Recently my attention was drawn to an article in a national newspaper, well if you must know it was The Daily Telegraph, about standards within the education system. The general thrust of the item as I understand it is that the author [Charles Moore] takes as his view that for all the time and money put in the education system is fundamentally flawed and as a sub text he adds, children have never worked so hard and learnt so little.
After a short but I think meandering introduction, to include the obligatory dig at the Labour Party and therefore by default the Government, Mr Moore reaches what I think is the nub of the piece where he poses the question, does the average pupil today end up knowing more or knowing things more deeply than say his or her counterpart of fifty years ago. Could the average pupil of today do long division or speak a foreign language or explain the Great Reform Bill or locate Puthukkudiyiruppu on a map of the world or operate the laws of thermo-dynamics better than his or her equivalent of half a century ago. Perhaps not, modern educationalists and defenders of the present system might argue, but modern pupils know more about saving the planet, safe sex, challenging racism and things not even thought of in the 1950's and 60's such as the Internet, they learn more that is relevant is the defence.
Now that got me thinking, for I was a pupil during the 50's and 60's. In particular it made me think about the 11 plus examination taken by all children during those days and contrary to the title taken when the children were around ten and a half years old.
By way of explanation to my overseas readers [and I am ever hopeful a follower of the Blog from Chad] I should explain that there was a system in place within the British education system up until the early 70's, though parts of the country did vary, that had a formal educational examination called the 11 plus taken by children at primary school, the results of which would determine, depending upon the result, their further education by selection to the type of school the child should attend after primary school. The choices being either a Grammar School a Technical School or a Secondary Modern School, the understanding of the day being that different skills required different schooling.
I took the 11 plus exam in 1959 when I was a little over ten years old and as I have mentioned elsewhere on the Blog I failed as I remember did many of my friends. The end result being that at the start of the autumn term of that year I and many of the other failures all now aged eleven arrived at the gates of the local secondary modern school, this decision being based on that having failed we were not destined for a grammar school education but having failed so spectacularly we were not deemed bright enough even to gain a place at the local technical school. We were in the lower half of the failure group and our lot for the next four years was to be at the secondary modern school until leaving at the age of 15 and being forced then to make our way in the world at large.
Now I would not like you to think that my perhaps disparaging comment about secondary modern schools meant they were bad, perhaps sadly some were but happily the one I attended, which I have since found out has been demolished many years ago and its grounds now taken up by what is called executive housing, was a good and happy place for me at least. My school offered all the traditional academic subjects; Maths, English, History, Geography and Science as well as some very helpful practical based subjects, Woodwork, Metalwork, Technical Drawing and Gardening. It would be untrue though even 45 years after leaving for me to say that my four year stay within its portals improved my standard of education greatly but it was a happy school and on the whole I enjoyed my time there.
However my somewhat faded memory of the 11 plus exam intrigues me and the question posed by Mr Moore about a comparison with the pupils of today and their counterparts of the 50's and 60's. I have with the aid of the Internet discovered that the 11 plus exam was split into five subject sections each having ten questions so making the exam fifty questions in total. The subjects being; Arithmetic, General English, Comprehension, General Intelligence / Knowledge and Essays and Compositions. It should be remembered that the 11 plus was not some form of multi choice exam it asked questions or set problems to which the child would have to work out an answer or write an answer. We are perhaps familiar with sights of examination centres today we might see on a news item for example and we see pupils sat at their desk armed with calculators and dictionaries. Pupils of the 11 plus had neither of these items all they had was an answer booklet, pencil, rubber, pen and a bottle of ink.
So let me set the scene; you are a ten year old child you are sat in the school assembly hall now turned over for the morning as an examination centre. On the desk in front of you is a blank booklet for you to write your answers in, the 11 plus question paper, a pencil, a rubber a ruler and a fountain pen and bottle of ink. Have a go at these five genuine examples.
Question 1.
A train leaves London at 11.30 am and arrives at Bristol at 1.30 pm, after stopping from 12.10 pm till 12.20 pm at Reading which is 36 miles from London. It traveled both parts of the journey at the same rate. Find the distance from London to Bristol.
Question 2.
Subtract two thirds of eight hundred and thirty four from 23 times 185.
Question 3.
A machine makes tin boxes at the rate of 78 in 5 minutes. How long will it take to make 3,900 or them. Answer in hours and minutes.
Question 4.
Seven piles of bricks are placed side by side so that their tops form steps 1 brick high. If the lowest pile contains 9 bricks, how many bricks are being used altogether.
Question 5.
A contractor agrees to complete a house in 250 days and to do this he engages 60 men. After 200 hundred days no work is done for 10 days. How many extra men must the contractor engage to finish the house in time.
So I am drawn back to the question from Mr Moore and I think in all fairness that I might have to say I am undecided on the answer. I am sure that there will be some of today's ten year old who would be able to pass an 11 plus of that type and standard just as there would be those who would fail. On balance however I think that proportionally there would be a much higher percentage of today's pupils would fail it than those ten year old back in the 50's and 60's if only for the reason that I believe the pupils of today rely more on technical and electronic assistance from computers and calculators and so on.
So no doubt they can still do long division but I for example still do it manually with pen and paper, pupils today would press a few buttons on their calculator. I know where Putukkudiyiruppu is having learnt it during a geography lesson at that now defunct secondary modern school, pupils today would search Google.
I do not agree with Mr Moore when he says that children [today] have never worked so hard and learnt so little. All they have to do is remember which buttons to press and how to switch on a computer and educationally speaking the world is at their finger tips, that is not hard work and they can learn so much should they wish.
..................................and in case dear reader you were wondering Puthukkudiyiruppu is on the North East coast of Sri Lanka and as for the answers to the five questions above, don't ask me I failed the 11 plus remember...........................................
Monday 14 December 2009
Sunday 27 September 2009
That cant be art..............can it ?
I don't know about you but I generally tend to find that when somebody makes a negative statement then many times [but not always] the opposite is true. "I don't care one way or the other about.................................." someone may confide to you in a hushed tone but I suspect really they do. So when I say to you that I am no artist and I know nothing about art then believe me it is true. The skill of drawing a straight line with the aid of a ruler is one that has eluded me my whole life, but I do know what I like when looking at art, my eyes can fall upon a picture, irrespective of medium, and I can look at it and nod to myself and think yes I like that.
During our recent holiday to Cornwall the small, perfectly formed and rightly famous resort of St Ives was in the process of celebrating its annual festival. St Ives is rightly proud of its artistic heritage, there is the world famous St Ives School of Art for example, St Ives hosts a satellite of the Tate Modern and St Ives celebrates many of its past famed residents, Barbra Hepworth and Ben Nicholson are two who immediately spring to mind. So it was as part of these annual celebrations that the Lady of the House and I took the opportunity to visit some of the many artists studios in and around St Ives that are not normally open or accessible to the public.
I don't know what I was exactly expecting to see when I actually ventured into any of these working studios but perhaps I had in the back of my mind that it may be art. Now I better set out my stall here and now and make it clear that I in general am a traditionalist. Show me a seascape and the sky will be at the top, the sea will generally occupy some of the middle ground and the beach or cliffs or both will in most examples be found around the bottom or sides, perhaps to highlight an individual flair the artist may include a vessel of some sort, a sailing yacht being a favourite. As a final flourish perhaps a couple of birds in the distance, now that is my type of picture, I can see what it represents, it is easy on the eyes but perhaps most importantly of all I can understand what it is and what the artist is showing us.
As we entered the first of many studios that warm morning two weeks ago we entered an alien world, well to us anyway. The room measured perhaps twenty feet by twenty feet and the whole of one wall was taken up by a huge ceiling to floor window that illuminated the whole studio, the place was empty and on both side walls was an array of canvas. The Lady of the House and I stood side by side and looked at one of the canvases hanging before us, it measured I guess perhaps two by two foot. It was white except in the top right hand corner was a hollow red circle, we looked at each other and I saw her eyes raise very slightly. Just then a small side door opened and a tall figure, the artist, entered. He was what I can only describe as a caricature of an artist. He wore a blue smock which was liberally covered in smears of every colour and hue of paint I have ever seen and some I have never seen. His hair was long and unkempt, he had a short beard and clamped between his fingers was a cigarette that he smoked from time to time.
He smiled and welcomed us to his studio and mentioned he had seen us admiring he latest work, he was going to call it White Circle with Red Outer, the Lady of the House sniggered but very cleverly I thought immediately made it look as if she had sneezed. This work he went on was for sale today for only 450 pounds, I looked at the white canvas with the small red circle top right and then looked again at the artist, I was going to ask what it all meant but the Lady of the House had pre-empted that and nudged me so I just smiled at the artist and then turned again to study the finer points of White Circle with Red Outer. Fortunately some other people entered the studio so we thanked him for his time and made a hasty retreat.
The next studio we entered was not that different from the one we had just left. As we got inside we saw a huge figure of a man standing looking out of the large window. Suddenly and with no warning at all he spun around and in a large booming voice and with an expansive wave of both arms he declared Brown on Board. Pardon I said trying to follow the wave of his arms; Brown on Board he boomed again and with a small nod of his head toward both sides of the studio our eyes followed to see on each wall three boards each perhaps a foot square and each covered in brown gloss paint, nothing else just brown gloss paint. His collection then of six identical bits of what I take to be MDF each painted in a couple of coats of brown gloss was Brown on Board.
If by now dear reader you think we had seen the worst of it I can only, if somewhat sadly, contradict you. The first two studios it seemed were to be the highlight of our visit, it rapidly got worse I am afraid. One canvas we saw looked to me as if some four year old child had been given several trays of coloured paint and a pair of wellingtons and told to stand in one colour and then walk over the canvas then repeat the exercise with each other colour in turn, this was titled, we were informed, A Walk with Colour.
That day we visited twelve studios and it was horrendous, but then I suppose you have to ask yourself what is art. We have all seen, I expect, examples of art being shown to us television for the Turner prize, for example. The names spring to mind, Antony Gormley, Damien Hirst, Tracy Emin. Martin Creed et al. Is that art ? a pile of bricks, an unmade bed a film of a room with the lights going on and off; perhaps it is art just as much as Brown on Board or White Circle with Red Outer, perhaps I don't understand it or perhaps it is just pretentious elitist rubbish.
I said we visited twelve studios and they were all horrendous, well that is not quite true. The last studio we ventured into was shared by two middle aged ladies each sharing half the studio. One of the ladies drew full size nude figures in charcoal on thick white parchment paper and they were fantastic, the other lady painted with watercolours and she painted landscapes and seascapes from around the Cornish coast.
So it was here in the last studio that I stood silently and studied the picture before me. The sky was at the top the sea was covering most of the middle ground and along the bottom and toward one side were golden sands rising to high craggy cliffs. In the far distance just below the horizon I spotted a small sailing ship and in the top left hand corner were three birds flying along in formation, I liked it.
Yes I am a traditionalist but I know nothing about art and that's the truth.
During our recent holiday to Cornwall the small, perfectly formed and rightly famous resort of St Ives was in the process of celebrating its annual festival. St Ives is rightly proud of its artistic heritage, there is the world famous St Ives School of Art for example, St Ives hosts a satellite of the Tate Modern and St Ives celebrates many of its past famed residents, Barbra Hepworth and Ben Nicholson are two who immediately spring to mind. So it was as part of these annual celebrations that the Lady of the House and I took the opportunity to visit some of the many artists studios in and around St Ives that are not normally open or accessible to the public.
I don't know what I was exactly expecting to see when I actually ventured into any of these working studios but perhaps I had in the back of my mind that it may be art. Now I better set out my stall here and now and make it clear that I in general am a traditionalist. Show me a seascape and the sky will be at the top, the sea will generally occupy some of the middle ground and the beach or cliffs or both will in most examples be found around the bottom or sides, perhaps to highlight an individual flair the artist may include a vessel of some sort, a sailing yacht being a favourite. As a final flourish perhaps a couple of birds in the distance, now that is my type of picture, I can see what it represents, it is easy on the eyes but perhaps most importantly of all I can understand what it is and what the artist is showing us.
As we entered the first of many studios that warm morning two weeks ago we entered an alien world, well to us anyway. The room measured perhaps twenty feet by twenty feet and the whole of one wall was taken up by a huge ceiling to floor window that illuminated the whole studio, the place was empty and on both side walls was an array of canvas. The Lady of the House and I stood side by side and looked at one of the canvases hanging before us, it measured I guess perhaps two by two foot. It was white except in the top right hand corner was a hollow red circle, we looked at each other and I saw her eyes raise very slightly. Just then a small side door opened and a tall figure, the artist, entered. He was what I can only describe as a caricature of an artist. He wore a blue smock which was liberally covered in smears of every colour and hue of paint I have ever seen and some I have never seen. His hair was long and unkempt, he had a short beard and clamped between his fingers was a cigarette that he smoked from time to time.
He smiled and welcomed us to his studio and mentioned he had seen us admiring he latest work, he was going to call it White Circle with Red Outer, the Lady of the House sniggered but very cleverly I thought immediately made it look as if she had sneezed. This work he went on was for sale today for only 450 pounds, I looked at the white canvas with the small red circle top right and then looked again at the artist, I was going to ask what it all meant but the Lady of the House had pre-empted that and nudged me so I just smiled at the artist and then turned again to study the finer points of White Circle with Red Outer. Fortunately some other people entered the studio so we thanked him for his time and made a hasty retreat.
The next studio we entered was not that different from the one we had just left. As we got inside we saw a huge figure of a man standing looking out of the large window. Suddenly and with no warning at all he spun around and in a large booming voice and with an expansive wave of both arms he declared Brown on Board. Pardon I said trying to follow the wave of his arms; Brown on Board he boomed again and with a small nod of his head toward both sides of the studio our eyes followed to see on each wall three boards each perhaps a foot square and each covered in brown gloss paint, nothing else just brown gloss paint. His collection then of six identical bits of what I take to be MDF each painted in a couple of coats of brown gloss was Brown on Board.
If by now dear reader you think we had seen the worst of it I can only, if somewhat sadly, contradict you. The first two studios it seemed were to be the highlight of our visit, it rapidly got worse I am afraid. One canvas we saw looked to me as if some four year old child had been given several trays of coloured paint and a pair of wellingtons and told to stand in one colour and then walk over the canvas then repeat the exercise with each other colour in turn, this was titled, we were informed, A Walk with Colour.
That day we visited twelve studios and it was horrendous, but then I suppose you have to ask yourself what is art. We have all seen, I expect, examples of art being shown to us television for the Turner prize, for example. The names spring to mind, Antony Gormley, Damien Hirst, Tracy Emin. Martin Creed et al. Is that art ? a pile of bricks, an unmade bed a film of a room with the lights going on and off; perhaps it is art just as much as Brown on Board or White Circle with Red Outer, perhaps I don't understand it or perhaps it is just pretentious elitist rubbish.
I said we visited twelve studios and they were all horrendous, well that is not quite true. The last studio we ventured into was shared by two middle aged ladies each sharing half the studio. One of the ladies drew full size nude figures in charcoal on thick white parchment paper and they were fantastic, the other lady painted with watercolours and she painted landscapes and seascapes from around the Cornish coast.
So it was here in the last studio that I stood silently and studied the picture before me. The sky was at the top the sea was covering most of the middle ground and along the bottom and toward one side were golden sands rising to high craggy cliffs. In the far distance just below the horizon I spotted a small sailing ship and in the top left hand corner were three birds flying along in formation, I liked it.
Yes I am a traditionalist but I know nothing about art and that's the truth.
Wednesday 23 September 2009
Back to normal..........or what passes for normal here.
I have now safely returned from my holiday in Cornwall, well I say safely but that might be no thanks to the half wit who at Junction 18a on the M5 Motorway Northbound [Northwest of Bristol] was in the left hand lane to leave the M5 to join the M49 heading for the M4 as I drew level with him, both of us doing around 80mph [sorry officer I mean 70mph]. He decided he was in the wrong lane or perhaps that the M49 held no interest for him and without any warning or indication he swerved off the M49 slip road and rejoined the M5 right in front of me. Mrs F screamed and I sounded the car horn and flashed my lights as I at 80mph [sorry 70mph] took avoiding action to the right into the middle lane, which thankfully at that very moment was devoid of any other traffic. As I increased speed a little to overtake, but of course not at any time exceeding the prescribed speed limit, Mrs F lowered her window and shouted some friendly words of advice at the other driver that I am afraid modesty forbids me from repeating here.
I was saddened to read about the death of Mary Travers, though she had been suffering from Leukemia for some years, news of her death on the 16th of September still made me briefly stop and take stock. Perhaps for the benefit of some of the younger readers of this Blog I should explain that Mary Travers was one third of the folk group Peter Paul and Mary. Now there are those of you who may know that my musical tastes may be varied with a slight bias toward American Bluegrass and Blues and I play, just for fun and in my own fashion, the five string banjo, so folk singing I agree is not my main musical passion.
However it is not directly for the folk singing that I remember Mary Travers or Peter Yarrow and Noel 'Paul' Stookey but for what happened on August 28th August 1963 and the small but significant part Pater Paul and Mary played during the March on Washington at which Martin Luther King Jr delivered his [now] famous 'I Have a Dream' speech. The song 'If I had a Hammer' which they sung during this rally became the anthem for racial equality just as much as Bob Dylan's 'Blowin' in the Wind' also sung during the rally did.
Mary Travers was an outstandingly beautiful woman as anyone can see if they take the time to surf the web for pictures of her during those times with her blond almost white hair bobbing about her face as she moved and sang; even now up until her death she still retained an air of beauty and dignity. Sadly another link with my youth has now disappeared forever.
Regular readers will remember in last month's entry of the Blog I mentioned briefly about the impending start of the NFL season and that the Denver Broncos had then played and lost two of their pre season friendly games and I thought perhaps that the oncoming season did not bode well. An update is that they also lost their third game but won the fourth, despair began to creep in I feared for the season ahead and wondered even after all these years perhaps I might select another team to support. Imagine then my delight and no doubt the delight of Bronco fans worldwide to discover that they have won both their opening games of the new season. Perhaps this may be a return to the glory days of the Broncos when they won the Super Bowl two years running, 1997 against the Green Bay Packers 31-24 and 1998 against Atlanta Falcons 34-19; but then again it might be the kiss of death for them with me now having declared in a celebratory manner their early success, we will have to wait and see.
Many readers I am sure will also remember in last month's Blog my brief mention of the Bus Pass rightfully earned at the young age of 60. Much enjoyment was had in using the pass whilst on holiday and I might add that I became somewhat complacent about its use. I would casually board the bus approach the driver and innocently wave my pass in his general direction whilst mumbling to him my intended destination prior to taking my seat. Once as an act of rebellious defiance, and just because I could, on one journey I stayed on the bus a further stop prior to alighting and walking back to my intended destination.
Mrs F being a child bride does yet qualify for a bus pass, and so we had to pay for her transportation. At one point whilst enjoying a liquid lunch at the Union Inn I suggested to her that she may wish to consider walking back to our apartment [a distance of some three miles] I had calculated the money saved from her bus fare would afford my another pint of beer and I would return later by bus, for free of course.
There followed a short sharp abusive tirade the like from Mrs F that I have only ever heard once since and that to a half wit motorist on the motorway when returning home a week later.
I was saddened to read about the death of Mary Travers, though she had been suffering from Leukemia for some years, news of her death on the 16th of September still made me briefly stop and take stock. Perhaps for the benefit of some of the younger readers of this Blog I should explain that Mary Travers was one third of the folk group Peter Paul and Mary. Now there are those of you who may know that my musical tastes may be varied with a slight bias toward American Bluegrass and Blues and I play, just for fun and in my own fashion, the five string banjo, so folk singing I agree is not my main musical passion.
However it is not directly for the folk singing that I remember Mary Travers or Peter Yarrow and Noel 'Paul' Stookey but for what happened on August 28th August 1963 and the small but significant part Pater Paul and Mary played during the March on Washington at which Martin Luther King Jr delivered his [now] famous 'I Have a Dream' speech. The song 'If I had a Hammer' which they sung during this rally became the anthem for racial equality just as much as Bob Dylan's 'Blowin' in the Wind' also sung during the rally did.
Mary Travers was an outstandingly beautiful woman as anyone can see if they take the time to surf the web for pictures of her during those times with her blond almost white hair bobbing about her face as she moved and sang; even now up until her death she still retained an air of beauty and dignity. Sadly another link with my youth has now disappeared forever.
Regular readers will remember in last month's entry of the Blog I mentioned briefly about the impending start of the NFL season and that the Denver Broncos had then played and lost two of their pre season friendly games and I thought perhaps that the oncoming season did not bode well. An update is that they also lost their third game but won the fourth, despair began to creep in I feared for the season ahead and wondered even after all these years perhaps I might select another team to support. Imagine then my delight and no doubt the delight of Bronco fans worldwide to discover that they have won both their opening games of the new season. Perhaps this may be a return to the glory days of the Broncos when they won the Super Bowl two years running, 1997 against the Green Bay Packers 31-24 and 1998 against Atlanta Falcons 34-19; but then again it might be the kiss of death for them with me now having declared in a celebratory manner their early success, we will have to wait and see.
Many readers I am sure will also remember in last month's Blog my brief mention of the Bus Pass rightfully earned at the young age of 60. Much enjoyment was had in using the pass whilst on holiday and I might add that I became somewhat complacent about its use. I would casually board the bus approach the driver and innocently wave my pass in his general direction whilst mumbling to him my intended destination prior to taking my seat. Once as an act of rebellious defiance, and just because I could, on one journey I stayed on the bus a further stop prior to alighting and walking back to my intended destination.
Mrs F being a child bride does yet qualify for a bus pass, and so we had to pay for her transportation. At one point whilst enjoying a liquid lunch at the Union Inn I suggested to her that she may wish to consider walking back to our apartment [a distance of some three miles] I had calculated the money saved from her bus fare would afford my another pint of beer and I would return later by bus, for free of course.
There followed a short sharp abusive tirade the like from Mrs F that I have only ever heard once since and that to a half wit motorist on the motorway when returning home a week later.
Wednesday 26 August 2009
An Annual Review or Is That a Year Gone Already
Well it all appears to be going nicely, I am unsure if there was anything to be concerned about.
For those of my regular readers I can only say thank you for staying with it and I only hope that perhaps you have enjoyed something over the past year, one blog entry that made you smile, nod in agreement or furious with anger at least. Yes friends and I hope I don't sound too much like the late Hughie Green and I mean that most sincerely, it has been one year now since I first typed a faltering few sentences to introduce my blog onto an unsuspecting world. Not only is the blog a year older but I am also a year older and now the legal and lawful owner of a Bus Pass, it is mine and I obtained it fair and square though I have not yet used it in anger I will do so within the next week during my annual holiday in Cornwall, yes it has also been a year since my last visit there as well.
So now a year older my expectations start to diminish, now being a bona fide bus pass holder it seems according to my small biography [on the left hand side] that I am still an official Grumpy Old Man but now I am only happily heading steadily toward my retirement and eventual demise, so you see dear reader it is true that the older you become the less you have to look forward to.
I had hoped that the Cleveland Indians baseball team might during the present season instil a little heart-warming confidence in my continued support of their efforts by working their way to a higher position in the league than they did last year. Alas no, I have to report they have as of today played 126 games this season, so far they have only managed to win 56 of those games and they stand or perhaps slump might be a better description, second from the bottom of the Central American League.
The start of the NFL season is almost upon us and despite any failing that the Indians have had this year I was sure the Denver Broncos would at least come out fighting and show that my support of them was not misplaced. The season warm up is for each team to play four friendly games, these are non scoring games and are only considered to be pre-season shake down games. the Broncos have so far played two of their four and have lost both games, oh well perhaps a repeat of last year's performance with them is on the cards as well.
One item I have overlooked to mention in any blog report is that of my new computer. After manfully battling on with my old model that was the wrong side of seven years old it was suggested that I bite the bullet and purchase a new and more up to date affair. It is not that I am a computer virgin so to speak but the inner workings are somewhat of more than a mystery to me. I spent much time scouring the Internet, much time reading various and many computer magazines and even more time interrogating unsuspecting members of my employer IT Department.
I decided in the end and after much good advice from the aforementioned IT Department to order via the Internet so that I could [and did] specify my own build requirements, thus only getting the system I required for my needs and wants rather than buying a system off the shelf so to speak and having some components that I might never use and not having some components I would have liked and that I may have had to pay extra for to be installed.
Needless to say [but then I am bound to] the system is great, it fulfills all my needs and requirements for what I use or intend to use a computer for. It was certainly not cheap but then as my Grandfather was often heard to say, you only get what you pay for.
So here we are readers of this blog, the end of the first year and the start of another. I hope you continue to visit and read my blog and that perhaps you take a few minutes to leave a comment.
So here is to the coming year and I wonder what that will bring.
Postscript:
It seems I may have been somewhat a little hasty in my comments about that wonderful baseball team the Cleveland Indians. During the time it took me to type this entry the Cleveland Indians beat Kansas City 4 - 2.
For those of my regular readers I can only say thank you for staying with it and I only hope that perhaps you have enjoyed something over the past year, one blog entry that made you smile, nod in agreement or furious with anger at least. Yes friends and I hope I don't sound too much like the late Hughie Green and I mean that most sincerely, it has been one year now since I first typed a faltering few sentences to introduce my blog onto an unsuspecting world. Not only is the blog a year older but I am also a year older and now the legal and lawful owner of a Bus Pass, it is mine and I obtained it fair and square though I have not yet used it in anger I will do so within the next week during my annual holiday in Cornwall, yes it has also been a year since my last visit there as well.
So now a year older my expectations start to diminish, now being a bona fide bus pass holder it seems according to my small biography [on the left hand side] that I am still an official Grumpy Old Man but now I am only happily heading steadily toward my retirement and eventual demise, so you see dear reader it is true that the older you become the less you have to look forward to.
I had hoped that the Cleveland Indians baseball team might during the present season instil a little heart-warming confidence in my continued support of their efforts by working their way to a higher position in the league than they did last year. Alas no, I have to report they have as of today played 126 games this season, so far they have only managed to win 56 of those games and they stand or perhaps slump might be a better description, second from the bottom of the Central American League.
The start of the NFL season is almost upon us and despite any failing that the Indians have had this year I was sure the Denver Broncos would at least come out fighting and show that my support of them was not misplaced. The season warm up is for each team to play four friendly games, these are non scoring games and are only considered to be pre-season shake down games. the Broncos have so far played two of their four and have lost both games, oh well perhaps a repeat of last year's performance with them is on the cards as well.
One item I have overlooked to mention in any blog report is that of my new computer. After manfully battling on with my old model that was the wrong side of seven years old it was suggested that I bite the bullet and purchase a new and more up to date affair. It is not that I am a computer virgin so to speak but the inner workings are somewhat of more than a mystery to me. I spent much time scouring the Internet, much time reading various and many computer magazines and even more time interrogating unsuspecting members of my employer IT Department.
I decided in the end and after much good advice from the aforementioned IT Department to order via the Internet so that I could [and did] specify my own build requirements, thus only getting the system I required for my needs and wants rather than buying a system off the shelf so to speak and having some components that I might never use and not having some components I would have liked and that I may have had to pay extra for to be installed.
Needless to say [but then I am bound to] the system is great, it fulfills all my needs and requirements for what I use or intend to use a computer for. It was certainly not cheap but then as my Grandfather was often heard to say, you only get what you pay for.
So here we are readers of this blog, the end of the first year and the start of another. I hope you continue to visit and read my blog and that perhaps you take a few minutes to leave a comment.
So here is to the coming year and I wonder what that will bring.
Postscript:
It seems I may have been somewhat a little hasty in my comments about that wonderful baseball team the Cleveland Indians. During the time it took me to type this entry the Cleveland Indians beat Kansas City 4 - 2.
Thursday 30 July 2009
Dogs Chickens and a Horse called Harry
I understand now it is mainly my fault, oh alright then, I know now that it is definitely all my fault, but then hindsight always has been a wondrous phenomenon and the curse of the ill advised.
When the telephone rang all those months ago it seemed at the time pleasant enough that my daughter had spared some time from her busy hectic and occasionally chaotic schedule to telephone and have a chat, perhaps I thought to enquire how her ageing parents were. We are going on holiday came the sudden announcement from the disembodied voice, very nice dear was my reply, anywhere nice? We wondered if you might have the dog whilst we are away enquired the distant voice.
We were used to taking in the dog, an ageing Jack Russell terrier, who though in real terms is perhaps thirteen years old, in his mind however he still thinks himself to be a lot younger, which often has the dramatic effect of turning him into a howling and snarling apparition at any moment and attempting to take on all comers from the postman to the Rhodesian Ridgeback that lives further down the road.
Maybe I should have been slightly more attentive or apprehensive when the voice then suggested it might make a nice change if instead of bringing the devil dog to us that we might like to come and stay in her house for the duration......................duration I queried, the faint tinkling of alarm bells at last causing my brain to work a little faster than it had been doing...................well we are going away for two weeks she said and there will be the chickens to feed as well...............at this point I tended to give up and passed the telephone to my wife with the parting words that she may like to speak to her mother. I then surrendered the telephone and went back to what ever it was I had been happily and blissfully doing before the telephone had rung five minutes earlier.
Occasionally in the background I could hear the odd snatch of conversation, the odd word and in general terms what seemed to me to be my wife agreeing with much enthusiasm about all manner of things, I think I closed my eyes briefly as I perceived my moderately happy sedate and ordered existence to very soon take a very sharp downward spiral. I heard the click as the receiver was replaced. Well that will be nice the lady of the house said as she entered the room retaking her seat in the armchair and picking up her glasses, there was a brief silence, what will I asked, what's that dear she mumbled without looking up from her book, it was in that instant that I knew my fate had been sealed, what will be nice I asked in a slightly stern voice, oh us going to stay in York and look after the animals while they are away on holiday, wont that be nice she said again.
Suddenly and in the space of no more than thirty minutes we had somehow agreed to uproot ourselves and move fifty miles away for two weeks to look after a house, some dog's chickens and Harry the horse, this seemed slightly more responsibility than just looking after a Jack Russell terrier. There was also the point about work, not yet at the age of retirement I still have to attend some gainful employment to earn a monthly wage and I wondered if it had occurred only to me that I would now have to commute fifty miles each way to work and back, though fortunately being a shift worker I would be able with some very careful planning and the kind agreement of some of my colleagues be able to shuffle a few shifts around and take a few shifts off allowing my friends to gain some well deserved overtime payments. However I would still have to attend work at some point during the two weeks period thus making me drive for fifty miles, work a twelve hour shift then drive back again for fifty miles, perhaps not an option I would recommend to everyone.
So many months later and here we are. We are now only two days away from the return home of what I assume to be a suntanned daughter and her husband and between my wife and I we have managed to maintain the house, keep the howling banshee dog fed watered exercised and out of any fights; well apart from the other day when the postman knocked on the door to deliver a package too large to post into the letterbox. It surprises me still how fast some of these postmen can run even whilst still carrying a bag full of mail, had it been me I would have jettisoned the post bag in an attempt to give me a slight advantage but all credit to the training system of Her Majesties Royal Mail and the diligence of today's postal workers that he kept it with him all the way.........................but even at thirteen years old my money was always on the dog.
The chickens have also survived, those who alive when we arrived are so far still alive, they too have been fed and watered daily given fresh straw for their nest boxes when required and we have collected their eggs. Which brings us to Harry. I attend the stables twice daily armed with carrots. He gets brushed and groomed and his stable is mucked out [this being an equestrian term I have learned] he is watered and turned out and I make the daily decision as to which rug to put on him and whether to leave him out overnight grazing in the field with the other horses or to bring him in to the warmth comfort and dryness of his stable and supplying a hay net and seperate water buckets.
However I am not sure Harry has fully understood the time effort and care I take on his behalf.
He has so far run around the field when I wanted to catch him, has stood and stared at me moodily from the opposite side of the muddy field, he has kicked me and even at one point bitten me. I have told him in no uncertain terms that there is a howling banshee devil dog at home that might make good use of a horse soon to be converted into dog food and glue should he continue in this way and I think now we have come to an understanding, I will bring him carrots and he will continue to do whatever he likes, well at least it is a partnership in progress.
So here I am almost at the end of the two weeks feeling as if I now need a holiday. It has not been that bad my wife keeps telling me and as always she is right, it has not, but soon I will be back to my quiet sedate and ordered life.................ah bliss..................but now I must go as I can hear the devil dog howling at the door and I need to go to the stables but first I have to collect the eggs from the chickens........................but as I know I only have myself to blame.
When the telephone rang all those months ago it seemed at the time pleasant enough that my daughter had spared some time from her busy hectic and occasionally chaotic schedule to telephone and have a chat, perhaps I thought to enquire how her ageing parents were. We are going on holiday came the sudden announcement from the disembodied voice, very nice dear was my reply, anywhere nice? We wondered if you might have the dog whilst we are away enquired the distant voice.
We were used to taking in the dog, an ageing Jack Russell terrier, who though in real terms is perhaps thirteen years old, in his mind however he still thinks himself to be a lot younger, which often has the dramatic effect of turning him into a howling and snarling apparition at any moment and attempting to take on all comers from the postman to the Rhodesian Ridgeback that lives further down the road.
Maybe I should have been slightly more attentive or apprehensive when the voice then suggested it might make a nice change if instead of bringing the devil dog to us that we might like to come and stay in her house for the duration......................duration I queried, the faint tinkling of alarm bells at last causing my brain to work a little faster than it had been doing...................well we are going away for two weeks she said and there will be the chickens to feed as well...............at this point I tended to give up and passed the telephone to my wife with the parting words that she may like to speak to her mother. I then surrendered the telephone and went back to what ever it was I had been happily and blissfully doing before the telephone had rung five minutes earlier.
Occasionally in the background I could hear the odd snatch of conversation, the odd word and in general terms what seemed to me to be my wife agreeing with much enthusiasm about all manner of things, I think I closed my eyes briefly as I perceived my moderately happy sedate and ordered existence to very soon take a very sharp downward spiral. I heard the click as the receiver was replaced. Well that will be nice the lady of the house said as she entered the room retaking her seat in the armchair and picking up her glasses, there was a brief silence, what will I asked, what's that dear she mumbled without looking up from her book, it was in that instant that I knew my fate had been sealed, what will be nice I asked in a slightly stern voice, oh us going to stay in York and look after the animals while they are away on holiday, wont that be nice she said again.
Suddenly and in the space of no more than thirty minutes we had somehow agreed to uproot ourselves and move fifty miles away for two weeks to look after a house, some dog's chickens and Harry the horse, this seemed slightly more responsibility than just looking after a Jack Russell terrier. There was also the point about work, not yet at the age of retirement I still have to attend some gainful employment to earn a monthly wage and I wondered if it had occurred only to me that I would now have to commute fifty miles each way to work and back, though fortunately being a shift worker I would be able with some very careful planning and the kind agreement of some of my colleagues be able to shuffle a few shifts around and take a few shifts off allowing my friends to gain some well deserved overtime payments. However I would still have to attend work at some point during the two weeks period thus making me drive for fifty miles, work a twelve hour shift then drive back again for fifty miles, perhaps not an option I would recommend to everyone.
So many months later and here we are. We are now only two days away from the return home of what I assume to be a suntanned daughter and her husband and between my wife and I we have managed to maintain the house, keep the howling banshee dog fed watered exercised and out of any fights; well apart from the other day when the postman knocked on the door to deliver a package too large to post into the letterbox. It surprises me still how fast some of these postmen can run even whilst still carrying a bag full of mail, had it been me I would have jettisoned the post bag in an attempt to give me a slight advantage but all credit to the training system of Her Majesties Royal Mail and the diligence of today's postal workers that he kept it with him all the way.........................but even at thirteen years old my money was always on the dog.
The chickens have also survived, those who alive when we arrived are so far still alive, they too have been fed and watered daily given fresh straw for their nest boxes when required and we have collected their eggs. Which brings us to Harry. I attend the stables twice daily armed with carrots. He gets brushed and groomed and his stable is mucked out [this being an equestrian term I have learned] he is watered and turned out and I make the daily decision as to which rug to put on him and whether to leave him out overnight grazing in the field with the other horses or to bring him in to the warmth comfort and dryness of his stable and supplying a hay net and seperate water buckets.
However I am not sure Harry has fully understood the time effort and care I take on his behalf.
He has so far run around the field when I wanted to catch him, has stood and stared at me moodily from the opposite side of the muddy field, he has kicked me and even at one point bitten me. I have told him in no uncertain terms that there is a howling banshee devil dog at home that might make good use of a horse soon to be converted into dog food and glue should he continue in this way and I think now we have come to an understanding, I will bring him carrots and he will continue to do whatever he likes, well at least it is a partnership in progress.
So here I am almost at the end of the two weeks feeling as if I now need a holiday. It has not been that bad my wife keeps telling me and as always she is right, it has not, but soon I will be back to my quiet sedate and ordered life.................ah bliss..................but now I must go as I can hear the devil dog howling at the door and I need to go to the stables but first I have to collect the eggs from the chickens........................but as I know I only have myself to blame.
Saturday 4 July 2009
Much Goings On
Well the last week seems to have been dominated by the death of Michael Jackson, no matter which television channel or wireless station you tune to it is not long before Michael Jackson is mentioned, how he died, how he did not die, who was there and who was not there, how Neverland is to be turned into a theme park of some kind and then how it is not going to be turned into a theme park of any kind.
The world has been bombarded by general media hysteria about the life and times of Wacko Jacko. Much has been reported about what will happen to his children, did he or did he not leave a will, is there some conspiracy going on within the family to grab what they can, was he addicted to some drug or other and questions are again being raised about the aborted legal case of if he was some sort of pedophile or not. It just seems to go on and on and it is becoming mind numbingly boring.
I did not like Micheal Jackson as a person [not that I met him of course], I did not like him or any of his siblings when many years ago they performed as The Jackson Five and I certainly did not like any of his music as he progressed into adulthood. However I can understand that tastes in music are wide ranging and I can see that there were and still are tens of thousands if not millions of people around the world who did like his music. For them I suppose I am sorry for their collective loss.
I do know and understand how they may be feeling at this time, I know how I felt, for example, when the world lost the King of Skiffle Lonnie Donnigan and even early Buddy Holly, and god forbid the national wailing and breast beating when the sad day dawns [which we all hope is yet many years in the future] that Bert Weedon is taken from us, that sad event alone will no doubt introduce days if not weeks of national mourning and a worldwide outpouring of great sadness.
I am sorry for the fans that he is gone but for goodness sake enough is enough with the media frenzy. Perhaps to put it in context we should remember also this week of the passing of that American actress Farrah Fawcett an actress who won much acclaim for her many film and television appearances. We should not forget as well our own Yorkshire born National Treasure, Molly Sugden, who also sadly passed away this week, both events overshadowed unfairly I think by the Micheal Jackson media circus and frenzy.
We are a fickle lot when the subject turns to the weather. We it seems are collectively never happy. Last year I distinctly remember the seemingly never ending rain which lead to much flooding and in turn much damage to lives and property, all the Governments fault of course, when the media took what I thought to be great delight in reporting the many misfortunes of others. This year however the story has has been much different and certainly in the last couple of weeks we now find ourselves in the grip of a heatwave and temperature records are being broken, this of course all being the fault of the Government, and we moan now how hot we all are and we are being advised daily to seek medical advice if we feel too hot or are unable to sleep at night due to the excessive heat. Come on you lot make up your minds and stop moaning.
We have been away for a short break to Northumberland it was certainly very pleasant and the aforementioned weather was very nice. The hotel we stayed at was of very good quality and the service given by the many staff could not be better. I was slightly concerned at first that a Full English Breakfast for five days running would no doubt take its toll on my Charles Atlas like body but I need not have worried, a walk along the beach straight after breakfast each day was a delight and a good way to aid digestion and help maintain my rugged manly figure. Trips were made to Lindisfarne or Holy Island as it is more well known as, Berwick on Tweed, Alnwick and the Castle Gardens and Bamburgh and Seahouses, all places we have visited before but well worth visiting again. The food, beer, scenery and weather were outstanding and made for a very enjoyable few days away.
The world has been bombarded by general media hysteria about the life and times of Wacko Jacko. Much has been reported about what will happen to his children, did he or did he not leave a will, is there some conspiracy going on within the family to grab what they can, was he addicted to some drug or other and questions are again being raised about the aborted legal case of if he was some sort of pedophile or not. It just seems to go on and on and it is becoming mind numbingly boring.
I did not like Micheal Jackson as a person [not that I met him of course], I did not like him or any of his siblings when many years ago they performed as The Jackson Five and I certainly did not like any of his music as he progressed into adulthood. However I can understand that tastes in music are wide ranging and I can see that there were and still are tens of thousands if not millions of people around the world who did like his music. For them I suppose I am sorry for their collective loss.
I do know and understand how they may be feeling at this time, I know how I felt, for example, when the world lost the King of Skiffle Lonnie Donnigan and even early Buddy Holly, and god forbid the national wailing and breast beating when the sad day dawns [which we all hope is yet many years in the future] that Bert Weedon is taken from us, that sad event alone will no doubt introduce days if not weeks of national mourning and a worldwide outpouring of great sadness.
I am sorry for the fans that he is gone but for goodness sake enough is enough with the media frenzy. Perhaps to put it in context we should remember also this week of the passing of that American actress Farrah Fawcett an actress who won much acclaim for her many film and television appearances. We should not forget as well our own Yorkshire born National Treasure, Molly Sugden, who also sadly passed away this week, both events overshadowed unfairly I think by the Micheal Jackson media circus and frenzy.
We are a fickle lot when the subject turns to the weather. We it seems are collectively never happy. Last year I distinctly remember the seemingly never ending rain which lead to much flooding and in turn much damage to lives and property, all the Governments fault of course, when the media took what I thought to be great delight in reporting the many misfortunes of others. This year however the story has has been much different and certainly in the last couple of weeks we now find ourselves in the grip of a heatwave and temperature records are being broken, this of course all being the fault of the Government, and we moan now how hot we all are and we are being advised daily to seek medical advice if we feel too hot or are unable to sleep at night due to the excessive heat. Come on you lot make up your minds and stop moaning.
We have been away for a short break to Northumberland it was certainly very pleasant and the aforementioned weather was very nice. The hotel we stayed at was of very good quality and the service given by the many staff could not be better. I was slightly concerned at first that a Full English Breakfast for five days running would no doubt take its toll on my Charles Atlas like body but I need not have worried, a walk along the beach straight after breakfast each day was a delight and a good way to aid digestion and help maintain my rugged manly figure. Trips were made to Lindisfarne or Holy Island as it is more well known as, Berwick on Tweed, Alnwick and the Castle Gardens and Bamburgh and Seahouses, all places we have visited before but well worth visiting again. The food, beer, scenery and weather were outstanding and made for a very enjoyable few days away.
Tuesday 9 June 2009
Mr Griffin, a Press Conference and a Mob.
I read today about how Nick Griffin the leader of The British National Party was forced to abandon a news and press conference being held outside Parliament on College Green as protesters disrupted the event and at one point, as Mr Griffin was being led away, he was attacked by one of the protesters throwing an egg at him.
Now I do not think it matters if you like or dislike Mr Griffin as a person, it does not matter if you like or dislike the policies he puts forward and supports and it does not matter if you support or not The British National Party, for Mr Griffin to be forced to abandon a press conference in this way by a group of protesters is fundamentally wrong if not possibly even unlawful.
The British National Party is a recognised political party within the British political system. The BNP puts forward candidates to stand as councillors in local elections as it puts forward candidates to stand as prospective Members of Parliament and it also puts forward candidates to stand as prospective Members of the European Parliament. The BNP does all these things legally and lawfully, there may be some faction of the population who do not like it but it is legal and lawful.
In the recent elections to elect members to 'represent us' within the European Parliament The British National Party won two seats, Nick Griffin himself was elected for the North West region and Andrew Brons for Yorkshire and Humber regions. Both Mr Griffin and Mr Brons were elected under the laid down procedures, they won their seats as a direct result of a democratic, free, legal and lawful election. Enough people within these two regions freely and voluntarily attended their nominated Polling Station, they were allowed to vote by legally being on the electoral roll and they freely choose from all the options open to them on the voting paper to place a cross against the BNP candidate.
Both Griffin and Brons were Democratically and Lawfully elected to serve as Members of the European Parliament.
Now of course there is also a case to say that in this country individuals and groups are 'generally' allowed to make public protest providing of course that any public protest is carried out within the terms of the law, it is lawful and it is peaceful. Peaceful of course does not have to mean silent and any protesters may be within reason as vocal as they wish, providing being vocal does not contravene the Terrorism Act, generally peaceful protest is understood to be non violent.
The group that attended and forcibly disrupted the press conference being given by Nick Griffin today have called themselves Unite Against Fascism and if many of the newspaper reports are anything to go by this group are supported by many MP's from the mainstream parties including the Tory leader David Cameron. Of course it is the right of Unite Against Fascism to attend and 'peaceful' protest against Mr Griffin as an individual, as leader of the BNP, the BNP as a political party or in fact anything else they wish to protest about. What they can not do is to physically assault Mr Griffin or anyone else which is what they did do. A tourist it is reported was innocently caught up in the melee, suffered injury and had to be treated in an ambulance.
Mr Weyman Bennett who is the national secretary of Unite Against Fascism is reported as saying " The majority of the people did not vote for the BNP, they did not vote at all". Well Mr Bennett the very sad news for you is that in fact sufficient people did in fact vote for the BNP in both the North West and Yorkshire and Humber regions to return two BNP candidates as MEPs and if you like it or not that was done democratically and legally. I might hope that the innocent tourist caught up in this is able to obtain the address of Mr Bennett so he or she may consider taking legal action to sue him for any injury received.
If anyone acted unlawfully today it was Unite Against Fascism.
Mr Bennett is in my opinion a fool. He and his unruly mob of protesters had the opportunity today to make their points in front of the nations press, they had the opportunity to ask Mr Griffin some very searching and difficult questions that may have allowed them as a group to score some political points against Mr Griffin and the BNP. They had the element of surprise on their side but what did we the watching public see ? an unruly mob of yobs pushing shouting and throwing eggs.
In the eyes of the media Mr Bennett, and perhaps with some of the public, I would say Mr Griffin and the BNP hold the morale high ground over this and they know you are coming next time so you have even lost the element of surprise.
I would also ask Mr Bennett, do you think that the actions of your group will stop the BNP giving news or press conferences, no, of course not, all that will happen now is that they will give their news and press conferences to the media behind closed doors and the media will publish and report the results so you have gained nothing at all. Even the Prime Minister gives his daily and weekly press conference behind closed doors before an invited group of media, so you may even have given Mr Griffin and his party some credibility, however small.
Yes Mr Bennett in my opinion your are indeed a fool.
Now I do not think it matters if you like or dislike Mr Griffin as a person, it does not matter if you like or dislike the policies he puts forward and supports and it does not matter if you support or not The British National Party, for Mr Griffin to be forced to abandon a press conference in this way by a group of protesters is fundamentally wrong if not possibly even unlawful.
The British National Party is a recognised political party within the British political system. The BNP puts forward candidates to stand as councillors in local elections as it puts forward candidates to stand as prospective Members of Parliament and it also puts forward candidates to stand as prospective Members of the European Parliament. The BNP does all these things legally and lawfully, there may be some faction of the population who do not like it but it is legal and lawful.
In the recent elections to elect members to 'represent us' within the European Parliament The British National Party won two seats, Nick Griffin himself was elected for the North West region and Andrew Brons for Yorkshire and Humber regions. Both Mr Griffin and Mr Brons were elected under the laid down procedures, they won their seats as a direct result of a democratic, free, legal and lawful election. Enough people within these two regions freely and voluntarily attended their nominated Polling Station, they were allowed to vote by legally being on the electoral roll and they freely choose from all the options open to them on the voting paper to place a cross against the BNP candidate.
Both Griffin and Brons were Democratically and Lawfully elected to serve as Members of the European Parliament.
Now of course there is also a case to say that in this country individuals and groups are 'generally' allowed to make public protest providing of course that any public protest is carried out within the terms of the law, it is lawful and it is peaceful. Peaceful of course does not have to mean silent and any protesters may be within reason as vocal as they wish, providing being vocal does not contravene the Terrorism Act, generally peaceful protest is understood to be non violent.
The group that attended and forcibly disrupted the press conference being given by Nick Griffin today have called themselves Unite Against Fascism and if many of the newspaper reports are anything to go by this group are supported by many MP's from the mainstream parties including the Tory leader David Cameron. Of course it is the right of Unite Against Fascism to attend and 'peaceful' protest against Mr Griffin as an individual, as leader of the BNP, the BNP as a political party or in fact anything else they wish to protest about. What they can not do is to physically assault Mr Griffin or anyone else which is what they did do. A tourist it is reported was innocently caught up in the melee, suffered injury and had to be treated in an ambulance.
Mr Weyman Bennett who is the national secretary of Unite Against Fascism is reported as saying " The majority of the people did not vote for the BNP, they did not vote at all". Well Mr Bennett the very sad news for you is that in fact sufficient people did in fact vote for the BNP in both the North West and Yorkshire and Humber regions to return two BNP candidates as MEPs and if you like it or not that was done democratically and legally. I might hope that the innocent tourist caught up in this is able to obtain the address of Mr Bennett so he or she may consider taking legal action to sue him for any injury received.
If anyone acted unlawfully today it was Unite Against Fascism.
Mr Bennett is in my opinion a fool. He and his unruly mob of protesters had the opportunity today to make their points in front of the nations press, they had the opportunity to ask Mr Griffin some very searching and difficult questions that may have allowed them as a group to score some political points against Mr Griffin and the BNP. They had the element of surprise on their side but what did we the watching public see ? an unruly mob of yobs pushing shouting and throwing eggs.
In the eyes of the media Mr Bennett, and perhaps with some of the public, I would say Mr Griffin and the BNP hold the morale high ground over this and they know you are coming next time so you have even lost the element of surprise.
I would also ask Mr Bennett, do you think that the actions of your group will stop the BNP giving news or press conferences, no, of course not, all that will happen now is that they will give their news and press conferences to the media behind closed doors and the media will publish and report the results so you have gained nothing at all. Even the Prime Minister gives his daily and weekly press conference behind closed doors before an invited group of media, so you may even have given Mr Griffin and his party some credibility, however small.
Yes Mr Bennett in my opinion your are indeed a fool.
Sunday 7 June 2009
Sixty Five Years On.
I don't suppose that I could have let this week pass without some comment, however small, about the 65th Anniversary of the D Day Landings in Normandy on the 6th June 1944. Much has already been told over the years about the events of that day from both sides of the conflict, books have been written, films made and stories told.
Despite the undoubted and equal heroism of both the attackers and the defenders and the gains and losses of that and the following days weeks and months there is another side to those events that seem, for whatever reason, get omitted.
Amid the flag waving cheering laughing happy crowds of French civilians that we usually see in the newsreels or we are told about that eventually greeted the so called liberators it would appear that not all was as we are led to believe. Far from being universally welcomed many troops that eventually made it off the beaches and moved inland over the following days moving from village to village and town to town, were met with open hostility. The reason for this is that many of the towns and villages in Normandy in general and in the vicinity of the landings in particular had been very heavily bombed and in some cases literally obliterated.
During the 6th June alone it is estimated that about 3,000 French civilians were killed as a result of the beach assaults or airborne landings either perhaps by the many sea and air bombardments prior to the landings or by sheltering in buildings within the immediate areas along the beaches or just by stray and accidental gunfire and explosives. In the period from mid June to about early September is also estimated that something like another 20,000 French civilians were killed, again for no other real reason than simply just being in the way. Toward the end of the Normandy campaign when the Germans were trapped in what has come to be known as the 'Falaise Pocket' so heavy was the allies shelling that barely a building was left standing.
It is not that this destruction and loss of life is not known about rather it just seems to be swept aside when the story of D Day is re-told.
A recently published book on the subject of the liberation, The Bitter Road to Freedom by W Hitchcock, cites a memory by [ex] Corporal L Roker who served with the Highland Light Infantry, Roker remembers, "It was rather a shock to find we were not welcomed ecstatically as liberators by the local people as we had been told we should be............they saw us as the bringers of death and destruction" and Ivor Astley of the 43rd Wessex Division remembers the locals being sullen and silent........."If we expected to be welcomed we certainly failed to find it".
There are villages in Normandy that until very recently have deliberately shunned and refused to go along with any celebrations associated with the 6th June because the memories were difficult. But in general, France has by and large gone along with the accepted version of the landings and their aftermath, that of a joyful liberation for which the country is eternally grateful.
For many from all sides of the conflict this year will be the last time they return to visit the beaches the towns and villages and of course the cemeteries to say hello again to friends lost so long ago. Many of those who survive and who were there on that day in history are now well into their eighties and time is against them. They will go home and hang up their smart blazers they will put away their medals and they will sit and reflect about the time sixty five years ago when they were part of the largest amphibious landings in military history.
Despite the undoubted and equal heroism of both the attackers and the defenders and the gains and losses of that and the following days weeks and months there is another side to those events that seem, for whatever reason, get omitted.
Amid the flag waving cheering laughing happy crowds of French civilians that we usually see in the newsreels or we are told about that eventually greeted the so called liberators it would appear that not all was as we are led to believe. Far from being universally welcomed many troops that eventually made it off the beaches and moved inland over the following days moving from village to village and town to town, were met with open hostility. The reason for this is that many of the towns and villages in Normandy in general and in the vicinity of the landings in particular had been very heavily bombed and in some cases literally obliterated.
During the 6th June alone it is estimated that about 3,000 French civilians were killed as a result of the beach assaults or airborne landings either perhaps by the many sea and air bombardments prior to the landings or by sheltering in buildings within the immediate areas along the beaches or just by stray and accidental gunfire and explosives. In the period from mid June to about early September is also estimated that something like another 20,000 French civilians were killed, again for no other real reason than simply just being in the way. Toward the end of the Normandy campaign when the Germans were trapped in what has come to be known as the 'Falaise Pocket' so heavy was the allies shelling that barely a building was left standing.
It is not that this destruction and loss of life is not known about rather it just seems to be swept aside when the story of D Day is re-told.
A recently published book on the subject of the liberation, The Bitter Road to Freedom by W Hitchcock, cites a memory by [ex] Corporal L Roker who served with the Highland Light Infantry, Roker remembers, "It was rather a shock to find we were not welcomed ecstatically as liberators by the local people as we had been told we should be............they saw us as the bringers of death and destruction" and Ivor Astley of the 43rd Wessex Division remembers the locals being sullen and silent........."If we expected to be welcomed we certainly failed to find it".
There are villages in Normandy that until very recently have deliberately shunned and refused to go along with any celebrations associated with the 6th June because the memories were difficult. But in general, France has by and large gone along with the accepted version of the landings and their aftermath, that of a joyful liberation for which the country is eternally grateful.
For many from all sides of the conflict this year will be the last time they return to visit the beaches the towns and villages and of course the cemeteries to say hello again to friends lost so long ago. Many of those who survive and who were there on that day in history are now well into their eighties and time is against them. They will go home and hang up their smart blazers they will put away their medals and they will sit and reflect about the time sixty five years ago when they were part of the largest amphibious landings in military history.
Monday 1 June 2009
Titanic to Concorde
I read the other day about the death at the age of 97 of Elizabeth Gladys Millvina Dean. Millvina as she preferred to be known was the last living survivor from the sinking of the RMS Titanic which occurred during the night of 14 /15th April 1912.
The Dean family, consisting of parents Bertram and Georgette and elder brother Bertram had boarded RMS Titanic at Southampton and were en route for what they thought of as a 'Better Life' in Wichita Kansas where Bertram Dean had family and he had planned to open a tobacco shop.
Millvina was only eight or nine weeks old at the time of the sinking and as she explained many times in interviews that she was too small to be fitted into a life jacket and so was placed in a sack and lowered over the side of the ship into a waiting life boat with her mother and brother. Her father remained on board and he did not survive, if his body was one of those later recovered then it was never identified. Though Georgette Dean's first plans after rescue were to continue to America to fulfill her husbands dream the family returned to England in May 1912.
Despite the ordeal of the sinking the Dean family went on to live a long and happy life. Georgette died in 1975 aged 96 and Bertram died on the 14th April 1992 80 years to the day of the sinking aged 81.
I remember my [paternal] Grandmother often talking about the RMS Titanic whenever she could gain an audience of one or more. She was born on the 4th December 1886 and was 26 years old and married at the time of the sinking. She and my Grandfather, [a Norwegian] merchant seaman, Conrad Theodore Olsen, lived in Liverpool the home port of RMS Titanic.
The story according to Grandma was that Grandfather had just paid off from a ship in Glasgow and returned home Liverpool. After a day or so at home a friend of Grandfather called at the house at 6 Horatio Street to ask if he wanted to sign up for a trip to America, the local White Star Line agency office in Liverpool was trying to make up a shortage of merchant seaman for a ship laying at Southampton. Grandfather declined the offer apparently because he wished to stay a little longer at home before looking for the next job which he hoped might be out of Liverpool. His friend and some others took the job and according to Grandma the ship was the RMS Titanic, so it appears according to Grandma's tale, that the wish of Grandfather to stay a little longer at home saved him from going down with the Titanic.
Now if this story, which was recounted on what seems alomst like a weekly basis, is true or not I don't know. I never knew my Grandfather he died or otherwise went missing long before my father, who like Grandfather was a merchant seaman and also named Conrad Theodore, met and married my mother. In fact Grandfather is a slight mystery because at some point Grandma changed the family name from Olsen back to her maiden name.
I remember in 1969, sitting with Grandma, who was then aged 83, and watching on television Neil Armstrong stepping with one small step for man onto the surface of the moon. I asked Grandma what she thought of it all, there was a slight pause and she replied that she was 17 years old when 'those two Americans' [the Wright brothers] managed to fly their heavier than air machine and now here she was watching television, that had not even been invented in the accepted form we know it, until she was 39 years old, watching man land on the moon.
She had now seen the full history of aviation in her lifetime, from the Wright brothers in 1903 to Armstrong landing on the moon in 1969. In fact by the time of her death in the early part of 1979 aged 93 Concorde had been flying commercial daily flights at faster than the speed of sound for three years.
Millvina it occurs to me also had been old enough to see the whole vista of aviation unfolding on the world, though powered flight had advanced by the time she was born in 1912 she certainly lived to see space travel and beyond Concorde flying faster than the speed of sound. They are now a lost generation, Millvina and my Grandma, they saw and experienced so much in one lifetime much more than any of us alive today will ever hope to experience but the one thing they both have in common is the RMS Titanic.
The Dean family, consisting of parents Bertram and Georgette and elder brother Bertram had boarded RMS Titanic at Southampton and were en route for what they thought of as a 'Better Life' in Wichita Kansas where Bertram Dean had family and he had planned to open a tobacco shop.
Millvina was only eight or nine weeks old at the time of the sinking and as she explained many times in interviews that she was too small to be fitted into a life jacket and so was placed in a sack and lowered over the side of the ship into a waiting life boat with her mother and brother. Her father remained on board and he did not survive, if his body was one of those later recovered then it was never identified. Though Georgette Dean's first plans after rescue were to continue to America to fulfill her husbands dream the family returned to England in May 1912.
Despite the ordeal of the sinking the Dean family went on to live a long and happy life. Georgette died in 1975 aged 96 and Bertram died on the 14th April 1992 80 years to the day of the sinking aged 81.
I remember my [paternal] Grandmother often talking about the RMS Titanic whenever she could gain an audience of one or more. She was born on the 4th December 1886 and was 26 years old and married at the time of the sinking. She and my Grandfather, [a Norwegian] merchant seaman, Conrad Theodore Olsen, lived in Liverpool the home port of RMS Titanic.
The story according to Grandma was that Grandfather had just paid off from a ship in Glasgow and returned home Liverpool. After a day or so at home a friend of Grandfather called at the house at 6 Horatio Street to ask if he wanted to sign up for a trip to America, the local White Star Line agency office in Liverpool was trying to make up a shortage of merchant seaman for a ship laying at Southampton. Grandfather declined the offer apparently because he wished to stay a little longer at home before looking for the next job which he hoped might be out of Liverpool. His friend and some others took the job and according to Grandma the ship was the RMS Titanic, so it appears according to Grandma's tale, that the wish of Grandfather to stay a little longer at home saved him from going down with the Titanic.
Now if this story, which was recounted on what seems alomst like a weekly basis, is true or not I don't know. I never knew my Grandfather he died or otherwise went missing long before my father, who like Grandfather was a merchant seaman and also named Conrad Theodore, met and married my mother. In fact Grandfather is a slight mystery because at some point Grandma changed the family name from Olsen back to her maiden name.
I remember in 1969, sitting with Grandma, who was then aged 83, and watching on television Neil Armstrong stepping with one small step for man onto the surface of the moon. I asked Grandma what she thought of it all, there was a slight pause and she replied that she was 17 years old when 'those two Americans' [the Wright brothers] managed to fly their heavier than air machine and now here she was watching television, that had not even been invented in the accepted form we know it, until she was 39 years old, watching man land on the moon.
She had now seen the full history of aviation in her lifetime, from the Wright brothers in 1903 to Armstrong landing on the moon in 1969. In fact by the time of her death in the early part of 1979 aged 93 Concorde had been flying commercial daily flights at faster than the speed of sound for three years.
Millvina it occurs to me also had been old enough to see the whole vista of aviation unfolding on the world, though powered flight had advanced by the time she was born in 1912 she certainly lived to see space travel and beyond Concorde flying faster than the speed of sound. They are now a lost generation, Millvina and my Grandma, they saw and experienced so much in one lifetime much more than any of us alive today will ever hope to experience but the one thing they both have in common is the RMS Titanic.
Wednesday 27 May 2009
But I don't have an Anorak
Having spent time recently updating my train and railway database information from various notebooks and occasionally the odd scrap of paper onto my laptop computer, in a moment of nostalgia I started to look back over the years at all the data I had accumulated and wondered if I could remember why or even when it was that I became a train spotter or as others may sometimes define it, an Anorak.
I grew up in Kent, a part of the country that was served by that division of the Southern Railway that ran from London down to the South East with the London Terminus being Waterloo and Charing Cross, or to be more geographically correct they are the other way around, and at the other end to such places as Ashford, Chatham Hastings and Folkstone, part of the line in fact now covered by High Speed One for the London - Channel Tunnel and Paris or Brussels. The playground of the school I attended during those pre eleven plus and more importantly pre Beeching days, backed onto a part of the railway line that formed sections of the goods yard for Tonbridge Station, the only barrier between our playground and us infants and the goods yard being a single chain link fence about three feet high.
It did not take long for some of us boys to realise that if we stood at the fence during playtime and waved at the drivers and firemen on the engines, as they moved into or out of the goods yard, as often as not they would wave back and some would even sound the whistle as in clouds of dirty black steam they shunted past us. So it was only a very short progression from this to some of us starting to note the engine numbers and later the engine types down in pages torn from the back of our school exercise books.
I am not sure exactly when how or even by whom it was decided to organise a more formal group, it may have been Phil Walker, who later went on to work for British Railway as a station porter at Tonbridge, but a group was formed and we called ourselves I now recall, somewhat grandly, The Tonbridge Spotters. So it was that some 52 years ago now I first officially changed from a boy who occasionally waved at passing trains to become a fully fledged member of The Tonbridge Spotters, a group of like minded schoolboys, and more importantly friends, when we all failed the eleven plus exams and collectively left primary school and headed off to the local secondary modern, were to stay together until 1964 when we all left school aged 15 and went to make our own way in the world.
We as a group seemed to vary in membership numbers over the years, some would leave the group and some would join as we all ventured unsteadily through the onset of puberty, discovering the opposite sex and being teenagers during the swinging sixties. The one common bond and interest being trains. The Tonbridge Spotters outings were confined mainly to weekends, school holidays or vary occasionally those long warm summer evenings, but outings we did have and perhaps by today's standards they may not have been very adventurous they were enjoyable.
The outings were often planned during school dinner times in a corner of the bike shed or if raining in the school library and with what we thought to be military precision. They varied from sometimes nothing more simple than all meeting up at Tonbridge station, buying a platform ticket, or sometimes not buying a platform ticket, and spending the day sat at the end of a platform pencil and notebook in hand. Occasionally though the outings saw us range further afield, sometimes we would ride our bikes to some distant station and very occasionally, when our pocket money would allow, we would travel to London to spend a day around some of the engine sheds like Nine Elms, sadly now long gone and the area is a housing estate.
One abiding memory I have to this day of those adventures was the snacks or lunch packs our mothers would prepare for us. Without fail and to a boy they would consist of a couple of sandwiches wrapped in greaseproof paper the fillings would invariably be either cheese, spam, paste or egg. Also included would be, if lucky, a bag of crisps, Smiths with the small blue bag of salt, in those far off days crisps did not come in flavours just plain, if crisps were not included then perhaps a hard boiled egg would be added, this would be accompanied by a thermos flask of tea to wash it all down, the whole epicurean delight being carried in a duffle bag over the shoulder, I wonder now if they still make duffle bags.
Even as comparatively young as we were we always adopted the practice of opening all our sandwich boxes and laying them before us and by sharing we told ourselves that it helped maintain a varied diet. From time to time mishaps occurred, occasionally and without thinking one of us would drop our bag to the ground and then hear a slight clinking sound as the glass inner liner of the thermos flask shattered and the unfortunate individual watched as slowly the brown hot liquid seeped out of the bag to form a puddle on the ground, normally this was greeted by a roar of laughter from the rest of us but we would always end up sharing so the worst thing that would happen was that the individual would have to go home and face his mum and own up that he had broken yet another thermos flask. When this happened to me, as it did from time to time, I was always given the lecture about carelessness, and asked in a very stern voice did I know how much these things cost and just to teach me a lesson my pocket money would be diverted the very next week to offset the cost of a replacement. It never was and by the next weeks outing of The Tonbridge Spotters I would always have a new flask for carrying my tea.
Of all of the locomotive types or Class as they are correctly known that populated the Southern Railway during those days we members of The Tonbridge Spotters were impressed that we had our own locomotive class. The Southern Railway V [Schools] Class which was loosely based upon combination of both the Nelson and King Artur Class it was to be the last purpose built heavy express steam locomotive to be designed with a wheel arrangement of 4-4-0. The Schools were designed for no other reason than to run on the Southern Railway where the tunnels were narrow and the turntables at the engine sheds particularly between Tonbridge and Hastings were small, the Schools, I remember we had decided, were our locomotive.
A total of forty of these engines were built between 1930 and 35 and though formerly titled as V Class 4-4-0 they gained their name of Schools Class due to all being named after Public Schools. The Class started to be withdrawn from 1963 and by 1964 they had all gone from public mainline use. Of the forty built only three now remain in private ownership and in preservation, 30925 Cheltenham is owned by the National Railway Collection, 30928 is currently located as a static display at Sheffield Park and the last 30926 Repton is the only Schools Class at present still running and carrying fare paying passengers, this on the North Yorkshire Moors Railway.
I live now in the North East, however I am I suppose still a member of The Tonbridge Spotters, I do not ever recall us being formally disbanded we just left school and went our own way, perhaps who knows I may be the sole remaining member of The Tonbridge Spotters. I see now by referring to my various notes and records that though I have seen 30926 Repton many times the first recorded spotting by me was at Ashford on 26 August 1957 and the last time I saw her was 1 July 2008 when I travelled as a passenger on her from Grosmont to Pickering on the North Yorkshire Moors Railway whilst on a day visit, an interval of 51 years.
Tempus Fugit
Tempus Fugit………it certainly has.
I could say that I have been very busy, of course I have, I could say that there has been more important things that kept me away from the Blog, of course there has been, and I could say I have been lazy which is more likely to be the truth, so lazy it is.
So much has happened since the last entry, Christmas for example has been and gone.
The world has gone into a financial free fall that started off in
We have been to
The news over the last few weeks has been about that many of our Members of Parliament have been found out with their collective hand in the in the taxpayers till. If this should come as a surprise to some or not I am unsure, not perhaps that these people have been found out but rather that the public has now discovered that it has been going on for so long and certainly extends back long before this present Government.
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