by the rush to dig for those 'black diamonds.'

It was under Culross much earlier than the nineteenth century that mining for coal began. People had been using the black stones found on the south coast of Fife for some time but when there was a shortage of wood in the sixteen hundreds that other sources of fuel were required.  Then a man of brilliance, a Scot naturally, began to mine coal in an industrial fashion. The trees were required for ships, both military and merchant, house building and other uses requiring wood, and it was this that caused  Sir George Bruce  to take action.  Having been born nearby the Forth he well knew of the availability of coal and late in the 16th century he began to tunnel down beneath the Firth of Forth in an effort to obtain his prize.  The shaft extended well under the Firth and over two hundred feet offshore he then built a shaft down through the water and into the coal seam.  This allowed air into the mine and by an ingenious use of a horse powered lift he raised the coal above the sea and loaded it straight onto ships. When King James the VI visited in 1617 he was astonished as he looked up the vent taking coal up to top, that the water was above him!  He began to believe he had been brought down there to be killed (Kings are always somewhat paranoid about this) and it was Sir George who calmed him by pointing out the boat and indicating he could return that way or by walking back up the tunnel shaft.  James wisely took the boat!

Sir George's Big Hoose

However successful this operation it was the industrial revolution in the nineteenth century when coal mining arrived in Fife big time.  In their search for iron ore the 'Oakley Iron Company' came to the vicinity of Cowdenbeath and discovered more coal than iron ore.  Almost overnight it appears pits (the mine is always called a 'Pit,' in Scotland) were sunk. The sleepy farms of the area which had for many years been slowly evolving into a single village, began to turn into a bustling coal town!  Instead of drudgery for little pay as a farm labourer many turned to the drudgery underground for higher pay, with much more danger.  The population, probably less than two hundred in 1800, reached around eight thousand by the end of the century!   By nineteen fifteen, when my mother entered the world there, the population was nearer twenty five thousand!  With a growing population arriving to seek work in the thirty or so pits in the area, plus the subsidiary work which follows, the town became known as the 'Chicago of Fife!'  Indeed it can be quite windy in Fife also.

Winding Gear Pit No.7.

Home life was not without problems also for the miner at the turn of the century. Families were often large and childbirth was an unhealthy experience for many women.  My Grandfather moved to Cowdenbeath because work was available 'down the pit.'  He had three wives in his life.  His first gave birth to two girls who lived well into their eighties, and two boys both of whom died within a year.  She died in childbirth herself.  The second died a month after the birth of her third child and the last, my grandmother, lasted four months after the birth of her fourth.  Three wives and nine children!  Typical of Scots working class life at the turn of the century.  To be honest large families were found in all classes,  Queen Victoria herself had nine!  The death of wives in labour and children, the child usually before five years of age, was a regular occurrence in the UK well into the twentieth century.  Cemeteries give an indication of the number of the 'better off' who died young, how many of the 'Lower orders' suffered this way?  Indeed only the introduction of the NHS ended the insufficiency of medical aid at childbirth, and as one of my nieces could tell you even today that can be a hazardous event.

My Grandfather and all his sons went 'down the pit.' There was no other choice! At one time or another they all worked at Pit No 7 which stood at the bottom of the slope from Chapel Street where their two roomed miners cottage lay.  Just imagine ten people living in two rooms!  There was no showers at the mines in those days and when the men came home from work they washed in a bath in front of the fire, slowly heated, or more usually, at the sink where someone, usually their sisters, would rub their backs clean for them.   I think I am right in saying the bath was only added after the war!

The working and living conditions increased peoples desire for a better environment to live and work in. Cowdenbeath soon became a centre of both the Independent Labour Party  and the Communist Party, indeed the town chose Willie Gallagher, a Communist, as their MP and sent him off to the House of Commons!  Later Jennie Lee of the ILP made it to Edinburgh University and became a member of Harold Wilson's Labour government in 1964. She also managed to marry Aneurin Bevan, the man responsible for the introduction of the NHS, and  she herself was influential in the creation of the 'Open University.'

The General Strike of 1926 hit Cowdenbeath badly. For six months the town remained on strike for better pay. Just imagine the suffering for an entire town, a suffering repeated in all mining districts throughout the UK that year.  For over a week all other unions offered support but soon this petered out the miners were alone.  This was not a strike based on greed, it was for a decent, indeed 'living wage!'  The mine owners were incredibly greedy, selfish men.  When some claimed the miners were 'revolutionaries' King George V himself suggested people try living on the miners wage before saying such things.  Winston Churchill, hated to this day by miners who felt he broke the strike, in fact wanted to give them satisfaction!  He quickly came to hate and despise the mine owners for their selfish attitude and went so far as to suggest nationalising the mines!  This however was not possible for a Conservative government, Churchill did not forget the mine owners attitude and in 1950 when he returned to power he made no effort to scrap the now nationalised mines.  Protests at the treatment of the miners by the owners, their conditions and dangers, ran on for many years.  This often caused riots in Cowdenbeath's High Street.  Many's a head was broken by a police force sent in by a right wing government to end the dangers of 'socialism.'  The conditions were never mentioned.
  
The shared sufferings among miners produced a shared care.  Down a mine if an incident arises, possibly a fall of coal, or an accident, the nearest man will be the first into action to help you.  It does not matter if he is your greatest enemy, if there is a problem he will reach out to you, and you will reach out to him. That is just how it is.  Agape in action, although they probably would not know this.  As a child I always enjoyed the miners company, although the last pit closed in 1960 before I ever got the chance to go down and look around.  I think I would have been terrified to work down there, even when the conditions were much safer in the fifties.  It is noticeable that men of the day made it clear to their sons that they had to get a trade of some kind to avoid working down below. None of my cousins went down the pit, all learned a trade and 'bettered themselves.'  One who did likewise was Sir James Whyte Black.  Though born in Lanarkshire to a mining engineer he was reared at  Cowdenbeath and attended 'Beath High School.'  From there this promising young man went on to St Andrews University Medical School, then to Dundee, and his studies later enabled him to produce what is now known as the 'Beta Blocker.'

Dennis Canavan and Harry Ewing both became members of parliament, and Jim Baxter was to become one of the most gifted footballers Scotland has ever produced. Baxter earned fame for his passing ability, his ability to drink himself unconscious on a Friday before a match and still outplay everyone, and playing 'Keepie uppie' with the ball while making a fool of an England side that claimed (wrongly) the title 'World Champions' in 1967. It is clear that he was talented, it was also clear he was not the brightest!  The school itself had to be replaced as by the time these pupils attended the ground floor had sunk deep into the ground!  Subsidence caused by mine working beneath gave the school a basement!  Houses in the town were seen to lean to one side, and trains moved at a snails place while the mines operated.  In spite of all this a long list of pupils left that school in a mining backwater and rose to the highest office worldwide both in politics and business.  

The Pug

By 1960 Pit No 7 had closed. The coal rush was at an end.  No more would the 'pug' pull the coal wagons across the Main Street to the marshalling yards, an event I can remember watching at least once, no more will the miners get knocked up at five in the morning to waken them for a day's work, and no more (we hope) will the mine workings produce subsidence in all the wrong places!   Many talk romantically of the miners of past days.  There were many good people there.  No person should ever go through the difficulties the miners endured in the first half of the twentieth century again.  Be romantic about the men and women who lived there indeed, just don't let it happen again.

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Calton Jail

This grand building was once the governors house belonging to Edinburgh's notorious Calton Jail.  Built in 1817 on windy Calton Hill. This replaced the old Tollbooth, called the 'Heart of Midlothian,' a building that had been used in several guises, including Guildhall as well as prison, over the years. Walter Scott's famous book 'The Heart of Midlothian,' describes something of that building and its place in Edinburgh society. The governors house of Calton Jail was designed by Archibald Elliot and may well have been warmer than the rest of the building, designed by Robert Adam, which became renown for being very cold, having a poor diet, and the strict discipline demanded from the inmates. 

The name Calton some reckon comes from 'Cold Town,' which is understandable in Edinburgh, but it is precedes such a phrase and most likely arises from the Gaelic "cauldh-dun," which means 'Black Hill,' as the hill comprises black basalt. Edinburgh's position allows the citizens, once crushed together in the crowded old town, to escape to the hills right on their doorstep. King James the second allowed tournaments there in the 1400's and theatrical productions soon followed. Later use of the hill included a hospital, a monastery and a small village of shoemakers, called 'Boot Hill' perhaps?  The small area of land they inhabited later becoming the famous Old Calton Cemetery.  David Hume being one of the more renown people buried therein.  Edinburgh as you will know being famous for being the 'Athens of the North,' still produces many leading men of the day.  Interestingly, I, and our good friend Mike Smith, hail from that city.  Next to the Calton jail stood the debtors prison, the Brideswell, also designed by Robert Adam. Debt today leads to much hardship, in times past it led to prison and in some cases hanging!  How banks would hate that today!  

Talking of hanging, Jessie King was the last woman to be hanged there in 1889.  She spent her time looking after unwanted children, and murdering a few of them.  Another hanged, in 1913, was Patrick Higgins.  He murdered his two sons and dumped them into a quarry. Both lie, alongside several others, underneath the West car park of St Andrews House.   

Egalitarian Edinburgh, with the famous Georgian 'New Town' buildings, possessed a powerful 'high society,' sophisticated legal structures, Calvinist ministers, and enterprising commercial businessmen yet contained many slum dwellings. This increased with Irish immigration during the 1800's which brought some 25,000 to dwell in the run down centres such as the Cowgate, mixing with those already overcrowded there. Criminal elements were found even in Scotland's capital and criminals of all types mixed with desperate people, drunks, lunatics, brought there by their desperation, poverty or sheer criminal nature.  Poor diet and bad health caused many diseases for those who survived beyond the early years often leading to criminal or abnormal behaviour.  The well-to-do who had suffered this way still managed to prove the depth to which human nature is possible by finding a place within Calton Jails walls. Wealth often increasing greed rather than ending it.  

Calton Prison

During the Great War several leading socialists in Glasgow loudly opposed the war, as they did the increases in rent women left behind were asked to pay.  This led to them being jailed, and to make it worse they were sent to an Edinburgh jail at that!  It was felt they would spread dissension more in a Glasgow prison. Willie Gallacher was one such detained there. He was one who complained of the cold, the total silence, only whispered conversations during the one hours exercise available, and the poor diet. Thick porridge and sour milk was the breakfast, soup and dry bread comprised dinner and supper was similar to breakfast.  Arthur Woodburn was also jailed with Gallcher, he later became Labour's Secretary of State for Scotland in 1947, by which time the jail had been demolished.  He used some of the stones to make a garden path for his home!  What satisfaction that must have brought!

The jail was replaced in the 1930's by Saughton prison and St Andrews House now stands in its place.  Home to Scotland's most senior civil servants.  One day soon this will be part of the Independent Scotland's government machine.  I suspect, whatever the situation, that the diet available there today does not involve porridge and sour milk! 

Incidentally the tall needle next to the house, which is now used as offices, is the Martyrs Monument. This is a Political Monument commemorating those who campaigned for political freedoms in the 18th and 19th centuries. Five men who were transported to Australia for fifteen years for their desire for equality!  The dominant force, whether just or unjust, always gets its way.  At least the sun shone there!   


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Tuesday Titter

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Angry

I got angry today.  Not irked by small things that annoy, but I was beginning to feel real anger, and not for something done to me.  I was at the 'Work Programme' up town this morning, a frankly laughable attempt by government to get folks into jobs that do not exist.  Not only are the private companies that were daft enough to take this role on losing money one at least has closed down adding their employees to the dole queue!  The lot I visit have already been 'threatened' with similar themselves.  There are just NO JOBS available and what angered me was the sight of some of those at the place today.

It is well known that a crude method has been used to examine those claiming Invalidity Benefit,' a benefit designed for those too sick to work.  The private company responsible checking claims has ruled, on a 'tick box' scheme that many claimants are 'fit to work!'  Some 60 percent, at least, have appealed this decision and been returned, after much grief, to the benefit under its new name.  Many are still appealing and only a few have refused to appeal.  Those deemed fit have included men unable to stand, people with serious diseases and sometimes limbs missing. The papers, not so much the 'Daily Mail' mind, contain many such stories of totally unfit people thrown of the benefit and told to 'find a job.'  Ian Duncan Smith, the millionaire who has never had a real job, is the man who encourages these people 'back to work' because it is good for them to work.  Indeed it is, but Ian forgets there are well over two and a half million unemployed at the moment and only around four hundred thousand vacancies.  The loss of benefit is merely to save a few pounds, whatever the cost in human life!  Indeed some have committed suicide after losing benefit.

What angered me was the sight of an old man at the programme.   I never spoke to him, I know nothing about him, but I got angry looking at him.  Gray hair, over 60 at least, walked with a stick, and a bit unsure of himself in that place.  He clearly appeared to be one on Invalidity Benefit who had been forced onto the dole.  I could be wrong about that, but either way who would employ him?  A enfeebled old man with a stick and dodgy walking.  What job Ian?  Warehouse work?  Driving, although he doesn't appear to see that well?  No doubt you have some idea of work he could do you selfish bastard!  Anything that stops you paying a halfpenny on tax would do, not that you pay tax like the rest of us do you?  

The 'Work Programme' is filled with the long time unemployed, some through injury, lack of skills or mental problems.  Some ex-prisoners, some desperate for work and others not interested.  They all know who is looking and who is not. Few get work, even when good advice and help is given.  Fifty applicants and most of the slow, dodgy, physically unstable, or just old folks on offer don't appeal to the employers, many of whom are struggling to survive themselves.  I get angry at Smith and his tax dodging government friends decrying the unemployed and assaulting (for there is no other term) the disabled!  Many do wish to work, many struggle desperately and are treated with contempt by an uncaring government containing around nineteen millionaires. 

I passed the old boy having a snack of Diet Pepsi in the park as I left.  It was a sad, indeed pathetic sight I thought.  He might have a family, he might be happy enough, but that was not the image that stuck.  Just another dumped on the scrapheap with little care from any government.  These people should be made to read the Book of the Prophet Amos and see how God cares for the poor while the rich lie back and enjoy themselves.  Believers or not judgement falls on them one day. 

 Vote Conservative - and be considered of no account! 

Ouch! Creak! Ooooyah etc

It may come as a surprise to some when I say that my once svelte like body is not what it once was.  Once it contained energy, possessed a certain degree of muscle, and happily took me on long walks, carried me through a busy day, and enabled me to throw the TV out the window whenever a soap opera appeared on the screen.  Sadly today all this is becoming a memory.  The strange lethargy the recent bug brought me led me into sitting around and walking only when that was required.  The lying scales even told me I was over 15.5 stone, it ought to read 9.  The knees wobbled if I went far and the body willingly followed suit indicating I had gone far enough.  However in the past few days I have attempted to refine the Adonis like shell and have begun to swing a few weights, as opposed to swinging lead, and attempted to walk further and eat better.

I ache everywhere now!

Resting from my arduous training schedule, and ten minutes is long enough I can assure you, I sit for merely a moment and find all the muscles have seized.  Now I know the trick is to stretch after exercise as this really does help, but so far it doesn't help me.  My knees fell of twice this afternoon while watching the far from Dreich Dundee Derby Day, and while I cogitate on buying a Thai bride to massage my aching back I find that my fingertips are also suffering from hammering away on this laptop!  It's a good job I am not one to complain I can tell you.  Now I find I have to go into town tomorrow, struggling with the trains, and it will be baking hot again.  Tsk!

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The Friday Evening Cud Chew

As I ambled slowly along to post another one of my begging letters I could not help but notice the sky above.  Sadly I didn't notice the edge of the pavements, but several motorists kindly informed me of my position, and what to do about it.  The blue of the sky itself, quite unusual in recent days, was filled with small puffy white clouds and interspersed with masses of vapour trails.  Stansted Airport has been busy this morning and the vapour trails were taking a long time to disperse.  However it was an enjoyable sight, all that pollution sitting up there, blocking the sun, enabling climate change, poisoning those down below.  Sitting in the hot sun (gosh it still got through!) and watching over the recreation ground the huge sky was enthralling.  The wind hurried the clouds along and they scudded off bringing even more interesting sights from the south.  Maybe it's all those years in London, maybe it's being indoors too much recently, maybe it's the bang on the head, I know not but I do know I like looking at interesting skies, nature views, and wide open spaces.  All I need is a seaside and I would be (almost) content.   

The other day you will recall I posted This, regarding the changes that have occurred between 1915 and today.  Well that great man BigRab, he of the great Ben Lomond Free Press a blog worthy of your company, made a remark that struck me, and that made a change from bricks.  He said there was less time between 1915 and the year of his birth, than between the year of his birth and today.  This struck me also.  You see I was born 36 years after the 1915 picture, but now I am a further 61 years from it.  I found this intriguing, and still do.  

My thinking, my attitudes, and much within me may indeed be nearer 1915 than 2012.  Are you still with me?  Because all my readers are young things, one or two more thing than young (all the Ladies being sweet young things under 25 years of age I note) the age gap may not strike you as it did me, but it is worth a ponder.  For some reason this sticks in my head and will not leave me.  Time passes by and we remain the same.  For instance I woke up one day when I was merely 56 years old and suddenly realised I am a granddad, well not actually a granddad, but I was indeed an old man!  In my head I knew what old men were, I had seen plenty,  but suddenly I realised I was that age!  I look much younger, I still have hair and teeth!  I still saw myself as late 20's....?  I remain the same as always but much of the body disintegrates beneath me.  

Further ponder.  I was born in 1951, my dad in 1908, and his dad in 1845!  This being 2012 mean the three of us cover three centuries.  The world is a different place since 1845, but at heart remains the same.  Whereas granddad left the farm, as thousands did at that time, and joined the railway and climbed on the new world around him, we can see pictures taken from Mars!  As people we are no different but the complexity of life has changed.  Is it better?  Actually it is no better or worse, depending on your circumstances.  Humanity remains the same, the culture changes a wee bit.  Horse don't wander the streets, bad drivers do!  But in spite of the changes, many very much for the better, our hearts are still the same, human nature does not change, the surroundings do.  My world view is influenced by 1915, the year my mother was born, probably more than by 2012.  Family influences, the fifties influence,  Baby Boomer influences are possibly still affecting me, they certainly affect me more than the pap that is 'cutting edge' today.  Sadly age wearies the heart from such as we can see the emptiness it hides.  

There is something in Rabs comment I cannot quite place, but it intrigues me that I was born nearer 1915  and that world than I am to my own (much heralded) arrival.  

    

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Grrrrrrrrrrr!

I've been so agitated and irritable today, again.  This tiredness never leaves me and my insides are not happy, and in the end I am irked by most things.  This, as you know, is so unlike me.  My normal quiet, passive, loving kind of manner has been replaced by a somewhat less thoughtful one.  I had to attend the Ljubljana today, which was fine, but it meant I had to walk the streets to get there.  The result was meeting people, and this was not good, or passing places containing people, and this was not good.  Wherever I skulked I found myself growling at windows or day dreaming of entering possessed with nothing more than a running chainsaw and putting it to good use.  Then I got irked by the problem of disposing of all the decapitated heads that would be rolling around the place.  Bah!  

So I stayed locked inside, adding info to the Great War website, and grumbling that I could not read the words in this light, that mistakes had been made, and that this laptop hates me.  I rummaged through the higher class blogs and found they were indeed a higher class, and that made me jealous!  So I turned to the papers, and that made me reach for the chainsaw again!  The rubbish that fills the pages! Bah!   I watched the latest 'Eggheads' programme, and answered almost NO questions, once again.  That cheered me up no end.  Now the mince & chips I had for tea is growling at me.  Bah! Humbug, Pah! Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr! etc.   

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Nothing to Say

Another day, another dull mind.  Nothing crosses my mind worth mentioning.  In fact nothing crosses my mind at all.  I only got out once, this afternoon, to buy reduced price bread and be shouted at by the Morrison's serve yourself machine.  The bread was not reduced and she didn't shout at me, which caused the lass attending to them to laugh.  First time that machine has done that for a while it appears.  

Nothing else happened.

The news is still dominated by the leftovers of the Olympics, occasional references to Syria and price increases on the trains.  Our Prime Minister and his deputy have both gone on holiday at the same time, implying the deputy is less important than he thinks, and giving the right wing media something to grumble about.  So who is running the country?  William Hague the Foreign Minister.  Oh goody, now is the time to invade folks.  The media will soon be filled with the daft stories now the Olympics have finished.  August being holiday time means serious news lessens and the 'silly season' comes upon us.  This means all sorts of silly stories appear in the media, anything to fill the pages, any excitement, anything that grabs the attention and on occasion something that really matters.  Nothing has mattered today.  

I found nothing that interests you, so I'm off to bed.........

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Butchers, Bakers & Candlestick Makers.

I like this picture, though I can't trace where it came from. Wounded men, around 1915, heading back to hospital.  Walking wounded from many regiments.  Note the shorts on one, the kilt on another, the bandages, the tickets authenticating their wounds.  I like this because it shows them together, all for one, probably in pain, being held up for a photograph for the folks back home.  

I was given a list of dead Great War soldiers details recently and have been adding them to the website I raised for them, Braintree & Bocking War Memorial,  and am intrigued by the types of work in which they or their relatives were employed.  Quite a few appeared to be 'sons of a horseman on a farm,' which makes sense in this country area.  However when did you last see horses in daily employment?  At the time of the Great War farms were dominated by horse drawn equipment and a large number of men were employed in their care, a ploughman being a very skilled operator. Agricultural labourers also abounded and one or two who served had that delightful (ha!) work as the war began.  Dunfermline Co-op did use horse drawn vehicles even in the early 60's, and the 'St Cuthbert's Co-op in Edinburgh had them in the early 70's if memory serves me right, although few were still in daily use.  Occasional Brewers Drays are seen in various places throughout the country. Horse grooms and ploughmen just don't exist as such today.  

I am also intrigued by the change in the shopping patterns.  Several men were sons of Grocers, others were Butchers and no such shops appear today.  Actually I am wrong, a butcher still exists here but the only Fruit & Veg left are stalls on market day.  These shops, along with almost all Bakers, have now been replaced with large supermarkets containing pretend Bakers, Butchers and the like instead.  While many women enjoyed the flirting that resulted in the shopkeepers desperation to obtain their cash it also meant a trek between several shops, sometimes a distance apart, although it did make them fitter than today's lass who has to spend time at the gym to keep her figure.

Foremen in the Boot Factory or employees of a Mat Factory also appear,  and it is many years since we stopped making boots in the UK.  I'm sure someone still does somewhere by even the great factories in East Anglia have long gone, probably to China.  Who makes Mats?  India I wonder?  Even those employed by the big iron foundry, who employed large numbers of females to make munitions, or Crittall's and their famous steel window frames, are a distant memory today.  Crittall's existed a few years ago, I almost had a day's employment there myself, but moved away and I am not sure it still operates today.  The iron foundry, like the rest are now housing estates that leave people  struggling to pay the mortgage.   So many businesses that men fought four long years for no longer exist, and those that do, like agriculture, have changed immeasurably in the century that has passed by.  Once thirty or more men worked on a  farm, now there is only two, with a third to power the machinery during harvest time.  House painters and Publicans have not changed that much, neither I suspect have solicitors!  The street layout is similar but the buildings that survived two wars, and not all did, are much changed.  Hopefully we can discover how many men obtained their jobs again once they returned, in many places they did not!  

A hundred years is not a long time when looked at from a historical viewpoint.  Much similarity remains, but the world is a very different place.  Cars now growl where horses plodded, long working hours are replaced by shorter hours and long paid holidays, heavy labour is much reduced by machinery, and women do all the shopping in one day, making him carry it to the car and drive her home.  Washing machines and Microwaves, electricity for all, and the wonder of radio & TV would frighten the ploughman more than they would the horses.  While rail travel enabled long distance travel most folks did not venture far, today they holiday in Spain, or even Hawaii.  The NHS heals most of the sickness soldiers took for granted and dole money and pensions are a godsend to one and all.   The men pictured above may well have survived the war, although that looks very much like a 1915 picture, and they would have benefited from the advances.  What would those who did not survive think if told today I wonder?  

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Sunshine

The sun shone brightly at 6:30 this morning as I cycled around town attempting to pretend I was fit.  There was however more blue in the sky when I took this picture than there is shown here, the sun kind of blotted it out a bit.  How lovely to move around when the streets are quiet, the sun shines, the day begins to warm and the birdies sit high above letting the sun warm them after breakfast.  I did wonder why two men were chatting in the park as I passed by.  They had been there for some time and usually only left over kids and drunks are found there at that time.  Who are they, why were they chatting and exchanging phone numbers?  When in London such events were commonplace, not so out here.  Maybe I am just becoming nosey?  Before seven on a Sunday morning I noticed several cars containing men, quite large men at that, pass by.  Was there some event for fat blokes occurring?  Again I have no answer.  Not that I am shoving my nose in, I am just curious....

For the rest of Sunday I merely sat here attempting to get my legs to work again.  Oh and I watched the Heart of Midlothian defeat Hibernian by one goal to one.  We were not to bothered today I noticed.  This means I avoided being burnt by the suns rays, which were very strong this morning.  Possibly you can see them on this snap.

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Heroic failures

Amazon.co.uk

Everyone surely knows the story of 'The Not Terribly Good Club.'  Stephen Pile began this long ago in 1979 with his book 'The Book of Heroic Failures,' in which he told the stories of inept burglars, handymen, navies and so on, people from every walk of life.  Folks like you and me.  This book was so successful, worldwide, that he was forced to write a follow up and resign from the club!  His success was not the stuff of which the members were made.    I recently dusted off my copy of the second volume and have read with interest the story of a man who in his attempt to obtain a peaceful life moved to the peaceful and lightly inhabited Falkland Islands.  Five days later the Argentinians invaded!  The woman who threw herself off the 86th floor of the Empire State Building only to be blown in an open window on the 85th floor intrigued me, as did Canadian Mr Kelly.  He attempted to tranquilize a donkey with Rompun, allowed the syringe to slip, it stuck in his finger, and he then enjoyed the sleep of his life.  The donkey just laughed.  The book is full of such tales, I would say both books are full but someone borrowed mine and it has note yet returned.  that was in 1986!

One chapter deals with getting opinions wrong.  "Sentimental rubbish....show me one page that contains an idea." Odessa Courier on Anna Kareninna, by Leo Tolstoy.  1877.  

"I'm sorry Mr Kipling, but you just don't know how to use the English language." The San Francisco Examiner's rejection letter to Rudyard Kipling in 1889.

"Had he submitted this music to a teacher, the latter, it is to be hoped, would have torn it up and thrown it at his feet.," L.Rellstab, reviewing Chopin's Mazurkas,1833. 

"I scarcely think it will be able to keep the stage for any length of time." E.A.Kelly reviewing Wagner's Lohengrin. 1854.

"And for the tourist who really wants to get away from it all, safari's in Vietnam." Newsweek, predicting popular holidays for the late 60's.

"Very interesting Whittle my boy, but it will never work."  The Professor of Aeronautical Engineering at Cambridge University when shown Frank Whittles plan for the jet engine.

I am not sure after reading through all the mistakes that I gain confidence in my own abilities, or whether it's just not worthwhile attempting to go on!  Still, read it if you can, laughter is good for you.

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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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