Humour in Uniform Part Two

After some encouraging comments about the post I made regarding Humour in Uniform someone mentioned to me recently that there must have been other or even funnier events [as if they were not funny enough] or mishaps to befall me during many years service to the Crown.

The problem as I saw it, and in fact I mentioned to my friend, is that perhaps what I and possibly he with a military background may find very funny and send us into fits of laughter or as I understand the computer and text speak language of the young has it; ROTFLUTS, may not be humorous or funny to The man on the Clapham omnibus for example. Nonsense replied my friend, those who will understand will laugh those who don’t will not, it is all about context and who you aim your scribbling at, anyway who is the man on the Clapham omnibus? I saw his point and smiled. 

It is 1977. I am a sergeant based at the RAOC Training Depot and as part of my future career path and upward promotion I was required at some point to attend and pass the All Arms Drill Instructors Course held at and run by the Brigade of Guards All Arms Drill Training Wing at Pirbright.

As the title may indicate to non military readers [stay with it, it may get funny] this is an all arms course open to any regiment or corps including other Commonwealth countries and even the Police Training Centre at Hendon [or it was at Hendon in 1977] to send individuals of the rank of sergeant or above or the civilian equivalent to attend a six week intensive instructional course in all aspects of drill; foot drill, arms drill, ceremonial drill and so on with the aim that successful individuals will return to their units and then be qualified to teach and evaluate others in the teaching of all aspects of drill. The successful individual will in future years as he becomes promoted upward become a reference point on all drill related matters to superior officers, occasionally even very superior officers.

For the non military reader, and thanks for staying thus far, you need to understand the Brigade of Guards are a law unto themselves within the military world. They do things their way, they have this notion inbred at the recruit stage that they are special [believe me they are special] they have their way of doing things and the rest of the Army is, in their reasoning, always wrong until the rest of the Army have been taught how to do it the ‘Guards Way’, and really this is what this course is all about. 

It is not really about teaching the individual how to either do or in fact teach others how to do drill, if you qualify for this course you already know how to do that, no what it is about is the opportunity three times a year for the Brigade of Guards Training Wing to get it hands on thirty upright, honest and sober, okay perhaps sober is not correct, individuals and in six weeks make them Guards Clones and send them back to their units. The fact that you were not a member of the Brigade of Guards in the first place gives them the physiological upper hand from day one, the fact that none of us students applied to be in the Brigade of Guards or that some were far more educational qualified and thus in the main sent to technical Corps passes them by.

So day one starts by the Brigade of Guards Training Team referring to the thirty odd students assembled for the course, as they refer to the remaining 99.99% of the British Army who are not members of a Foot Guards Regiment, as ‘Them’. We immediately take it upon ourselves to refer to them as ‘Wooden Tops’ as in wooden toy soldiers. However we in the main are bright enough to understand even on day one that this is not a battle or even the war that we will win, we know that and the Wooden Tops know that, we understand each other; both sides understand the rules of the game.

For the next six weeks they break us down into small individual component parts of ourselves, we allow them to do it, we have no choice and it is easier and less painful to play by their rules. They then by the mid course point start to individually re-assemble us again and suddenly we find the thirty of us beginning to understand the point of it all, they are not just trying to qualify us as drill instructors they are also re-assembling us into better individual soldiers, leaders and managers than we were some weeks earlier. Yes we are still ‘Them’ and they are still ‘Wooden Tops’ but suddenly this is fun, there is a point to this, they are clever little sods these Wooden Tops.

One morning we were all on the drill square, were else would we be, we were practising the black art of sword drill. The RSM had taken it upon himself to take the air and see how life was progressing outside of his office. Suddenly from across the square he bellows ‘That man there’ and then points at me ‘that’s not marching that is mincing’ I will not have men mincing around my square; lock yourself up in the guardroom in double quick time. Off I go at the double toward the guardroom about 200 meters away, as I approach magically the door opens before me so that I enter the building still at the double and the doors slams shut behind me, I stop as I face the wall, I can go no further. My mind is now racing, what happens now, should I do something, I decide to stand perfectly still until someone else takes the lead.

Alright Sarge says a cockney voice, I turn my head slowly to face the voice and see before me a Cpl standing the other side of the desk, do you take sugar and milk he asks holding a mug above the desk, sorry but we only have rich tea biscuits if that’s okay. I start to relax a little. A chair is produced and I am invited to sit down. The mug of tea and two biscuits are placed before me, the Cpl goes to the window and looks out ‘look at em daft sods waving their swords about, they will have some buggers eye out if they’re not careful, a private stands next to the Cpl and nods, he turns to me, tea okay Sarge? I nod.

Some hours pass and the phone rings the Cpl answers it and smartly stiffens his body and every other word is Sir, yes Sir, right Sir, certainly Sir and so on, the phone conversation ends and the Cpl turns to me, that’s it  Sarge you’re free the RSM wants to see you. He opens the door and as I am departing he says he might see me again and grins, the door slams shut behind me. I report to the RSM.

You have been absent from lessons he says without looking up from writing something, you are an absentee he states. No Sir I reply you may remember you told me to lock myself up in the guardroom I have hardly been absent I have been in the guardroom. I now remember the golden rule, when the hole is deep enough stop digging. The RSM looks up at me so let me get this straight not only are you an absentee from lessons you are now telling me you are a criminal as well because you have been in the guardroom, I am not sure you are the sort of person we want here at the Brigade of Guards Training Wing this may well be the way you do things in your own unit but it’s not the way we do things here. This is your last chance understand, yes Sir I reply, get back to your lessons he orders I about turn and march out of his office, as I am going along the corridor I hear him say to himself ‘Bloody Mincing about on my square whatever next’ and then I heard him laugh. It was all part of the game.

I am being inspected one morning and I am told there is fluff on the top of my cap, the inference of course being I either did not brush my cap before inspection or I did not check my cap before putting it on or worse still both. My name is put in the report book and I am instructed to report for inspection again at 2200 hours that night ‘showing fluff removed from my cap’ [remember this phrase].

At 2155 hours I present myself at the guardroom for the inspection parade at 2200 hours, I note there are about twenty others for the parade as well. 

The officer starts his inspections followed by the duty sergeant, as the duty officer gets to an individual the sergeant reads out aloud from the report book the offenders name and the heinous crime he has committed that has brought him here. He gets to me, my name is read out and in a loud clear voice possessed only by guardsmen he reads: Reporting to show fluff removed from cap.

I look at the officer and I think he is not very tall, not as tall as me anyway. I wonder if I should remove my cap to show him that the fluff has indeed been removed, perhaps not. I next think should I bend forward a little so he may clearly see the top of my cap and the total absence of fluff as I am pondering this the officer stares at me and then says’ come on I have not got all night’. Sir? I ask as a query, show me the fluff then he replies holding out his hand. The fluff? I reply. For Gods sake man; his voice starting to go up a couple of octaves. You are here to show me the fluff removed from your cap, this morning you had fluff on your cap, you are here now to show me it removed so show the damn fluff you have removed from your cap you bloody idiot.  It’s gone sir I reply, I brushed it off, where has it gone he asks, just gone sir I reply, well you had better scour this whole camp until you find it and report back here tomorrow night to show me it.

The following night I paraded the officer approached; after my name and crime was read out I duly opened my hand and showed a bit of fluff. Is this the fluff you removed from your cap he asked, yes I replied, he looked at me and I stared back at him, he winked and said you are learning. Indeed I was.

The week before the end of the course the RSM assembles the whole course on the square and informs us it is customary to have a course photo taken. This photo will be taken by someone he knows and the photo will be suitably framed within the high standard we have come to expect from the Brigade Guards, this is not tat he tells us, it will be a thing to treasure for life, we will, he assures us, be able to show it to our grandchildren when we are old and certainly in need of assistance to mash our food up. The grandchildren will be suitably impressed by the quality and framing of the photo that that may decided a life in the Brigade of Guards is for them. If you would like such a valued memento of our happy time at Pirbright put your hand up.

This was week five, we were nobody’s fools, we knew how it went, and nobody moved an inch.

Come come said the RSM I am sure some of you might want a photo say something said the RSM even if it is Sod off....................then a quiet voice from the rear rank said sorry lads, the rest of us instantly knew what was going to happen...........Sod Off said the voice from the rear rank..............and a couple of us giggled................RIGHT shouted the RSM lock yourselves up at the double off to the guardroom with you all.

As a single body the thirty of us turned and doubled toward the guardroom as we approached the door opened and in we all went......the door slammed shut behind the last man, there was total silence...................right said a cockney voice, now we are going to do this slowly, if you want milk put your hand up...........one, two three, four, five, six he started to count...................someone burst out laughing. 

  

 

Returning to Overlooked Interests

Well here we are again and yes dear reader I am still managing to keep my head above water in the swimming pool of retirement.

Just in this very short post I need, after almost a whole computor rebuild due to a virus knocking out much of my old hard disc, to return to some other interests. One of these being my often overlooked web site dealing with the World War 1 research of my local war memorial in Wolviston; readers from colder climes and any from Chad may wish to seek the place out via Google Maps or Google Earth.

The link to my website is here.

  

My Website 

 A warning, perhaps, that there is much work to be done as I return to this project and also due I fear to the virus. There is much to read however and I can promise an improvement over the next few weeks and months as I now have time to devote to this, and other projects and interests so please stick with it and visit often.

The End is Nigh

And so dear reader and follower of the Blog that is that. Yes I have now finally retired, it is over, finished, the end, no more. Officially as of 8am GMT on Monday 23 December 2013 I am a free man, well when I say free I am sure the Lady of the House may have a slightly different interpretation of the word free, but free enough.

It has been forty nine years three months and eight days since I left home aged fifteen to make my way in the world and as regular readers of the Blog and perhaps not so regular readers from Chad will remember from the last entry of the Blog, to join the Army as a Boy Soldier.

When I first started this Blog with a few faltering lines I added to the ‘About Me’ column that I was an official grumpy old man happily looking forward to many things. I have found, as I am sure you the eagle eyed reader will have also done, that as time has passed I have obtained or achieved some of those various objectives or goals. I now have, for example, a Bus Pass, and very good it is too. I now am in receipt of a pension well two actually with a third to come next year. Having now retired that is yet another item ticked from the list of life and so according to the ‘About Me’ list now I am only looking forward to my eventual demise, ah well. It is time now to update the column I think.

So what does one do when retired? I asked someone that very question a few days ago. My friend thought for a moment, he gazed skywards, he took a deep breath and then exhaled loudly, there was a pause. he looked at me and rubbed his chin; “Do” he queried “well I don't actually do anything” he said but then added “but for some reason I always seem to be doing something that I wonder sometimes I had time to go to work at all, always busy that's me”.

 So that seems to be the basis of the plan. Being retired means you can take it easy, no need to rush about, there is always tomorrow, I will finish that job later, yes that is what being retired means I am sure of it.

I will have all the time in the world to do all those things I had always promised myself that I would get around to when I had retired. There are new skills to learn, just for fun, hobbies and interests to pursue, new places around the world to visit, I must say this retired business does seem so far to be fun, I know it is early days and I must not suffer from retirement burnout but I am looking forward to it.

So I must dash as I wonder if I have just enough time to…………………………………………………….

Humour in Uniform

As I get nearer to retirement I occasionally find myself spending time looking back over the forty nine years or so since I left school at the age of fifteen and took those first hesitant and uncertain steps into employment. Well it was not perhaps as uncertain as I make it sound because coming from a family with a history of military service among my reasonably close relatives I had already enlisted into the Army prior to leaving school. I was to become a member of the Junior Leaders Battalion RAOC.

Of the many and varied skills that the Army taught me over the years one of the earliest lessons that everyone requires to learn almost from day one is that before you should laugh at anyone else then you need to be able to laugh at yourself. You are taught to be able to see the humorous side of any situation and if there is not one then you or others should conspire to make it amusing. This is a valuable skill in itself because the Army believes that if its soldiers are able to make light of any situation however bad then the soldier will be able to function under most situations and this is true. If you can laugh about something or laugh about yourself then perhaps the situation may not seem as bad as first thought.

There were many amusing things that happened to me as an individual, to a particular group I belonged to or the situation I found myself in, here are just two examples.

One of the early subjects to be taught to us was Nuclear Biological and Chemical Warfare or NBC as it is more commonly known in the ranks. The subject not really known, perhaps for understandable reason, to be a laugh a minute taught us as individuals and a group how to not only survive but fight should we be unfortunate enough at some point in the future to find ourselves within a nuclear, biological or chemical environment. We learnt how to correctly and quickly put on a respirator [gas mask] put on protective clothing how to de-contaminate ourselves, others and items of equipment such as vehicles or weapons and how to carry out the day to day functions of living within that environment for sustained periods.

Before practical skills however came the theory.

I was in a class of about thirty others and we were about to start a lesson. I put my hand up as one does in such a situation and attracted the instructor’s attention. I informed him that I would have to leave the lesson early as I had a dentist appointment and so would not be able to make notes of everything taught. The instructor told me just to catch up as best I could on anything I might miss and the lesson started. At the appropriate time I made my excuses and left to attend the dentist appointment.

Some weeks later we had a day of written and practical exams, one of these written exams covered some of the theory lessons on NBC and of course the part of the lesson I had missed.

I approached the instructor and reminded him that I had missed some of the lesson a few weeks earlier and I was concerned that I might be penalised in some way because I did not or may not know all the answers. The instructor looked at me, it will be okay he said just think before you write anything down and just imagine the situation you may be in. I nodded not entirely convinced.

Sure enough it was not long before I came to a question that clearly I did not know the answer to, even all these years later I can recall the question.

You have been away on leave from your unit. On your return how would you know that there has been a direct nuclear strike on the camp during your absence?

I sucked the end of my pencil for a moment and remembered the advice the instructor had given me.

Let me see I thought, the camp has been hit by a direct nuclear strike. My first thought was lucky I was away on leave, my second thought was that perhaps due no doubt to the massive number of deaths there may be some prompt and rapid promotion soon coming my way.

I remembered pictures I had seen of Nagasaki and Hiroshima after they had been struck by Atom bombs toward the end of World War 2 and the sheer extent of almost total destruction. I put pencil to paper and described as best I could the scene of total devastation that I might see. Buildings flattened by the nuclear blast, a huge crater, a vast debris field stretching many miles in fact so much total destruction that I might be surprised to recognise the place at all. Pleased with myself and my earthy and gritty description of a nuclear winter that may have overcome the village of Deepcut in particular and most parts of Surrey Hampshire and the Home Counties in general.

Imagine my surprise some days later to be called into the instructor’s office and to be faced with him not only holding my answer paper but positively shaking it at me. Any thought that I may be in line for the unit prize for literature soon left me.

Rubbish he shouted at me, utter twaddle, fantasy of the first order he shouted again as his finger stabbed at the lengthy, but what to this day, I still consider a wonderful piece of descriptive writing.

If returning from leave, he recited from the question paper, you will know that the camp has suffered from a direct nuclear strike because, and at point he stood up as if to enforce his point, you will find a note to that effect pinned to the flag pole outside battalion headquarters by the Adjutant. The note will also include a map reference informing you and others where the unit has deployed to and a point of safety for you to head toward. He sat down again and stared at me, I stared back. He broke the silence by telling me I should always remember this fact as one day it may save my life and should I expect a fulfilling future career in the Army then I should buck my ideas up. But for now I was get out of his sight as fast as my little legs would take me.

I have over the years occasionally reconsidered this fact of life and I laugh about the ridiculousness of it all. Should, God forbid, at anytime I might stumble upon an army camp that has had the misfortune to be targeted for a direct nuclear strike then I will make a point to locate the flag pole and find the note left by the adjutant. Stupid yes; hilarious of course. I failed the exam but I laughed for days afterwards in fact I still do.

The late 1960's found me now in adult service and in the desert, yes dear reader my Lawrence of Arabia moment had arrived. As the sun was setting on an already fading Empire I and many others found ourselves in yet another part of the world that neither wanted us nor cared for us, in fact a part of the Middle East where today people pay huge sums of money to go on holiday, strange world, we couldn't wait to get out of the place. We suffered from time to time with the local populace, who no doubt bored waiting for the camel racing to begin on a Saturday evening who then sought their fun by forming a mob and marching [well okay not exactly marching] on the camp and throwing bricks and other items at us.

The British Army fortunately has a process called anti riot drills which in those days consisted of fifteen men, fourteen soldiers and one, normally very junior, officer to command the situation. The men would form a square, ah yes the famous British Army square which for many years had served the system well, with four soldiers on each side of the square each soldier armed with a rifle. Within the square would be two soldiers armed with sub machine guns and between them carrying a rolled up banner and finally the very junior officer armed with a pistol. Being a square it could face or change direction with always four soldiers facing forwards. The whole group could be moved around forwards backwards sideways and even diagonally by commands from the officer to face any rioters or other trouble makers as required. When the officer decided that the situation was getting out of hand he would command the two men to unfurl the banner which on one side in English would state

DISPERSE OR WE WILL FIRE

On the reverse exactly the same message, but in the local language, so the banner could be turned around. Should the officer still consider things were not improving then it was within his powers to command one or more or even all twelve riflemen to open fire on pre-determined individuals [normally what would be understood to be the ring leaders] among the rioters hoping the remainder of the crowd would see the error of their ways for upsetting the British Army and disperse and go home to their families and goats.

As these duties rotate it soon became my turn to be on standby for the next set of anti riot drills. Looking at the banner, which was becoming more than a little faded I made the decision to have a new banner made. I went to find the unit interpreter only to find he was on leave however with a little lateral thinking it occurred to me that the civilian clerk could of course speak, read and write in both Arabic and English, I decided he was just the man I needed to make a new banner.

I laid out a new piece of hessian on the ground and I painted DISPERSE OR WE WILL FIRE on one side and I instructed the clerk that I need the same message painting on the reverse but in Arabic. The clerk read what I had painted and then asked what did DISPERSE mean exactly. I thought for a moment and said well, Disband, Break Up, Scatter, Go Away, Disappear, Go Home. The clerk thought for a moment and then smiled, ah yes he said I understand now, but what does it mean FIRE. I explained that the point of the banner was to encourage the trouble makers to go home or we might start shooting. Ah yes now he understood..........................he assured me.

A few days later and bricks start smashing windows a lorry is set on fire a mob assembles and so we the duty anti riot squad are called out to restore peace and order to this particular backwater of the empire.
Off we go and by movement forward we start slowly to push the trouble makers back away from brick throwing distance and almost back into the centre of town when determined they were not going any further they stood their ground and again started throwing bricks [and anything else they could gets their hands on] at us and then they started to move forward and close on us. The officer could be heard saying something stupid like hold your fire, hold your fire wait for the order, as if he had some delusion of commanding a brigade at Waterloo.

They are getting a little too close now sir said the man next to me.

Show them the banner came the command for the officer who, now I think about it, sounded more than a little nervous, and so the two men holding the banner did their little dance to unfurl the banner, more bricks and assorted debris continued to rain down upon us and the officer commanded to turn the banner around so the side with Arabic writing could be shown. That worked. Almost instantly there was complete silence, the rioters stood still and studied the banner there was a littler muttering and we saw some of them talking to each other and pointing at the banner.

That’s made them think said the officer at about the same time as the whole group of rioters burst out laughing and pointing at us and then continued to throw bricks. It was time for a strategic withdrawal, we fire two rounds of rifle ammunition over their heads and then withdrew quickly toward the camp where fortunately for us reinforcements had assembled and being outnumbered the rioters decided it was time for Saturday night camel racing and they went home.

At the debrief in an attempt to find out what had clearly gone wrong someone helpfully pointed out that the message on the banner in Arabic did not say  DISPERSE OR WE WILL FIRE it said

GO HOME OR WE WILL SHOOT OURSELVES.

We all burst out laughing.

The Slow Train................perhaps no train.

The Slow Train is the title of a song written and performed by the musical partnership of Michael Flanders and Donald Swann. The song is a nostalgic look at some of the railway stations on the lines scheduled for closure as part of the ‘Beeching Axe’ of 1963 and is also the passing of a way of life.

At the end of World War 2 the countries railway system was in a very poor condition due to a lack of sufficient investment [mainly owing to the war] and so in 1948 it was decided to nationalise the whole railway system and invest from a central government transport department and so British Railways came into being. In 1949 the British Transport Commission [BTC] was formed with a brief to indentify and if necessary reduce or close down the least used or unprofitable branch lines that had been inherited from the various private railway companies after nationalisation. Up until 1962 the BTC closed more than a total of 3,000 miles of branch lines.

After an on off affair with petrol rationing between June 1945 and June 1948 petrol rationing was finally ended on the 26 May 1950 and vehicle ownership increased at a sustained rate as did the mileage driven during this period of economic recovery, so much so that in 1957 the Prime Minister Harold Macmillan told us all that ‘we have never had it so good’.  In December 1954 a report with the snappy title of Modernisation and Re-Equipment of the British Railways, known colloquially as The Modernisation Plan, was published recommending that the railway system be brought up to date. This was followed in 1956 with a government white paper laying out the plans for improvements and financial deficient reduction by increasing speed, reliability, safety and line capacity and so hoping to make the service more attractive to passengers and freight operators and hopefully recovering traffic that was being lost to the roads.

By 1961 it became clear that The Modernisation Plan was not working, debts were mounting, the BTC were unable to repay the interest on its loans, staff numbers had fallen and the long term cost of phasing out steam locomotives and introducing both electric and diesel had all but spiralled out of control. The government [via the taxpayer] were consistently bailing out the BTC and enough was enough, the government now had to look at other alternatives or options for a solution.

Alfred Ernest Marples, later Baron Marples of Wallasey, became Minister of Transport on the 14 October 1959 after a cabinet re-shuffle under the conservative government of Harold Macmillan and was to remain in that post until 16 October 1964 when the conservatives lost the General Election. As Minister for Transport Marples oversaw two parliamentary acts; The Road Traffic Act 1960 that introduced the MOT, single and double yellow lines and traffic wardens and the Transport Act 1962 that dissolved the BTC. The Macmillan government were seeking outside talent and fresh blood to sort out the huge problems of the railway network and so after a recommendation to Marples by Sir Frank Smith Dr Richard Beeching, later Baron Beeching of East Grinstead, was approached and agreed at first to become a member of an advisory group dealing with the financial state of the railways but later as announced by Marples to Parliament that as from 1 June 1961 Beeching was to become the first chairman of the newly founded British Railways Board.

The brief from Marples to Beeching was simple; return the rail industry to profitability as soon as possible, by any reasonable means, and it is here with that brief to Beeching that we see the first conflict of interest between rail and road. Richard Beeching unknown to himself then, and it might be argued he never really saw the plot in full, was being set up by Marples to become the harbinger of doom to the nation’s railway network, something that Marples did not really care about anyway.

Ernest  Marples had other interests. 

In the late 1940s Marples was a director of a company called Kirk & Kirk, which was a contractor in the construction of Brunswick Wharf Power Station. Marples met civil engineer Reginald Ridgway who was working as a contractor for Kirk & Kirk. In 1948 the two men founded Marples, Ridgway and Partners, a civil engineering company, the new partnership took over Kirk & Kirk's contract at Brunswick Wharf and in 1950 Marples severed his links with Kirk & Kirk. Marples, Ridgway's subsequent contracts included building power stations in England, a hydro-electric station in Scotland, roads in Ethiopia and England and a port in Jamaica. The Bath and Portland Group took over Marples, Ridgway in 1964.

Shortly after he became a junior minister in November 1951, Marples resigned as Managing Director of Marples Ridgway but continued to hold some 80% of the firm's shares. When he was made Minister of Transport in October 1959, Marples undertook to sell his shareholding in the company as he was now in clear breach of the House of Commons' rules on conflicts of interest. He had not done so by January 1960 when the Evening Standard reported that Marples Ridgeway had won the tender to build the Hammersmith Flyover and that the Ministry of Transport's engineers had endorsed the London County Council’s rejection of a lower tender. Marples first attempt to sell his shares was blocked by the Attorney-General on the basis that he was using his former business partner, Reg Ridgeway, as an agent to ensure that he could buy back the shares upon leaving office. Marples therefore sold his shares to his wife, reserving himself the possibility to reacquire them at the original price after leaving office; by this time, his shares had come to be worth between £350,000 and £400,000.In 1959 Marples opened the first section of the M1 motorway shortly after becoming minister. It is now understood that although his company was not directly contracted to build the M1, Marples, Ridgway "certainly had a large finger in the pie". Marples Ridgway built the Hammersmith Flyover in London at a cost of £1.3 million, immediately followed by building the Chiswick Flyover; Marples Ridgway also were involved in other major road projects in the 1950s and 1960s  including the £4.1 million extension of the M1 into London, referred to as the 'Hendon Urban Motorway' at the time. 

Richard Beeching produced two reports the first in March 1963 titled The Reshaping of British Railways, the report called for the closure of over 7000 railway stations. The second report in February 1965 titled Reorganisation of the Railways recommended that of the remaining 7500 miles of trunk line rail route only 3000miles were worth saving and receiving future investment. It became clear by reading these two reports in tandem that Beeching’s method of analysis was flawed. The system he used for his first report was that he took a route of railway from let’s say Station A to Station F, and for example let’s imagine the distance between A and F is 100 miles. His method of thought went along these lines [no pun intended].

At Station A 200 passengers buy a ticket to travel to Station F.

At Station B 5 passengers buy a ticket, 3 travel to Station D 1 travels to Station E and 1 travels to Station F.

At Station C 2 passengers buy a ticket, 1 travels to Station E and 1 travels to Station F.

At Station D 10 passengers buy a ticket all travel to Station F.

At Station E 1 passenger buys a ticket and travels to Station F.

At Station F 213 passengers arrive.

Beeching concludes for the small number of passengers at B, C, D and E compared to those boarding at A and arriving at F. Stations B, C, D and E are financially unviable when looked at in terms of passenger ticket income against expenditure of maintaining four railway stations and staff so recommends that stations B,C,D and E are closed.

Having recommended that these stations are closed in his first report in his second report he again re-visits the route and concludes there is little if any point in keeping a 100 mile route open if there are only two stations on that route; Station A and F.  As Jack Simmons author of The Oxford Companion to British Railways History put it, Beeching was expected to produce quick solutions to problems that were deep seated and not susceptible to purely intellectual analysis. 

Not unsurprisingly Beeching’s plans were hugely controversial. His second report was rejected out of hand by the government and his appointment as Chairman of British Railways Board was terminated three years early, in effect he was sacked. It finally dawned on him that that perhaps he had been set up by Marples to do the dirty work and Beeching himself said in relation to his direct role in the closures that ‘I will always be looked on as the axe man’. In 1965 he was made a life peer in the birthday honours list. He returned to work within the chemical industry and he died in 1985.

Certainly and without any doubt Beeching is, even today, looked upon as the Axe Man of the railways but he was not the villain of the piece that honour must surely go to Ernest Marples the Transport Minister who had no interest, personal or commercial, in seeing the railways returned to profitability and compete against road transport and the new and burgeoning road motorway system.

Early in 1975 Marples suddenly fled to Monaco. Among journalists who investigated his unexpected flight was Daily Mirror editor Richard Stott:

"In the early 70s ... he tried to fight off a revaluation of his assets which would undoubtedly cost him dear ... So Marples decided he had to go and hatched a plot to remove £2 million from Britain through his Liechtenstein company ... there was nothing for it but to cut and run, which Marples did just before the tax year of 1975. He left by the night ferry with his belongings crammed into tea chests, leaving the floors of his home in Belgravia littered with discarded clothes and possessions ... He claimed he had been asked to pay nearly 30 years' overdue tax ... The Treasury froze his assets in Britain for the next ten years. By then most of them were safely in Monaco and Liechtenstein."

As well as being wanted for tax fraud, one source alleges that Marples was being sued in Britain by tenants of his slum properties and by former employees. He never returned to Britain, living the remainder of his life at his Fleurie Beaujolais château and vineyard in France.

The words to the song The Slow Train by Flanders and Swann:

Miller's Dale for Tideswell ...
Kirby Muxloe ...
Mow Cop and Scholar Green ...

No more will I go to Blandford Forum and Mortehoe
On the slow train from Midsomer Norton and Mumby Road.
No churns, no porter, no cat on a seat
At Chorlton-cum-Hardy or Chester-le-Street.
We won't be meeting again
On the Slow Train.

I'll travel no more from Littleton Badsey to Openshaw.
At Long Stanton I'll stand well clear of the doors no more.
No whitewashed pebbles, no Up and no Down
From Formby Four Crosses to Dunstable Town.
I won't be going again
On the Slow Train.

On the Main Line and the Goods Siding
The grass grows high
At Dog Dyke, Tumby Woodside
And Trouble House Halt.

The Sleepers sleep at Audlem and Ambergate.
No passenger waits on Chittening platform or Cheslyn Hay.
No one departs, no one arrives
From Selby to Goole, from St Erth to St Ives.
They've all passed out of our lives
On the Slow Train, on the Slow Train.

Cockermouth for Buttermere ... on the Slow Train,
Armley Moor Arram ...
Pye Hill and Somercotes ... on the Slow Train,
Windmill End.

Looking at the words and indeed listening to the song itself the lyrics imply that Formby Four Crosses and Armley Moor Aram were whole station names when in fact they are two consecutives names from an alphabetical list of stations. Of the thirty one stations mentioned in the song as of the date of this blog ten of those stations remain open or have since closure reopened.

Millers Dale for Tideswell [Millers Dale] between Buxton and Matlock opened 1863 closed 1967.

Kirby Muxloe between Leicester and Burton upon Trent opened 1848 closed 1964.

Mow Cop and Scholar Green between Stoke on Trent and Congleton opened 1848 closed 1964.

Blandford Forum between Templecombe and Broadstone Junction opened 1863 closed 1966.

Mortehoe between Barnstable and Ilfracombe opened 1874 closed 1970.

Midsomer Norton between Bath Green Park and Shepton Mallet opened 1874 closed 1966.

Mumby Road between Willoughby and Mablethorpe opened 1888 closed 1970.

Chorleton cum Hardy between Manchester Cemtral and Stockport opened 1880 remains open as Chorleton as of July 2011.

Chester le Street between Durham and Newcastle opened 1868 remains open.

Littleton Badsey [Littleton and Badsey] between Evesham and Honeybourne opened 1853 closed 1966.

Openshaw [Gorton and Openshaw] between Manchester London Road and Guide Bridge opened 1906 remains open.

Long Stanton between Cambridge and Huntington opened 1847 closed 1970.

Formby between Liverpool Exchange and Southport opened 1848 remains open.

Four Crosses between Oswestry and Buttington opened 1860 closed 1965.

Dunstable Town between Hatfield and Leighton Buzzard opened 1860 closed 1965.

Dogdyke between Boston and Lincoln opened 1849 closed 1963.

Tumby Woodside between Firsby and Lincoln opened 1913 closed 1970.

Trouble House Halt between Kemble and tetbury opened 1959 closed 1964.

Audlem between Market Drayton and Nantwich opened 1863 closed 1963.

Ambergate between Derby and Matlock opened 1840 remains open on the Matlock branch.

Chittening Platform between Filton and Avonmouth opened 1917 closed 1964.

Cheslyn Hay [Wryley and Cheslyn Hay] between Walsall and Rugeley Town opened 1858 closed 1965.

Selby between Doncaster and York opened 1834 remains open.

Goole between Doncaster and Hull opened 1869 remains open.

St Erth between Truro and Penzance opened 1852 remains open.

St Ives terminus of branch line from St Erth opened 1877 remains open.

Cockermouth for Buttermere between Workington and Keswick opened 1865 closed 1966.

Armley Moor between Leeds and Bramley opened 1854 closed 1966.

Arram between Driffield and Beverley opened 1853 remains open.

Pye Hill and Somercotes between Kimberley and Pinxton opened 1877 closed 1963.

Windmill End between Dudley and Old Hill opened 1878 closed 1964.

Listen to The Slow Train 

That Leather Bootlace with Three Washers

I don't know why or even how we came to the subject but in conversation with a friend about a month ago, amongst other topics, we discovered that we had, as children, both been members of the Cubs and Scouts.
More than half hour passed as we racked our memories to recall events of more than fifty years ago. My one abiding memory during that conversation, and it has nagged in the back of my mind for the ensuing couple of weeks, concerns a leather boot lace tied together at the ends so as to form a large loop that may be placed over the head and hang around the neck like a necklace at the end is attached three small steel washers, the sort of thing you would place between a nut and bolt.

Over the years  I had sub consciously erased this article this longed for item, this object of my desire from my memory, perhaps it seems things like this, etched for ever into the memory, may never be forgotten.

I was a member of the 8th Tonbridge[Hildenbourgh] Scout Group, between  the years 1956 and 1964. First as a Wolf Cub and then progressing, when age allowed, to the Scouts.

I remember the day I joined the Cubs, there were three other boys joining as well. Gerald Askey who for obvious reasons to those readers of a certain age immediately earned the nickname Arthur and for the ensuing eight years as Cub and Scout we became firm friends and I always called him Arthur, to his mother I even referred to him as Arthur. We were both to end our Scouting days as Patrol Leaders, he of Owls Patrol and me of Kestrels.
Paul Hopper who even at that age was into music and later in the 'swinging sixties' he was to join a pop group called The Overlanders. Paul would end his Scouting as my Assistant Patrol Leader in Kestrels.
Finally there was David Humphries who after only a couple of weeks became known and would only answer to Humph. Some years later Humph would become one of the most popular boys. Firstly his parents were licensees of the Flying Dutchman, one of the two pubs in the village and secondly his older sister was employed as a secretary in London with Radio Caroline and Humph was, via his sister, and endless supply of Radio Caroline merchandise  freebies; pens, mugs, stickers, posters etc.

My time as a cub I recall was uneventful. I put a little effort in and obtained a couple of proficiency badges, swimming, cyclist and map reader readily spring to mind though there were one or two others I suspect. During those early years I and the other boys climbed the slippery slope of both promotion and seniority within the pack. It was a happy time, I enjoyed it and for a couple of hours each week I could escape the maternal apron strings and scream and shout, swing from trees, climb ropes and plan escapades with other boys my own age group, yes it was fun, but what I did not fully realise was that Scouts were soon to beckon and though I could have no knowledge of it then but that leather boot lace adorned with three steel washers was to haunt me.

Edward Manners known to all the parents, supporters and Patrons as Ted but to us boys as Skip was the Scout Master. A tall thin man with a thin drawn face and long nose who always seemed to wear a pair of corduroy shorts with brown shoes. From the first time I met him, and even as I imagine him now in my memory, his looks always reminded me of Montgomery the famous war time military leader. Skip ruled the troop with a friendly but very firm hand and he had that magical quality of making everything seem effortless and he gave all of us boys much encouragement and belief in ourselves.  A staunch Christian he never drank alcohol, smoked or used profane language. When he got angry, which he did from time to time he would call us 'Bods' and when he was really angry he would refer to us as 'Flipping Bods'. For someone who ran a youth organization he had a terrible memory and could rarely remember any of our names, he would point to us and proclaim 'Boy', 'Yes you boy' like some school headmaster. One of the funniest things he often did was to point to someone near to him and say 'come here boy' when the lad went to see what he wanted Skip would point at some other individual and ask 'what is that boys name'?  However he always trusted us, sadly in hindsight we boys occasionally betrayed that trust.

One example of this springs to mind. The event that that was to go into troop folklore simply as 'The Aldis  Lamp Incident'.

 One Friday night [Scouts always took place on Friday 8-10 pm] Skip had been encouraging Arthur, Paul, Humph another friend David Gurr and I to learn basic morse code and to test this self taught skill we were split into three groups, Humph and me and David with Paul and Arthur as an independent judge and observer. Outside the Scout hut was a strip of grass stretching perhaps almost a quarter of a mile in length. We were given two sets of Aldis lamps each with a morse key and one group dispatched to each end.
Skip appeared and informed us our task was first to assemble the Aldis lamps and check their operation then one group would send a set message to the other group in morse by lamp flashes the receiving pair would decode the message form a suitable reply and send the reply back to the others. Arthur was to watch, judge and observe, Skip then left.
Time passes and we realise after endless lamp flashing and shouting to each other that it is all a hopeless exercise. Arthur is summoned from his neutral position on the sidelines, given a message on a piece of paper and sent to deliver it to the others. A short while later Arthur reappears from the darkness with the reply written on the reverse of the bit of paper, just about the same time as Skip returns. We all then to a boy lie and tell Skip what a success it had all been and how we are all encouraged to continue to learn morse code.

Some ten or twelve years ago I recounted this story on Friends Reunited and after a day or so both Paul and David posted a message on the Scout group forum to confirm its accuracy and that they remembered it well and how to their knowledge Skip never found out the truth.  Skip wherever you are now on behalf of the others I offer you an unreserved apology for betraying your trust in us.

The highlight of the Scout year was always the two week summer camp taking place during the school summer holidays, when the troop would pack up and travel, by way of Skip's van and the kindness of many parents acting as willing taxi drivers, to some distant point in the country and set up camp for two weeks. Camps I remember took place in numerous locations stretching from the Home Counties, the West Country, Wales and Scotland. Summer Camps were in a way the culmination of the Scouting year, it was the time we were able to display various practical skills learnt during the year but due to space, time or other constraints were unable to bring into being further. During summer camps the troop maintained the principle of operating as four separate Patrols [Kestrels, Owls, Woodpeckers and Kingfishers] within the central core of the Troop. Each patrol had its own tent, its own kitchen, cooking and washing area, it had its own pots and pans, washing bowls, it collected daily its own ration of food from the central Troop Quartermaster, sufficient  to feed the patrol three meals for the day, in effect each patrol was a self contained sub unit but still linked to the Troop as a whole.

This really is where my problems began. Each evening the four Patrol Leaders were summoned to a meeting held by Skip. During this meeting we were told what was planned for the following days activities, if anything in particular was planned, if there were any visitors expected and so on, we were to go back and brief our patrols so all boys had at least a basic idea of what was going on and anything that was planned. Always and without fail the last item of  the briefing was which patrol had the honour of hosting Skip for the following day. This 'hosting' meant that Skip would be woken with a mug of tea in the morning, whilst he was drinking that a bowl of hot water would be delivered to his tent so he could wash and shave. After which  he would eat all meals with that patrol for the day and as it turned out drink endless quantities of tea which put a strain on the patrol as we did all his washing up as well.

After breakfast each morning there would be a camp inspection. Each patrol would empty their tents, all bedding was lined up smartly outside [except if it was raining] and displayed in a uniform and set layout. The bottoms of the tent would be folded up to allow air to blow through the tent during the day. The patrol kitchen had to be clean, all pots pans plates etc washed dried and also displayed to a set layout and all litter to be picked up, in short the patrol area had to be absolutely spotless at the start of each day. Skip and the Patrol leader would carry out the inspection and Skip would add or deduct points from a score sheet for each patrol area as he went along.

At the end of each inspection the patrol was allowed to put all the bedding back into the tents whilst Skip with the aid of a mug of tea supplied by and from the hosting patrol tallied up the score to find the winner for that morning. The Troop would parade, forming a square with a patrol on each side and Skip would stand in the middle announce in reverse order and with the number of points scored that day the names of patrols. The patrol leader of the winning patrol would then be awarded 'The Camp Badge' for the day, a leather bootlace with three washers tied to the end would then be proudly presented and he would wear it to show all that for that day at least his patrol was the best.

I spent the last three years of my Scouting career as a Patrol Leader, the first year I was with Kingfishers and the last two with Kestrels. During this time I attended three summer camps, a total of forty two days and not once during that time did I ever win, even for single day, that damn leather bootlace with three washers tied to the end. God I tried, you don't know how I tried. I tried kindness, I tried indifference, I tried strong arm bully boy tactics; I even tried bribery, in those days a bottle of Cream Soda or Tizer could go a long way, it could grease a few palms I can tell you, I have known Scouts, mainly Owls Patrol I admit, who would commit murder for half a bottle of Cream Soda and two Gobstoppers.

Even Adrian Moss won it once, Adrian Moss and Woodpeckers Patrol for goodness sake, I ask you, what a wet boy he was. Arthur was a regular recipient with Owls Patrol and even Paul, my Assistant Patrol Leader threatened to ask for a transfer if I did not somehow bring honour and fortune to the Patrol, sorry Paul.

So there you have it, it seems even in those distant days I learnt that you cannot always have everything you want, sometimes it does matter how hard you work or wish for something it will always allude you and so it was with that leather bootlace and three washers. However I suppose looking back it did teach me something, never give up and I could always try harder.

Perhaps that is not such a bad epitaph to come away from childhood with after all.            

It’s a good idea Roy but…………………

Just recently I have taken the time to enjoy a trip down memory lane by listening to some comedy programmes I used to enjoy on the wireless whilst growing up.

One of my earliest memories was listening to The Goon Show on the BBC Home Service on Sunday afternoons. The Goons ran from 1951 until 1960 though I did not really start listening until perhaps I was about 8 or 9 so that would have been about 1957 or 58, though even to me and my friends as early as that the Goons started the manic and archaic humour that was to carry us through life, and I doubt today, even some fifty years after the last original recording [though there have been repeats] there are many who have not at least have heard of The Goons.

The original composition was; Spike Milligan, Harry Secombe, Peter Sellers and Michael Bentine, though Bentine left in 1953. All had met whilst trying to break into show business after being demobbed from the forces after the end of the war. It has been said the The Goons had a considerable influence on later areas of British comedy such as Monty Python. The Goons however were not just a group of manic screeching comedians making silly noises but in fact the central core of the humour [all the scripts were written by Spike Milligan] were was based on ‘Subject Transference’ and it took a little while for the listener to understand the humour and then join in and understand the joke, there are some no doubt that ‘never got it’.

Subject Transference can come in a variety of ways. There is Time Transference; If you drop a bundle of 1918 calendars on troops in 1916 they will think the war is over and go home. Place Transference; if you understand for example that by opening and going through a door will take you from one room into another then why not if you open a door in the Himalayas it could take you to London. Transference of Utility; Milligan swapped items at random for example gorillas became cigarettes; ‘My these Gorillas are strong……………have one of my Monkeys they are milder’.

The Goons had an original run of nine years. Peter Sellers died in 1980, Michael Bentine died 1996, Harry Secombe died 2001 and Spike Milligan in 2002. Milligan was recorded as saying he was glad Secombe had died before him and he would not be able to sing at his [Milligan's] funeral, as it turned out Secombe did sing at Milligan’s funeral by way of a recording.

The Clitheroe Kid ran from 1957 until 1972 recording a total of 290 episodes on the wireless. The star of the programme was Jimmy Clithero who was a Northern comedian born 1921 but due to his diminutive stature was easily able to pass off as the 11 year schoolboy of the programme title. The make believe Clithero family of grandfather, mother and sister Susan lived at 33 Lilac Avenue. The basic weekly premise of the show was that Jimmy would get into some scrape or other often involving Alfie the hapless boyfriend of sister Susan and the ensuing efforts of Jimmy to get out his difficulties. By today's standards it seems perhaps rather mundane but the reader must understand that whilst I listened to this each Sunday afternoon I was also heading toward becoming an 11 year old school boy and I along with thousands of other roared with laughter. Jimmy Clithero died in 1973.

The Navy Lark was another radio sit-com about life on board a British Royal Navy Frigate the HMS Troutbridge. The programme ran from 1959 to 1975 with 244 episodes originally transmitted on the BBC Light programme and subsequently or BBC Radio 2. Programmes were self-contained, although there was continuity within the series, and there would sometimes be a reference to a previous episode. A normal episode consisted of Sub Lieutenant Phillips, scheming Chief Petty Officer Pertwee and bemused Lt. Murray trying to get out of trouble they created for themselves without being found out by their direct superior, Commander (later Captain) "Thunderguts" Povey. Scenes frequently featured a string of eccentric characters, often played by Ronnie Barker.

The programme featured musical breaks with a main harmonica theme by Tommy Reilly and several enduring catchphrases, most notably from Sub Lieutenant Phillips: 'Corrrrr'...........'Ooh, nasty....', 'Oh lumme!' and 'Left hand down a bit'. 'Ev'rybody down!' was a phrase of CPO Pertwee's, necessitated by a string of incomprehensible navigation orders by Phillips, and followed by a sound effect of the ship crashing. Also, whenever Pertwee had some menial job to be done, Able Seaman Johnson was always first in line to do it, inevitably against his will: 'You're rotten, you are!'. The telephone response from Naval Intelligence (Ronnie Barker), was always an extremely gormless and dimwitted delivery of 'Ello, Intelligence 'ere' or 'This is intelligence speakin'

Other recurring verbal features were the invented words 'humgrummits' and 'floggle-toggle' which served to cover all manner of unspecified objects ranging from foodstuffs to naval equipment. Dennis Price died in 1973, Jon Pertwee [who later played Doctor Who 1970-74] died 1996, Stephen Murray died 1983, Richard Caldicot died 1995, Ronnie Barker died 2005 and Michael Bates died 1978.

Moving from radio to television I guess the largest and certainly the longest running television sit-com must be The Last of the Summer Wine. First broadcast by the BBC in January 1973 and the last episode is due to be broadcast on 29 August 2010 ending after 31 series over 37 years and it is officially recognised as the single longest running television situation comedy.

Last of the Summer Wine focuses on a trio of older men and their youthful antics. The original trio consisted of Compo Simmonite [Bill Owen] Norman Clegg [Peter Sallis] and Cyril Blamire [Michael Bates] Blamire left in 1976, when Michael Bates fell ill shortly before filming of the third series [Bates died 1978] requiring Roy Clarke to hastily rewrite the series with a new third man. The third member of the trio would be recast four times over the next three decades: Foggy Dewhurst in 1976 [Brian Wilde], Seymour Utterthwaite in 1986 [Michael Aldridge], Foggy again in 1990, and Truly Truelove in 1997 [Frank Thornton]. After Compo [Bill Owen] died in 2000, Compo's real son, [Tom Owen] played Tom Simmonite, filled the gap for the rest of that series, and Billy Hardcastle [Keith Clifford] joined the cast as the third lead character in 2001.

The trio became a quartet between 2003 and 2006 when Alvin Smedley [Brian Murphy] moved in next-door to Nora Batty [Kathy Staff], but returned to the usual threesome in 2006 when Billy Hardcastle left the show. The role of supporting character Entwistle [Burt Kwouk] steadily grew on the show until the beginning of the 30th series, when he and Alvin were recruited by Hobbo Hobdyke [Russ Abbot], a former milkman with ties to MI5 to form a new trio of volunteers who respond to any emergency.

The trio explore the world around them, experiencing a second childhood with no wives, jobs or responsibilities. They pass the time by speculating about their fellow townspeople and testing inventions. Regular subplots in the first decade of the show included: Sid [John Comer] and Ivy [Jane Freeman] bickering over the management of the café, Mr Wainwright and Mrs Partridge having a secret love affair that everyone knows about, Wally [Joe Gladwin] trying to get away from Nora's watchful eye, Foggy's exaggerated war stories, and Compo's schemes to win the affections of Nora Batty.

The number of subplots on the show grew as more cast members were added. Regular subplots since the 1980s have included: Howard [Robert Fyfe] and Marina [Jean Fergusson] trying to have an affair without Howard's wife finding out (a variation of the Wainwright-Partridge subplot of the 1970s), the older women meeting for tea and discussing their theories about men and life, Auntie Wainwright [Jean Alexander] trying to sell unwanted merchandise to unsuspecting customers, Smiler [Stephen Lewis] trying to find a woman, Barry [Mike Grady] trying to better himself (at the insistence of Glenda) [Sarah Thomas], and Tom trying to stay one step ahead of the repo man.

Peter Sallis who has played ex lino salesman Norman Clegg, and is the only surviving cast member from the original episode also gives his voice to Wallace from Wallace and Gromit is often referred to as ‘Norman Clegg as was’ when he encounters the man hungry Marina.

As I look back now with fondness and the occasional smile over some of the humour and comedy that has made me laugh over all these years from the Goons ‘He's fallen in the water!’ or ‘You dirty, rotten swine, you! You deaded me!’ or Sub Lt Phillips ‘I say….ding dong’ or Marina from Last of the Summer Wine coming upon the hapless trio and sideling up to Clegg and saying ‘Well Norman Clegg as was’ one thing they all have in common is that they are all gone and after tonight so will Last of the Summer Wine, it will end of the longest running British television sit-com.

Perhaps Roy Clarke, who has written every single one of those episodes over the 37 years, was glad that he did not take any notice of the BBC executive that he took the very first pilot episode draft to…………………… So let me get this straight Roy , this is about three retired old men passing their day and the mishaps that befall them, its a good idea Roy but do you think anyone will watch it……………………………….

Interesting times indeed.

A long time ago I worked with a chap who was very fond of the saying 'Be careful what you wish for it may come true', he would use this at any opportunity and would apply the term to mean good and bad thereby allowing it to fit most situations. Thinking that I had long forgotten about this phrase it suddenly appeared in my head during the early hours of the morning of the 7th May whilst I was taking the occasional opportunity to keep up with the incoming general election results. Despite mentioning my doubt in the last Blog entry about the actual outcome being a hung parliament that is what has occurred.

I must genuinely offer my congratulations to David Cameron for now being the leader of the party with the most seats, though not enough to form a majority government. My commiserations to Nick Clegg who I think actually started to believe both the propaganda from the media and his own inflated ideas of suddenly how popular he had become. Sadly, for him anyway, he now has five MP's less than he had a few short days ago so it has not been a good time for him or his party and perhaps a salutary lesson of not to believe everything he hears or reads during the run up to an election. My commiserations also go to Gordon Brown; though the Labour party has fallen to second place behind the Tories he also does not have enough seats to form a majority government.

There has been much criticism of Brown mainly headed by the media who seems to have at times a selective memory when it suits them. One of the much flaunted complaints, for example, is that taking over from Tony Blair mid-term as leader of the Labour party made him an unelected Prime Minister. Strange then that the same media forget that John Major who took over from Margaret Thatcher mid-term in November 1990 as leader of the Conservative party and thus became Prime Minister in exactly the same situation. It was to be another two years until John Major called a general election in April 1992, but I do not recall the media ever hounding him as an unelected Prime Minister. Two-faced contempt is the basic method of operation for many newspapers: monotonous newsprint filled with selective reporting and audacious bias. the popular press is a hopelessly poisoned chalice in which our politicians seem resigned to exist in.

Of the 91 seats lost by the Labour party I know there will be genuine sadness at some of the good honest and hard working MP's becoming a casualty, however there are others who are now going who frankly will not be missed and little sympathy should be spared for them. Jacqui Smith falls perhaps partly due to the expenses scandal. The first ever woman to hold the post of Home Secretary she will not be missed. Charles Clarke, yet another ex Home Secretary has been shown the door from his Norwich South seat. The problem Clarke has is his attitude, during his final months in parliament he has been a vocal critic of Gordon Brown, now that may be his right to disagree or oppose anything his political leader says but it should not be aired like dirty laundry in public, it does him [Clarke] no good as he is marked as a moaning and bitter backbencher having lost his cabinet post, it does Gordon Brown no good as being seen to have members of his own party sniping at him in public and it does the party as a whole no good. If Clarke did not like his lot then he could leave at any time, another one not to be missed. Then there are those who have not awaited their fate at the hands of the public and have fallen on their sword. Hoon and Hewitt are two who readily spring to mind and in the overall plan of things they will not be missed either.

So where do we stand at the moment. Well neither of the two main parties have enough seats to form a government. I know there are many Labour supporters who would never vote Tory but who thought to punish Gordon Brown by voting Lib Dem the result being that the Labour vote fell. So few voters agreed with the Lib Dem manifesto and policy that they have lost five seats, maybe that shows how popular [or not] proportional representation may really be with the public and though David Cameron has indeed climbed a mountain and came home with a very creditable and worthwhile result he is still short of twenty seats and now needs to find other minority parties to join with to push him over the 326 seats required to form a government and mean time the country is now in a state of limbo.

The best option [at the time of writing] is for the Tories to agree a deal with Lib Dems but by doing so in some perverse way the country has lost it's democracy. We the electorate listen to the politicians then decide who we might support on the strength of who promises what. It is open, it is above board, we know what we are being told then we make an informed decision and we vote. However, now for example, with David Cameron and Nick Clegg talking to each other in an attempt to agree a deal; future policy is now being decided and agreed in private and in secret, we the voter do not now know what is being agreed, we are not being consulted. If Cameron and Clegg do agree some deal there will be some mutual policy shift between the two parties. There could be the situation where some people who voted Conservative feel cheated as they find perhaps some of the policies they voted on have been watered down or disappeared completely. Lib Dem supporters may think themselves lucky that after coming third and losing five seats are now in some position of power sharing and decision making. They will soon become disillusioned when they find that any promise that the Tories may give to gain the agreement of support very quickly disappears.

Perhaps as in 1974 when we last had a hung parliament and a coalition it will not be long for tempers to flare, promises to be broken and support to be withdrawn and then we will do this all over again.

What is to become of Gordon Brown and the Labour party? My personal view is to let the dust settle and wait for the coalition between the Tories and the Lib Dems. Then withdraw with good grace and dignity then Gordon Brown should resign as leader of the party and there should be a leadership election. Once a new leader is found then prepare for government again quickly because as with any pact that involves Tory promises it will not be long until they are broken twisted and distorted and the Lib Dems take their ball and go home. and we are off to the polls again.

As a chap I once worked for uses to say, be careful what you wish for...............................

Elections, Earthquakes, Education and Cleavage.

Mrs F and I have been away, we have been to Germany to visit family for a short break but we are back now and looking forward to our next adventure in just under seven weeks time. Due notice has been placed on a well known social networking web site for extra staff to be recruited at Philp's Bakers in Hayle [purveyors of the finest Cornish Pasty], for the management of the Union Inn on Fore Street to order extra stocks of Rattler Cider for Mrs F and to the staff and management of The Badger Inn at Lelant that Mrs F and I will require our normal table near the window for the Carvery Lunch on Sundays. Yes dear reader it will soon be time once more for Mrs F and I to pack our chattels and proceed south to Cornwall. We are ready for Cornwall but as always we wonder if Cornwall is once again ready for us.

We are now in the midst of election fever [well alright maybe not fever] with the General Election on the 6th May, so by the next Blog entry we will have a new Government. My political leanings are perhaps well known to regular readers of the Blog but I am beginning to wonder, certainly from what I have seen and read over the last couple of weeks or so, that the three main contenders are all much the same in their vague promises. We are told, and rightly so, that hard times are ahead whoever gains power. A vast hole in the countries finances courtesy of the world recession and the way some financial institutions and banks went about their business has to be covered, indeed the country needs to be placed back on a firm footing, but how it should be done and how and where and perhaps more importantly how deep some of these cuts should be is the question and so far the answers are not forthcoming in any detail.

The Labour party seem to favour a slow and steady as she goes approach, certainly with cuts in public finances but spread over a medium term so as not to hurt everybody at the same time which may reduce public confidence. The Conservatives I understand are more for an immediate slash and burn policy, cut everything now from top to bottom and perhaps return to a Thatcherism view of it is a price worth paying to get the country back onto a more even financial footing, if you survive to come out the other end intact well done and if you don't well................

The Liberal Democrats have a secret weapon in the form of Vince Cable their treasury spokesperson. Mr Cable has the ability to put forward his case in a pleasant and measured approach. During a recent televised debate between Alistair Darling, George Osborne and Vince Cable it was Cable it seemed who emerged the unofficial winner. The public appear to like both him and what he had to say that would become the proposed fiscal policy if his party won the election, but therein lies the rub, his party winning the election. One of the Liberal Democrats stated aims is in the long term to build a more liberal society however I suspect there are far too many people in this country who think society has become far too liberal already under successive Labour and Tory Governments. An often used comment about the Lib Dem's is that in fact they can say whatever they like or they think the public might wish to hear for there is a very slim chance indeed of them ever gaining power so it is all a little academic. The last true Liberal Government in this country being from 1905 to 1915 though they did take part in a coalition government from 1915 to 1922 since when there has not been a sniff of power from them.

There is much talk about there being a hung parliament with no overall working majority from either of the two main front runners and then it seems if that is the case that Nick Clegg the leader of the Lib Dems might become a King Maker. A hung parliament is fairly uncommon the last one in this country was in 1974 prior to that it was 1929, so really for all the media rhetoric I do not think that will be the final outcome when all the votes are counted. For the benefit of any new readers from Chad a Hung Parliament is a relatively new phrase to our common usage of English coming into popular use around the mid seventies and is a term to describe a minority government or even a government with a such a slim majority that relies upon other political parties by agreement to get legislation passed.

I am amused by recent comments from the world media following a senior Iranian cleric Hojatoleslam Kazem Sedighi who is quoted by the Iranian press as suggesting that woman who wear revealing clothing and behave promiscuously are to blame for earthquakes. Women who do not dress modestly lead young men astray, corrupt their chastity and spread adultery in society, increasing [consequently] earthquakes. This sparked an outcry among many women who refuse to believe flaunting their breasts is triggering a worldwide disaster.

If the media is to believed some 200,000 women across the world, but it seems mainly in the USA, held numerous protests and one led by Jennifer McCrieght staged a 24 hour protest named Boobquake and encouraged other women to flaunt their breasts and cleavage to prove the Iranian clerics wrong. This protest carried banners proclaiming 'Cleavage for Science' which I think is fair enough but as always some protesters carried opposing banners stating 'God Hates Boobs' I am not sure what authority they may have to make that claim but I prefer Cleavage for Science, in fact I just prefer cleavage.

In the wake of this entire episode are the numerous pictures appearing of amply endowed ladies wearing very small tops with logos such as.............I Survived the Boobquake...........and.........Did the Earth Move for You. For a brief moment I had the notion of suggesting to Mrs F that she might also like to show support for her 'Sisters' in showing her ample cleavage to prove the clerics wrong. However I came to my senses in time and considered that any ensuing hospital treatment I might undergo as a direct result of this proposal may well conflict with the forthcoming trip to Cornwall so I dismissed the idea immediately.

However as always there is a postscript. Whilst Ms McCreight and her 200,000 like minded supporters were baring almost all in the name of science; on Monday morning 26th April approximately 300km off Southern Taiwan was an earthquake that measured 6.5 on the Richter scale. Ms McCreight later claimed this had nothing at all to do with her or any of her supporters in the Boobquake protest............................however somewhere in Iran I am sure I could almost hear a group of clerics sniggering to themselves.

I read today in one of the more reliable broadsheets that some families around the country are now contemplating the proposition of selling their homes or their second homes in some cases and downsizing. Is this the final consequence of a dying Labour government I wonder, is it because the recession has finally come to us all and even the most modest abode has in some cases become financially untenable; reading on however I breathe a sigh of relief to find that why this has come about, so the article informs me, is due to the increase in tuition fees at many private and public schools. This autumn for example both Eton and Winchester will increase their fees to £30,000 per year per pupil, and many other private and public schools will increase their fees proportionally.

The article reports for example that the Corporate Affairs Director for the Rugby Football Union has just put his five bedroom house on the market for £895,000 in an effort to downsize and use the balance to part fund his three children through the local private prep school at a rate of £4,065, that's £12,195 for all three per year. A 71 year old grandmother has just sold her family home in Chiswick West London for a reported £1.6m to ensure her four grandsons receive a full private education. There are other examples quoted of families selling their second homes in the South of France and the Caribbean to recoup equity to fund their children's private education.

Of course parents and grandparents may decided how and where their offspring should be educated, that is their right and one of the pleasures of living in a free and democratic society, it is their money and I assume they came by it in a fair and honest manner and so they may dispose of it how they wish. However I cannot help but feel that some of these people by bemoaning the fact that due to the increase in private education fees they are now faced with these measures are occasionally a little out of touch with the rest of us in the real world.

Perhaps I am being a little naive and perhaps this has always been the case ever since young Coley first arrived at Brookfield but I wonder what dear old Chips would make of it all..............................