Keir Hardie

I am led to understand that Keir Starmer is visiting this region today.   This offers a temptation to rush over to him and ask if he has ever heard of 'Keir Hardie?'  

Keir Hardie is the man who made the Independent Labour Party, out of which grew the Labour Party of today, a very different beast now.  

Born illegitimate, in the small Lanarkshire mining village of Legrannock, Lanarkshire,  on 15th August 1856, to Mary Keir.  The father was a local miner.  Three years later his mother married David Hardie, a ships carpenter and the family lived in various poor areas of Glasgow seeking work.  Money was scarce and young Keir found himself doing various jobs from the age of seven.  How many children today would enjoy that?  By the time he reached 10 years he was a bakers roundsman, supposedly of three shillings and sixpence a week.  This possibly meant ten hour days, six days a week!   Near Christmas he was fired because he had been caring for his pregnant mother and sick brother, this made no difference and he lost his job.  We are led to believe the Baker was doing well and possessed a well stocked household.  Hardie and his family lived in run down 'single end' housing in Glasgow, the cheapest possible, and struggled like so many others.  

Soon after this the family moved back to Mary's mother in Newarthill, near where he was born as David Hardie took the only job open to him and went back to sea.  The boy failed to obtain apprenticeships and was therefore forced into the only work available, mining!  

At first this meant sitting in the dark opening and shutting the doors as pit ponies and men passed by.  When aged twelve he himself was guiding the ponies up and down the shafts.  On one occasion a fall of rock left him entombed, however, when rescuers found him he was lying asleep by his pony in its stable.  This event left a mark on him however.

The boy's education came only from night school.  He would practice writing on slates covered with coal dust.  By his teens his reading was filled with Scottish writings.  Robert Burns, the Covenanters and Thomas Carlyle influenced him greatly.  Burns especially with his 'A man's a mans for a that,' alongside one portion from Carlyle which led to Hardies' strong pacifist ideals.   

His mother was also a strong influence on his youth, she may have been an agnostic, but they say, she was a Scots Presbyterian agnostic!  The culture permeated Hardie, influencing his teetotal life, and he learned how to communicate by leading the 'Temperance' movement around the Pits.

The speaking for Temperance was good practice for speaking on behalf of mineworkers.  However, this also upset the mine owners and by 1878, the year he claims he became a Christian and joined the Congregationalists, he had been removed from the pits and banned sine die.  He never worked down a mine again.

By the end of the 19th century the nearest thing to workers representation was the Liberal Party.  Hardie soon saw himself as a 'Gladstonian Liberal.'  The great William Ewart Gladstone a man who found favour with the working man.  This in spite of Gladstone's opposition to the 'socialism' that grew in Hardies' mind.   Hardie earned money by writing for a local Liberal paper but his ideas were much more radical than those offered by the Liberals.

By 1888 Hardie was standing as an Independent Labour Candidate, losing, but gaining some support.    Keir Hardie entered the House of Commons by winning the West Ham South seat in 1892.  No miners in this area, however, the conditions replicated those of working men elsewhere and many chose Hardie before the Conservatives.  

Being a man of independent and strong mind Keir Hardie refused to wear the top hat and frock coat that members of the House routinely wore.  Hardie came in tweed suit, with deerstalker hat, the appropriate hat at the time.  The press attacks were merciless, nonetheless Keir continued to speak for a radical agenda, votes for women, free schooling, pensions and the abolition of the House of Lords. 

He remained in the House until 1895.

The growth, first of the Independent Labour Party, and after 1900 the Labour Party, came from the hard work Keir Hardie endured.  Consider the opposition, from both Liberals and Conservatives.  The outcry, when during the congratulations for the arrival of a new Prince, (later Edward VIII) he asked for condolences to be added regarding the deaths of 251 miners in a Welsh mining accident.  This outcry led to losing his seat.

Elected once again in 1900 for Merthyr Tydfill, he continued to pursue radical policies.  All around the Labour Party was developing and though elected first leader in 1906 he resigned the post in 1908. 

Keir Hardie continued to represent Scotland's miners, to such an extent that he wished to end immigration from places like Lithuania, their workers were cheaper than Scots miners and jobs were being lost!  However, he supported votes for black men, though none were in his area, votes for women, and freedom for India.  

He became more unpopular when he refused to back the Great War.  His pacifism, and the idea of working men killing one another went all the way back to his reading of Thomas Carlyle's work.  He refused to support war, and gave support to those who refused to fight.

Illness led to pneumonia and in September 1915 he died in a Glasgow hospital.

His legacy can be seen in the Labour Party, though much changed since his day.  That change can be seen in Keir Starmer, a stranger to mine workings and heavy labour, and today a stranger to socialism.

Still, whatever gets you elected...

This book is far from young, published in 1975, and at times is very dense.  This is caused by the detail given to the development of Hardies opinions and then the growth of the Labour movement.  This, as you can imagine, was not straightforward.  Neither is the book.  Worth a read if you have the time.

  

Idiot!

Idiot!
I sent some paperwork into the council on Friday morning and returned to my place of obscurity.

Satisfied all was in order I wandered through my day with the usual grace.

Late afternoon, as I was trying to help a friend understand how to work 'Whatsup' on her new mobile, I received a call.  This was the nice lady from the council informing me that she had received my covering letter, but no documents.  The old fool had posted the letter while returning the papers to the desk.  She told me I could send them by email, but as we were struggling with the mobile tech I thought this unwise, and told her I would post them.  The council office is just across the park from here.

So, before 8 am I was up and running, well, hobbling, across the park passing all the other men of a certain age exercising slowly before people are up and about.  This was a day of rest for me, three football games to watch, and all the while across the road in the park a 'Skateboard' exhibition is about to start.  So, noise and crowds of yobs will soon gather and annoy me while I watch a quiet football match at Tynecastle where a mere 18,000 will be drowned out by skateboard activities.

Bah Humbug etc...

Have you noticed how little news there is?  

All appears quiet on the political front.  Sunak is away in Japan trying to increase his riches, Starmer is about but nobody is sure what his beliefs are this week, and nothing of importance is occurring anywhere.

Has all crime ceased?

Have the Tories turned honest?

Tsk!

Ah well, at least the football is good!

Western Front Way

The purpose of this book is to publicise 'The Western Front Way.'  This is an idea based on the thoughts of one 2nd Lieutenant Douglas Gillespie of the Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders.  His dream, in late 1915, was o a pathway lying along the 'Front' between the opposing armies, the intention being to look upon the cost of war and perhaps bring reconciliation and peace between enemies.  All very noble but a dream that came to little at the time, Gillespie himself being killed in action during the Battle of Loos, his body, like so many others never recovered.  The effect of his family back home in Linlithgow of his loss, and that following on the loss of his brother a year before, must have been heavy.  Well educated middle class sons who went to 'good' schools, usually one offering an 'Officer Cadet Training Squadron,' saw the loss of many 'sons.'  Such officers, often with much less experience than their men, were always the first to go 'over the top' in any action.  As a result, such officers suffered proportionately higher loss than that of the private in the ranks.  

The war rumbled on for another three years after Gillespie died at Loos and there was little desire for reconciliation or peace in the years following the war.  Belgium saw the vast majority of the nation under German control, only flooding the land in the north prevented further incursion.  France hurried to remove the mess left by the war, hidden explosives removed, trenches filled, land once again ploughed over to return to farmland.  The idea of 'reconciliation' was far from many French and Belgium minds in 1918.  

In recent years Gillespie's words have reappeared and many took up the idea of a long path along the line of the Great War Front.  'The Western Front Way,' now appealed to many, especially in Belgium where support for remembrance of the war has always been strong.  Whether this was in regard to the wars memory or the idea of thousands of tourists searching the land where their family and friends had fought is not easy to determine.  Many of those financially able did seek out the graves of their dead, some hoping to find their by still alive, somewhere, somehow.  Tourism covering now two wars is indeed big business in this part of the world.

Sir Anthony Sheldon, a head of private schools, had often taken students across the battlefields of France and Flanders.  He had acquired a great interest in the war and had picked up some History on the way.  Along with others he worked to bring the idea of the 'Way' into reality.

In an effort to publish the 'Way,' as well as recovering from the loss of employment and the death of his wife, Seldon decides to walk the entire length of the proposed pathway, almost a thousand miles.  His intention is to begin at the far end, the Swiss border, and from there walk towards the North Sea.  This is a simple proposal, and a noble one.  There are however problems here.  For a start he is not a long distance walker, he is 68 years old, the walk takes place late in summer, and Covid restrictions hinder progress and ensure almost all businesses are closed, this means hotel and other facilities are very limited.  However, he manages to survive and eventually finishes the course.

Several problems concerning the war remain however.  The majority of the 'front' has been swept away, especially in France where there appears little desire to 'remember.'  In the southern parts, where it was France v Germany alone and thousand died on both sides, little remains of the conflict.  Occasional villages stumps can be seen, the evidence of heavy shelling, instead of rebuilding the village a new one is often created along the road.  Memorials exist but the indication here appears to be that these are not visited much by locals.  

Elsewhere the border itself has moved and for a 'pathway along the front' the author appears far from the actual battle lines in my view.  Modern day construction, woods, farmers fields and the roadways interfere with a war 105 years before.  The needs of today take priority.  

Belgium is more interested in the 'Way,' and already the path is marked out in places.  There can be no doubt that such a path will bring tourists interested in war and visiting Europe to walk or cycle, France prefers cyclists to walkers, and small business along the way will indeed benefit.  Will 'peace' be encouraged by such a walk?  The idea did not stop a second war 20 years after the first, it has not stopped fighting in the Ukraine, Cameroon, Syria, north Africa, southern Sahara, and many other places.  Human nature does not change, and somewhat hopeful attempts at 'peace' will not defeat the human 'self.'

The writer managed a very difficult walk in hard circumstances.  His emotions were disturbed, his feet painful, and while it is a requirement of such books to mention all such instances I found it became somewhat embarrassing as the authors life unfolded before us.  There is a limit as to how much of the author needs to place in such books.  

I also found his History of the war to be somewhat unsound.  An example is his condemnation of the generals for the battles at Loos and the Somme.  He ignores the politicians demand that forced these battles on the generals.  Possibly this is because he himself is an honorary Historical adviser to No 10?

Theses two battles were rejected by the generals as being impossible places to fight.  However, London 

preferred the opinion of French generals to British ones and thousands were lost because of this.  You can add Gallipoli, Salonika, Mesopotamia and Africa to this list of London failures, yet the generals are blamed.  The generals did not have friends in the press!

The idea of this walk is a good one, many will make use of it, but any idea of peace comes from hope rather than an understanding of human nature.  Far many the book will be a good starting point on a journey, but for me with Covid hindering progress much required information for the walker is missing.

I also found the author tiring and struggled to finish the book.  While he offers historical insights into some fighting as he passes this is overshadowed by too much of his own troubles.  It is to be hoped a better guide will be forthcoming in the near future.

@Punch 1981

Chastise

@Bob Herriott

There has been some fuss in recent days concerning the famous 'Dambusters Raid' from some 80 years ago.  As usual, the tabloids have gone overboard on 'our heroes,' 'our boys,' and the usual sentimental garbage that follows.  This from a paper who's boss stood willingly beside Herr Hitler for a photograph, and whose paper demanded the UK stop taking in Jewish refugees, even if they are only children.  Naturally, this was not mentioned once the war began.

The 'Dambusters Raid,' a rather cockeyed attempt at knocking out three major Dams in Germany, thus destroying much industrial output, was a courageous attempt at a time when the outcome of the war was still unsure.  By making use of a 'Bouncing Bomb,' dropped at 60 feet from the water while flying, under enemy fire, at 240 mph was not one that endeared itself to the crews.  

On the night of May 16/17th 1943, the 19 Lancaster's, in two formations took off on 'Operation Chastise.'

As always, the RAF flew at night.  RAF Bomber crews always considered the USAF idea of flying bomber aircraft in large formations during the day an absurd and stupid thing to do.  The Yank crews considered flying in the dark, unsure of where you were, an unusually stupid thing to do!  Both were correct!

Rising one by one from the airfield, slowly gaining height in their extremely heavy and unusual aircraft, the Lancaster's crossed the channel heading deep into the darkness.  Problems soon arose, one aircraft had technical difficulties. another flew so low his  

'Bouncing Bomb' hit the water and was lost, though the aircraft survived and returned to base.  Three other Lancs went down under anti-aircraft fire or by hitting electricity cables.  The idea had been to fly at 100 feet to avoid detection, gunners and obstacles did however, notice them. 

After much stress the attack succeeded in breaching both the Mohne Dam and the Eder.  The rather stupid idea of breaching the huge earth dam at Sorpe failed both because of the makeup of the Dam and the great difficulty in attacking.  

The result, with only 11 of 19 aircraft returning and many of the 133 crew lost, was indecisive.  On the ground some 1600 were killed, around 800 of these slave labourers from various parts of German dominated Europe.  The damage to industry was limited, the coal mines suffered, power stations destroyed, and houses and smaller industry damaged.  A failure by Bomber Command to follow this up with several 'normal' bombing raids, could have extended the damage somewhat, but this never occurred.  

The effect on the war was limited, the effect on the UK was huge.  The raid was portrayed as a massive success, as you do in war, and the lift for morale was huge.  During late 1942, Montgomery had beaten the Germans in North Africa, in early 1943 the German attack on Stalingrad had failed, and with this bombing success the people, after four years of war, now began to believe that we could win in the end.  The raid may not have been a military success in a manner still offered by the media, but the hope of success, and even an end to the war could now be believed.  

      

Trump, Tech and Spring!

Once Joe managed to get his aged head in the White House it was hoped the end would come for the fat, orange blob.  However, in spite of insurrection, rape allegations, court decisions and obvious mental health problems, Trump once again heads the count for the Republicans as Presidential candidate.  We think the UK parliament is in a mess?  

How does a man who supports the Russians in Ukraine, use and abuse women so openly, talk like a 14 year old taking his first drugs, and lie so obviously retain this position?  Uncle Joe is no hero and some of his statements are somewhat dubious, but with a choice between a semi dementia man with some decency, and a Nut Job who considers, and probably believes, that the world is there for him and him alone, which would you choose?  Joe would not lead the US into a war, against the Ukraine, Trump might!  Trump, with the monetary understanding of Liz Truss, could demolish the worlds economy in less than her 43 days.  Yet, many US citizens will vote for him!

The west has been morally degraded by the policies of great wealth and false liberalism.  The 'Stonewall' type freedoms have deluded many, the creation of wealth and the removal of that wealth has left many distressed, and Covid did play its part here.  It is interesting how immoral governments and economic distress go together.  The stability built up since 1945 has been gradually eroded.  The west has nothing to hold it together now.   And a return of both Trump and Johnson is on the cards.

Sleep well.

In the real world Spring has produced a lively concoction for the wee beasties.  Buttercups and these white things that I can never recall the name off, these abound round the park.  Yesterday, my body failed to make Kirk, so I wondered across the park enjoying the greenery.  The council cut down the dead daffodils and allow the space to be filled with all this beastie attracting growth.  They do manage it well, and this replaces the areas killed off by front gardens being turned into car parks.  No wonder the number of sparrows is diminishing.  

I love technology, I really do!

I love how technology enables my laptop to manipulate the anti-virus in such a way as it logs itself out, logs itself in, all unasked, and then slows everything down while it contemplates what it is doing.  This, I only understood after uninstalling 'Avast,' and then re-installing the thing this afternoon.  Why did it do this?  Was it attacked by a virus?  Anyway, all is now well, apparently, but every day, and in everyway, we are being driven mad by the technology that was discovered to aid us and make our life easier!   

Edinburgh, People and Tenement

 

It has been a boring day.  Rising with the dawn, almost, and working through some of the jobs that have been left undone has not been exciting.  The 'Chick Pea Soup' appeared to be a grand idea this morning when I began making it.  The 'Somme Mud' that I ate disheartened me a little.  At least it is good for me, bar the taste.

So, to get out of myself I went back to 'Tenement Town,' and read through the lives of those Edinburgh worthies who have gone before.  Normally, the media is full of people's private lives and I spend little time reading about what celebs and the famous get up to.  However, the brief tales dragged from old Edinburgh papers do make me want to know more.  

These tenements are far from where I grew up, the picture above is the tenement far from the centre of town, where I first trod the earth.  Edinburgh is full of them and I suspect the tales offered in the website are no different from the tales that must have taken place amongst the residents here.  

One thing stands out, the 'Demon drink!'

Men and women take to drink very easily, in these tales here we see much abuse from violent men, often in tears of regret when sober, hardship for children, the worse this becomes the further back we go when no social assistance was available, and then there are the accidents, falling out of fourth floor windows and the like, all caused by drink.

The next major item that appears in my mind is the illnesses.  Tuberculosis being often mentioned, and other diseases that we no longer have, because of vaccinations and a proper NHS, something this Tory government wishes to kill.  So many people, children to adults, die from sickness unheard of today in the UK.  Occasionally, a worker is forced to work in terrible weather while suffering some illness, this results in a heart attack, does this, I wonder, upset the boss?  Accidents happen, young workers falling down hoist lifts, children under cars (1913) holding the axle and letting go only to be run over by a taxi following.  Children, as we know, can invent new ways to kill themselves without any adults aid.  

Overall, I just felt so depressed that so many people appeared to have such unhappy lives.  Not just long working hours, poor pay and conditions, being worse the further back you go, but so many find alcohol the only fun they have, or indeed an escape from either pain or life.  Others find escape by crooked dealings, one by renting a flat, then renting it out himself, after pawning flat items, and then jumping on the London train.  He got 60 days!  My favourite man is the one who lost a £1 note, (1881) and put an advert in the paper asking if anyone had found it!  For many, £1 was almost a months wages, for the skilled man a reasonable weeks.  

Anyway, reading about this lot made my day in some ways.  Human beings do not change their nature.  Down through time we do not change.  Our culture is motivated by our understandings, and clearly, Edinburgh, in times past had some very confused people, groping through life seeking some satisfaction.  No change today I expect.

Charlie

I have spent several nights sitting on the roof, howling at the moon.  The reason?  The Coronation!  Now, this is not because of the actual coronation, which I may have touched upon before, but the cobblers that has been spewed out by the press over the past few day.

The UK free press, all owned by rich billionaires living abroad to avoid tax, knows that the royals sell papers.  So a simple strategy is in operation, either smarmy, mind bending slop is spewed out about the 'beautiful princess,' the 'sweet kids,' the 'much loved' other one, and so on, that it is difficult not to vomit!

Today, long after the event, puerile stories about Charlie are still heading up the press.  It is no wonder it is said Charlie hates the media, he has every right to.  In spite of the lickspittle responses on offer Charlie is well aware that tomorrow these same hacks will take great delight in stabbing him in the back.  Any indication that he differs from their view and out will come the knives.  It will be soon I say.

Now, whether we need a monarchy, and what sort of monarchy we will have is well worth a debate.  It is difficult to watch a thousand year old ceremony of crowning English (not British) kings without asking if this is relevant today?  Charlie will be aware of this, but how to change this?

A public debate is required, sensible, quiet, and thoughtful debate.  The results will be different in various parts of the country.  Scotland has little interest in the monarch, while the last poll indicated around 30% supported one, it noted 48% did not.  The figures will be vastly different in England.  They always see him as 'King of England' anyway.  Well, let England pay for him.

We really have no idea what these royals are like in the flesh.  Many claim to speak for and against them, few understand the horrible life, always on show, without any real power to use.  However, I always liked Charles.  His parents did not care much, his dad had no idea about him, and his mum was too busy playing queen to bother.  Forced to marry an unsuitable woman because a suitable one was not good enough in their eyes was a mistake.  Diana, the woman on the make, ruined the family image.  The two dim sons she left behind, one with red hair surprisingly, reflect her intellect.  Within ten years I suspect one will be king and we have to go through all this again.  Poor Charles, he just wants to get back to the farm, grow plants, tend the cattle, make money and play the country squire. Instead he has a corrupt government to speak for him, limited opposition, failed media, and a Tory BBC to deal with.  I suspect he does not wish to get up in the morning.

Willie Collum Does it Again for His Team

 

Another Heart of Midlothian v Celtic game, another example of Willie Collum's deliberate bending of the rules to benefit his team.  Yet again he takes his teams side. This is not new, I make it six penalties he gave in seven games against us, none of which were penalties, and add to this several non red cards which he decided were red and has shown against this club, and he has gone one better today.  Sitting far from home in Glasgow he has made use of VAR to force the referee in today's game to send off a Heart of Midlothian player for no reason.  A foul, if it was a foul was committed, a yellow card shown, if that was required, and the  Willie demands a red, because that is what he does!

Had I been the boss at Tynecastle I would have taken the players from the field and sued both Willie and the SFA for the cheating we have endured.  This is not new, I have seen this as far back as the early 60s when Gordon Marshall was also treated badly by a Glasgow referee.  The 'Old Firm' have always had the refs in their pocket.  Today, ought to have been time for action.  The cowards at the Heart of Midlothian board will fail to react, once again. 

The King and Her

The coronation took place today, in case you had not noticed.  Several thoughts coursed through my mind throughout.  One that kept returning was the thought that Camila was only there because she had been told it was a 'Coronation Street' party.  She looked a wee bit disappointed.

My thoughts concerning Archbishop Selby and his fellow Bishops on show were not polite.  While working through the liturgy as if he believed it, he forgot to add that he was opposing it with his 'Stonewall' propositions.  He was asking the King to be 'defender of the Faith,' while all the time moving away from that very faith.  The title itself was given first to Henry VIII in 1521, by Pope Leo X, after he wrote a booklet opposing the works of Martin Luther.  He had it removed a while later when he decided to become head of his own church, an action that begat much seen in today's coronation.  It had actually been offered to Scotland's King James IV in 1507, many years before, as 'Protector and Defender of the Christian Faith.'  It could be said the kings since that date have been defending the Rome version, but I suspect legal moves since have abandoned this. 

Anyway, throughout I was not happy with the Bishops performance, more an event than a Christian service, though the biblical words I liked.  Leaders of the Anglicans in England are becoming more of a shadow of the faith rather than leaders.

One thought concerned the chair.  The throne on which the King is 'kinged,' I note was not as it appeared in the shop.  Behind the king were initials cut into the wood, I spent much time attempting to read them rather than watch the event.  I winder who scribbled on there, when, how?  Probably kids from the choir.

The overlong ceremony did appear to be out of place in today's world.  If we have a king we need a coronation, I understand Charles changed much, but it appears the CoE, therefore the Archbishops, who have the last say.  It is a church run event.  

The BBC coverage continued in the normal royal vane.  The commentators bland, grey voices, the information regarding the marchers, the dresses, what the kids were doing, the false enjoyment of nothing almost 'Daily Mail' like.  Indeed in the studio a royal correspondent from the paper itself offered his opinions.  Who heard the word 'slime ball' there?  Others who appeared to offer their thoughts 'How fantastic,' 'wonderful day,' 'excitement,' and so on.  Gush, gush. gush.  Now I expect much of this at these times, but there is a limit.  I also noted the BBC appeared not to mention the 'Not my King' protestors who were arrested, nor the 'Stop the oil' bairns also.  Maybe the BBC did not know?   

I was more concerned for the troops standing for hours in the rain, sometimes at 'attention.'  All night they will be drying their outfits, scrubbing equipment, polishing steel, and proud to have taken part, well, most of them.  All will be glad they did not faint, drop the gun, trip, or walk behind the horses.

All have done their duty, the policemen working out how much overtime they will get, the rest sitting in a pub before making off home tomorrow, unless there is more overtime.  

Events like this do bring the nation together, however, the generation gap, the Conservative Party, and rising electricity prices have dampened much of these events.  The royals will have to work hard to change their image, and possibly within 10 years we may have another royal funeral, and then 'Dim Wullie' under his wife's orders, will be king.  Oh dear oh dear...

Vote for Coronation

I awoke early, I usually do in Spring when the light shines in, and was greeted with the not surprising news that Labour had won all three seats available in our ward.  As far as I can tell the Conservatives are still in control, but now only by 8 seats.  The Independents, who are doing well in the villages, the Greens and others have filled gaps left by departing Tories.  

The result has been similar throughout the country.  This election only covered England, and so far Labour have won about 200 seats, the Liberal Democrats 60 or so, and the Tories just lose everywhere, especially in what is called the 'Red Wall' seats.  These are areas once totally committed to Labour, but which sold out at the last General Election to Boris Johnsons lies.  They now regret this decision.

We expect the usual statement from the various parties but Greg Hands has topped the lot.  In an interview this morning he claimed he had visited 33 wards and met on the doorstep a great deal of support for what Rishi Sunak is doing.  The implication is that Rishi is not like those who have gone before.  It was put to him that, at the time of the interview, around 150 seats have been lost.  His reply was to state that he found no support for Keir Starmer!  The people, in his view, are supporting the PM by voting against him, and dislike Starmer so much his party has already won over 150 seats.  This interview is a classic of ignoring reality.

In 1968 the SNP won well over 360 seats in the local elections of that year, on TV late at night the head of the Scottish Communist Party was interviewed.  "Our victory tonight," he said, "shows that the Scottish people realise that only the Communist Party has the answer for our troubles."  His party had won one single seat, in Inverness I think!  

I thought our seat would be counted today, but this occurred last night.  However, the majority of seats are being counted today, and thus the damage to the Tory Party will be immense.  There is still support for the Tories, mostly in wealthier areas, but when you consider almost all local elections carry only a quarter of the population to vote, and the nonsense about personal ID has turned away many Tory as well as other voters, there is no doubt this election has been a shambles for them.  By late evening we will know just how bad this has been.

Saturday sees Charlies big day.  After a lifetime of waiting, longer than I have lived, just, he now has the chance to fill his destiny.  The reactions to this are interesting.  The Mall is lined with the usual collection of women of a certain age, some men and a lot of foreign types, awaiting a glimpse of the royals as they pass.  Quite what motivates some of them leaves me wondering.  

We also see an immense, and not very worthy, amount of cynicism regarding the monarch and the coronation.  How much genuine thought has gone into this I suggest is limited in scope.  Once again we see the 'divide and rule' at work, where genuine patriots will support the monarch, and non patriots will refuse.  There is no nuance in this.  Age is one part.  Many royalists are "cough," older people, many opposing, young whippersnappers.  

The war left a large impression on those who lived through it, including the children.  While children usually enjoyed war, many interesting happenings almost daily, they grew up in a patriotic culture, a culture impressed on such as I, in the years after the war.  The passage of time amended many understandings of royalty, and Scottish Independence adds to this, and it is a long time since many of my generation 'respected' royalty by doffing the cap.   For those born in more recent times with no memory of Empire, little connection to those who ran it, and with absolutely no understanding why it existed, they can be excused for wondering about all the pomp of a coronation.  

The pomp goes back into history, mostly English, concerns a variety of kings and queens, mostly of dubious morality, and reflects the imperialist attitude of the English mind.  Scotland of course, is still nothing more than a colony under English rule.  The coronation reveals the constitution crafted over many years, entwining the king (because of the mad Henry VIII) with the church, and obliging many an unbelieving monarch to play as head of the church.  Such is the confusion over the constitution that to separate church and state would be a bonanza for the lawyers, take many years, and cost Billions!  

This also does not take into account of attitudes on far off one time colonies.  Their opinion is not sought. 

I am not one to throw eggs at the King, he is there, this is how it is, and if we wish to change it this must be done by debate, not middle class wee boys with placards.  Neither those who support the monarchy, for whatever reason, or those who oppose, will find support from me.  The monarch debate will begin now, especially if Charles dies within 10 years and his dumb son and wife take over.  That really will be the end.

I will watch the coronation, for historical reasons, and to cogitate over those attending at the side of the road or elsewhere.  A procession is always worth watching, and who knows what will happen?

 

Vote! But not for Gas!

Once again we get the exciting opportunity to vote!  

The franchise allowing the common people to vote only began in 1832, and that amongst much opposition and was given to remarkably few.  Many more received the opportunity when the franchise was widened in 1867, thus allowing Alf Garnett's grandfather to vote.  Men such as him, owning a two up, and two down small house worth a rateable value of £7 could now vote, and many took advantage of this to change the world around them.  The 'Working Class Conservative' began at this era, fooled into thinking the 'upper classes' wanted them to join them in running the country.  This was never the intention!  

After the Great War the franchise was extended, men such as agricultural workers, could now vote, as long as they were 21.  Women of 30 and over also could now vote, and it is interesting to consider that the majority of men fighting during the Great War could not vote!   Much loud noise is made concerning the women demanding a vote, we forget the men who also were unable to elect a man of their choice.  

For centuries, since large cities developed, the common man has been led, with an occasional riot to express his opinions, or vague forms of democracy as in ancient Greece.  The vast majority down through time, and possibly today, have little opportunity to cast a vote one way or another, many have died attempting to offer such a freedom.

This morning, just after 8:15 am, I entered the Polling Station, and fought my way through the crowds taking advantage of the privilege of voting.  

There was no-one there.

In front of me were two tables, as is normal, staffed by council two beings with an array of paperwork in front of them.  Being from the council it is difficult to call them human ones.  Either side ranged the actual Polling booths, designed for private scribbling, and all with thick black pencil attached strongly to a rope!  It is always thus!   

As the polling is conducted in the museum hall and the Presiding Officer is the man who runs the museum I knew there was going to be no problems here.  Not only that, another lass, standing at the side reading a magazine, is also always in attendance at elections in the morning.  I suspect similar patterns are found throughout the nation.  

I presented my credentials, the lass looked for my name on the lists, and struggled to find it.  For a moment I wondered if the council, run by Tories, had cut me off.  However, my name was found, correct ID handed over to a man who had to identify me even though he has known me for ten years, and a slip of folded paper with several names was offered to me.

I was also informed I could vote for up to three individuals, so I asked if any were Revolutionary Communists, or Marxists-Leninists, but was informed searching out the individuals was my job.  So, muttering 'Mussolini?'  'Engels?' and so on, I headed for the booth, choose three names, two to avoid the Conservatives, and one because I knew her and consider her to be an able woman, very capable of doing this job for her area.  She may be the only one to get in.

I returned to the tables, folded and posted my ballot, peeked inside the box and muttered "There's only three in there," which may have been about right.  We chatted for a few minutes, not one soul entered.

I had noticed only one leaving as I came up the road.  And as I left, making sure I had my ID and that the boss had not nicked it, I went over to Tesco's.

Tesco's was very quiet.  

I have never seen it so quiet.

I was able to wander about without being run over by trolleys or children.  IN fact only one schoolboy entered for some shoplifting, usually at this time there are many.  The checkout girl chatted, I paid my dues, and limped back up the road, satisfied with my day.  It was not yet 8:45 am when I reached home.  

My day is over thought I.

No more clambering up stairs.

Then I remembered I had to put the rubbish out, and check the gas meter.

Much later this I did.

The rubbish and recycling bags were taken down and placed in appropriate places.  I then scanned the area around hoping for something interesting to occur, it failed to do so.  So, once again upstairs in spite of the muck left by the man plastering next doors ceiling.

Then I remembered the gas meter!

Fool, that was one of the reasons to go downstairs.

So, back down, check the reading, scribble it down, and once more clamber Edmund Hilary like, up the stairs.  I entered the reading on the Rip-Off British Gas site, noticing that last months had been estimated.  My reading was 08567, their estimate for last month was 08999, the word 'crook' crossed my mind for some reason.  I await their response, which may be delayed by someone being King for a day and the Holiday Monday afterwards.  It may be interesting reading.

Lauriston Castle

 

This is one of my highly intelligent, beautiful, and clever great nieces.  This one obtained her parchments in Archaeology, and has begun to make short video's of Edinburgh and Scotland's history.  

I am so proud of this lassie.  Good looking, wise, clever, with bouncy personality, knowledgeable, and well able to put over her knowledge to inform and entertain us.

She is a bit like me...

 

What?...oh!

A short video and hopefully you will like it.

 

Bank Holiday Drivel

Being a Bank Holiday, one I did not realise was in the air until late last night, the weather has arrived as normal.  Bright clouds in the morning, rain threatening ones now.  This is how UK weather works.  It offers the prospect of sunshine early on, waits until the family have ventured out into the great outdoors, and darkens the skies, ruins the day, adding extra rain if possible, and leaving tension and fury abundant.  It happens all the time and they still fall for it.  Men in shorts, dark glasses fixed, walk past ignoring the chill in the air and muttering about cold drinks for lunch.  The English, probably the stupidest nation on earth.  I mean, who else would still try to claim Brexit worked?  And this why we find them adjusting the dark glasses in the rain!

I remain closeted indoors.

With nothing happening, and the only live football not appearing on my screen, I am forced to think for myself about the world around me.

Silence.

I tried coffee but this did not inspire.

No news to react with.  Nothing but fillers concerning Charlie's big day.  An occasional murder, a grumpy tv presenter, and myriads of Bimbo's in the media.  Nothing worth noting.

I have watched the steam engines on the West Somerset Railway passing by.  This was interesting, though I would much rather have been there on the train itself.  In fact my Railcard, offering reduced travel, ran out and I had hardly used it and therefore got no bargains from it.  That must be changed and I must get onto a train soon.

I could read books, there are plenty I am reading all at the same time alongside me.  But the effort is so trying.  They must be lifted, carried, opened, read and sometimes thought about.  Too much on a Bank Holiday I say.

I discovered this the other week, this has some interest.  The author runs around Edinburgh tenements

seeking the stories of those who have lived there in times past.  He checks on them through the local papers.  The lives lived are mixed as much as you can imagine in Edinburgh.  Rich and poor, good and bad, but all worth a look I say.  ''Tenement Town' sums Edinburgh up nicely.  Large and dominating tenements thrive in Scotland.  This was due to the 'Feu Duty.'  A tax paid to the owners of the land.  This did not exist in England, and the way around this was to build tenements four story's high.  Each had four flats on a floor and this meant in buying one flat you only paid part of the 'Feu.'  The flats were usually then 'let out.'  I was reared for almost three years in one before moving to the then, new estate.  Some were inhabited by those with money, others like us!  The better ones had a complicated door mechanism.  The front door, the main door was locked.  The brass bells were on the side, you chose one and pulled hard.  This rang a bell outside the chosen flat, if they wanted you they came to their front door, pulled another brass lever, this clicked it's way to the main door, lifted the latch, and allowed entrance.  I remember many of the better buildings having these in the 60's.  I suspect the lower orders moving in has either meant the main door is unlocked or new bells are installed, with a phone attached!

Men and Movements in the Primitive Church, by F.F. Bruce

No doubt you have already read this book.  I read it years ago when the somewhat academic style exercised what is laughingly called my brain.  Recently, in need of some stimulus I opened it once again and found it easy to read and very satisfying at that.

F.F. Bruce came from a 'Plymouth Brethren' background, he became professor at Manchester, and was a famous biblical scholar grounded in biblical truth.  Therefore not all people liked him, many prefer to have itchy ears and hear what suits them as opposed to what the bible teaches.  

This book is not new, my copy first appeared in 1979, long before most of you were born, and come from a series of lectures delivered in the years previous.  

As 'Rylands Professor of Biblical Studies,' Bruce found himself more and more absorbed with the Apostle Paul.  To study Paul however, you must also study what was going on around him at the same time, therefore, this study comprises the messages, as far as they can be obtained, from Peter, James, John and Stephen and those around them.

The early church quickly had different shades.  James became the one leading the 'Jewish' Jerusalem church, many of whom may well have come from the Pharisee background.  Another Apostle led church was influenced by non Judean Jews, Stephen came from this section.  These were Jews who had accepted Jesus as Messiah but lived in far flung areas, well away from the stricter Jerusalem Jews.  Then Peter introduced Gentiles into the church, Antioch being one of the main areas here, and so a third strand arose.  

All this teaches us that nothing is easy in the church, differences arise, often leading to conflict, yet all suppose to follow Jesus.  This is not different today.

Bruce discusses all these differences, often reflected solely through Paul's letters and the Book of Acts, far too little genuine documentary evidence to be found elsewhere.  What can be discovered is the underlying truth that all proclaimed, the similar gospel, the unity in spite of the outside influences, and the genuine support one for the other.  Some like to create differences between Paul and Peter, but it was from Peter that Paul learned much about his Lord.  I fail to see them not appreciating one another.

While Bruce tries to write in an open readable fashion he cannot get away from the academic style which appears here and there.   However, I found this an interesting and wise investigation into his subject and wish more people would read such books and understand the background to what we possess today.  Like all church life it is not easy.  Problems of doctrine and style, personality and fashion, taste and discernment always arise.  Then we have ambition, pride, sin and outside influences both fashionable and political attempting to dictate what believers believe.  And then believers failure to believe what they believe and act upon it ruining everything on top of the rest.  

This is an interesting book, and all books by F. F. Bruce, as I may have mentioned before, are worth reading.

Scotched Rishi

Sunny Sunak visited his Scottish colony the other day.  He was attending the Scottish Conservative get together.  However, it appears he was about the only one attending.  They could not fill the 360 seat hall.

A press conference was to be held but trouble came when only a handful of press, all from the right0-wing papers, 'Sun,' 'Mail,' 'Express,' etc were allowed in.  Trouble followed, a vote was held, and even the men from the 'right' papers refused to attend unless all could come to the press conference. 

After much squabbling this was allowed, but only one question, and that chosen by Sunak's guards. 

This too was refused.

Eventually 6 questions were put, few answers, and the TV media allowed to ask 3 more.  

Few answers.

This is how the UK is governed by the fascist government today.

No questions to be asked, only the right questions, no answers given.

The people, especially the English people, voted to be under this fascism.

With the May local elections due we will understand just how many will once again vote for this corrupt party.  I think a great many will, believing they will be 'on the right side.'  Once again they will be deceived.

Note:  Little coverage of this in the press, the TV, and certainly not the BBC.

Costa Rica Coffee and Eon Inflation

I am Mr Lucky!  There can be no other person as lucky as I.  

Just last night, as I tidied up in the kitchen, I lifted my cafetierie thingy from the washing up and smashed it against the bunker!  

How lucky am I?

Luck was in again as I am hooked on Costa Rica coffee at the moment and without this coffee maker I was going to start seeing spiders up the wall.  At least, apart from the actual spiders that now inhabit my wall.  

Lucky me had intended to remain indoors this morning, stretching my weary limbs and doing nothing beyond my mental abilities.  So, you will realise, nothing was to be done today.  However, the Costa Rica coffee, which I had run out off, called very strongly to me, and by 8:15 I was in Sainburys painfully looking for a new, unbroken cafetiere thingy.  Good grief!  They had one, at an amazing cheap price of only £7:50!  'Only,' is a word used by shops to lie to the customer!  I packed my bag with all the required goodies, including the coffee cafiterie (You spell it your way, I will spell it mine), the bag was overfull as I was buying for the weekend also, and stumbled slowly back up the road, watching the workers heading into town to pretend they are earning a living.  

Back home, having remembered to purchase the Costa Rica coffee also, I packed away my treasures, mostly with 'reduced' labels upon them, sat down at my laptop and swallowed Costa Rica coffee, with double cream obviously.  

Wonderful.  

I cogitated on doing nothing but sitting here with my feet up all day watching the Gala at the West Somerset Railway.  Old Great Western Steam engines plied their way back and forth over the aged rails.  What fun! Several visiting large engines on show here today.  Jolly good show I say!

It was then I remembered I must take the electric meter reading.  

This, as you know, means stumbling downstairs, wandering round the back, lifting the large wooden, filthy lid, and descending down into the bowels of the building to where the meters tick away day and night, never feeling any guilt as they do so.  

What fun!

So, this I did and found going down to be harder than coming back up, somewhat surprisingly.  I also noticed the rubbish lying about down there, no idea where it comes from or who dumped it.  It remains a mystery as to how things find their way into the cellar.

Note taken of the meter, in spite of the dog downstairs barking as he did not recognise me, back upstairs, enter number, ('It's so easy' say EON, forgetting that making £3 billion a year is easy for them, not us.) and send it off.  Within 24 hours the EON AI will tell me I owe them £10,000 and must increase the monthly payment to £500 a week!  Or something similar.  

If only we had an election?  If only we had an opposition? Something could then be done about all this. The future is bleak, and will not improve much for the UK.

M&S & EVRI

I began this post days ago.  Life however, as you know can be tiring, and sloth can creep in unexpectedly in this abode.  So, having nothing to say, nothing appears to have happened anywhere, bar the M&S/EVRI incident, there was little purpose in scrawling anything.

Ah yes, M&S/EVRI.  

You see, for reasons of cost, M&S now make use of the couriers with the worst success rate, and lowest reliability in the world!  I comprehend the need to cut costs, and M&S like all others have problems, but so many companies now use EVRI in spite of the missed deliveries, lost goods and total failure of the company to do what it is paid for.  Why?  The loss in missing goods, customer satisfaction and return shoppers must out way any benefits?  

So, anyway I ordered, via a voucher, a belt.  A belt to replace the 'Cowboy' thick brown belt that has held me together for around 45 years.  This has been on my mind for a while, so I took advantage of the voucher, ordered some T-shirts, and then later, as they arrived quickly, I ordered an appropriate, I thought, belt.

M&S told me they had my order.

M&S told me the order was on its way.

M&S told me the courier had the order.

M&S told me it was being delivered today. 

Here I made my first mistake, I believed them.

The EVRI tracking system told me they had the goods, and the goods were 'out for delivery,' expected around 15:30- 16:30.

I waited in.

15:30 came and went.  16:30 came and went.  

I checked the tracker once more.

"Sorry, we cannot deliver today, we will deliver tomorrow." 

Lies!  All lies!

Tomorrow came.

Same messages.

'Out for delivery at such and such a time.

Now, I believe the main sorting office for EVRI is in Harlow, miles away.  This means this driver, who leaves about 10:30 in the morning, arrives here in time for the rush hour.  If he knows the area he avoids small packet drops as he sees no sense in slowly driving through two miles of traffic for one small packet.  So that is why the first delivery failed.

Delivery time came and went.

Check the tracker. 

"Sorry, we cannot deliver today, we will deliver tomorrow." 

More lies, more lies!

Being a long weekend it was never going to come.

I contacted, eventually, after much struggle to find a contact, and left a short sharp message.

A young lady, she says, left an apologetic note and refunded carrier costs, how nice, if I use them again.

Silence.

Nothing happened for days, I lost interest, relying on things to work themselves out.

I relied to young lady again.

Message came back informing me that this is not a sight answered by M&S!

I struggled to find a contact, none came to sight.

So, it was onto Twitter, Musk or no Musk, where I dropped a note publicly there.

An answer came an hour later.

Details exchanged, goods re-ordered, and on Saturday night (6:19pm) they were delivered to my door.

One small packet, that could have gone through the letterbox, was delivered by a young lady pushing it through the letterbox as I tumbled down the stairs.

At last!  Success!

Of course the belt is not as thick, wide, as the old one.  It is black, not brown, I hit the wrong button, but it does fit, and has space for expansion at that!

What a palaver over a small item.  I have the belt, and a few pence on the voucher still, M&S are still far too expensive, but I have the £3:50 refund voucher also.  The belt does not suit my hippy imagination, but it works.

And, today, as I began my repast the bell rung.

A foreign man delivering to the flat around the back, but not unusually with this building, cannot find it.

His English poor, so is mine, I point in direction, he succeeds in finding correct address.  I return to my dinner.

Will EVRI ever give me rest?