Shall we? Shan't we?

David Cameron and many others seem to be determined to join in the action and add our little bit of misery to probably the most miserable place on earth at the moment. As Jeremy Corbyn has just sent me an e-mail asking my opinion on the matter, here are my thoughts on the question of the week: To bomb or not to bomb Syria? 

Will bombing IS in Syria make it safer for us here? 

I don't believe it will. The biggest threat to us seems to be from small groups of highly motivated terrorists acting in a dispersed fashion. Take into consideration the relatively unsophisticated hardware they need to wreak their havoc and the ease of control and command through the Internet, I can't see how bombing bases in Syria is going to prevent attacks in the UK and elsewhere. And will bombing them actually increase the possibility of retaliation? That seems both probable and plausible to me.

Will bombing IS in Syria get rid of them?
Again, I don't believe it will. They are now so firmly embedded within the civilian population it's going to be nigh on impossible to get at them with air strikes. At best bombing will slow and hinder any more major advances. Can anyone remember the last time something was mended by dropping a bomb on it?

My view is that if the allies want to defeat IS anytime soon, say in the next decade or so, then they are going to have to get in amongst them at the sharp end. And, let's face it, no western country has got the stomach for that little adventure and that's why they arm groups like the Peshmerga and send them off to battle as proxies. IS is a Muslim problem that can only be really defeated by the rest of the Islamic world rejecting IS's ridiculous and perverted ideology and their hijacking of the faith of billions of peace loving people around the world. Dropping bombs kills people but it does not kill an ideology: that can only be done from within and by the very people this death cult claims to represent.
 

 It's time to try a different track and here's where I get really depressed. Although they cry crocodile tears about the consequences, politicians can understand bombing and it makes them look as if they are  in control and are doing something. The problem is that they seem set on doing the wrong thing and without a coherent strategy for managing the aftermath. More often than not, doing the wrong thing is worse than doing nothing. Or have I missed something?

It's Chriiisstmaaasss! Time to take to the hills

(An update of something from this time last year, prompted by a recent visit to Tesco's in Callington where Slade appeared to be caught in a never-ending loop due to a technical hitch. I was not the only person to emerge reeling into the car park, feeling bilious and with fewer items in my shopping basket than intended. It was, however, strangely comforting, and more than a little gratifying, to see the 'Bah Humbug' spirit so much in evidence. Hooray, it's not just me!).

 

The season is with us, folks, when we curmudgeons have lots to sound off about. And there's nothing that irritates us more than the annoying, tedious and repetitive Christmas jingles and tunes we are bombarded with wherever we go. Yes, it's time to be assaulted yet again by an excruciatingly dippy version of “It’s A Jingly Jangly Jolly Holy Holly Santa Snowy Sleigh Ride” or some such. It really is snow joke (sorry) and yule (double sorry) regret venturing out when it's being played. Once I hear Noddy Holder screeching dementedly 'It's Chriiisstmaaasss!', I want to perforate my eardrums with a red hot needle.

But I never do, of course, because not all Christmas songs are totally naff. Let Santa Parsons give you an early Xmas present and point you in the direction of some festive fun that will make you forget the tuneless turkeys and the hapless harmonies. You might just find your heart filling up with Christmas joy if you follow the link to the podcast called The Yule Log from Hell.

It's a compilation from Keith Droz of New Jersey that comes out at this time of year and is around 90 minutes of 'alternative' Christmas songs: some straight, some completely off-the-wall, some politically incorrect, some unexpected pearls, some plain awful, some you would definitely not want your mother to hear but all of them infinitely preferable to Wham, Slade, Wizzard and their like. Take a look below at just a few of the songs featured in Episode 1 for 2015 and think where else you could find them. You can't, can you? Because Keith's podcast is unique. Why not download them all and entertain your friends and family to around 20 hours of festive glee? I have and I will - so, visitors to Colinette Barn, you have been warned!

 
* Santa Claus Looks Like My Daddy – Danny Kaye
* Christmas (baby please come home) – Jon Bon Jovi
* Christmas Seals - Leonard Nimoy
* Santa Claus Is Doing the Monkey – Arnold Dover
* Merry Twist-mas – The Marcels
* Jingle Bells – The GURU Project
* 21st Century Christmas – Sir Cliff Richard
* Christmas Date Boogie – Pete Johnson/Joe Turner
* I’m Gettin’ Pissed for Christmas – Peter and the Test Tube Babies
* Christmas On the Dance Floor – Gerard Joling
* Santa Claus, Go Straight To the Ghetto – Mint Condition
* The Little Drummer Boy – Sir Christopher Lee

A walk along the East Okement River

The weather was set fair-ish and we set off for a walk along the East Okement River just outside of Okehampton on the eastern fringe of Dartmoor. A new area of the moor for us and yet another to do in another season. In fact, one to do again for the other three seasons. It was a shade over 6 miles and was a good mixture of riverside clambering, woodland paths and open moorland. And fresh air, fresh air, lots of fresh air.

Our route started at the old station, dropped down into the town briefly and then headed roughly due south to pick up the East Okement River. From there we picked up some height near Scarey Tor, before taking a northern line through the Halstocks back to the starting point.

Heading along the path into Ball Wood. Just a little leaf colour remaining.

Railway bridge over the East Okement, still in use as a line to Meldon Quarry and as the short but picturesque touristy Dartmoor Line.

Lots of water coming down the river and the noise of the cascades accompanied us for about half of our perambulation.

More water and a missed opportunity to snap a dipper.

You can never get too much of water.

Heath Waxcaps in profusion.

Not Heath Waxcaps. No idea what they are but they were very attractive.

A Jelly Fungus - the Yellow Brain fungus, with the delightful name Tremella mesenterica. Although it grows on gorse, it is a parasite and feeds on another flat (resupinate) fungus.

Even in the most out of the way places on the moor, you'll come across signs of human activity. This lump of granite was split (see the drill holes) after a lot of effort but, for some reason, left lying around. The piece to the left seems a reasonable gatepost: so why wasn't it used?

The open moor looking south, with the mist moving from the right towards the Army Camp on the left. The military have had a presence on this part of the moor since the Napoleonic Wars and it was a Red Flag day today, so we had to keep off the firing range.

An entry for Wordless Wednesday

A fellow blogger has goaded me into contributing something for a Wordless Wednesday competition. My first question was "what is Wordless Wednesday?". And the answer came back: "a simple blog post featuring a photo which conveys a message that speaks for itself without using words".

 

So, here goes. Where's my prize?

 

Is it just me?

 

I've just caught up with the news that, for the first time ever, Oxford Dictionaries have chosen a "pictograph" as its word of the year. They say the "face with tears of joy emoji" best represents "the ethos, mood, and preoccupations of 2015". They go on to say that "Emoji culture has become so popular that individual characters have developed their own trends and stories. The image chosen shows the "playfulness and intimacy" of emoji culture".

 

Good grief. Is it just me or is that a load of populist dumbing-down tosh? The fact that they have chosen a 'Face with Tears of Joy' emoji and not a real word makes me feel like this:

Let's call this one the 'Face with Tears of Linguistic Despair' emoji. I wonder if they'll choose it as the word of the year for 2016?

 

However, it could also be

*  An entry into the 'Person Most Able to Cry Perpendicular Tears' competition

*  Proof that when you are bright yellow your tears look a different colour to everyone else's

*  Evidence that using too much blue eye shadow just before you watch the last episode of Downton Abbey is not a good idea

*  A reason to stop eating so many blueberries

*  Proof that even if you have no hair, if you cry like this, you get a beard of sorts.

A riverside walk along the Teign from Fingle Bridge

Yesterday we walked along a river on the western edge of Bodmin Moor. Today we walked along a river on the eastern edge of Dartmoor. Lunch in Chagford with friends, a 3 mile linear walk along the Teign from Fingle Bridge and then back to Chagford for a very pleasant early dinner at the Birdcage Pizzeria. Another good day.

Our route was along the northern bank of the River Teign, just below Castle Drogo.  Castle Drogo was the last castle to be built in England and its construction took from 1911 until it was finished in 1930. It was commissioned by Julius Drewe, who is better known as the founder of the Home and Colonial Stores (as an aside, I've just remembered that I had a Saturday bicycle delivery job at the H & C in Caerphilly for a while when I was 11. Nepotism, as my Aunty Phyll worked there). It has never been watertight and it is currently undergoing a 5-year conservation project to finally keep the water out. It looks odd at the moment as it's completely encased in a plastic shroud but, however it looks, it's not a place that features on my Favourites list.

Along this stretch of the river are a series of artificial weirs put in place by Drewe to form pools that allowed him to indulge his passion - salmon fishing.

Looking down on the river from the highest point of the walk.

It was cold, it was damp but there were a few canoeists enjoying the white water caused by the weirs.

And this was as far as time would allow us to go. If we'd thought about it we could have crossed by this bridge and walked back along the other side of the river.

We've done this walk before and there's always something new to be seen. But artworks were not what we expected. As part of Castle Drogo’s restoration project a set of installations in the form of modern photographs (by Mike Smallcombe) have been put up in called Teign Spirits. The concept behind them is to give a sense of the history of the Valley along with an insight into the Drewe family.  This one is a photo depicting the aftermath of the fire that destroyed the nearby Fingle Mill – the miller’s wife and children have just escaped the fire. The ruins of the Mill can still be seen near to Fingle Bridge on the way to Fingle Woods.

And this one illustrates the life and times of the charcoal maker, once a major industry in these parts.

Another installation shows Julius Drewe salmon fishing

This one is a photograph of a Venetian chandelier purchased by the Drewes whilst on their honeymoon.

The chandelier was photographed outside and its background merges in quite cleverly with its background in situ. I'm not sure it works for me but, overall, the installations gave some added interest to the walk.

 

An abortive walk around Siblyback Lake

It was going to be a simple walk around Siblyback Lake, which is the reservoir from which we get our water, but it didn't turn out quite as we expected because of the weather. Not the weather today but rather the aftermath of Storm Barney. It seems that some trees had come down on the footpath around the lake and there were closure signs up everywhere. So what was intended to be a 5 miler turned out to be around 3.

Our route (in red) and, yes, you can see two circles. That's when we were wandering around, somewhat aimlessly, trying to decide what to do because of the closed footpath.

 

And this gives a good feel for what the weather was like. Rainy and misty - what the Scots would called 'dreich'.

A group huddle. OK, we can't go where we wanted to, so where now? And the answer was back to the starting point where some would go home and a few others, including we two, would drive a short distance and walk to Golitha Falls.

When used selectively, I think the fisheye lens effect can be quite effective. A few remaining hawthorn berries glistening in the rain.

Now here's something that irritates me about our government's clamp down on Local Government finances. The fact that car parking is being 'monetised'. A car park in an out-of-the-way place being let for who knows what? But whatever it is, you can bet that a hefty charge will be levied for the privilege of using it. Which, of course, people won't as they'll park in the narrow lane and cause obstructions. Cue the double yellow line brigade to put in an appearance.

And here's something else that irritates me about our government's clamp down on Local Government finances. The fact that public conveniences all over the county are being closed, particularly in areas where tourists go. "Sorry for any disruption". No, they're not. Who are they trying to kid?

Golitha Falls. Perhaps a better name would be Golitha Cascades? Lots of water in the River Fowey, which we last saw nearer the sea by St Winnow's church on our last walk, gave us a good show of rough water.

Looking downstream on a typical moorland river close to its origin - dropping quite steeply for a considerable distance. This one arises quite close to Jamaica Inn in the middle of Bodmin Moor.

Come on, you'll recognise this a wheelpit. Nothing unusual about that and, taking into account a nearby leat, it was, most probably, fed by water channelled into a wooden launder at its top. Overshot is the technical term. What is unusual is that there are no signs of any associated structures nearby. So, what did it power? My money would be on it powering a series of flat rods that went from it up the hill to machinery at the Wheal Victoria copper mine. This was in operation from 1844 to 1846, or so a not particularly informative notice board told us.

They wouldn't get planning permission for this nowadays that's for sure. Nothing definite but I think it was taking water from a spring/stream to the right to a farm/house on the left about 1/2 mile away.

The walk down to the falls goes through the Draynes Bridge Nature Reserve which has a very varied flora and fauna. Not much of either around this time of year and the weather prevented any exploration off the paths but I did spot this impressive array of fungi. My fungi guide tells me that it was Stereum hirsutum, commonly known by the wonderful name of Hairy Curtain Crust. Pretty obvious really, it was hairy, looked like a curtain and formed crests. What else would you call it? Brown Crumbly Thing?

And the only decent bird shot I managed to get all day. A solitary Pied Wagtail having a paddle in the shallows of the river.

 

Aftermath of Storm Barney

We were caught up in the maelstrom that was Storm Barney last night. Have spent the morning clearing up the devastation it caused on our patio. We survived the Great Hurricane of 1987 and we'll get through this - somehow.

Postcard Treasure Trove

There's nothing quite like a loony to brighten up your day and validate your notion of your own normality. Another dip into Dolph and Mabel's postcard collection comes up with one such: a Grade One Nutter and an American Grade One Nutter at that. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you George Matthew Schilling.

I didn't know who he was either and there seems to be very little on the internet about this very remarkable Long Distance Walker. And what there is suggests that he was not quite as famous as his self-promoting postcard made him out to be. Here's what I've been able to piece together.

Apparently he started his perambulatory exploits as the result of a wager and walked around the world, leaving New York in August 1897, in a newspaper suit and penniless. To complete the mental image, I should add that he only had one arm and invariably travelled with a large black dog as his companion. A newspaper reported, after the event, that his feat was unverified. I can't comment on that but I can say that I have come across brief press reports of when he was in the UK, South Africa, Australia and New Zealand. These make amusing reading as they were all somewhat bemused by what he was doing (a polite way of saying that they were all taking the piss!). Apart from selling his postcards as he went around, I can't find out how he supported his walks although there are hints that he was not averse to freeloading and stowing away.

He seems to have caught the walking bug in a big way because, after completing his first feat, he embarked on two more. The first of these, and the subject of the postcard I've got, was when he walked 20000 miles throughout Great Britain and the Continent pulling a 6 hundredweight airship (Why an airship?). Again for a wager, he started from London on February 18th 1908. And after this he went onto his next (and last?) undertaking: pushing a six-and-a-half hundredweight wooden globe (Why a wooden globe?) around the world. The globe was also his sleeping berth., and he presumably shared this with his faithful canine compadre.

And here the trail goes cold. What happened next? Did he really end up in an asylum? What happened to his dog? I've no idea but I would dearly love to find out more about this unsung and largely forgotten nutter, sorry, hero. It definitely makes for a fun postcard though!

Stoke Climsland War Memorial: Ephraim Jenkins

Anyone looking at the names on the WW1 Memorial in Stoke Climsland can’t but help notice that there are four Jenkins’ listed. "Poor family", you might say and poor they were in more ways than one. Poor because, of the five sons of William James and Mary Anne Jenkins of Lower Downgate and Kelly Bray, four died during WW1. And poor because, in the 1901 census for Lower Downgate, the Jenkins’ were listed as ‘paupers’, living on parish benefit. As is often the case, it would seem that those with the least to give, gave the most in the conflict. Perhaps it was some small comfort to the family that both William and Mary died in 1907, well before the start of the war.

The first of their sons to die, Ephraim, was not, in fact, a casualty of the war and had not even seen service during the war. He had enlisted in the Royal Navy at Devonport on 27th August 1908 for a 12 year period but had been invalided out on 8th May 1913 due to Pulmonary Laryngeal Tuberculosis (one of the most serious and common complications of pulmonary tuberculosis and often fatal). After his discharge he returned to Kelly Bray and, presumably, stayed with his brothers and sister who had a house there. He did work as a labourer in the Gas Works at Callington but finally died of Pulmonary Tuberculosis in Kelly Bray on 9th May 1915. His burial place is unknown at present. It is poignant to note that his brother Percy, who was killed in France later that year, was present at his death.

So what else have we been able to find out about Ephraim Jenkins? We know that he was born on 6th August 1890 and was baptised in Downgate Chapel on 26th March 1891. At this time, his father’s occupation was given as a miner. When Ephraim enlisted in the Royal Navy, he had given his own occupation as tin miner. Perhaps they had both worked at the nearby Redmoor, Windsor or Holmbush mines?

The only personal details we have of Ephraim are those found on his naval service record, where he is described as 5’ 7", with black hair, brown eyes, a fresh complexion and a scar on his lip. He went into the service as a Stoker 2nd Class and had gone up one step of the ladder to Stoker 1st Class when he was discharged. I cannot but help think that the hot, steamy conditions of a ship’s boiler room would not have been a very conducive place for someone with incipient tuberculosis. It is interesting to note that the major part of his naval service was aboard the cruiser HMS Aboukir which was subsequently torpedoed on 22nd September 1914, along with HMS Cressy and HMS Hogue. Three cruisers and 1459 men were lost in the space of an hour and a half. Perhaps if he had remained in service, he might have been one of these casualties?

Given that Ephraim was not an active serviceman or a casualty of the war, the question arises as to why he is commemorated on our War Memorial. There is no information which helps to answer this question but is it unreasonable to think that he is listed along with his brothers as a recognition of the sacrifice that one poor family made?  

Sent on 4th August 1914

We have a very interesting collection of a hundred or so postcards dating from the early 1900s and kept by Mrs P's grandparents, Adolphus and Mabel Laws. I dip unto these every now and again and have learnt a lot about the family from who was saying what to whom. Fascinating snippets from times long past. Here's one I came across recently which chimes with Remembrance Day. I hadn't noticed the date on it before, 4th August 1914, the date war was declared on Germany and the day WW1 began.

The postcard reads:

A.H.Laws Esq.,
25, Wesley Street,
Cwmbran,
Nr Newport, Mon,
Wales

Dear Dolph
Has Nixon been called in for war? All Marine Reserves have been called up here. Father was called up Sunday morning and has gone to the Naval Barracks. The town is greatly excited. hardly a Bluejacket to be seen. All are anxious. Let Nixon know Reserves are called up. He will be bound to come. All Territorials are called. I am expecting to be called in myself as I hear all corporation officials are to go.
Alf

It's written to Mrs P's grandfather, Adolphus (Dolph) Laws, by his brother, Alfred, who worked for Plymouth Corporation. Their father, George Charles Alfred Laws, was fifty at the time and must have been on the Naval Reserve as he was much too old to fight. Adolphus was working for Guest, Keen and Nettlefolds in Cwmbran and, because of the importance of the steelworks to the national effort, had a reserved occupation that kept him out of the forces. We don't know whether Alf was actually called up but their brother, William (Bill), did serve in the Royal Navy and survived. We've got no idea who Nixon was.

Bluejackets? Slang term for naval personnel. And little did the townsfolk of Plymouth know how things were going to turn out. If they did, would they have been so 'greatly excited'?

Recipe Time Again: Raspberry Bakewell Loaf Cake

Everyone likes a recipe so here's this week's effort for our village Pop-up Cafe. I fancied something with almonds and came across a recipe for a Raspberry Bakewell Loaf Cake on the Something Sweet Something Savoury food blog. It was worth a try and the cakes seemed to have come out OK. As is my customary practice, I double-up on the quantities shown and put one in the freezer for future use. We've got eight lurking there now as the process is not at equilibrium: the rate in is greater than the rate out. With Xmas coming, maybe we'll be able to reduce our stockpile somewhat.

 

Ingredients:
150g soft unsalted butter
150g caster sugar
2 large eggs
150g ground almonds
1/4 tsp almond extract
1 right index finger for tasting at various stages 
1 left index finger (ditto above because I can multitask)
50ml milk (I used almond milk because I had some in the fridge)
150g self raising flour
150g fresh raspberries
About 3 tablespoons raspberry jam
75g icing sugar
25g flaked toasted almonds

Method:

Preheat the oven to 180C and line a loaf tin with, what else but, a loaf tin liner.
Cream the butter and sugar together until very light and fluffy. Whisk the eggs and almond extract in a jug and slowly add to the creamed mixture. Add the milk, still beating and then gently fold in the flour and ground almonds with a metal spoon. Finally stir in the raspberries very carefully so that they aren't crushed. Spoon half of the mixture into the prepared tin then spoon over the raspberry jam.

I couldn't be bothered to be neat so just dotted teaspoons of the jam on top of the mixture to get a reasonably even spread. And then the rest of the mixture is dumped on top and smoothed out with a fork.

Into the oven for around 45-50 minutes or until risen and golden and a skewer inserted into the middle of the cake comes out clean. Remove the cake from the oven and leave to cool for 10-15 minutes before carefully turning out onto a wire rack to cool completely.

To ice the cake, place the icing sugar in a bowl and stir in a few drops of water until the icing coats the back of a spoon quite thickly. Spoon over the cold cake and sprinkle with flaked almonds. I think what I made was a little too runny as it set translucent rather than the opaquely white finish I was intending. Still, it will taste the same and the punters won't know the difference. Or maybe they will. They usually give me some honest feedback: one of my earlier cakes had a slight dip in the middle (actually it was quite a trench and I disguised it with a thick layer of mascarpone frosted topping) was described by Mrs H as the 'Titanic Cake'.

And the verdict after the event? Even if I do say so myself (corroborated by Mrs P), it looks and tastes pretty good. One to do again but with a more determined effort to make a better job at getting the jam layer more uniform. And the icing topping could be improved as well, with maybe the addition of a few drops of almond essence? And a few more raspberries wouldn't go amiss.