tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46556814440777458492024-03-13T05:08:08.599+00:00Sue Millard - Jackdaw E BooksSue Millard - Jackdaw E Books.
Horses, history and humour (not necessarily in that order) and general witterings; some vaguely literary, mostly rural.
I live in Cumbria in Northern England.Sue Millardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09022262338933600748noreply@blogger.comBlogger199125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4655681444077745849.post-70763114827804515972022-06-21T17:09:00.003+01:002022-06-27T16:25:08.269+01:00A botanical Rant<p>
</p><p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Having
a little botanical rant here.</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Summer
solstice, and the local grass verges are looking amazing. I am lucky
in that I live in Cumbria in the middle of nowhere and that the
County Council doesn’t get round to mowing our verges till the
autumn. Also that the nearest large village is surrounded by what the
CC designates “special verges” of high botanical importance.
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">All
this makes me dubious when people in other areas post photographs on
social media of big urban areas which are sowing “wild flowers”
in “meadows” (quotation marks for irony). These are sown with
seed mixes containing arable annuals, including non-natives such as
the California Poppy and French Spinach (Red Orache). The result
may be pretty but by definition, these are not meadows, which are
permanent grassland not arable fields. It’s gardening –
admirable, well carried out, eye-catching, but not, as some claim,
restoring degraded habitat. It’s more colourful and a bit more
diverse than super-mown grass verges, and it saves the councils some
expense, which is a fair enough reason to do it, but outside of urban
settings it’s inappropriate.
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">I
fear for the natural British flora at the hands of well intentioned
but uninformed gardeners.
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">As I
mentioned above, I’m in a rural area. Step out of the farm gate
with me, onto the lane which is an ancient drove road, in its heyday
a route for cattle and goods being walked into the industrial towns.
It’s mown once a year now by the Council, in September or October.
I don’t suppose it held as much flora or insect life in the old
days as it does now – travelling hooves and teeth will have seen to
that. But there were meadows and moorland either side of it and when
the hooves and teeth disappeared, it came back.
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">The
verges now are astonishingly diverse.
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Walk
200 yards each way with me. Instead of the scientific binomials that
I have come to prefer I’ll give you common English names, which to
a writer are as much of a joy as the flowers and plants themselves.</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Northwards:</p>
<ol><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Grasses: Rye grass</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Rough meadow grass</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Wavy hair grass</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Quaking grass</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Sweet vernal grass</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Yorkshire fog</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>False Oat</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>False brome</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Cocksfoot</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Ferns: Male Fern</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Lady Fern</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Shrubs: </i><i>Northern Downy Rose</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Sherard’s Downy Rose</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Summer snowflake (an escape from my garden, not planted)</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Geranium macrorrhizum (an escape from my garden, not planted)</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Giant Bellflower (native but an escape from my garden, not planted)</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Wood cranesbill</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Meadow cranesbill</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Herb Robert</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Nipplewort</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Meadow vetchling</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Bush vetch</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Birds-foot trefoil</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
White clover</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Red clover</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Feverfew</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Cinquefoil</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Silverweed</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Meadow buttercup</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Bulbous buttercup</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Common chickweed</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Mouse-ear chickweed</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Common sallow</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Eyebright</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Great willowherb</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Lady’s mantle</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Water avens</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Mouse-ear hawkweed</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Rough hawkbit</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Marsh thistle</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Spear thistle</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
3 different species of dandelions</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Common daisy</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Ox-eye daisy</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Germander speedwell</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Field speedwell</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Meadowsweet</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Betony</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Self-heal</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Hedge woundwort</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Harebell</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Crosswort</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Common sorrel</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Cow parsley</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Black Knapweed
</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Garlic Mustard</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Hedge bedstraw</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Lady’s bedstraw</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Foxglove</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Yarrow</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Welsh Poppy</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Ribwort plantain</p>
</li></ol>
<style type="text/css">p { margin-bottom: 0.25cm; line-height: 115% }p.western { font-family: "Minion Pro" }p.cjk { font-size: 10pt }</style><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Mmzf4pvnhl16Ar0X6BmIqoM2sAH2Av2yPmugXtYXFwVJSV6YJDSX3NVtWzy-rX_9WK_FcrxYkV10z-RTwd0KlCUfbAPwN4BddlmjeXpQFMTIV1mBWkZIkJxemQ7PXJv56f75dstjq6qI0CiKUTrD7yE10f7NO281axLUtA_QgplDpn3vFlkK7AYo9g/s2000/sherards151500.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Mmzf4pvnhl16Ar0X6BmIqoM2sAH2Av2yPmugXtYXFwVJSV6YJDSX3NVtWzy-rX_9WK_FcrxYkV10z-RTwd0KlCUfbAPwN4BddlmjeXpQFMTIV1mBWkZIkJxemQ7PXJv56f75dstjq6qI0CiKUTrD7yE10f7NO281axLUtA_QgplDpn3vFlkK7AYo9g/s320/sherards151500.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1PXejrGoncTcmjDpjGsoFD4-S55TnB_It5n7FKtj4C08Ju7tWBywNFmBZ-8ledOC8ds8Pp3Ry73qoHznB2ptwqSm0IchCNhuJzb3tM98WBzwkQFamq544kxrXBQ-gsDkKfoEdUiIiub6GMcgR5WtxqAAGYOGq2pzCNZr_2rctdAdOV-H9O8E6F5RM-A/s1000/Hairy%20Northern%20Dog-rose%20R%20caesia%20subsp%20caesia.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1PXejrGoncTcmjDpjGsoFD4-S55TnB_It5n7FKtj4C08Ju7tWBywNFmBZ-8ledOC8ds8Pp3Ry73qoHznB2ptwqSm0IchCNhuJzb3tM98WBzwkQFamq544kxrXBQ-gsDkKfoEdUiIiub6GMcgR5WtxqAAGYOGq2pzCNZr_2rctdAdOV-H9O8E6F5RM-A/s320/Hairy%20Northern%20Dog-rose%20R%20caesia%20subsp%20caesia.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ZPeMl9qVs1JE5KNFsR4wCPnLGwb7TctEGMtxxZTAnzbMaqhr1RvPI1pWjlfA__ke-On0dGm2EpJTmBU4FtuCZHaSdlzgnhhIs7ZG_UIVujHyRbwwtufOfbJjQqTXIuA8fUmpq6ngYo3PQWSizLkBP1XgM0DKfqrWQpv5sCQ_XnvCVt-Eivp6tjlNVw/s1000/geranium%20pratense.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ZPeMl9qVs1JE5KNFsR4wCPnLGwb7TctEGMtxxZTAnzbMaqhr1RvPI1pWjlfA__ke-On0dGm2EpJTmBU4FtuCZHaSdlzgnhhIs7ZG_UIVujHyRbwwtufOfbJjQqTXIuA8fUmpq6ngYo3PQWSizLkBP1XgM0DKfqrWQpv5sCQ_XnvCVt-Eivp6tjlNVw/s320/geranium%20pratense.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqatIEczSEl75v1xBxk9BsPNbcAB1OU-XcKBllAuX-_QvtKOicAgb-t__78ruBuA2T-VXcdzGle6LRvcbiykDAOJ1dR4NUgLAZsxZInTeV3XlJTjnyykWk6OGFCbMpCrs3Ip1TsyQ0dKj9iN-Xj9gUcoybVo9Re_l5-TI8FcN2xdbKobHjwH0P4ropXw/s1031/potentilla-anserina-silverweed-howe-nook.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1031" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqatIEczSEl75v1xBxk9BsPNbcAB1OU-XcKBllAuX-_QvtKOicAgb-t__78ruBuA2T-VXcdzGle6LRvcbiykDAOJ1dR4NUgLAZsxZInTeV3XlJTjnyykWk6OGFCbMpCrs3Ip1TsyQ0dKj9iN-Xj9gUcoybVo9Re_l5-TI8FcN2xdbKobHjwH0P4ropXw/s320/potentilla-anserina-silverweed-howe-nook.jpg" width="310" /></a></div><br /><p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Southwards</p>
<ol><li value="1">
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Grasses: Rye grass</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Rough meadow grass</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Wavy hair grass</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Sweet vernal grass</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Yorkshire fog</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>False Oat</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Cocksfoot</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Ferns: Male Fern</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Lady Fern</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Common Polypody</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Shrubs: Common sallow</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Bay willow</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Blackthorn</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Wild plum (Prunus domestica)</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Hawthorn</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Bird cherry</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Ash</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Hazel</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Northern Downy Rose</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Sherard’s Downy Rose</i></p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Wood cranesbill</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Meadow cranesbill</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Herb Robert</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Shining cranesbill</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Meadow vetchling</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Bush vetch</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Tufted vetch</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Birds-foot trefoil</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
White clover</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Red clover</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Cinquefoil</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Silverweed</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Meadow buttercup</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Celandine</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Common chickweed</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Mouse-ear chickweed</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Broad-leaved willowherb</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Lady’s mantle</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Water avens</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Wood avens</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Rough hawkbit</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Marsh thistle</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
3 different species of dandelions</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Ox-eye daisy</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Goat’s-beard</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Germander speedwell</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Field speedwell</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Meadowsweet</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Betony</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Self-heal</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Hedge woundwort</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Crosswort</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Common sorrel</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Cow parsley</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Pignut</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Raspberry</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Wild strawberry</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Barren strawberry</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Common Dog-violet</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Blinks</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Brooklime</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Black Knapweed
</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Melancholy thistle</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Garlic Mustard</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Lady’s Smock</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Wood forgetmenot</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Changing forgetmenot</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Cleavers</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Hedge bedstraw</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Lady’s bedstraw</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Hogweed</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Foxglove</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Yarrow</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Red Campion</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Welsh Poppy</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Ribwort plantain</p>
</li><li>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And the odd nettle and common dock, but not many because everything
else keeps them in check.</p>
</li></ol>
<style type="text/css">p { margin-bottom: 0.25cm; line-height: 115% }p.western { font-family: "Minion Pro" }p.cjk { font-size: 10pt }</style><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQryrVlQRs49tZFfyBTKRlhvYcYLXOSaKpOTTZLnnydcidKfYI3cfTXPC06FYbum9F5B9hm7Bc6xp1wIG_a3IOa2ETv71XzwG02sZVjK2fEBAOhJw1fB3uuOGZhCib80HMzfpITIO0WC3N7h1EjQTBMFhyyipGTm8WEoiiuPRPKfaUxWKB1vLDWDGSaw/s1000/meadowsweet.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQryrVlQRs49tZFfyBTKRlhvYcYLXOSaKpOTTZLnnydcidKfYI3cfTXPC06FYbum9F5B9hm7Bc6xp1wIG_a3IOa2ETv71XzwG02sZVjK2fEBAOhJw1fB3uuOGZhCib80HMzfpITIO0WC3N7h1EjQTBMFhyyipGTm8WEoiiuPRPKfaUxWKB1vLDWDGSaw/s320/meadowsweet.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9BH_gB-6X9u7FVLoDTi4SSE-cNjrFLlxp_XkLai4EhugfNqeFJ3HfXIZqU7GbGHwntGwVzwpZFK7uMzl_GHcEVCcN34o_zfd7_CfpXDvof0jghGJH2gfVclDVg7aVvzmLdggK0HKofShOyq59_HEzQhNeoEA8_gPMLDhYfynV3ebHrK6tqzY5ZRt78A/s2592/DSC00246.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="1944" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9BH_gB-6X9u7FVLoDTi4SSE-cNjrFLlxp_XkLai4EhugfNqeFJ3HfXIZqU7GbGHwntGwVzwpZFK7uMzl_GHcEVCcN34o_zfd7_CfpXDvof0jghGJH2gfVclDVg7aVvzmLdggK0HKofShOyq59_HEzQhNeoEA8_gPMLDhYfynV3ebHrK6tqzY5ZRt78A/s320/DSC00246.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5PAvg04CTxSdIgNL1dyTUffAG6TCn18td3ybzMc1q7dc4a2QlVgjTyL3jXmL5nZdoKbzCDKnImcXHpJjFpUOiqXq9ti-XP4XasOVYW0-eRqUicvZ0EmPNy8CpHP40WhJ__cs8ZczX0WrMhJX-5U5McVbmyHbtXK6IDR2QZ9CF8uD1bqQPZP-clxgIJg/s2592/DSC00269.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1944" data-original-width="2592" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5PAvg04CTxSdIgNL1dyTUffAG6TCn18td3ybzMc1q7dc4a2QlVgjTyL3jXmL5nZdoKbzCDKnImcXHpJjFpUOiqXq9ti-XP4XasOVYW0-eRqUicvZ0EmPNy8CpHP40WhJ__cs8ZczX0WrMhJX-5U5McVbmyHbtXK6IDR2QZ9CF8uD1bqQPZP-clxgIJg/s320/DSC00269.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNCzXhqGHPYGh3HC3xpg0FZy_NRVYOq3V9b75B0v5Hf-zIcD2dZJwWTPW6BVkkfMUoejgtIroLIwojwGcjos87C5m-8pCEOWeUjQ8KiSEIxQ6FB2mgNY1RNuAx9g20lh_DqAQi6oXrkU1X7Dk8bRS_r7O8x0fkC96wMF2YSnlyKIbpuIRI7aJWY71EIA/s2592/DSC00296.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1944" data-original-width="2592" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNCzXhqGHPYGh3HC3xpg0FZy_NRVYOq3V9b75B0v5Hf-zIcD2dZJwWTPW6BVkkfMUoejgtIroLIwojwGcjos87C5m-8pCEOWeUjQ8KiSEIxQ6FB2mgNY1RNuAx9g20lh_DqAQi6oXrkU1X7Dk8bRS_r7O8x0fkC96wMF2YSnlyKIbpuIRI7aJWY71EIA/s320/DSC00296.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">These
lists are from memory alone…And that’s without going half a mile
up the road where the verges are graced by Northern Marsh Orchid and
Common Spotted Orchid and a myriad of their hybrids, plus Bilberry,
Lemon-Scented Fern and Hard Fern. All on the roadside.</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">If I
went out with a clipboard throughout the year and noted everything I saw either side of our
house I could easily list up
to 100 species of plant in a quarter-mile of road. </p><p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Lots of plant diversity brings lots of insect diversity,
plentiful insects bring diverse bird and animal life.</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Many
other verges can be as diverse as ours if they are not mown to within
an inch of their life by lawn-obsessives – and if they are spared
the attentions of the sow-a-meadow apostles.</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Yes,
OK, sow native annuals where you have already got a degraded grass
verge.</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">But
leave the good’uns alone please.</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p><style type="text/css">p { margin-bottom: 0.25cm; line-height: 115% }p.western { font-family: "Minion Pro" }p.cjk { font-size: 10pt }</style></p>Sue Millardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09022262338933600748noreply@blogger.com2Greenholme, Penrith CA10 3TA, UK54.445574 -2.62092726.135340163821155 -37.777177 82.755807836178846 32.535323tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4655681444077745849.post-56372599270128346932021-08-22T15:14:00.001+01:002021-08-22T15:14:13.928+01:00Feather<p>What a ragbag of inheritance our language has. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrSnW708Apcf60a-dUfiPtJ93jfNJVyZI77LJ-gVfANjFRxvDqLPHX7rqqf30uuiSFFfD3pZ0aZ2ZhW_ytpkJeNuFmNiMrZcPCKe2T7MjQAnLk_gDJGSKexPxgETq8MnHS__B7Zt0s2_Q8/s1280/DSCF0029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrSnW708Apcf60a-dUfiPtJ93jfNJVyZI77LJ-gVfANjFRxvDqLPHX7rqqf30uuiSFFfD3pZ0aZ2ZhW_ytpkJeNuFmNiMrZcPCKe2T7MjQAnLk_gDJGSKexPxgETq8MnHS__B7Zt0s2_Q8/s320/DSCF0029.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />I've been pondering why the hair round the feet of horses and ponies is called "feather", in the singular, no matter how legs or how many horses we are talking about. <p></p><p>What other nouns behave like this? Wool, at clipping-time, is a mass noun; the fleeces (plural) as a whole are wool, not wools, though a grader at the mill would define different "wools" by their staple length and fineness. Fluff. We wouldn't call the fibre gathered by the vacuum cleaner "fluffs" even if it had come off several cats. A high quality duvet is filled with down, not downs, despite the filling having come from more than one bird. It's something to do with volume, mass or quantity. Some uncountable quality makes these things mass nouns. </p><p>Rice, gold, butter. Milk, honey, marmalade. Sugar, grass, sand. Hay, straw, bedding. Cutlery, furniture. Concrete. All these are mass nouns. Not pebbles, rocks, or apples. </p><p>So feather is a mass noun when it relates to horses, but not when it relates to birds! Feathers with an "s" are something entirely different, and structurally different from hair (which, incidentally, on humans, in English, is also a mass noun – we never say, "I love your hairs.") </p><p>Why? I dunno. It just is.</p>Sue Millardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09022262338933600748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4655681444077745849.post-11689892591854030182021-06-30T14:48:00.003+01:002021-06-30T14:48:44.280+01:00Able and disabled<p>As we crawl slowly out of the privacy of coronavirus lockdown I have been pondering the relationships I have with other people.<br /><br />The ones I like best are the live-and-let-live kind. My husband and our family are very good at that. We are there for each other when needed, whether that's wild partying, childbirth, death, or cleaning a drain. Otherwise, no news is good news. <br /><br />Many of my friends are similar. I suppose that's the nature of friendship when you live widely spaced in a rural area. It requires effort and/or fuel to make a call in person, so it tends to be by invitation rather than a casual just-passing intrusion. I gather from things I've read that this is sometimes seen as a masculine attitude; that male friendships are a honeycomb of adjacent interests rather than a mingling of personas. I don't much care whether that's masculine or not. I'll settle for the honeycomb any day, even if it does mean that when I complete the surveys about How the Over-60s are Coping After Coronavirus, the number of people I can list as 10 out of 10 for friendship is non-existent. Family get a 10; friends and work colleagues, usually a 6. The rest are acquaintances, with whom I speak/correspond far more by email and on social media, rather than in person. Lockdown has been a confirmation of my preferences, rather than an issue.<br /><br />There are a couple of friends whom I meet in person who sometimes make me feel uncomfortable. I have had difficulty in pinning down why, but I think it's because they are very intense and ask quite personal questions. We can go along happily for hours discussing external matters, writing, language, the countryside, botany, music, horse management or whatever, even politics; then suddenly there'll be the "And how are YOU?" question, about your joints / your lungs / your eyesight / your bereavement, which, given the above paragraphs about my preferences for the social distancing of lockdown, feels slightly creepy. I would rather not be asked such questions directly. The answers, I feel every time, are very much only to be shared with immediate family and my medical advisers. <br /><br />I don't know why my friends ask about these things. From my side, it feels as though I am being used as a target for empathy practice. I have been fiercely independent since childhood, and since adulthood I have had a reputation for being powerful and efficient. I don't want things done for me, even by a friend, just because they think I have had a medical or emotional difficulty. It feels as though it's a power trip for them, and I dislike it a great deal. <br /><br />I imagine people who have chronic illnesses and permanent injuries feel much the same: I certainly would rather be thanked or congratulated for something I have done than pitied for something I can't. Empathy is one thing, but pity is quite another. <br /><br />Which brings me to considering the elderly, disabled neighbour. He is registered blind, has had toes amputated due to diabetes, needed skin grafts two years ago because he burned his leg while lighting the open fire, and consumes a list of daily medications as long as your arm. My husband goes in twice a day to check on him and set out his medications, morning and evening, because he can't read the bottle labels any more. <br /><br />Our neighbour really ought not to be living alone at all, certainly not for five days out of seven, from Monday mid-day to Saturday mid-day when his daughter arrives for the weekend. He can't measure out his liquid medications without spilling them, so he glugs them from the bottle, overdoses himself and gets diarrhoea as a result... leaving a brown trail from the couch to the front garden because he can't go upstairs to the toilet fast enough. And because he's blind he can't see if he has made a mess, and because he is disabled he couldn't clean it up if he did. Another neighbour goes in once or twice a week and cleans up after him. Another sometimes leaves him pies or stews to eat.<br /><br />When I heard those details from my husband yesterday, I was first revolted, then surprised that he hadn't talked about it before, and then angry with the mostly-absent daughter. That degree of unsanitary living is a "high" level of concern on the AgeUK scale. Yet the old man probably thinks, as I've outlined above for myself, that his independence matters more than any other consideration. <br /><br />At what point should we, as neighbours, interfere further? We can't ask social services for help with his care, not without his consent (disregarding whatever the daughter might have to say). You can’t force someone to accept help or act on their behalf unless they agree to it, and he's not mentally incompetent, just stubbornly independent. I suppose we have to wait until he feels he's had a really bad day, when he has no choice but to swallow his pride and ask for help. <br /><br />As for me, I think I'd rather break my neck playing with horses before I reach that age.</p>Sue Millardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09022262338933600748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4655681444077745849.post-882607597390618102021-05-08T12:04:00.001+01:002021-05-08T12:04:52.842+01:00Galloway Gate - free this weekend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnf_xHLR7XI9xOGCOR6KQ4Nza8A6sbeaXX3AY1rxe69KPFt6yEWtw6J3HrjxdTA8ozx8Tw9cSTtOC2_sMeQcDCxUQofCXq6Tflj-TEUFumJFXD41s8c0HXWW6TkiHAjrsIGUrhTHGO0A0/s2048/9781913106065.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnf_xHLR7XI9xOGCOR6KQ4Nza8A6sbeaXX3AY1rxe69KPFt6yEWtw6J3HrjxdTA8ozx8Tw9cSTtOC2_sMeQcDCxUQofCXq6Tflj-TEUFumJFXD41s8c0HXWW6TkiHAjrsIGUrhTHGO0A0/s320/9781913106065.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p>
</p><div dir="auto"><div class="ecm0bbzt hv4rvrfc ihqw7lf3 dati1w0a" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id="jsc_c_hj"><div class="j83agx80 cbu4d94t ew0dbk1b irj2b8pg"><div class="qzhwtbm6 knvmm38d"><span class="d2edcug0 hpfvmrgz qv66sw1b c1et5uql b0tq1wua a8c37x1j keod5gw0 nxhoafnm aigsh9s9 d9wwppkn fe6kdd0r mau55g9w c8b282yb hrzyx87i gfeo3gy3 a3bd9o3v knj5qynh oo9gr5id hzawbc8m" dir="auto"><div class="kvgmc6g5 cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Freebie all weekend: <span><a class="oajrlxb2 g5ia77u1 qu0x051f esr5mh6w e9989ue4 r7d6kgcz rq0escxv nhd2j8a9 nc684nl6 p7hjln8o kvgmc6g5 cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x jb3vyjys rz4wbd8a qt6c0cv9 a8nywdso i1ao9s8h esuyzwwr f1sip0of lzcic4wl py34i1dx gpro0wi8" href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0872GB6VP?fbclid=IwAR38l3aEE4_Yv_8Lr-frjDplIp-f29eDUV97Fv3_nf98TbNEuYxkXKJd5qM" rel="nofollow noopener" role="link" tabindex="0" target="_blank">https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0872GB6VP</a></span> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">About the Lune Gorge, and several pieces about Fell ponies and their owners and the land they belong to -</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">- go on, it's worth a look and costs nowt!</div></div></span></div></div></div></div><p class="western" style="text-align: left;"></p><p class="western" style="text-align: left;">I've updated all my book prices too, and the full list is here: <a href="http://www.jackdawebooks.co.uk/prices.htm">http://www.jackdawebooks.co.uk/prices.htm</a><br /></p><p class="western" style="text-align: left;">While you're thinking, here's a sample from Galloway Gate. <br /></p><h3 class="western">Darkfall CV-19</h3>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span face="Carlito, sans-serif">Dusk
drifts smoke-blue from the east.</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span face="Carlito, sans-serif">Sheep
nipnipnip at the frosting grass</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span face="Carlito, sans-serif">(eat,
eat before night). A distant dog</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span face="Carlito, sans-serif">barks
the same rhythm, with no message.</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span face="Carlito, sans-serif">We
have met no-one since dawn.</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span face="Carlito, sans-serif">No
bikers from the Devil's Bridge,</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span face="Carlito, sans-serif">no
walkers queueing for the mountains,</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span face="Carlito, sans-serif">no
chatty neighbours bringing eggs,</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span face="Carlito, sans-serif">and
for this we are thankful.</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span face="Carlito, sans-serif">Only
one con-trail, pink, in the west</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span face="Carlito, sans-serif">draws
a line at the end of the day.</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span face="Carlito, sans-serif">The
blackbird whistles the trees to bed.</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span face="Carlito, sans-serif">The
air is clear of everything but rooks</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span face="Carlito, sans-serif">whose
funeral wings wipe the sky clean.</span></p>
<p><style type="text/css">h3.western { font-family: "Liberation Sans", "Arial", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt }h3.cjk { font-family: "Noto Sans CJK SC Regular"; font-size: 14pt }h3.ctl { font-family: "Lohit Devanagari"; font-size: 14pt }p { margin-bottom: 0.25cm; line-height: 115% }</style> </p><p> </p><p><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0872GB6VP">https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0872GB6VP</a> <br /></p>Sue Millardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09022262338933600748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4655681444077745849.post-22389282960047700852021-04-17T18:07:00.003+01:002021-04-17T18:18:12.185+01:00HRH<p><span class="d2edcug0 hpfvmrgz qv66sw1b c1et5uql b0tq1wua a8c37x1j keod5gw0 nxhoafnm aigsh9s9 d9wwppkn fe6kdd0r mau55g9w c8b282yb hrzyx87i gfeo3gy3 a3bd9o3v knj5qynh oo9gr5id hzawbc8m" dir="auto">I
did not watch The Funeral. I am sure it will be more or less on a loop
on social media and several TV channels for the next 24 hours. </span></p><p><span class="d2edcug0 hpfvmrgz qv66sw1b c1et5uql b0tq1wua a8c37x1j keod5gw0 nxhoafnm aigsh9s9 d9wwppkn fe6kdd0r mau55g9w c8b282yb hrzyx87i gfeo3gy3 a3bd9o3v knj5qynh oo9gr5id hzawbc8m" dir="auto"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi836Uh01OqpxvTRn-XSKh4Xlsj29mscK-ArptWKHMAk2nZzSUjFznhnnSVlh7OcI926lkk-ZbpVAHYTZ8pwT9lj5R2QrxRxZoLBrhE6lGtZsxtGFzHpIekaZqMQJgjTGGEE6Dh9Vxh3fRx/s1121/2009+Dalemain+243.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1121" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi836Uh01OqpxvTRn-XSKh4Xlsj29mscK-ArptWKHMAk2nZzSUjFznhnnSVlh7OcI926lkk-ZbpVAHYTZ8pwT9lj5R2QrxRxZoLBrhE6lGtZsxtGFzHpIekaZqMQJgjTGGEE6Dh9Vxh3fRx/s320/2009+Dalemain+243.JPG" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span class="d2edcug0 hpfvmrgz qv66sw1b c1et5uql b0tq1wua a8c37x1j keod5gw0 nxhoafnm aigsh9s9 d9wwppkn fe6kdd0r mau55g9w c8b282yb hrzyx87i gfeo3gy3 a3bd9o3v knj5qynh oo9gr5id hzawbc8m" dir="auto">I drove
my old Fell pony instead and thought, as we trundled gently through the
sunshine, of the carriage drivers I've known who will do it no more, and
the one who said that his Fell team were "all ancient, like me."</span></p><p><span class="d2edcug0 hpfvmrgz qv66sw1b c1et5uql b0tq1wua a8c37x1j keod5gw0 nxhoafnm aigsh9s9 d9wwppkn fe6kdd0r mau55g9w c8b282yb hrzyx87i gfeo3gy3 a3bd9o3v knj5qynh oo9gr5id hzawbc8m" dir="auto"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCrI0_3veOj5LgdIaJbRgteIsPTHzgDwFzI1SXYFhrYptB95sxC477eAPZlu2olN25dQrFTf6HqbTKulOUjY_ZJwBrP6CRnQlJK1YMspMzqBbufd3FJUAFHrGgp_pQHIheWy_Y_8KYTtqs/s1600/DSCF0185.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCrI0_3veOj5LgdIaJbRgteIsPTHzgDwFzI1SXYFhrYptB95sxC477eAPZlu2olN25dQrFTf6HqbTKulOUjY_ZJwBrP6CRnQlJK1YMspMzqBbufd3FJUAFHrGgp_pQHIheWy_Y_8KYTtqs/s320/DSCF0185.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <br /><p></p>Sue Millardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09022262338933600748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4655681444077745849.post-62824825257171790162021-04-04T11:36:00.001+01:002021-04-04T11:36:57.992+01:00Easter Sunday and Remembrance Sunday<p>Easter Sunday and Remembrance Sunday have two things in common, and one of them is that they are Sundays.</p><p>The other is that they make us feel better about death.</p><p>Both are linked to a human pattern of thought wants to attribute purpose to a person dying. "Jesus died for our sins." "Soldiers died to keep us free." To which I have to say, "Sentimental tosh. They were killed." </p><p>Or, since the grammar checker advises against the use of the passive voice, "Someone killed them". </p><p>Or, to remove more vagueness, it wasn't "someone" who killed them, it was another man (on the whole). </p><p>"A soldier killed them." <br /></p><p>...or a Government employee of some kind, whatever term you choose -- a man (or a woman) employed or co-erced to behave in a way that served policies that had been formed by other men in authority. Pilate's power came from the ruling Roman empire. Rommel and Himmler and other generals derived their authority from Hitler's Nazi regime. <br /></p><p>So let's rephrase it yet again:</p><p>"The Empire of Rome killed Jesus."</p><p>"The Nazi party killed Corporal Jones and his mates."</p><p>And both can be boiled down even further into:</p><p>"Political power and greed killed them."<br /></p><p>I don't believe for more than half a minute that either group of victims was intending to "die for us". <br /></p><p>The notions of sacrifice that are attached to Easter and Remembrance Sunday have been put there by other people, and that's because humans don't like guilt and regret and loss, and they do like a story to have a purpose; the same way we like fiction better than news broadcasts, and conspiracy theories better than science. Humans like over-simplification - the "elevator pitch".</p><p>Still, if we must have a story and a purpose, then let's respect Jesus (if he existed) and the war dead (who definitely did) for having been regarded as a notable threat to a policy or a system. </p><p>But consider also the possibility that the lofty notions of sacrifice or deity have been attached to their deaths afterwards, by those who survived, to make them (us) feel better. <br /></p>Sue Millardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09022262338933600748noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4655681444077745849.post-18198638375031783722021-04-02T23:21:00.001+01:002021-04-02T23:49:00.608+01:00The Awesomeness of the Fell Pony<div dir="auto"><div class="ecm0bbzt hv4rvrfc ihqw7lf3 dati1w0a" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id="jsc_c_26s"><div class="j83agx80 cbu4d94t ew0dbk1b irj2b8pg"><div class="qzhwtbm6 knvmm38d"><span class="d2edcug0 hpfvmrgz qv66sw1b c1et5uql b0tq1wua a8c37x1j keod5gw0 nxhoafnm aigsh9s9 d9wwppkn fe6kdd0r mau55g9w c8b282yb hrzyx87i gfeo3gy3 a3bd9o3v knj5qynh oo9gr5id hzawbc8m" dir="auto"><div class="kvgmc6g5 cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">You may have noticed that I have a very strong bias in my horse "character" preferences. Hoofprints in Eden, Scratch and String of Horses all feature or star Fell ponies. Guess why...</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span><a class="oajrlxb2 g5ia77u1 qu0x051f esr5mh6w e9989ue4 r7d6kgcz rq0escxv nhd2j8a9 nc684nl6 p7hjln8o kvgmc6g5 cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x jb3vyjys rz4wbd8a qt6c0cv9 a8nywdso i1ao9s8h esuyzwwr f1sip0of lzcic4wl py34i1dx gpro0wi8" href="http://www.jackdawebooks.co.uk/?fbclid=IwAR2sFFmQprgwFeNgilFZKkaIWIf7-1H93LkxQB_GLc6ZcsDekewzJwsLHU4" rel="nofollow noopener" role="link" tabindex="0" target="_blank">http://www.jackdawebooks.co.uk/</a></span></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIBo8DPDkNM76nrBniy2KdHqoNaJhmSttBo1YcVZT-BNoPigREZUXfT9u18WlAATiEa9oAB1H9yXnDLuCXGOiGDHjeKdzQP3nxoN3YYEXOnVY0UZ0VtEJlWvyKdtFI2eT2p30zrJSvAFUj/s1280/UK+009+crop.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="914" data-original-width="1280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIBo8DPDkNM76nrBniy2KdHqoNaJhmSttBo1YcVZT-BNoPigREZUXfT9u18WlAATiEa9oAB1H9yXnDLuCXGOiGDHjeKdzQP3nxoN3YYEXOnVY0UZ0VtEJlWvyKdtFI2eT2p30zrJSvAFUj/s320/UK+009+crop.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br />Because they are awesome...</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMpZktDteX7bb0nHNv93Z-oTAL1W7Ndm34WswQJWQGE1cfVUE_Xdt_h9W8BQ_ltDE95zQ0wmWpCw1Lr_mqeTtombhhg6KKNBm5Wj0u0c6gyFuqIEIhWsLU2vtQD_Fc_TLhTC4FLzMllVAA/s1024/arse.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="731" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMpZktDteX7bb0nHNv93Z-oTAL1W7Ndm34WswQJWQGE1cfVUE_Xdt_h9W8BQ_ltDE95zQ0wmWpCw1Lr_mqeTtombhhg6KKNBm5Wj0u0c6gyFuqIEIhWsLU2vtQD_Fc_TLhTC4FLzMllVAA/s320/arse.jpg" /></a></div></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span>Newcomers to the blog may not realise that I don't just write books about Fell ponies (or that I write other things as well). I write the script/s and commentate for <a href="https://www.facebook.com/search/top?q=Fell%20Pony%20Society%20Display%20Team" target="_blank">the Fell Pony Society's Display Team</a>. I edit the <a href="http://www.fellponysociety.org.uk/newsletters.htm" target="_blank">Fell Pony Society's Magazine</a>, and look after <a href="http://www.fellponysociety.org.uk" target="_blank">their web site</a>. I serve on the FPS Council and on a couple of sub committees. I'm on the FPS sub committee that's planning the celebrations of the Society's <a href="http://www.fellponysociety.org.uk/centenary.htm" target="_blank">Centenary</a> coming up in 2022 - helping with a book, a video and an exhibition. </span></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span> </span></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span>I also look after the historical resource that is the <a href="http://www.fellponymuseum.org.uk" target="_blank">Fell Pony And Countryside Museums web site</a>, which gives background and historical context to the real life collections at <a href="http://www.dalemain.com" target="_blank">Dalemain</a>. <br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span>Not bad for an awd OAP grannie, eh? Oh aye, and in between times I drive my Fell pony.<br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span> </span></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span>Step aside, we're comin' through.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDtwlssEX22dOJgZadcUFpJ6FWUPHkYU202c3ldRuP_PngHOJqQMq7BwEsaD0AvDXZxG6g1VJZy2LYNjODDOM5IDQkL_Uz0v02D-wjNMeSjLWvFzIBJjqrdADhXR8I1aU40HsNeSLg52Si/s1672/dufton_champion2005.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1182" data-original-width="1672" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDtwlssEX22dOJgZadcUFpJ6FWUPHkYU202c3ldRuP_PngHOJqQMq7BwEsaD0AvDXZxG6g1VJZy2LYNjODDOM5IDQkL_Uz0v02D-wjNMeSjLWvFzIBJjqrdADhXR8I1aU40HsNeSLg52Si/s320/dufton_champion2005.png" width="320" /></a></div></span></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span><br /></span></div></div></span></div></div></div></div><p> </p>Sue Millardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09022262338933600748noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4655681444077745849.post-42893281974130200262021-04-02T09:43:00.002+01:002021-04-02T09:43:14.488+01:00Good Friday<p>Out of pure curiosity I enquired within the Oxford English Dictionary online and found these gems:</p><p>1825
Manch. Guardian 2 Apr. 3/3 <br />In the houses of some ignorant people, a
Good Friday bun is still kept ‘for luck’, and sometimes there hangs
from the ceiling a hard biscuit-like cake of open cross-work, baked on a
Good Friday, to remain there till displaced on the next Good Friday by
one of similar make.<span class="d2edcug0 hpfvmrgz qv66sw1b c1et5uql b0tq1wua a8c37x1j keod5gw0 nxhoafnm aigsh9s9 d9wwppkn fe6kdd0r mau55g9w c8b282yb hrzyx87i gfeo3gy3 a3bd9o3v knj5qynh oo9gr5id" dir="auto"></span></p><div class="kvgmc6g5 cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">1876
F. K. Robinson Gloss. Words Whitby Pref. p. xii <br />Best flour biscuits
are made on Good Friday, to be kept as a year's supply for grating into
milk or brandy and water to cure the diarrhœa; and with holes in the
centre, we have seen ‘Good Friday biscuits’ hanging from the ceiling.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">It seems Good Friday has been Good Friday since about 1300AD and not, as I've occasionally been told, "God" Friday.</div></div><p></p>Sue Millardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09022262338933600748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4655681444077745849.post-18879913411710973982019-02-20T16:07:00.001+00:002019-02-20T16:07:21.399+00:00You have to be Carefully TaughtSometimes in life I've been confused by my upbringing.<br />
<br />
Tory, middle
class, religiously inclined mother (who would help almost anybody) and
Labour, working class, officially-atheist father (who spent his life
criticising everybody, including himself).<br />
<br />
I've just found myself
quoting Hammerstein's lyrics from South Pacific:<br />
<br />
<i>You have to be taught, before it's too late<br /> Before you are six or seven or eight<br /> To hate all the people your relatives hate<span class="text_exposed_show"><br /> You have to be carefully taught...</span></i><br />
<br />
<div class="text_exposed_show">
Maybe I should be grateful for the confusion.</div>
Sue Millardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09022262338933600748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4655681444077745849.post-44775114719918940862019-02-08T17:42:00.005+00:002020-03-22T10:52:02.795+00:00I fell for the Fells<h2>
I fell for the Fells</h2>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghuv-lhhl8BXlpOGusjbTsIHp7XQyI097Dv0VqJGaJem_YxucoD4UlKQWto_bWPaM07Ei1z0HvfcOntvSxeUVkb2XDgaimYlihwoBz3mj6zFPLNkw6QFe86xq26nR3Kz0u_kEElSeRd47a/s1600/P1010053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghuv-lhhl8BXlpOGusjbTsIHp7XQyI097Dv0VqJGaJem_YxucoD4UlKQWto_bWPaM07Ei1z0HvfcOntvSxeUVkb2XDgaimYlihwoBz3mj6zFPLNkw6QFe86xq26nR3Kz0u_kEElSeRd47a/s320/P1010053.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
When I first holidayed in the Lake District, in 1968, I was determined not to like my mother's choice of venue. The thing that swung my acceptance was the promise that she would come pony trekking with me if I accompanied her planned "little toddles" up the fells.<br />
<br />
I enjoyed the holiday, plodging in the rain over Catbells and round Stonethwaite and Watendlath, but the highlights were always going to be the pony treks. I fell instantly in love with my mount. He was a Fell pony, brown, rounded and muscular, with a long black tail and a massive curtain of mane that entirely hid his face. Nonetheless, the eyes underneath were friendly. He carried me up Latrigg with an eagerness I hadn't met before in ponies of his size. <br />
<br />
I didn't know it then, but the trek leader was Betty Walker, a leading light of the Fell Pony Society. She rode another brown Fell pony, Angus.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje7MNLDv4K2pF6aDuJWhcDyCZIo1Em6dEGmjw2rR0Qg0hHEOzGlh8_xzWtUhXY5QMmSovEDF56xdVt31LSB4JxgH1poJmvzfRePGCXQbK02E_FfwtJVT8exKvQnOJS_oh_8JK_wxCONLEd/s1600/scan0036001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="798" data-original-width="1000" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje7MNLDv4K2pF6aDuJWhcDyCZIo1Em6dEGmjw2rR0Qg0hHEOzGlh8_xzWtUhXY5QMmSovEDF56xdVt31LSB4JxgH1poJmvzfRePGCXQbK02E_FfwtJVT8exKvQnOJS_oh_8JK_wxCONLEd/s320/scan0036001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
She fed me snippets of Fell pony lore at every opportunity. Did I know the Fell ponies had been in the Lakes as long as the Herdwick sheep? No; I was much more impressed by the ponies' strength and willingness and the fact that they were capable of living free, all year round, on the fells where I'd been walking. I was 16, and freedom was a magnet.<br />
<br />
Because of those Fell ponies I spent every university vacation in the Lake District, working with them. When I married I moved here permanently (and bought a Fell!).<br />
<br />
Over the years since then I've done a lot of background research about Fell ponies, and their spell over me has grown stronger. They are a distinctive part of our farming and industrial history. Until the 20th century they were the mainstay of local transport: hardy and hard-working, they took the shepherd up the fell, carried hay to the stock in winter, pulled the trap to market, or walked hundreds of miles as pack-horses with wool destined for Europe. <br />
<br />
For thousands of years we'd have gone literally nowhere without them. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sue Millard is a writer, Fell pony owner and amateur historian who lives on a small farm in the Westmorland Dales section of the National Park. She serves on the Fell Pony Society's Council as its webmaster and Magazine editor.<br />
<br />
Links:<br />
The Fell Pony Society <a href="http://www.fellponysociety.org.uk/">http://www.fellponysociety.org.uk</a><br />
The Fell Pony Museum at Dalemain <a href="http://www.fellponymuseum.org.uk/">http://www.fellponymuseum.org.uk</a><br />
Jackdaw E Books <a href="http://www.jackdawebooks.co.uk/">http://www.jackdawebooks.co.uk</a>Sue Millardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09022262338933600748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4655681444077745849.post-44362477711879609832019-01-17T11:31:00.002+00:002019-01-17T11:31:45.344+00:00Strutting my stuff againHaving completed and published SCRATCH, the sequel to Against the Odds, I am quite chuffed with having both books in Kindle's top 100 in Sport this week (despite not having any bare chested men on their covers!) <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIAB2Li6K28yk_d8adjyNxrF1V7PZMSZEFtlhvOyLFh7bbc2BFsczrb5Yy-Zv-3lR3veIEK7axH2D0Z_4jEAdM2csunz-yKFAQoCFghYyLOUp0j4u9HKZ7xvC1n8j69Ul4gtn15kMZei2x/s1600/Screenshot+from+2019-01-16+10-18-07.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="554" data-original-width="751" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIAB2Li6K28yk_d8adjyNxrF1V7PZMSZEFtlhvOyLFh7bbc2BFsczrb5Yy-Zv-3lR3veIEK7axH2D0Z_4jEAdM2csunz-yKFAQoCFghYyLOUp0j4u9HKZ7xvC1n8j69Ul4gtn15kMZei2x/s320/Screenshot+from+2019-01-16+10-18-07.png" width="320" /> </a></div>
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There's a Val McDermid and a Dick Francis lower down the order </div>
<br />
<h2>
Against the Odds</h2>
<img align="right" alt="Against the Odds paperback cover" hspace="10" src="http://www.jackdawebooks.co.uk/images/ATOcover.jpg" vspace="10" width="20%" />Leaving home to work in a racing stable, Sian finds that the long hours and
hard work are more than she bargained for. The only compensation is her responsibility
for her favourite filly, Double Jump.<br />
Sian is badly treated by her boyfriend, the trainer's arrogant son, Justin.
When Double Jump's owner moves the filly to another yard, Sian decides to
follow so she can escape him.<br />
At the new yard she meets stable jockey Madoc Owen, who is battling to make
a National Hunt winner out of Cymru, a bored flat-race stallion. Sian and Madoc
may have a future together but there will be more than steeplechase fences
in their way – Justin will see to that.<br />
<a href="http://www.jackdawebooks.co.uk/odds.htm">http://www.jackdawebooks.co.uk/odds.htm </a><br />
<br />
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</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsfkS75uks52DLBDYyPBTPms2a0zQxk4D1uVTJP2vegbANUq-qFg1oC5VLddM8MaHzKRKB3joLnY9YG1wwpZWXKZkPeNIT_sUyWRD5HKLxXTaM0sd_6rOkK8ZYsSCh0d3XMdu5p4PAVjmQ/s1600/Screenshot+from+2019-01-17+11-24-54.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="416" data-original-width="928" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsfkS75uks52DLBDYyPBTPms2a0zQxk4D1uVTJP2vegbANUq-qFg1oC5VLddM8MaHzKRKB3joLnY9YG1wwpZWXKZkPeNIT_sUyWRD5HKLxXTaM0sd_6rOkK8ZYsSCh0d3XMdu5p4PAVjmQ/s320/Screenshot+from+2019-01-17+11-24-54.png" width="320" /> </a></div>
<h2>
Scratch</h2>
<h3>
<img align="right" alt="novel, Cover image of Fell pony, mountains and cloudy sky, SCRATCH" hspace="10" src="http://www.jackdawebooks.co.uk/images/SCRATCH%20cover%20front%20only%20400px.jpg" vspace="10" width="20%" />A Woman. A Family. A Farm.</h3>
Sian and Madoc have borrowed heavily to buy a neglected farm, Stone Side,
in the beautiful countryside of east Cumbria. They are land-rich now but short
of cash and indebted not only to the bank but to members of their family.<br />
<h3>
Racehorses and Fell Ponies</h3>
In this sequel to <a href="http://www.jackdawebooks.co.uk/odds.htm">Against the Odds</a> Madoc has reluctantly
had to give up his ambition to breed thoroughbreds, and instead runs the sheep
farm and pre-trains
young horses for National Hunt racing. Sian is a fierce mother of their three
teenage children, Robbie, Cerys and Jack, but in what free time she has, she
buys and trains Fell ponies.<br />
Although it will be a long haul before Stone Side begins to pay, with the
children growing up and helping it looks like it just might work. But...<br />
<h3>
Someone is Out to Destroy Them</h3>
When Madoc’s brother calls-in a big loan, the tensions begin to mount… and
on the wild fellside, for someone the stakes are as high as murder.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.jackdawebooks.co.uk/scratch.htm">http://www.jackdawebooks.co.uk/scratch.htm</a> <br />
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<br /></div>
<br />Sue Millardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09022262338933600748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4655681444077745849.post-22007672187908198922017-03-29T19:29:00.001+01:002017-03-29T19:31:38.662+01:00A Very Merry Brexit<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
So St Theresa of May has
finally signed the dratted letter to invoke Article 50. We’ll be
into that Red-White-and-Blue Brexit any time this afternoon, then.
Possibly even before cucumber sandwiches are served in the Hice
of Commons, accompanied, or not, by a handsome silver pot of Earl Gwey.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Even now, despite That
Letter having been signed and ritually hand-delivered, the UK is
still part of the European Union, and we will still be a member for
something like another 2 years. All the directives and regulations voted on by our MEPs
(sometimes even by N. Farage) that have been adopted by our British
Parliament, will still be in force, even after the EU agrees to the
terms of our exit from the Union. There will be years of legal work
to be done to extinguish those laws <span style="font-style: normal;">and
replace them with solely British ones.</span><br />
<br />
<h3>
Until the boot finally
hits our red-white-and-blue backside:</h3>
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We still have a rebate
on EU membership fees.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We still have a say,
via our MEPs, about what directives and regulations are passed by the
EU Parliament.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We are still not in the
Euro.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We are still not
signatories to the Schengen agreement (ie, – we ALREADY have the
tight control of our borders that many Leavers shouted for).</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We still don’t have
to give benefits to immigrants who’ve just arrived here, even if
they are from the EU – not until they have worked for some years
and paid into the system (and we then give them less than many other
EU countries do).</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We still share
information with EU states about criminal activity and terrorist
organisations via the European Criminal Records Information System.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
People still have the
right to time off and limited working hours, parental leave, and
equal opportunities for men and women.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We still have the right
to live, work or study abroad in any of the 27 other EU member
countries.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
UK students can still
(just) study or work in Europe on the Erasmus exchange programme.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Academic research
projects are (still, just) funded by EU subsidies.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Rural and deprived
areas could still be supported or funded by EU subsidies.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
There are still Common
Agricultural Policy subsidies for farming (~55% of farm incomes), and
green incentives for adopting environmental measures such as tending
to wild grassland.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We still have laws to
ensure clean seas and beaches, good air quality, protection for
endangered species and strict guidelines on the use of genetically
modified crops and certain chemicals.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Using a mobile phone
doesn’t cost more in fees in other European countries.</div>
<div class="western">
20% of our energy should come from renewables by
2020.<br />
</div>
<h3 class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
What could we be going back
to?</h3>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Signs saying “No
Blacks, No Polish, No Irish, nofuckingimmigrantsofanysort”? We
already HAVE tight<a href="https://www.gov.uk/guidance/immigration-rules"> control of our borders</a> for legal immigration. If
what Leavers want is simply No Immigrants at all, umm, the word you
need to worry about there is ILLEGAL. Leaving the EU isn’t going to
stop illegal immigration.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
No EU nationals working here, for instance,
in <a href="https://fullfact.org/immigration/immigration-and-nhs-staff/">our health service</a>? Or no non-EU nationals? (See the same link.)</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
No legal equality for
LGBTQ and disabled people?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
No right to residency
for EU born partners of British citizens?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Restoring the use of
Imperial measures? I’m of a generation that learned originally to
use them, and then had to convert everything to metric (including
understanding distances in kilometres and metres for sporting
competitions, although car drivers even now still get away with
odometers and roadsigns labelled in miles). But we’d already begun
metricating before we joined the EEC and we’ve rubbed along all
right under a mishmash of measures for the last forty-odd years. It’s
hardly worth falling out with the EU over them. Are we now going to
re-adopt 240 pennies to a pound and 12 pennies to a shilling; ounces,
pounds, stones, hundredweights; acres, rods, poles and perches; pints
and gallons; Imperial (or even Whitworth) specifications for
engineering? Even I am not old enough or daft enough to try re-imposing
that lot on a decimalised population.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Restoring the death
penalty for murder? I’m not kidding. <a href="https://twitter.com/JoeTwyman/status/847017907800412160/photo/1?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw&ref_url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.huffingtonpost.co.uk%2Fentry%2Fleave-voters-brexit-day_uk_58db873be4b0cb23e65ccbd2">A straw poll suggested</a> there
are Leavers hankering for its reinstatement, even though we’d
already got rid of it well before we joined the EEC (1965). </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
All right, that one was silly... but...<br />
</div>
<h3 class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
But...We Want Our
Country Back!</h3>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
See above...I haven’t
been able to fathom out exactly what “our country” might be, that
the happy band of Leavers expect to get back. Asking the question of
them usually elicits remarks about escaping the rule of “unelected
Eurocrats”, ignoring the irony that in Britain our Parliamentary
system is topped by an unelected Monarchy and an unelected Hice of
Lords, and the fact that all British voters have the right to vote
for the MEPs who will represent their region in the European
Parliament. If you don’t know who represents your region there or
how to ask them to work on your behalf, or how the EU structure
works, whose fault is that? </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
At the moment, the lack of precise, detailed forward vision in our national policies worries me quite a lot. St Theresa of May needs to do more, for me, than to attempt Churchillian rhetoric at PMQs.<br />
</div>
<h4 class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
This space is intentionally blank for your notes and comments... </h4>
<h4 class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</h4>
<h4 class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</h4>
<h4 class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</h4>
Sue Millardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09022262338933600748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4655681444077745849.post-61004583839070648462016-10-12T16:29:00.001+01:002016-10-12T16:29:44.005+01:00Be Seen, Be SafePublished by Carriage Driving Magazine in 2008<br />
<br />
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<br />
<h2>
Be seen, be safe</h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Darker nights are coming. I have to say the weather this
summer (2008) has been so appalling that many daylight hours have been pretty murky
too. While out driving my car today I was startled not only by the increased
number of Bank Holiday cyclists on the road but by the difficulty of spotting
them when they weren’t wearing high visibility clothing or displaying lamps. On
major roads, when traffic is travelling up to the 60 mph speed limit, it seems
crazy not to give cars as much notice of your existence as possible. Anything
that makes you, as a vulnerable road user, more visible, will help to keep you
alive. The further ahead car drivers can see you, the more easily they can slow
down and give you room as they pass. This doesn’t just apply to cyclists. You
as a carriage driver are highly vulnerable, and your horse even more so. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know that traditionally the appearance of the private
carriage was quiet, almost understated. But think about it; when we’re out
exercising today do we use our good holly whip, our show harness, our glossily
painted and patent-leathered gig and our candle powered lamps? No, we drive
battle wagons and exercise carts, for practicality not tradition. We share the
roads now with cars and heavy goods vehicles, not to mention tractors and farm
implements, and they all travel much faster than we do and are very much more
likely to hurt us than we are to hurt them. We need to make our working carts
and carriages as visible as possible, and reserve our sober traditional turnout
for ceremonial occasions. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Adding visibility is not difficult. A visit to any cycling
web site will give you lots of tips. For a start, the driver (or cyclist) who
wears a high visibility waistcoat, fluorescent yellow with reflective strips,
will be seen from a greater distance than one who blends into the landscape in
grey, dark green or brown as many of us do in winter waterproofs. My coat’s
pillar box red but I still put a waistcoat over it, and that only cost me £3. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You’re lucky if you have a grey or a piebald or skewbald
horse, whose white coat will be readily seen out on the road. For those of us
with darker coloured animals, reflective leg bands for the horse will be highly
visible on account of their rapid movement, while a reflective noseband or browband
sleeve should make it obvious where the front of your turnout is!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Many carts and carriages are painted very soberly in green,
black, maroon or dark blue, which again blend too easily into their
surroundings. My everyday cart has a black body but I’ve redone the wheels and
shafts in Hammerite scarlet. Yes, it’s loud, but black and scarlet is quite a
traditional combination, and it gets seen. Cost, about £7. Tip: avoid blue,
which is a “receding colour”, in other words less visible than the red end of
the spectrum. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Down narrow country lanes, a fluorescent flag displayed
above hedge height may well be useful to warn oncoming traffic of your
presence, and there’s no harm either in hanging a fluorescent banner of some
kind, possibly with a warning triangle on it, from the back of the carriage.
However, legal minds in America have sometimes advised against also displaying
messages or advice, such as “Caution Young Horse” or “Please Pass Wide and
Slow” reasoning that in the aftermath of an accident (which God forbid) these
might be construed as an admission that you were not in control. Concentrate on
being visible.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Does your vehicle carry lamps, or reflectors? In the Road
Vehicles Lighting Regulations 1989<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4655681444077745849#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">[1]</span></span></span></span></a>
most of the attention is focused on the lamps and reflectors of motorised
vehicles, while the poor old carriage horse is pretty well ignored. However,
we’re told that “Nothing in these Regulations shall require any lamp or
reflector to be fitted between sunrise and sunset to - (e)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a horse-drawn vehicle”. It doesn’t say you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">can’t</i> carry working lamps in daylight
though, and it certainly helps your visibility to do so.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not supposing you intend to drive on the roads in
darkness, though having once been overtaken by twilight when hacking back from
a show in the 1980s, I can say it was a very pleasant experience to drive a
trap with the lamps lit – but only so long as the roads were quiet! You
probably wouldn’t want to use your good carriage lamps for everyday work, and
even the best traditional candle powered lamp only gives 25% of the minimum
required light (4 candelas) legally required for use on the roads at night. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cycle lamps, however, are not expensive, and they come with
mountings that adapt very kindly to the metal frames of modern carriages. All
you need is a screwdriver;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>they don’t
require any drilling and they don’t damage paintwork. I carry a red lamp on the
rear of the cart, and a white on the front. I put the white lamp well out to
the right, at car headlamp level, by fixing it on the stem of the front step.
Two would probably be even better. Bike lights using LEDs are surprisingly
powerful, and by using rechargeable batteries – about £8 for a set of 4 AA NiMH
– you don’t have to keep on forking out for fresh ones. They last pretty well;
I’ve only recharged mine twice this year, and I drove for over 50 hours between
May and the end of August. A pair of cycle lamps, a front white and a rear red,
will set you back anything from about £12 to whatever you feel like paying
(some are very expensive). They stand up to weather and cross country work
without complaint, and they do get you noticed. Neighbours who see me regularly
on our rural roads tell me they spot the pony and me from much further off when
we’re carrying lit lamps, even though we’ve always got the red wheels and the
yellow waistcoat.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Up to 2005, flashing lights were reserved for the emergency
services because of their high visibility, but cyclists may now ride with
flashing lamps provided that the “light shown by the lamp when flashing shall
be displayed not less than 60 nor more than 240 equal times per minute and the
intervals between each display of light shall be constant.”<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4655681444077745849#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn2;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">[2]</span></span></span></span></a> So
now you know. Flashing lights are particularly noticeable when the light
sequence is “chaser” mode. This rapid sequence is very different from the
binary flash of the emergency services, but it’s highly visible and motorists
certainly associate such LEDs with a vulnerable road user. Flashing lights are
not discussed in the Statutory Instrument as a mode of lighting for carriages,
but I often flash when I’m out driving, and I haven’t been told off by a
policeman yet!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">NB I make these
observations as a regular carriage driver, NOT a lawyer.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div style="mso-element: footnote-list;">
<br clear="all" />
<hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" />
<div id="ftn1" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4655681444077745849#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">[1]</span></span></span></span></a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Statutory Instrument 1989 No. 1796, Part I, The Road Vehicles Lighting
Regulations 1989</span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn2" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4655681444077745849#_ftnref2" name="_ftn2" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn2;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">[2]</span></span></span></span></a>
Statutory Instrument 2005 No. 2559, The Road Vehicles Lighting (Amendment)
Regulations 2005</div>
<div class="MsoFootnoteText">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
Sue Millardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09022262338933600748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4655681444077745849.post-62684148158078886252016-09-05T13:08:00.001+01:002016-09-05T13:08:21.324+01:00Cold calls<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="bv0di-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="bv0di-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="bv0di-0-0"><span data-text="true">I disengaged the phone call blocker this morning in case the hospital Waiting List secretary tried to call. (My call blocker doesn't like switchboards because they are, <i>de facto, </i>Number Withheld.)</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="d9v9g-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="d9v9g-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="d9v9g-0-0"><span data-text="true">Immediately I got a cold call from an unintelligible lifestyle survey man, on a spoofed "local" number that has already called twice today (well, Blackpool is more local to Cumbria than wherever this call really came from).</span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="d9v9g-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="d9v9g-0-0"><span data-text="true">-Good monning Ma-am, how are you todday?</span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="d9v9g-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="d9v9g-0-0"><span data-text="true">-I'm fine, how are you?</span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="d9v9g-0-0">
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="a8jns-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="a8jns-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="a8jns-0-0"><span data-text="true">-I am calling from Life Style Survey.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="7649c-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="7649c-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="7649c-0-0"><span data-text="true">-Whoopee.</span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="eimqm-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="eimqm-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="eimqm-0-0"><span data-text="true"></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="5tqag-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="5tqag-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="5tqag-0-0"><span data-text="true">-Ma-am, ve are recodding dis call for training pupposes</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="1c5k6-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1c5k6-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1c5k6-0-0"><span data-text="true">-Oh goody. (Well, it's lunchtime and the Waiting List secretary has returned her phone number to switchboard, so I'm not missing anything there.)</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="1ntog-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1ntog-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1ntog-0-0"><span data-text="true">-Your telephone number is: o von fife tree six tree six nine...</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="40qq9-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="40qq9-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="40qq9-0-0"><span data-text="true">-Dear me, no, you've got that all wrong...(I give him the correct number)</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="1503d-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1503d-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1503d-0-0"><span data-text="true">Long silence punctuated with an occasional Um...</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="f2tsc-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="f2tsc-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="f2tsc-0-0"><span data-text="true">-Your telephone number is: o von fife tree six tree six nine?</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="abf3i-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="abf3i-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="abf3i-0-0"><span data-text="true">-No. (I give him the correct number again.)</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="36b9p-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="36b9p-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="36b9p-0-0"><span data-text="true">Long silence...</span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="36b9p-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="36b9p-0-0"><span data-text="true">-What number are you trying to call, dear?</span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="36b9p-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="36b9p-0-0"><span data-text="true">He gives up trying to correct his data. </span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="frer7-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="frer7-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="frer7-0-0"><span data-text="true">-You are Miss Christina Millud?</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="9v7ci-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="9v7ci-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="9v7ci-0-0"><span data-text="true">-No, there's nobody here called Christina Millud.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="66fot-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="66fot-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="66fot-0-0"><span data-text="true">-You are family member?</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="don51-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="don51-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="don51-0-0"><span data-text="true">-No, there's nobody here called Christina Millud. </span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="s1g9-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="s1g9-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="s1g9-0-0"><span data-text="true">Long silence...</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="3i99b-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="3i99b-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="3i99b-0-0"><span data-text="true">(I give him my real name out of pity.)</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="92gql-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="92gql-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="92gql-0-0"><span data-text="true">-You are living at Dee Back, Grin Hom?</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="fsr78-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="fsr78-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="fsr78-0-0"><span data-text="true">-Certainly not.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="5761v-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="5761v-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="5761v-0-0"><span data-text="true">-You are living at Dee Back, Grin Hom?</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="594o8-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="594o8-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="594o8-0-0"><span data-text="true">-No.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="h655-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="h655-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="h655-0-0"><span data-text="true">Another long silence.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="2bqtq-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2bqtq-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="2bqtq-0-0"><span data-text="true">-You post cud is CA tin tree TA?</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="8j00b-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="8j00b-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="8j00b-0-0"><span data-text="true">-Well done, have a coconut.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="brlgd-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="brlgd-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="brlgd-0-0"><span data-text="true">-Ma-am, you post cud is CA tin tree TA?</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="cndfo-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="cndfo-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="cndfo-0-0"><span data-text="true">-Yes, dear.</span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="cndfo-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="cndfo-0-0"><span data-text="true">-You are owning your house? renting?... (to be honest I couldn't actually tell what he was rattling off, but the list is so predictable I know what he's asking, so I tell him I own it.) </span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="17uun-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="17uun-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="17uun-0-0"><span data-text="true">-What age bracket do you fall into? tventyfive to tirtyfour, tirtyfive to fottyfour, fottyfive to...</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="9o1bv-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="9o1bv-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="9o1bv-0-0"><span data-text="true">-I don't. </span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="38juv-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="38juv-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="38juv-0-0"><span data-text="true">-Ma-am, what age bracket do you fall into? </span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="6fkru-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="6fkru-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="6fkru-0-0"><span data-text="true">-I don't fall into anything. Such a trial to get out.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="873cm-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="873cm-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="873cm-0-0"><span data-text="true">-What age bracket do you fall into? tventyfive to tirtyfour, tirtyfive to fottyfour, fottyfive to...</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="d62rl-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="d62rl-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="d62rl-0-0"><span data-text="true">-Christmas.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="ens34-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="ens34-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="ens34-0-0"><span data-text="true">-Ma-am, what age bracket do you fall into? tventyfive to tirtyfour, tirtyfive to fottyfour, fottyfive to...</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="e3ico-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="e3ico-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="e3ico-0-0"><span data-text="true">(At this point I lie. Doing my best shouty voice.)</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="15u2o-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="15u2o-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="15u2o-0-0"><span data-text="true">-Ma-am, what newspaper do you rid?</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="37qa9-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="37qa9-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="37qa9-0-0"><span data-text="true">-I don't.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="59u04-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="59u04-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="59u04-0-0"><span data-text="true">-You don't rid newspaper?</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="25t1t-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="25t1t-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="25t1t-0-0"><span data-text="true">-No.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="5nss9-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="5nss9-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="5nss9-0-0"><span data-text="true">-Are you smoking any cigarette?</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="ajhis-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="ajhis-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="ajhis-0-0"><span data-text="true">-I don't smoke.</span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="ajhis-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="ajhis-0-0"><span data-text="true">He's getting the idea now. </span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="ajhis-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="ajhis-0-0"><span data-text="true">-What is your annual incom? fifteen to tventy thou--</span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="ajhis-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="ajhis-0-0"><span data-text="true">-What the hell do you need to know for? I'm not going to tell you that.</span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="ajhis-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="ajhis-0-0"><span data-text="true">Long silence. </span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="9sr91-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="9sr91-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="9sr91-0-0"><span data-text="true">I'd kept him on the phone a good ten minutes by the time I hung up.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="fn8cd-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="fn8cd-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="fn8cd-0-0"><span data-text="true">The bloody system called me from the same number five minutes later.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d3155" data-offset-key="c53dj-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="c53dj-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="c53dj-0-0"><span data-text="true">I've reconnected the call blocker. I will call the Waiting List secretary instead of waiting for her to call me.</span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="c53dj-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="c53dj-0-0"><span data-text="true"><span data-offset-key="fn8cd-0-0"><span data-text="true">The bloody system has just called me AGAIN from the same number.</span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="c53dj-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="c53dj-0-0"><span data-text="true"><span data-offset-key="fn8cd-0-0"><span data-text="true">I have blocked it. </span></span> </span></span></div>
</div>
Sue Millardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09022262338933600748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4655681444077745849.post-81722045194862048462016-08-27T12:38:00.002+01:002016-08-27T12:45:40.179+01:00Trying to make head or tail of political schisms I have not been a very political animal until this year. I felt - in common, I suspect, with many of the populace - that "all politicians are the same". I live in a safe Conservative constituency, where an earthquake of
Richter-scale 7 proportions would be necessary to unseat our current MP.
He's a nice chap, but without exception he votes the Party line in
debates. So although I have always dutifully gone to vote I never had much hope that it would change anything.<br />
<br />
<h3>
2015 UK Labour Leadership election</h3>
Ed Miliband resigned as leader due to poor Labour results in the 2015 General Election, and a leadership contest ensued.<br />
Following the Collins review, the party's internal electoral system had been revised
to a pure "one member, one vote" system: previously one-third weight
was given to the votes of Parliamentary Labour Party members, one-third
to individual Labour Party members, and one third to the Unions and
Affiliates. (<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Labour_Party_(UK)_leadership_election,_2016#2015_leadership_election">1</a>)<br />
Now, members and registered and affiliated supporters all
receive a maximum of one vote and all votes are weighted equally. This
gives the grass-roots membership far more influence.<br />
Jeremy Corbyn stood for the leadership at the last minute with the support of 36 MPs. A number of prominent Labour figures, including Gordon Brown, Tony Blair, Jack Straw, David Miliband and Alastair Campbell, claimed that Corbyn as leader would leave the party unelectable in another General Election. However, Corbyn was decisively elected by Labour Party members in the first round, with 59.5% of the votes.<br />
<br />
<h3>
Policies</h3>
What is it about Corbyn's policies which have triggered such a huge response in voters?<br />
Return of the NHS to complete public ownership?<br />
Free education from primary to tertiary level?<br />
Re-nationalisation of the railways and nationalisation of some heavy industries (eg steelmaking)?<br />
I think it is primarily his principle that political decisions need to serve the best interests of "the man or woman in the street" rather than those of large businesses and economic interests.<br />
<br />
<h3>
Party response</h3>
This is where it gets dirty. We as a nation have got so used to right-wing policies over the last 30
years (even with "New Labour" in Government) that this shift towards
traditional Labour values has been dubbed "Trotskyist". Although I don't
think Corbyn's policies are those of communism, but of democratic socialism, clearly the elected Labour MPs don't feel he's got what it takes to win a General Election. A leadership challenge was first discussed in the British press in November 2015 when the PLP was split over Britain's participation in air strikes in Syria. Another challenge was predicted in April 2016 after Ken Livingstone's allegedly anti-semitic comments led to his suspension; Shadow Cabinet members allegedly held talks with plotters.<br />
<br />
<h3>
The EU Referendum on 23 June</h3>
Corbyn spoke to Labour rallies throughout Britain advising that we should remain in Europe. He had previously been critical of the EU, and this didn't change, but he advised remaining in the Union to reform it from within. However, the position he took, and his reasoning, were not susceptible of use in media soundbites - and such a position was easily construed as weakness by both Remainers and Leavers. It was very little reported compared to louder, brasher mouths uttering promises that, immediately after the Leave vote, were admitted to be lies. <br />
Journalists at The Guardian reported that a small group of Labour MPs and advisers had been talking about a 'movement' against Corbyn to take place on 24 June ie, immediately the Referendum was decided. <br />
On 25 June, a 'Saving Labour' campaign website was created, to encourage members of the public to email MPs to urge them not to back Corbyn. Hilary Benn, Shadow Foreign Secretary, contacted members of the Shadow Cabinet to inform them that he had lost confidence in Corbyn. Corbyn sacked him. At least 20 MPs resigned or were dismissed from the Shadow Cabinet over the next few days. A vote of no confidence in Corbyn was made by the Parliamentary Labour Party (PLP) on 28 June, with Corbyn losing the vote by 172 to 40. He however insisted that his mandate came from the party membership, and he refused to stand down. On 8 July he challenged the rebels to put up candidates against him.<br />
Over 100,000 new members were reported to have joined the Labour Party by that date, taking membership numbers above 500,000.<br />
The party's National Executive Committee (NEC) met on 12 July 2016 to set a timetable and procedure for the election. They decided by secret ballot that the incumbent leader would automatically be on the ballot in any leadership election. They also decided, contrary to usage over the previous 7 years, not to allow the members who had joined the party in the past six months to vote in the leadership election. Approximately 130,000 new members who had joined since the EU referendum would be unable to vote - unless they registered as "Registered supporters" at a fee of £25. This angered me more than the resuscitation of the six-month rule; it looked like a cynical attempt to prevent the poorest of these new members voting, on the assumption that they were the ones likely to support Corbyn.<br />
Angela Eagle (MP for Wallasey since 1992) and Owen Smith (MP for Pontypridd since 2010) stood against Corbyn. Nine other Labour MPs declined to stand. Eagle withdrew from the campaign after a short time leaving a 2-horse race between Corbyn and Smith. <br />
Labour donor Michael Foster brought a High Court legal challenge to contest the NEC's interpretation of the rules that allowed Corbyn to be a candidate without having to secure nominations from Labour MPs/MEPs. On 26 July 2016 the High Court ruled that there was no basis to challenge the NEC's decision.<br />
The Collins Review of leadership elections had concluded that the eligible electorate would include members without qualification; so Christine Evangelou and others brought an English contract law case against its General Secretary, Iain McNicol on behalf of the whole party, concerning the eligibility of members to vote if they joined the party after 12 January 2016 (i.e. less than six months before the start of voting). An initial ruling that these members could vote was overturned by the Court of Appeal a few days later. The "£25 for a vote" arrangement however still stood...<br />
The latest is that the Labour Party appears to be stripping people of the right to vote - in a somewhat selective manner. "The compliance unit is working through applications to check whether the
180,000 new registered supporters who signed up to take part in the
vote are eligible, or if some are members of, or public advocates for,
other groups."..."[John] McDonnell claimed the party was exercising double standards in
suspending [Ronnie] Draper while allowing long-time party donor Lord Sainsbury to
remain a member, despite having given more than £2m to the Liberal
Democrats." (<a href="http://www.theguardian.com/politics/2016/aug/25/john-mcdonnell-accuses-labour-committee-of-rigged-purge-of-members">2</a>)<br />
What the actual F does this political party think it is doing to itself?<br />
<br />
<h3>
The Other Lot </h3>
<br />
While all this internal strife was going on in the Labour Party, the Conservatives also fell apart. After the EU Referendum David Cameron resigned because the vote went for Leave rather than Remain. Smartest move he ever made. We had a brief nightmare vision of Boris Johnson (<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boris_Johnson">3</a>) as a possible Prime Minister - and woke to the reality of Theresa May. And, despite her support for the Leave vote, she's showing a canny reluctance to invoke Article 50 (<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Article_50_of_the_Treaty_on_European_Union">4</a>) which would trigger the UK's actual exit from the European Union. But by contrast with Labour, the Conservative party has had no
challenge to its basic policies, and so it has rapidly glued itself back
together. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Sue Millardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09022262338933600748noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4655681444077745849.post-15841681327126455272016-08-20T11:43:00.001+01:002016-08-20T11:43:15.797+01:00A Patchwork of SleepI think I have cracked it.<br />
<br />
I can't sleep for a whole night in a bed at the moment. The hip complains and prods me awake. I've tried toughing it out, but for the last couple of months I have spent the early hours, through the dawn to 6 or 7am, in the recliner in the front room. It's more comfortable there, and I don't keep disturbing my husband's sleep.<br />
<br />
I have watched a good deal of nocturnal Olympic TV, most of it with my eyes shut - I missed Mo Farah's fall, but was awake for the interview after he'd won. I have discovered that BBC 2 broadcasts snippets of documentaries and many versions of its between-programmes signature, and that my favourite is the furry 2 that squeaks and does a somersault. I've also been permanently dopey during the daytime and prone to falling asleep while I work at the computer.<br />
<br />
However, I think I've found the right balance.<br />
<br />
Go to bed at my usual time with the usual bedtime painkillers.<br />
Expect to wake around 2am unable to find a position that doesn't hurt.<br />
Go down to the kitchen, make a hot drink, take another dose of painkillers and set up camp in the recliner with specific cushions and a pillow, and the furry throw which I bought cheap at Poundland and seems to have an extraordinary ability to induce sleep.<br />
Sleep till, usually, 5am.<br />
<i>Go back to bed</i> and sleep till 7.30am.<br />
<br />
On this regime I have been awake and normal (well, as normal as I ever get) for a whole two days now.<br />
<br />
Still - roll on the pre-op assessment, and a date to have the hip replaced.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sue Millardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09022262338933600748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4655681444077745849.post-36059107465491092432016-08-10T18:16:00.004+01:002016-08-11T12:17:28.638+01:00Very Grumpy Woman has a very grumpy dayArthritis is a bugger.<br />
<br />
I'm waiting for a hip replacement, agreed in May, surgery date still unknown, but pre-op set for next Thursday. In the meantime I exist on painkillers which put up my blood pressure and make my ankles swell, and blood pressure medication which makes me faint if I stand up too fast. At night I sleep for an hour, wake, turn over, stifle a yelp and try to sleep for another hour, until after five hours I can't stick it any longer and go downstairs to resume the painkillers and try to sleep in an armchair.<br />
<br />
I've snoozed through some extraordinary television in the small hours recently, but this sleeping (correction, non-sleeping) pattern does not make for a sharp and lively brain. I am irritable. Chattering noises become unbearable, whether caused by Classic FM ads at the distant end of the house or unidentified objects in the front footwell of the Honda. A few days ago with this in mind I dug around under the front seat and seized on the locking wheel-nut socket and the spare nuts which were in a rattly moulded-plastic pack and seemed to be the likely culprits. I put them on top of a box in the car shed.<br />
<br />
I've managed despite the brain fog to keep on top of my (mostly voluntary) jobs. One of these was to re-write bits of the Fell Pony Society's Display Team script ready for 4 displays over 2 days at Lowther Show this coming weekend. So with the event in mind - and the rainy weather - I decided I'd take the car up to Harold's Tyres and have the front tyres swopped to the back and vice versa for more grip in the inevitable Lowther mud.<br />
<br />
It didn't go well.<br />
<br />
Mid afternoon on a Wednesday shouldn't look like a busy period on the road, should it? I was quite relaxed following Mark Broadbent's 'Fenix' articulated horsebox down from the motorway to Shap; I knew it was on its way to pitch camp at Lowther, as indeed were many of the big driving-trial competitors. I stopped off at the doctor's surgery to pick up a fresh supply of the prescribed drugs, and so I didn't see the Fenix wagon again. I did however catch up with a tail of traffic behind a tractor and loaded silage trailer, with which I chugged along between second and third gears for several miles until we all reached Bessy Gill and could overtake. At Clifton I caught up with a second slow tractor. And at Gilwilly Industrial Estate, a third.<br />
<br />
<br />
By this time I was operating on autopilot and kept thinking I had missed my way. I hadn't, fortunately; I reached Harold's to find it conveniently only half full. I drove into an empty bay, and reassured the helpful chap in charge of it that I hadn't "brocken" anything. I explained that I had checked all the tyre tread depths were legal, but I wanted the front tyres exchanged for the less worn back ones and vice versa.<br />
<br />
He cast a professional glance over the Honda's alloys and asked me for the locking nut tool.<br />
<br />
I searched my memory, discovered the picture of the locking nut socket lying in its packet in the shed, twenty-five minutes away down the motorway; swore; and departed.<br />
<br />
On the way home the niggly rattle resumed. I was feeling savage by now. I stopped on the car park of Go Outdoors and stomped through the rain to open the passenger door, wrench out the underseat drawer and leave it in the footwell. When I drove back onto the motorway, I was moderately soothed to find the niggly rattle had disappeared. Pretty much the first good thing that had happened all afternoon.<br />
<br />
I was going uphill somewhere around Hackthorpe when I saw a group of three HGVs ahead. I shifted into the middle lane to overtake them, but when I got level with the second wagon's tail, it began to indicate to pull out. I couldn't get out of its way into the outer lane - my mirror showed me a white Transit pickup barrelling up it far too fast and too close for me to risk moving over - but at that point the wagon began to move into mine, the driver evidently determined to keep up his revs and thinking I was just being obstinate.<br />
<br />
The middle lane is not meant to contain a Honda CR-V and a 35-tonne artic. Not side by side at the same time. I braked. Hard. Luckily I've just had the back brakes "done" and despite the rain and the speed, they held and the car stayed in a straight line.<br />
<br />
The wagon filled the middle lane ahead of me, the Transit whooshed on by. I had time and space a minute later to overtake safely in the third lane. But I will be replaying that gap narrowing in front of me for the rest of the evening. <br />
<br />
And all <i>that, </i>ladies and gents, is why I've got sweet F.A. done this afternoon. <br />
<br />
Update:<br />
I took my car to our local do-it-all garage man this morning. A former rally driver who was once badly injured as a passenger in someone else's car and so possesses more rebuilt joints than I do, Chris is one of the bright spots of the village. "I don't have a cold. I don't have hay fever. I do have a runny nose." Blows nose on garage cleanup paper. "I am just generally delicate."<br />
<br />
When I proffered the locking nut socket in its packet he ignored it. "Your wheels don't have any locking nuts."<br />
<br />
Enough said about all participants.<br />
<br />
<br />Sue Millardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09022262338933600748noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4655681444077745849.post-78999258743634729312016-02-06T15:55:00.000+00:002016-02-06T15:55:25.190+00:00The Grumpy Old Woman and Tall Food<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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During my daughter’s seven-month stay with us, with our new
grand-daughter, our mealtime habits changed. Where once we used to listen
thoughtfully to Radio Four, we had to compromise with the
chewing-gum-for-the-eyes that is presented on TV over the supper-time period.
This wasn’t because daughter is particularly lowbrow or we particularly
highbrow. The fact was that the needs of the baby at that time of the day tended
to make her rather vocal, so the thread of a story or a nuance of comic timing <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>came off a very bad second to her demands. So
we perforce became visual rather than aural consumers of the broadcast media at
mealtimes.</div>
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As a newcomer to the early evening TV time slot I was very
surprised by how many cookery programs are put out. I’m now aware of how
fashionable food is, and how vital is its presentation. Inconvenient plates of
vast acreage are placed lovingly before the foodie, bearing a concentrated and
astonishing array of edibles garnered from all corners of the globe. I know
globes don’t have corners, but you understand what I mean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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I admit that many of these arrays look delightful.
Tastyvision and smellyvision have yet to reach us, so on a TV food show colours
are everything. And colours we are given, along with facial and vocal
expressions of delight from the people who actually get to touch-smell-taste
the products of the many celebrity cooks. What piques me, though – and piques
me even more when I am just occasionally out there, dressed up and paying for
it – is the excess of presentation that food seems to need, as evidenced by the
catering profession. </div>
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I did see one well known foodie person on TV disparaging a
wannabe chef for producing “tall food”. And rightly so. Not only is it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">so </i>1990, but a plate a foot wide with a
tower of tiny edibles tottering in the middle is a waste of effort on
everyone’s part – chef and customer alike. Chef spends time assembling the
edifice, while customer has to calculate how he can safely eat it without the
whole thing collapsing into his neighbour’s lap. I have to say that the critic,
for once, got my applause. I don’t want to puzzle out how to deconstruct <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">le gros bonnet</i>’s presentation. Stick it
all on a plate – prettily if you must – and just let me eat it. </div>
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Drizzles of any kind are irritating, too. Weatherwise they
are neither one thing nor another; wet without making an effort, so I don’t
want anyone to drizzle on my grub for me, thanks; whether with olive oil,
mayonnaise, sundried tomato purée, brown sauce or anything else. Give me the
choice of doing it for myself.</div>
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“Coulis” are snob’s blobs. Smudged artistically into a plate
with the back of a spoon they are an insult, as are dots, squiggles or stripes
of sauce like punctuation marks around a central noun of food. If you really
are offering me a nice sauce to complement your dish, give me enough of it to
let me pick it up and eat it. I’m of the opinion that this
drizzle-smudge-squiggle school of presentation is no more than a cheap cheat;
using very little material to create a pretentious dish. It offers me food in
such a stingy way that I couldn’t even slide a palette knife under it. If I
want <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> to eat food, I won’t put it
on my plate in the first place. Don’t ask me to pay for it just because it has
been painted onto a bit of porcelain.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And puddings – as opposed to desserts. A proper pudding
needs a pudding dish. Pudding dishes are designed bowl-shaped so you can get
your spoon into the duff and consume it sumptuously, down to the last puddle.
Their sensous curves are meant to collect those juices or sauces to be scooped
up and savoured at the end of the whole delicious experience. Serving a pudding
on a flat plate defeats that satisfaction. You’re not giving the waiter much
chance, either; how’s he supposed to control custard when he brakes or turns a
corner?</div>
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<br /></div>
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Finally, there’s a pointless tendency in fashionable
eateries to present you with a miserable little spot of pud surrounded by, not
even drizzles, but dustings of cocoa powder or icing sugar. If the drizzle-smudge-squiggle
is mean, this miserly dusting is just plain pointless. You can’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">eat</i> such culinary daftness. It is
impossible to pick any of it up unless you lick your finger, wipe the plate and
suck it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Join me in exorcising this ghostly pretence at food. When
your pudding is eaten and coffee is imminent, the proprietor, chef and/or
waiter will be unctuously hovering, all-but prompting you to say that
everything you ate was simply lovely. Don’t be swayed by their desire to be
praised as well as paid. This is your cue to sigh ostentatiously – if
necessary, several times – and then say loudly and with deep regret, “I do wish
you had washed the plate.”</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
Sue Millardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09022262338933600748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4655681444077745849.post-53255162525229928782015-12-18T02:00:00.001+00:002022-12-21T10:42:32.342+00:00Port Sunlight in the 1920s: Part 9. The darker side of employment disputes (Reg Keen)Your Grandad used to work in the centre of the printing room under a notice "Letterpress Printing". He was a "letterpress machine minder". Under the sign "Printing Room" in white was the part of the room used for "paper ruling", its output intended for ledgers, school exercise books and other writing stationery. There were high bridges up near the roof for official visiting parties of sightseers, who could thus watch what was going on without getting in the way of the workers or risking danger from machines or trollies etc moving between them. Official parties under the control of an official guides passed through the whole factory every quarter hour or so. Guides wore white coats and gloves and peaked uniform white caps with a label on the front in gold saying "Guide". It used to take about 40 minutes to do the trip. At the end a box of sample products was presented to each adult member of the party according to sex. I don't know what ladies got; men got shaving soap, white toilet soap and a booklet of comments.<br />
<br />
As you know only workers in the factory could live in the village. Grandad started work in the printing room in 1897, and got married in 1907. When he asked for tenancy of an estate house, he was offered and accepted 10, Primrose Hill, which we moved into before I started school (about 1911 or 1912). We all enjoyed our village life, and in 1922 your Grandad received a gold watch for 25 years' service with the firm.<br />
<br />
However in the 1920s disaster arrived. Every summer we used to go to Rhyl for one week's official holiday, and that year was no different except that while we were away, an official strike was called, of all printers in Britain. Dad was told that if he wished to take a few extra days' holiday it would be all right, so he decided to hang on till the Wednesday of the following week (even though we had to find fresh digs). We arrived back at Bebington Station about 7.30pm and three of Grandad's works mates were waiting for him at Primrose Hill. They grabbed him and told him the strike was still "on" next day and demanded to be told what he was going to do next morning at worktime. They wished to remain "solid" and what was Grandad going to do? Some of the bosses with the help of apprentices were able to carry on a small service of printing, but that was all. They assured him that none of his other works mates had so far turned in for work, and they pleaded with him to stay out with them. After some discussion Grandad told his mates that if they were all staying out he would stay out with them as an official member of the Typographical Association union.<br />
<br />
Next morning those three blokes went into the works and asked if they could start work again and agreed to instruct the apprentices in the job. Your Grandad and five of his other mates nearly blew up when they found out what had been done and that they had been left "holding the baby". The group stayed out on strike for about three months but with the help of some non-union newcomers to the works the firm staggered on almost as usual. Without any warning Grandad got an official letter from the estate office informing him that he had no right to an estate house and that it was wanted for some other worker, so GET OUT. Grandad visited the office and offered to pay the rent outstanding (rent was normally stopped from wages each week, so with not having any official wages we had not paid rent even though Grandad had called in the office and offered to pay it each week).<br />
<br />
Meanwhile the strike had ended and Lord Leverhulme had agreed to take EVERYBODY back to the old jobs with NO VICTIMISATION of any sort. The last six men then applied for reinstatement, but nothing happened, in spite of the agreement signed by "His Nibs". Within a month or so a summons was delivered by a copper and an estate office agent who said, "Here is your notice to quit, Mr Keen." We had seven days to get out, but houses were not easy to get even in those days so NO DICE at that time. Then Grandad had to appear at the County Court in Birkenhead to state why he had not shifted as ordered. The learned judge asked who owned the house and was told, "Lord Leverhulme." The old guy just grunted, then asked, "And who is Lord Leverhulme?" - and that within 3 miles of the huge factory! The Court was taken aback, as they say, but nevertheless the Judge ordered us to clear out of the house completely within 14 days OR ELSE! So Grandad had to pick up any old house he could. He used all his savings to BUY one for £300 before we could be put out on the street by the broker's men. The house was 64 Cobden Street in Tranmere, a slummy area but there wasn't much choice.<br />
<br />
Grandad and his Union wrote to Leverhulme and reminded him of his agreement weeks earlier, but got no satisfaction. Those half dozen men never got back into the factory even though they were the cream of the staff employed there. During the next few years they all got responsible jobs with other firms; Grandad and another bloke named Teddy McGleave both got bosses' jobs at Griffiths in Birkenhead, but they both wanted to get back to the village - without any luck.<br />
<br />
We lived in Tranmere till 1937 then moved to Bebington to a
newly built house, and the old house in Cobden Street was bulldozed into
ruin not long afterwards; now it's a wasteland of bricks and grass.<br />
<br />
The big "cheat" always rankled with your Grandad. He was always a very straight man who never broke his word to anyone and always played the game at all times - he was perhaps too straight for many creeps he had to deal with - and he presumed everyone would play fair with everyone else the way he did. He never imagined Lord Leverhulme would not keep his word, and he always lived in hope that it would come right in the end. Even when he died, there in the inside pocket of his suit was a letter from Leverhulme refusing to honour his agreement. Poor old Grandad. He learned an awful lesson during those years, that it was never good to trust anybody too much at any time, because not everyone would keep their word. It was all a terrible blow to him and he never recovered his old self.
He developed a great hatred for anything to do with Sunlight except the
football team, which then played on the Oval. He did go to watch them
every week he could, but that was all.<br />
<br />
END Sue Millardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09022262338933600748noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4655681444077745849.post-50394899571952000702015-12-17T02:00:00.000+00:002015-12-17T23:29:32.815+00:00Port Sunlight in the 1920s: Part 8. Clatterbridge, the cop shop and club outings (Reg Keen)<h4>
Reg Keen, my father, wrote to me in 1978 about his childhood in Port Sunlight. </h4>
During my schooldays lots of lads wore their Dad's old caps, usually with a tuck made in the back with a big safety pin to stop the cap from falling over their eyes ("gone dark early today, mate?"). These days it's chic and "liberated" for girls to wear the same style.<br />
<br />
During the days of the training ships (before my time though) there was a fourth ship in the Sloyne called HMS Clarence after the then Duke of Clarence. There are no sailing ships left these days. Gone also are all the dozens of fishing "smacks" which used to sail in and out with the tides. Some of them used to get into the midnight race to the Isle of Man along with the yachts from the Royal Yacht Club (HQ in Bedford Road, Rock Ferry). Hundreds of spectators used to gather from about 10pm onward to watch the start of the annual race, all done in the dark unless there was a moon. (More about the Royal Mersey Yacht Club here: <span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody"><a class="" dir="ltr" href="https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.royalmersey-yc.co.uk%2Fabout%2Fhistory%2F&h=cAQH8FOws" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">http://www.royalmersey-yc.co.uk/about/history/</a>)</span></span></span><br />
<br />
New Brighton Pier is now being demolished (1978). It used to be a well known place in the '20s and '30s. There used to be a one-legged man who would dive into the river as the ferry steamers arrived at the landing stage; he'd shout, "Don't forget the diver, ladies and gents!" and that was how it came to be a catchphrase on Tommy Handley's ITMA radio show (It's That Man Again). Tommy was a local bloke and knew all about the one-legged diver.<br />
<br />
At New Brighton there used to be "Ham and Egg Parade" where that delicacy could be purchased at any time. They also had a tower, higher than Blackpool Tower. The tower was pulled down in my school days (1913-1922ish) but I can remember the tower. There was also a smuggler's retreat near Egremont called Old Mother Redcap's but it is being bulldozed to dust and its history with it.<br />
<br />
The Battery at New Brighton was an official fort, built by the authorities to protect the river approaches along with the batteries at Seaforth. They never fired their guns much at any time. During WW2 we had metal towers built in the shipyards and towed out to the Bar and lowered onto the sandy seabed. Their guns were to protect the docks from aircraft and bombs. New Brighton Battery is being turned into a museum. <br />
<br />
There were no passenger transport services of any kind in the village in my schooldays; it was all shanks' pony at all times. The New Chester Road was always muddy and messy. At weekends, horsedrawn waggonettes took loads of men from the local clubs and pubs to the Chester area to booze and play bowls (no darts in those days) and on their way back at night these blokes badly needed to spend a penny but there was no place to go so they took turns to stand on the lower steps of the waggonette and let it go into the churned up mud. It caused a lot of hilarity among the spectators, about the nearest they got to modern day streaking I suppose. Lads used to turn cartwheels alongside the vehicles and call out for money, which the semi-drunk passengers often threw in the mud for them.<br />
<br />
When the Lady Lever Art Gallery was being built, the great Troubles were on in Ireland. One night Grandad was on his way home to Primrose Hill after visiting his lifelong pal Jim Parr. It was about 10.30pm and as he passed the Art Gallery building site two coppers pinched him and took him to the police station in Grove Street. Some buggers had been starting fires at the site at night and Grandad was suspect for being out so late at night, He was held at the cop shop for nearly two hours before he finally cleared himself and could go home.<br />
<br />
About that time (or a bit later) the Mersey railway was losing money hand over fist but they must have had advice from somewhere because they suddenly cut the fares from 1s 3d return to Liverpool, down to 6d return, and all other fares <i>pro rata</i>. Within weeks they had started to stack the profit in heaps there was so much of it - extra station extensions were built, new trains purchased - but still the cash rolled in. To compete with them the Corporation had to reduce fares on the buses and ferryboats, and that went on until the Mersey Railway was nationalised - then everything went back to something like the old rate. There must be a lesson in there somewhere. <br />
<br />
You asked about decorations put up when Royalty visited the village. I found a photo of the old house while sorting through a box of other snaps: people made paper roses fastened together with wire. That was about 1918/1919 I think. The Diamond that I referred to earlier, in front of the Art Gallery, was renamed King George's Drive and Queen Mary's Drive, now enclosing rose gardens and fountains etc. Road names also tell you where the streams ran in the village, River Street, Shore Road, Brook Street, Bridge Street etc; also names like Greenbank Road and Windy Hill explain themselves, so does Primrose Hill (but possibly a reference to Disraeli's Primrose League?) The houses called "The Anzacs" were named after the Australia and New Zealand Corps in the First World War. Bolton Road was a tribute to Billy Lever's birthplace; "Soapy Bill" became "Darcy and Hulme" when he was given Honours early in the 20th Century. In the churchyard a crypt was built, and the bodies of Lord and Lady Lever are now in the monument. She was a much loved lady in the village at all times.<br />
<br />
Don't forget that Charles Dickens came to visit Mr Mayer at the old house in the park and there is still "Dickens' Walk" under the horse chestnut trees, always a pretty sight in summer.<br />
<br />
Clatterbridge in those days was just a few scruffy buildings out in the country. It was then under the control of the Poor Law Guardians and used as a workhouse. Men and women were separated there after years of marriage. Another building was an isolation hospital. In 1942 the Yanks took the place over - calling it "Clarrabridge" in their accent - and it was all modernised, jointly with the local people - and look at it now - 1100 beds and counting.<br />
<br />
One other photo, of the "Marx Brothers" in full dress is of my Uncle George in his Smithy yard with three of his "boys". Nunks is the bloke standing behind the big hammer, next to the man with the horseshoe in his hand. I spent many happy hours in that yard letting off fireworks etc and wallowing in the wonderful smells of the working smithy. They really were the good old days. <br />
<br />
<i>More in the next... </i><br />
<br />
__________<br />
<br />
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<br />Sue Millardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09022262338933600748noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4655681444077745849.post-67003392101670728712015-12-16T02:00:00.000+00:002015-12-16T15:52:30.826+00:00Port Sunlight in the 1920s: Part 7. Sunlight soaps, scrumping and smallpox (Reg Keen)<h4>
Reg Keen, my father, wrote to me in 1978 about his childhood in Port Sunlight.</h4>
A magazine called "Progress" was published monthly at the Sunlight works and printed in the printing room there. It kept the village folks informed of local events and so on. I think it is now (1978) called "Sunlight News".<br />
<br />
Products that I can remember being made included:<br />
<br />
Lifebuoy Soap; pink, for ordinary use - probably better described as "red carbolic".<br />
White / pale yellow soap for washing laundry, everyday jobs etc.<br />
Lux flakes for laundry washing<br />
Monkey Brand, a type of abrasive block like a solid version of "Vim", very gritty; size about 2 and a half by 1 and threequarter inches with the name "Monkey Brand "stamped into each block onboth sides. They were packed in orange coloured paper with a monkey's face along with the brand name and the instructions for use printed in black. Adverts said in large type "remember that IT WON'T WASH CLOTHES". It was about the only cleaner of its type in those days when pumice stone was not easy to get - and it was more useful.<br />
<br />
There were some powder type cleaners available but none seemed as popular as modern products of that sort. One big drawback was that all the workers who were engaged in packing the stuff used to suffer from constipation and so work in that department was not popular.<br />
<br />
The same factory also made a dye called "Twink" which was excellent for dyeing materials, such as straw hats; it sold in small brown bottles, a bit bigger than medicine bottles.<br />
<br />
The printing room where Grandad worked for many years did a lot of outside jobs like chocolate boxes for Barker and Dobson's "Viking" chocolates; the lids were embossed - the title of the brand was depressed on the inside and so "stood out" on the lids. Paper ruling was another frequent job, ie, ruling paper sheet for making cash books and ledgers. A lot of general printing was done for sale in local shops for all sorts of purposes.<br />
<br />
Another aspect of the factory was making "oil cake" cattle food in the department called the oil cake mills near the firm's docks beside the Pool. Presumably the oil was used in the soap making and the residue sold as feed.<br />
<br />
The company made wooden boxes to pack their own products, to send away from the factory in their vans or by steam barges via the Pool to Liverpool for the docks or by train from local goods stations. The railway lines went to most local factories including the "Maggie Anne" works (Planter's Margarine works) which later became "Stork" and later Van Den Burgh and Jurgens. I think they dabbled a bit in the candle works too but I am not certain.<br />
<br />
You remember the "tram lines" up at Storeton? Well, that stone was dug out to help build the wharves at Port Sunlight for loading and unloading the barges. The old waggon lines led from the quarry past the school grounds of what is now Wirral Grammar school; they passed down what is now Quarry Avenue under the bridge near the General Offices in Greendale Road and then on to the little dock area opposite Poets Corner by where the Bridge Inn now stands.<br />
<br />
It was a great place for us kids to play around and explore and so always remembered. All us lads had an "inside knowledge" of the area and the steam trains which ran regularly from the factory and the oil cake mills down the New Chester Road cutting to the margarine works and then to Port Rainbow to start the products on their export trips. I knew several drivers on the trains.<br />
<br />
In addition to the stone from Storeton Woods some stone came from the big quarry by the windmill (now demolished). It was a grand place for "niggers' funerals" (blackberrying) - a great spot for whipping fruit of all kinds - scrumping apples was a common pastime, even along the footpath from Mayer Park towards Ellen's Lane. (A bloody big black dog chased me on one occasion when I was about 12.) There were lots of allotments around and some kids spent hours digging under the potato haulms to get at the spuds underground, then the kids lit a fire on any handy spot to bake the spuds for eating. The plant would hang on for a while, but next day it would have drooped and withered, giving the game away to passers-by. The sabotaged plants were removed, being no use any more. I never dared to join in that lark because my old Dad suffered too much from similar predation on his allotment at the back of the houses on Primrose Hill and I knew how much it used to upset him to have spent money on seed potatoes and then not get any crop worth mentioning. But lots of kids in those days were underfed and needed those unofficial picnics. You were lucky to have shoes on your feet every day and not to have to wear "reach-me-down" pants (usually your Dad's old ones cut short). That was even the case in the "posh" area of Sunlight Village, and it was much worse in New Ferry around Olinda Street and Woodhead Street (now mostly pulled down). Woodhead Street is now a car park near Berkson's shoe shop.<br />
<br />
I remember many scares about smallpox in New Ferry area while I was at school - usually from a patient escaping the isolation hospital near the brickworks. There were great panics and the streets used to be sealed off, so shopping had to be done by friends, or the local police, while the folk living in the streets concerned stayed in their houses until the groceries etc were delivered over the table-type barriers across the streets. On one occasion an escaped smallpox patient was found at dawn in a gents' toilet in Woodhead Street. The police took him back to the hospital then workmen piulled the whole place to pieces and removed all signs of the "utensils", then the remains were burned with a sort of flame thrower and finally sprayed with disinfectant. A lone bobby was posted to keep the nosey kids away (and some adults) - although most adults kept away without any warning, they were all so scared of the dreaded smallpox.<br />
<br />
<i>More in the next... </i><br />
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__________<br />
<br />
Between now and 26 February 2016 you can earn a free Kindle Book by
simply downloading and registering the free Kindle reading app, or
buying a Kindle Book, or buying a book. Here are some of mine to get you
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<br />Sue Millardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09022262338933600748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4655681444077745849.post-176631476860730462015-12-15T02:00:00.000+00:002015-12-15T02:00:04.866+00:00Port Sunlight in the 1920s: Part 6. A picnic at the Manor (Reg Keen)In those days the river was full of ferry boats as well as other
ships including sailing ships. There was the service to New Brighton and
Egremont, a service to Seacombe, a service to Woodside, plus another to
New Ferry and Rock Ferry. Finally there was a service of small paddle
steamers to Eastham, all very handy and interesting to Sunlight village
residents, who attended in hundreds by steamer or bike to collect
thousands of the beautiful bluebells every spring weekend. The Ferry
Hotel is all that is left of Eastham Ferry service and buildings
nowadays, worse luck.<br />
<br />
Another well-known picnic spot was and still is Raby Mere, and it has boats on it even now.<br />
<br />
There
were always organised picnics during summer, usually transporting
people sitting on wooden forms fastened to a coal cart, but NOT for the
village children. We usually had a big band to play at outdoor events, and there were some
fine ones in the area. Port Sunlight Silver Band, Tranmere's Gleam of
Sunshine, Bromborough Pool's Silver Band and Cammell Lairds' Band - alas
most of them have now gone into limbo. <br />
<br />
Once each summer
the whole village went by coaches (charabancs) to Lord Leverhulme's home
Thornton Manor, all very posh - but when the dozens of coaches had been
filled, the enclosed works lorries were brought into use to help out.
Inside those it was dark, noisy and smelly and the trip could not end
soon enough. The coach children were very chuffed, but the lorry kids
were not so pleased.<br />
<br />
On arrival at the Manor the kids
all got books of tickets for trips on various rides, including a sail on
a motor boat of which there were two in use, the "Mauretania" and the
"Lusitania", both flat bottomed, white painted, slow moving barge-like
ships. It was all very interesting to us kids. Everyone did as they
liked and a good time was had by all. At tea time all the kids trooped
into huge marquee tents erected on the lawns and they all got the same
meal: bread and margarine and a bag of cheap cakes from a Liverpool
caterer's. Last of all we got an enamel mug of hot stewed tea.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNh2gdoXVQe_0-C1MYd7liOeQ6KfmnTRGNVI77Urn0fdL4XQvFDMAr-vm2ws6cvt-3BpR-Mzg6LLhYAenQjgRDc3ndpkzQ0wd68aUxDmUA0Kmsx422ImARZ5zfTEkMGxK0_hhTmq8MnFmP/s1600/thornton+manor+-+Gerald+clarkson+collection.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNh2gdoXVQe_0-C1MYd7liOeQ6KfmnTRGNVI77Urn0fdL4XQvFDMAr-vm2ws6cvt-3BpR-Mzg6LLhYAenQjgRDc3ndpkzQ0wd68aUxDmUA0Kmsx422ImARZ5zfTEkMGxK0_hhTmq8MnFmP/s320/thornton+manor+-+Gerald+clarkson+collection.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thornton Manor (Gerald Clarkson collection)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Then
followed more "rides", then organised games on the grassy field in
front of the Manor. One one occasion a lucky lad had won a cricket set, a
bat, three wicket stumps and a ball, so everything was laid out for a
game. At this point Lord Leverhulme himself arrived, clad as usual in
light clerical grey including his "topper". Being in a sporty mood he at
once volunteered to join in the game. He grabbed the bat and took up
his stance at the wicket, shouting, "Come on, boys, bowl at me." That is
just what they did, but instead of the regulation ball he was expecting
he received what was then called a "Berlin Pancake", a roundish,
greasy, sugary, jammy cake withdrawn from some kid's picnic bag. It flew
through the air and just missed the immaculate topper and spotless
suit. His Lordship looked very shocked, and he quickly dropped the bat
even though he had not hit a single ball, and nipped away saying,
"Thanks boys, good luck," then he was GONE. To the kids it was the
highlight of the day, bowling cakes at his Lordship and after he had
paid for them too. I can still see it happening, I'll never forget that
day at the Manor.Sue Millardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09022262338933600748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4655681444077745849.post-86163949844398611152015-12-14T02:00:00.000+00:002015-12-14T02:00:02.827+00:00Port Sunlight in the 1920s: Part 5. Wartime and the reformatory Ships (Reg Keen)<h4>
Reg Keen, my father, wrote to me in 1978 about his childhood in Port Sunlight.</h4>
During the First World War many aircraft were very active over the village. Many Royal Flying Corps planes flew over as well and some crashed; one landed on Highcroft where Highcroft Avenue now is. I ran all the way from school to Highcroft at 4pm to see the "scout" plane land - it was very closely guarded by police all day. Lots of small planes used to fly up and down the long straight roads of the village, Central Road, Poolbank, etc. They scared the daylights out of us kids at times.<br />
<br />
The village showground (now The Oval) was used to accommodate troops on their way to the bloodbath of Flanders. The Cheshire Regiment and the local Bantams (all under about 5 foot 3 inches in height) and many others camped at the same spot, till, about 18 months before the war ended, a gale one stormy night wrecked the camp, and the place has been more or less a dump ever since.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheScrzUugC2PGFsZrR5odzBupienF4m6pkik8Z6mKkGK77IJ6WnBReohSl46jsbXxzSwKzU8PyuEJTxnPY3SXYfwek27_I_yggVDvw2Y9iU4CfyPbm8n_-hwzbfQ9e7YZ8O-bG1DpPQ_3X/s1600/the+Oval+recreation+ground.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheScrzUugC2PGFsZrR5odzBupienF4m6pkik8Z6mKkGK77IJ6WnBReohSl46jsbXxzSwKzU8PyuEJTxnPY3SXYfwek27_I_yggVDvw2Y9iU4CfyPbm8n_-hwzbfQ9e7YZ8O-bG1DpPQ_3X/s320/the+Oval+recreation+ground.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Oval (posted on Facebook by Diana Parker)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Troop trains ran from Bebington and Port Sunlight station en route to France or Egypt. Two of my relations started out from there, and luckily both returned safely. There were always huge crowds to see these men board their trains, usually led by Major Ormerod (before-mentioned). There was a band stand on what was called The Diamond and when the war ended all the village gathered to rejoice in the victory to which it had given so many lives. The War Memorial to the men was erected near the open air swimming baths, one of the original buildings in Port Sunlight at its inception.<br />
<br />
If I misbehaved in any way while at school my parents would threaten to send me to a training ship named "Clio", on station in the Menai Straits. Even the slightest misbehaviour was given as a reason for sending me to the "Clio" and it scared the pants off me. She was a reformatory ship like the three stationed in the Mersey: the "Akbar", the "Indefatigable" and the "Conway". Only the last two were on station in my school days. The two big training ships were always of great interest in the Mersey along with all the schooners and steamships anchored in the Sloyne area of the river.<br />
<br />
I used to watch the crews holding their races on the river during summer months and wondered if, very soon, I would find myself rowing for a "Clio" crew in the Straits. It was a nightmare to live under such threats. On one occasion my bag was packed and put by the front door ready for the police to come and collect me for my punishment. Eventually when I left school the threat was dropped and I forgot all about the training ship until last week when a photograph was published in the Echo of the old "Clio" in the Straits. I have cut it out to keep as a memory of my schooldays.<br />
<br />
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Sue Millardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09022262338933600748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4655681444077745849.post-86115575179910720782015-12-13T02:00:00.000+00:002015-12-13T10:40:11.352+00:00Port Sunlight in the 1920s: Part 4. Sunday is Funday (Reg Keen)<br />
The Boys' Brigade was very popular with the villagers and their bosses, and the Brigade used to go to camp in the Isle of Man each summer, often at Laxey. Grandad used to tell me about the tricks they used to get up to at camps. His favourite (being the Big Drum) was to tighten up the outer skins of the drum and then march through the small old fashioned villages banging away like hell to the great annoyance of the local populace. When they left the village he slackened the skins again to save splitting them.<br />
<br />
The Band of Hope was organised by the churches, and each church often had their own mob. They would meet on Friday nights for all sorts of genteel games, like Ludo, Musical Chairs, three-legged races etc, then a bit of polite singing, usually hymns or similar ditties, and if you didn't sing you didn't get a (stale) cake or a swig of cold stewed tea. The thrill of that soon died away and the lads joined the Scouts; the girls never bothered much with such organisations to avoid trouble.<br />
<br />
The country round about was very sparse except for some farms, commons, lanes and big houses - like the walk from Bebington to Raby Mere without the new housing estates. New Ferry was very like it is today but without Grove Street School; the Park was as it is now too and New Ferry Road (then New Ferry Lane) was well used by folk walking down to the Liverpool steamers (every 20 minutes). That service kept the place alive till a tanker ran into the pier during my later schooldays and that finished off the service for good.<br />
<br />
At weekends the lads used to visit the shore at New and Rock Ferries to wander about with shoes and socks off (those who had socks!) in the thick slimy mud, singing all the popular songs to the passengers disembarking from the ferry boats, and then shouting, "Spare a copper please!" The passengers would throw pennies, always edgeways into the mud and out of sight so the kids would have to forage beneath the slime to try and grab the cash, which was very scarce in those days. It was a well known game at that time - early '20s.<br />
<br />
Other games, on land, were: Pussy four corners, Marbles, Tip Cat, Throw the can (an improvement on Kick the Can, better aim!) - it was easier to knock off the bobby's helmet if you threw the can with a brick stuffed in it!<br />
<br />
We also played cricket and football, fives, releavo and weak-horse; and with fag cards, cherrywags, hoops, tops. A favourite game was to tie two adjacent doorknockers together then knock at one door and run like 'ell. A harmless gag was to get two empty wooden cotton reels and two lads would stand either side of the footway in the darkness of evening and go through the motions of winding cotton onto the reels, shouting at homecoming passers-by to "Mind the cotton please!" The antics of the folk were a good laugh as they dodged the imaginary cotton. Another trick was to collect a ball of mud, wet it and divide it into smaller balls to throw at house windows where they flattened and remained stuck.<br />
<br />
There were few street lamps (gas) in those days so there was a lot of scope for polite mischief but there was no rough stuff or damage done to property. We all knew that Billy Lever would soon "fix" you if you got too venturesome. <br />
<br />
Number 10, Primrose Hill, was a 5 roomed house plus a small pantry and a bathroom, but no water laid to it either hot or cold. When you wanted a bath you had to light a small coal-fired boiler in the back kitchen, which heated water in a "copper" above it. The water then had to be ladled into a bucket and poured into the bath. Laundry was done the same way. It was a hot, stuffy, steaming, smelly and dangerous system especially when young children were present. After bathing or washing was completed the dirty water had to be ladled out and poured down the outside grid in the backyard. All very tiring. There were three bedrooms upstairs and nothing else, no toilet - that was at the very bottom of the backyard. It flushed but there was no light or any refinements, just a big nail with small newspaper bits strung on it for eventual use. All water was cold water, from a tap in the back kitchen - no pumping required.<br />
<br />
Grandad had a rented allotment in the land behind the enclosed "backs" at 2s 6d per year rent. We also took up some flagstones in the back yard and planted flowers right outside the kitchen door, Some tenants kept hens in their allotments, which was allowed.<br />
<br />
There were ice cream carts and donkey rides on New Ferry shore from the pier offices towards Bromborough Pool, at the foot of what was known as the Shore Cliffs. In the second world war there was an anti-aircraft battery there, very near what was years ago the Isolation Hospital (treating smallpox), for ships' crews arriving in the port of Liverpool. Barnes' Brickworks were near the hospital (Grandad worked at the brickworks when he was 12).<br />
<br />
Every year there was a walking race from Woodside to Ellesmere Port, organised by a relation of my family, Harry Thompson. His son Harry Junior won the race on several occasions.<br />
<br />
Schoolboy football was very much in evidence. Church Drive Boys played at the Poolbank enclosure (The Tins, painted red) in the centre of the village. Most local schools also had teams and provided the lads for the local "town" teams such as Bebington Schoolboys, and Birkenhead Schoolboys who included the great Dixie Dean when he was under 14 years of age. He was the greatest centre forward ever in this country, scoring over 60 goals in a season. <br />
<br />
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Sue Millardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09022262338933600748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4655681444077745849.post-74525025737517119512015-12-12T11:23:00.004+00:002024-01-12T11:00:01.628+00:00Port Sunlight in the 1920s: Part 3. (Reg Keen)<h4>
Continuing the letter from my father written in 1978:</h4>
<br />
Most of the raw materials for soap manufacture came to the works by steam barges, often towing other barges. They were normally painted black with red funnels (when they had funnels). They proceeded to the works from the Mersey via the Pool, after which Bromborough Pool was named - a small village that was built before Port Sunlight existed and was controlled by Price's Patent Candle Company.<br />
<br />
I have no idea how many people worked at the Sunlight factory but it must have been in the region of 10,000 men. Conditions inside the factory were very good for the times but strict. Everyone had to W O R K and damned hard, for the whole day, no scrimshanking of any sort, and the 'sack' was always round the corner. Pay was about £3 per week for skilled tradesmen, less for labourers. A great pal of your Grandad's used to get one gold sovereign each week as a labourer. He said it was just enough to keep him going while he worked another week for another gold coin, <i>ad infinitum</i>. No pound notes in those days. Poor old Jim Venables. He used to walk down Central Road to work each day. Grandad got about three times Jim's pay because he was a tradesman printer (machine minder). Jim was killed in the first World War, a fact which always upset Grandad, he never forgot Jim of "Skipper" as he was always called; a lovely man, unmarried, sober, honest and very straight. Grandad was always proud of him being his friend.<br />
<br />
Grandad worked at Price's Candle Works when he was a youth of about 16, before starting work as a printer at Lever Brothers in Sunlight village. His work at Lever's made us eligible for a house on the estate, and in 1909 we took over 10, Primrose Hill, the earliest home I can remember. We lived there till I was 16 and happy years they were for me.<br />
<br />
The well known Art Gallery in the village was built when I was about 13 (1921/22). I passed it going to and from school each day. It is built in one of the small valleys which used to hold small streams that abounded in that part of the Wirral, all on their way to the river Mersey via the Pool. The gallery was built to commemorate the life work of Lady Lever, Lord Lever's much loved wife. All the villagers thought very well of her and she remained completely free of scandal during all her life and that was something even in those days. She was greatly liked by the children of the village; one reason was that every child in the village always received a stiff backed book, according to the child's age, on the morning of EVERY birthday from 5 to 14. The books were marked with a printed label showing the Lever family photograph and inscribed, "As a gift to ...... on the occasion of their ...... birthday." A smartly uniformed boy of about 17 was employed to deliver each book before noon on the big day. We looked forward to his call very much and I still have some of those much valued books.<br />
<br />
When New Chester Road school was built it was not inside the old village limits but all the old classes from Church Drive were transferred to it and the kids from the old Lyceum went to Church Drive. A terrific rivalry grew up between the two schools, and great dislike when they competed at cricket, football and swimming. Most kids looked forward to heavy snowfalls and by common consent both groups of children gathered in the area of Brook Street where a huge snowball fight took place until time for school to open at 9am. It was renewed at dinner time and when school closed at 4pm. It was usual for each snowball to be stuffed with small bricks or "mackies" (road stones) and there were many bloody battles with cut heads all winter. But nobody ever got badly hurt, to my knowledge.<br />
<br />
I learned all my ignorance at the village school - no
universities for the likes of me in those days. I had to start work at
14 and got 11s 8d a week (no Tax!)<br />
<br />
Bread was about threepence ha'penny to fivepence a loaf (1lb to 2lb). Spuds, about 5lb for eightpence to a shilling according to the age of the spuds. A rabbit cost ninepence to a shilling each (very tasty too). Poaching was rife of course, usually along the area of Storeton, along to Prenton woods. Sunday joints about 2s 6d upwards according to weight. Coal was 1s 3d to 1s 9d per hundredweight. We used to get ours from Dick Houldin, advertised as "Grate Stuff" for years. His sons are still in the firm in the same place <i>(1978)</i>.<br />
<br />
The trees in Sunlight village were planted under the original scheme and are only new being renewed. The main road to Chester was packed mud and clay from the Toll Bar outward past Bromborough Cross and it was only macadam or tar from the Toll Bar into Birkenhead.<br />
<br />
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