Good riddance to 2017

A recurring theme of some (many?) of my past, more political posts (or rants) has been what I consider to be the challenges faced by UK society and the nature of the forces ranged against any movement seeking a fairer, more just system of government. Tempting though it is, I can't solely blame politicians for our current, rather depressing, state. As I've often opined, much of it is the fault of we, the Great British Electorate. It's true: you get who you vote for and you get the society you contribute to – or don’t, as the case may be. For generations the populations of the UK have bought into the great big lie of our governance: that it cares for the electorate, that it could be trusted to do the best for all of us and that everything was just the way it was meant to be. Sadly, through our inertia, we've allowed our system of government to perpetuate the cycle of legislative abuse. Worse, we've allowed them to tell us who to trust, who to vote for, who to alienate and who to hate.

As we move into 2018, the list of what we are up against today is daunting. Just ponder on these self-inflected burdens

• Poverty
• Hate crime
• Austerity
• Democratic deficit
• NHS and teaching underfunding
• Local government emasculation
• An ineffective government of buffoons and right-wing clowns
• An ineffective opposition
• Brexit
• Constitutional crisis
• Legislative abuse
• Food Bank growth
• Increasing social inequality

I could go on and on: the list is endless. I could copy and paste examples all day and I haven’t even touched on the usual subjects of ‘politics as it is practised’, the media, or a host of individual policies and scandals over recent years. Neither have I mentioned those momentous events in the outside world - Syria, Palestine, ISIS, Myanmar, Trump etc etc. If you are looking for something that needs to be opposed. If you are looking for baddies under the bed, or something to get outraged about, then there are plenty of examples to be found. There are people and causes who need help right here and now. Entire populations of these islands, fractured demographics, oppressed minorities. And those affected are all human beings, not abstract statistics or consumer units or service users. People who deserve more than they are getting, or are likely to get from this present malfunctioning administration.

Me? Maybe my problem is that I’m easily offended and outraged. Underneath a gruff exterior is a big softie and, rather disconcertingly, I'm getting softer the older I get. Here are a few things that get my goat at the moment.

• I get offended when those we actually pay to care for our wants and needs, abuse the trust we place in them.
• I am also somewhat miffed when those we empower put their own population in harm's way for the sake of party political advantage or pure greed-driven self interest (see under any campaign ever, but more recently the EU referendum). 
• They really p*ss me off when they steal from us, abuse their positions, sign our names on the dotted line for illegal wars, or sell arms to others for their wars and abuses of human rights.
• I am particularly offended when I see families in 21st century Cornwall go without. When they have to make a choice between feeding the children or paying the bills. And I do not exaggerate - I know that it's true.
• I get offended when those least able to defend themselves are preyed upon by empathy-free tossers in government who won’t know a day of hardship in their pampered, besuited, public expense fiddling, thieving, entitled lives. Those people, who know full well what they do and why they do it, are beneath contempt..
• I get infuriated by the deliberate infantilising of public debate and the patronising attitude of most politicians.
• I am contemptuous of those who profess adherence to a faith but act in ways directly opposite to the tenets of their faith.
• I almost burst a blood-vessel when I hear the normalisation of desperate situations that should be causing people to take to the streets to protest. Since when is it acceptable that the growth of food banks and the increase in the numbers of homeless on the streets is seen as 'normal'.

The buck still stops in the very same two places though. It stops with our system of central government and with US. The one we have currently feeds off the other’s compliance, acceptance and division. It needs that mix to continue doing all of the above examples and keeping itself and its patrons in the style to which they’ve become accustomed. That and being nearly totally unaccountable to those in its care. You can have a system of government, practice of politics and an establishment which demands your compliance, your loyalty and your obedience. Yes you can. You can have a system that uses intimidation, fear and uncertainty as political strategy and practice against its own population. You can live on a media diet of celebrity and vote this way because the other team’s ‘the wrong sort’ too. You can continue to be told who and what you are by folk you’ve never met, nor walked a mile in your shoes. You can stay on your knees and get kicked repeatedly for daring to think you’re as good as them

Or....

Or you can stand up and TELL them you’re as good as them. You can have a system that earns your vote, your loyalty, your appreciation and is obedient to the mandate you give it. You can have a government which offers care and aid to all of our population without favour, where and when it is needed. You can have a system of politics that rejects the tools of intimidation and fear because that’s how you want it. You can have a government that’s within the reach of the toe of your boot when it steps out of line, or when it’s politicians feel like dipping their sticky digits into the public kitty.

That choice is entirely up to us.

It’s not rocket science but it takes effort. It means getting off our arses and doing something. We do this together. We work together to fix this, or we lose more than you can possibly imagine. We dump the rosettes, the petty grievances, the chips on shoulders. We win by celebrating our differences and knowing that we are accepted by each other as a whole package. That’s kinda what it means to be a community, a population. We come from every walk of life imaginable and these days a fair few points of origin, but we ARE British citizens. Think about that for a second. Really think about what it means now and what it could mean.

You either govern for ALL, or you’re not fit to govern. Equally you either want a system of government capable of that, or you don’t deserve one.
I’ll leave it to you to make your own mind up, of course, but I know what I’d rather have. And that's it for 2017. No apologies for ending on a low note but I really am fearful about what I see as the dystopian future.

Ring Dang Doo or Wang Dang Doodle?

As an antidote to the festive tunes we've just about had enough of for another year, I offer you a selection of my favourite nonsense lyrics as a little seasonal cheer.

The first song is The Ying Tong Song, written by Spike Milligan and first performed by the Goons in 1956. Don't look for any meaning, there isn't any. Apparently Spike wrote this as a bet with his brother that he could compose a hit record that had only two chords. As a right of passage, each of my grandchildren has been serenaded with my version of this and each has produced exactly the same expression of bemusement as I inflicted my Bluebottle voice on them. It also brings back memories of listening to the Goons on a wind-up gramophone (yes, with needles that you had to change quite frequently) at Nan Parsons' in Woodingdean, just outside of Brighton. For years my Uncle Ed convinced me that the name of the house was Dinky Doo in honour of the Goons, when, in fact, it was the more prosaic Twenty Two.

My next nugget is Ring Dang Doo by Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs. More famously known for their other literary masterpiece, Woolly Bully, I've always thought that Ring Dang Doo has been overlooked. "You can keep your gold and your diamonds too, All I want is a Ring Dang Doo". If that's not the start of a polemic against the iniquities of capitalism and the consumer society, I don't know what is. I love the way Petula Clarke introduces the act and manages to keep a straight face.

Here's a question for you? What's the difference between a Wang Dang Doodle and a Ring Dang Doo? Maybe Howling Wolf knows the answer but he's not letting on. Whatever, it's a very piece of blues and makes me want to dig out my old Howling Wolf LPs.

And finally, once upon a time figuring out the meaning of the lyrics of Pressed Rat and Warthog by Cream seemed to be very important to a group of us at Aberystwyth University. However, as our discussions generally took place on a Saturday night after the pubs had shut, I don't think we ever reached a definitive conclusion. And after all these years, I still can't make out what they mean. Atonal apples? Amplified heat? Sub-Lewis Carroll methinks. Ginger Baker is a better drummer than he is a lyricist. But it's a great track from their Wheels of Fire double LP. A 15 minute drum solo anyone? No, I thought not. How times have changed. Did I ever tell you of the time I told Eric Clapton where the loo was at the King's Hall in Aberystwyth? No? Well it was like this.......

I'm not a Daily Mail reader

From something I read in the Washington Post recently, it seems that the British press is getting a name for itself around the world for its extremism, its bile, and a dedication to the truth that would make The Donald seem like the editor of the Oxford English Dictionary. And guess what? Surprise, surprise, the Daily Sieg Heil, sorry the Daily Mail, the favourite newspaper of the spittle-flecked, frothy-mouthed tendency of the British right, is deemed the worst of a bad bunch. And there’s certainly a lot of competition but if you manage to be the most vile right wing tabloid in a field that includes the Daily Express, you have to be as appetising as a bowl of cold porridge. Only in a society where the checks and balances on media ownership have gone seriously awry could the Daily Mail be considered a major organ, albeit completely necrotic. Whatever happened to the Levenson recommendations?

The Mail wants to take us all back to the 1950s. Its concept of a united society is one in which the lower orders know their place and ethnic minorities and gay people are invisible. It's heavily anti-immigrant, and always has been. Let's not forget that, in the 1930s, it protested about Jewish asylum seekers coming from Germany and it openly supported the Fascists of Oswald Moseley in Britain and, yes, even Adolf Hitler at one time. But all that's in the past, isn't it, though? Well, possibly, but that doesn't stop the DM getting it's knickers in a twist and knocking Jezza and his friends at every opportunity. That's fair game as they are all left wing and deserve all the mud that can be thrown at them as all lefties are evil and want to steal your money and give it to politically correct do-gooders. Headline after headline, all pure and simply designed to misinform and mislead.

And that doesn't prevent the DM from using exactly the same tactics when it comes to promoting its views on Brexit. Headline after headline designed to misinform and mislead, all mixed in with a liberal helping of pure right wing xenophobia. Now, doesn't that sound familiar? Here a couple of their best as they unleashed their scorn (sorry, dealt with in a responsible journalistic sort of way) on those who deign to raise views contrary to theirs.

I used to think that the DM was widely seen as a sensationalist and largely inaccurate publication with very heavy biases and that very few people in the UK would treat it as a trusted source in regard to any story whatsoever. Those on the right who want allegedly more accurate reporting will read "The Daily Telegraph" or "The Times", rather than the DM. Now? I'm uncertain and I find that unsettling and very depressing.

On this day in 1917, Lieutenant Lancelot John Barrington Walters died

Lieutenant LANCELOT JOHN BARRINGTON WALTERS

H.M.S. Partridge, Royal Navy

Died age 22
12th December 1917

Lancelot John Barrington Walters was born on January 19th 1895 at Castle Bromwich, Worcestershire, and was baptised in the local church on February 2nd. His parents were Charles Barrington and Selina Harriette Perotine Walters. Charles was rector of the church at the time and subsequently became vicar of Stoke Climsland, where he was the incumbent when his son was killed in 1917.

Baptism entry for Lancelot Walters

Lancelot joined the Royal Navy, entering as a naval cadet at the age of 13 in 1908. He trained at the Royal Naval College at Dartmouth and joined the Home Fleet as a midshipman in 1913. Throughout his training, one of his colleagues was His Royal Highness Albert Frederick Arthur George, who was subsequently crowned as George VI.



Entry in the 1915 Year Book for Dartmouth Royal Naval College.

In July 1917 Lancelot was posted, fatefully, from Greenwich to HMS Partridge, which was one of a number of ships, based at Lerwick in the Shetland Islands, being used to escort convoys to and from Norway. On 11th December 1917 the destroyer left port in company with the destroyer HMS Pellew and four armed trawlers, escorting a convoy of six merchant ships. At 11.45 am on 12th December the convoy was south west of Bjorne Fjord when enemy ships were sighted to the north. The convoy was ordered to scatter and the Partridge and the Pellew prepared to engage the enemy in the form of four destroyers. The Partridge was quickly hit, and with her main steam-pipe severed was rendered helpless and a sitting target.

The explosion which rendered HMS Partridge helpless. This photograph was taken from a German ship involved in the action.

After being hit by another torpedo her Captain gave orders for her to be abandoned. Despite this order, Lieutenant Walters, and his colleague Aubrey Grey, were determined to continue the fight. Manning a torpedo tube they fired one which hit an enemy destroyer but failed to explode. Soon afterwards Grey was wounded in the thigh. The two Lieutenants then made for a boat but this capsized casting both into the water. Grey, although wounded, then performed an unselfish act of bravery. He swam to help Walters who was exhausted, and although badly wounded himself in the leg, swam with him for more than a quarter of a mile and placed him on the only vacant place on a raft. Seeing that his own added weight would endanger the raft, he then swam away and was eventually picked up by a German destroyer in a very exhausted state. For this gallant act of life saving, Lieutenant Grey was awarded the Royal Humane Society’s Silver Medal and was subsequently awarded the Society’s Stanhope Gold Medal in 1919 for his action. Sadly, despite Lieutenant Grey’s efforts, Lieutenant Walters died and his body was lost at sea and never recovered.

As well as being commemorated on the Stoke Climsland War Memorial and by a plaque near the church altar, Lieutenant Walters is also remembered on the Royal Navy Memorial at Portsmouth and by a stained glass window at St Catwg’s church in Cwmcarvan in Monmouthshire, a place with close family associations. 

Plaque in Stoke Climsland church to the memory of Lancelot Walters. 

Portsmouth Naval Memorial.

 

 

 

A muddy walk from Coad's Green

Reconnoitre: To perform a reconnaissance (of an area; an enemy position); to scout with the aim of gaining information.

And that was the intention behind the walk we did recently. Every now and again we lead a day for one of our groups and we like to try somewhere less frequently trodden by the boots of our friends. The object of the exercise was to see what the route is like, to sort out any problems and to gauge its suitability for the people we have in mind. Here's what we learnt on this particular recce:

* This is a walk for the drier months of the year. It's been a long time since we've sloshed through so much mud. And it was top class clingy claggy Cornish mud: the sort that gets everywhere.
*  With the numerous stiles we came across (maybe around 25?), we'll have to think carefully about the agility of any group we lead this way (sad to say, we are all getting older and we probably aren't too far from looking for Zimmer-negotiable routes).
*  Just because the map says there's a footpath there, it ain't necessarily so. Looking for one such probably added 1/2 mile to the walk. And there were a few other, shall we say, 'ambiguous' moments.
*  When working out a route for the GPS, the more data points I use, the more accurate the estimated distance will be. And that contributed to why a 'just over 6 miles' walk ended up being a 9 mile trek. Mea culpa.

Having said all that, the views (when we could see them through the showers and clouds) were a real treat. All in all, a great day to be out in the countryside. And  any exercise is good to get.

The route we took started in Coad's Green, just 4 miles from us, dropped down to Bathpool, followed the Inny for a mile or so and then returned via North Hill. The strange shape was due to my trying to extend the distance to something reasonable, but not as far as the 9 miles we eventually did.

Looking westwards towards Bodmin Moor with Sharpitor catching the sun.

Looking eastwards with, more typically, a cloud obscured sun.

An old barn with the side 'extension' used at one time for the horse-powered winding gear. Strictly speaking, the extension is the 'horse engine house' (or gin gang, wheelhouse or roundhouse) and dates from the early 1800s. It was built originally to enclose a horse mill attached to a threshing barn. They are usually circular but sometimes are square or octagonal. For lovers of obscure facts, I can tell you that these structures were never thatched as the activities within shook the thatching straw off the roof.

Just a little of the mud we encountered all the way around. Hooray for waterproof boots and impervious overtrousers.

Here's something odd. Coming up to the crest of a hill from the Lynher, the tower of St Torney's church at North Hill. Not that the church is odd, it's just that from this angle it seems a lot closer than it actually was.

Just over the hill, the whole of North Hill comes into view and it's about a mile away, not that you have guessed from the previous image.

 

The core of Battens Farm dates from the Elizabethan era but has had many later additions. The official listing citation describes the original door thus: Entrance to left of centre with granite 4-centred roll moulded arch with carved balls in spandrels and ball and stepped stops. 'ANOD. 1581.C.T. VYNCENT' carved on lintel. Obviously a high status dwelling in its time and it is still very impressive.

After a rather tasty bowl of wild mushroom soup with truffle oil at the Racehorse Inn (sitting outside in the rain because we were caked with mud and looked thoroughly disreputable), we headed to the church and came across this notice. Although I'm not privy to the details, I do know that the closure is not entirely due to the very small congregation that attends services here. Whatever the specific reasons in this case, it's a fate that is facing many rural churches, not just in Cornwall but across the UK.

The slate tomb of the above mentioned Mr Vincent, with his wife and 15 children kneeling at the feet of Death. The tomb dates from 1606 and is a lasting testament to the wealth and status of Mr Vincent.



The slightly later monument to Henry Spoure is dated 1688. Henry was only 10 when he died and the monument shows his parents kneeling facing each other, with his brother and sister looking down from the arches. The colourful figures are painted slate and are quite unusual.



St Torney's a very big church and is reknowned for the two monuments I've mentioned above. It is over 600 years old but most of it dates from the 14th and 15th centuries, with heavy restoration taking place by the Victorians. Unfortunately nothing appears to be known about St Torney and it has  been  suggested that he (or  she)  may have been one  of  the  Irish or Welsh missionaries who  came  to Cornwall between the  5th and  7th  centuries. Early  versions of the  name  have  it as Terney or in Latin form  as Terninus. As a result  St. Torney  is usually  identified with St.  Erney, who also  has  a church and village named after him about 10 miles away.
 

A rather unusual piece of stone walling; we very rarely see vertical courses in these parts.

Almost our final encounter with mud. This field was not the easiest to cross as the mud was a few inches deep and slipping and sliding was the only way to negotiate our way through. At about 8 miles in, we really would have appreciated something easier. Notwithstanding this cavil, it was good to see the seedlings doing so well and, yes, we did our best not to tread on any of them.

 

 

A Yorkshire Miscellany: October 2017: Part 2: Some reflections

I've seen a few stained glass windows (and I do not differentiate between stained or painted glass) in my time and I never cease to be impressed by the artistry, skill and symbolism that they embody. My favourite era?  Mmmm, that's difficult to answer as they all have something to commend them. But if I had to choose, I'd go for the imaginative, the colourful, the ancient or the modern. Oh, that seems to cover most of them. Here are a few that we came across oop North last month, with a few plain windows included for good measure.

The east window (the one behind the altar) in Holy Trinity church in Gilling East. Apparently it's a fine example of a Victorian reticulated design. But you knew that already, didn't you?

A window in the Elizabethan Great Hall of Helmsley Castle, looking out on the deer park of Duncombe House, a scene that will not have changed for centuries.

A rather older window from the lower levels of the Great Hall. It wasn't so much the shadows that caught my eye but the graffiti on the right hand wall. Initials from long ago: I wonder what stories lay behind them?

More graffiti on the walls of this one as well. Possibly the tales here would be more interesting as this room doubled up as a dungeon at one time.

And now to Shibden Hall, just outside of Halifax, with it's fine display of original stained glass from the 15th Century. Here's one detail of a grotesque carrying a fish. Is it a work of the artist's imagination or their depiction of how they saw something that had been described to them? I'm reminded of a painting I've seen in a building of a similar vintage, North Mymms Park, just off the M25. That painting is of an elephant, which the artist had not seen and for which he was working from written descriptions. His portrayal was reasonably accurate, with the major exceptions that he's given his elephant webbed feet and a pair of wings!

This one is thought to be of a demon playing some pipes. It looks as if his genitals have been mutilated over time or, perhaps, just rubbed out by repeated touchings over the years? You know the sort of thing I mean: "Oh look, Sid, it's got a willy. Here it is".

And here they are in situ. It's amazing to think that they have survived 500+ years without being broken.

Here's one I particularly like. Our host for our Yorkshire break was, until recently, deputy mayor of Calderdale Unitary Authority. Pulling a few strings, he arranged for a very interesting private guided tour of the Council Chamber and Mayoral Parlour in the Halifax Town Hall. This is the stained glass of the canopy over the Council Chamber. Who would have thought that when my friend and I first met at Bassaleg Grammar School way back in September 1959, we'd end up in Halifax Town Hall together in 2017? A lot of water has flown under our bridges since then.

All Saints Church in the very pleasant market town of Helmsley. It was rebuilt in 1849 extensively and it contains little of its Saxon origins. It is notable for 19th-century wall paintings of St Oswald and this magnificent window depicting scenes from the life of St Columba.

A lovely church but a lousy guide with no mention of what this window in the porch was. The porch, I think, is a Victorian addition so it's a relatively modern piece of work. What attracted me was the light behind illuminating the quite muted colours.

An even more modern example of the window maker's art. And, again, no mention of it in the church guide or, for that matter, on the internet. This was in the porch but partially obscured by a recently installed automatically-opening door. Confession time: I think I might have pushed the door off one of its runners as I tried to hold it back to get a full shot of the window. In the event, I failed to get the shot I wanted but succeeded in knackering the door (just for a while, a robust application of a shoulder pushed it back into place).

The window tells a story. But what? And of whom? Obviously the window is dedicated to the memory of this kneeling man. it would be nice to remember him by name. Who is he? And how did he live his life?