The decision and policy makers cannot cope without pigeon holes. These are the broad categories of social types and groups into which we are placed and dare to cross over between during our four score years and ten.
We have all been slotted into one. You may wonder why you have received, through the post, a free copy of a glossy Lifestyle Magazine when your own is far from the same. This is because you fit the group in the wider population that mirrors and promotes the aspirations and, yes, even for a fairly innocuous publication, politics and social class of the publishers and whoever controls their direction and finances.
The mechanism by which we are corralled into a particular category came to my attention when one of my colleagues activated a link on a property website entitled ' What is like to live in this postcode?'.
Of course, you enter your own for a bit of a giggle. After all, what possible harm can a demographic area profile have on your perception of your neighbours, friends and acquaintances?
The headlines summarising the specific postcode did initially invoke some hilarity but closer reading of the text caused anger and distress in equal proportions.
Of course, the disclaimer for the presentation of commentary and statistics is made on the basis that it is on a broad postcode unit and not for a particular household. The strapline in this instance was "Poorer Singles in Local Authority Family Neighbourhood". The disclaimer states, to the effect that "an affluent family may live inside a postcode which has a lower than average financial standing". Given that a full postcode can pinpoint a relatively small grouping of properties can make any designation of status all encompassing.
My colleague apparently resides in an area of houses in bad repair, poor quality, small and pokey, low priced, amongst loutish, heavy drinking and prolifically fertile neighbours who purchase ample volumes of spirits, abhor books but are easily influenced by television advertising and direct marketing.
This latter characteristic suggests that no-one has a job and stays around at home or otherwise frequents the Beer-Off. Luddites look like geeks on the grounds that my colleagues neighbours and friends have a poor "take-up" of technological innovations, little experience of the internet and mainly watch Sky Satellite channels.
This enforced profile hardly indicates any potential for leisure time but the postcode grouping has the residents going to watch football matches, playing bingo, gambling, betting and have no apparent regard for fitness and cultural activities. This is surprising given the proceeding fact that car ownership is extremely low so by definition everyone indulges in the extremely healthy activity of walking everywhere or running for the bus.
Hand in hand with their derelict houses are wasteland gardens in which it is summised that very few have the inclination to invest in them apart from huge structures for aviaries.
DIY is apparently a necessity and is not at all a subject of enjoyment.
Is there in fact time for holidays within this existence? These are profiled as mainly in the UK and in holiday camps or a caravan. A throw away line in the continued assassination of the good families of this specific postcode is beyond contempt in "As one would expect, charity begins at home for this group".
To those of a nervous disposition living in this particular postcode do you immediately go out and buy a burglar alarm, barbed wire and an attack dog? Do you dare look your fellow residents in the eyes again or give them the time of day or a cup of sugar? Rather than chat on occasion over the garden fence do you now patrol it and record events on a CCTV?
To those responsible for this type of social profiling I would urge them to abandon their almost religious devotion to statistics and actually go and visit real people. They will be surprised and refreshed by what they see.
Saturday, 31 January 2015
Friday, 30 January 2015
Money, Money, Money
Money comes easily to some people.
It may be from the inheritance of a fortune, the germ of an idea that becomes an indispensable part of modern life, a piece of writing that captures the imagination of a generation, a natural skill that can be put to good exploitative use by others, stumbling across something valuable, from the proceeds of despicable crime or it is won in a game of chance or on the scratching away of a small sliver of silver.
I like one of the sayings attributed to the American multi millionaire J Paul Getty which shows a good attitude to and a wicked acceptance of his fantastic wealth, "Rise early, work hard, strike oil". On that mantra I can be severely criticised as performing only at just over 66% of my potential.
Money has always burnt a hole in my pockets and I find it very difficult to hold onto it for very long if at all. Not that I am upset or feel at a disadvantage by this trait. Indeed I have casually observed people with plenty of money whose main pursuit in life is not to lose it and this sadly produces much anxiety and stress that must serve to completely hamstring them from ever really enjoying the rewards of their endeavours, however it has been got.
It is often the case that the wealthiest are also the most cost conscious or what the rest of us refer to as tight. In the current but prolonged recession it is clear that around 85% of the nation is skint and retracting in their spending and confidence whilst the remaining percentage are cleaning up nicely, thank you very much, by being able to access cash or other funds. In adversity comes a determination to survive and resourcefullness and innovation emerge as a strong motivation. This may explain the upsurge in such operations as hand car washes, wheelie bin swiller outers and the chronically accident prone as customers for the sudden proliferation of accident lawyers.
Money can empower and faciltate great things but any reference to it still attracts derogatory and quite obscene terms. This is by no means a modern phenomena as early literature and drama refers in ribald and bawdy language throughout many centuries. My favourite term of 'filthy lucre' is reputed to have been a broad interpretation of a passage from the book of Leviticus by William Tyndale in his translation of the Bible in 1525.
It is clear that money can also cause great misery. Perhaps one of the best documented cases is that of Viv Nicholson. In 1961 there were few opportunities to win a lot of money but the main competition of the time was the football pools. I remember a regular caller to our house being the 'pools man' who would drop off and collect the weekly coupon. Talk about confusing to a young child. The form was ultra complex in its multiple boxes, permutations , red and black inkiness and it took a keen mathematical brain to work out how much had to be handed over in payment before the duplicate slip could be detached and propped up behind the clock on the mantelpiece. We never to my recollection won anything. Hopes were readily dashed by the dour voice at the end of the saturday football results if the pools forecast was poor or even moderate. Viv Nicholson won over £152,000 which in current monies equates to around £3 million. An unimaginable sum in the early sixties and with enough spending power to buy 306 standard Mini's or 54 average priced houses depending on whether you had an indoor toilet or not. Sadly a combination of personal tragedy, poor investments and the much coined 'Spend, Spend, Spend' approach did little for the rainy day account.
The prospect of winning £3 million pounds today may be met with cries of 'is that all?' because of the cheapening of money as a prize. Its easy availability to win with almost every commercial break on TV, on alternate pages of newspapers and glossy magazines or on the purchase of a lottery ticket means a much reduced perception of what is a life changing amount. We should just stand back and do a quick piece of mental arithmetic on how many years it would take of our current working income to reach such a figure. Adopting an average annual wage from the combined male and female figures makes it around 109 years.
The sight of Lottery winners is now so commonplace as to be overlooked as an event or to be acknowleged as good fortune. Some of the back stories of winners do attest to justice and entitlement but the majority do not.
Hard earned money by conventional and lawful means does have a special pedigree of its own. I can appreciate the dewy eyed sentiment of many who have trod this path that accumulating that first fortune was the best time of their lives.
I was told a great story in recent days about what having a nice amount of money can mean. It centres around a family from what was a hardcore coal mining town in South Yorkshire. A life downt' pit was replaced by a thriving business in the community which grew to multiple shops and consequential wealth. The matriarch of the family expressed delight to a long time friend in the town in announcing that they had just purchased a plane. As an indicator of sustainable wealth an aircraft is right up there with a yacht or overseas homes. It meant, above all, to the family that it now only took 20 minutes to get to Skegness. True class always shines through.
It may be from the inheritance of a fortune, the germ of an idea that becomes an indispensable part of modern life, a piece of writing that captures the imagination of a generation, a natural skill that can be put to good exploitative use by others, stumbling across something valuable, from the proceeds of despicable crime or it is won in a game of chance or on the scratching away of a small sliver of silver.
I like one of the sayings attributed to the American multi millionaire J Paul Getty which shows a good attitude to and a wicked acceptance of his fantastic wealth, "Rise early, work hard, strike oil". On that mantra I can be severely criticised as performing only at just over 66% of my potential.
Money has always burnt a hole in my pockets and I find it very difficult to hold onto it for very long if at all. Not that I am upset or feel at a disadvantage by this trait. Indeed I have casually observed people with plenty of money whose main pursuit in life is not to lose it and this sadly produces much anxiety and stress that must serve to completely hamstring them from ever really enjoying the rewards of their endeavours, however it has been got.
It is often the case that the wealthiest are also the most cost conscious or what the rest of us refer to as tight. In the current but prolonged recession it is clear that around 85% of the nation is skint and retracting in their spending and confidence whilst the remaining percentage are cleaning up nicely, thank you very much, by being able to access cash or other funds. In adversity comes a determination to survive and resourcefullness and innovation emerge as a strong motivation. This may explain the upsurge in such operations as hand car washes, wheelie bin swiller outers and the chronically accident prone as customers for the sudden proliferation of accident lawyers.
Money can empower and faciltate great things but any reference to it still attracts derogatory and quite obscene terms. This is by no means a modern phenomena as early literature and drama refers in ribald and bawdy language throughout many centuries. My favourite term of 'filthy lucre' is reputed to have been a broad interpretation of a passage from the book of Leviticus by William Tyndale in his translation of the Bible in 1525.
It is clear that money can also cause great misery. Perhaps one of the best documented cases is that of Viv Nicholson. In 1961 there were few opportunities to win a lot of money but the main competition of the time was the football pools. I remember a regular caller to our house being the 'pools man' who would drop off and collect the weekly coupon. Talk about confusing to a young child. The form was ultra complex in its multiple boxes, permutations , red and black inkiness and it took a keen mathematical brain to work out how much had to be handed over in payment before the duplicate slip could be detached and propped up behind the clock on the mantelpiece. We never to my recollection won anything. Hopes were readily dashed by the dour voice at the end of the saturday football results if the pools forecast was poor or even moderate. Viv Nicholson won over £152,000 which in current monies equates to around £3 million. An unimaginable sum in the early sixties and with enough spending power to buy 306 standard Mini's or 54 average priced houses depending on whether you had an indoor toilet or not. Sadly a combination of personal tragedy, poor investments and the much coined 'Spend, Spend, Spend' approach did little for the rainy day account.
The prospect of winning £3 million pounds today may be met with cries of 'is that all?' because of the cheapening of money as a prize. Its easy availability to win with almost every commercial break on TV, on alternate pages of newspapers and glossy magazines or on the purchase of a lottery ticket means a much reduced perception of what is a life changing amount. We should just stand back and do a quick piece of mental arithmetic on how many years it would take of our current working income to reach such a figure. Adopting an average annual wage from the combined male and female figures makes it around 109 years.
The sight of Lottery winners is now so commonplace as to be overlooked as an event or to be acknowleged as good fortune. Some of the back stories of winners do attest to justice and entitlement but the majority do not.
Hard earned money by conventional and lawful means does have a special pedigree of its own. I can appreciate the dewy eyed sentiment of many who have trod this path that accumulating that first fortune was the best time of their lives.
I was told a great story in recent days about what having a nice amount of money can mean. It centres around a family from what was a hardcore coal mining town in South Yorkshire. A life downt' pit was replaced by a thriving business in the community which grew to multiple shops and consequential wealth. The matriarch of the family expressed delight to a long time friend in the town in announcing that they had just purchased a plane. As an indicator of sustainable wealth an aircraft is right up there with a yacht or overseas homes. It meant, above all, to the family that it now only took 20 minutes to get to Skegness. True class always shines through.
Thursday, 29 January 2015
Off yer Trolley
It is not the thing to inflict puddles on supermarket customers.
To this end you will find that most modern car parks serving larger retailing operations have a distinct camber, or drainage fall by which any surface water can easily and with no nonsense be directed into an unnoticeable system of gullies.
The downside is that when pushing a fully laden shopping trolley across to your parked vehicle there is the need to be pretty forceful and determined to tackle the incline. Most adopt the practice of getting a good run up and rely upon the momentum generated by weight and motion of the weekly provisions to reach the boot or hatchback of the family car.
I was crossing one such parking lot at the local Aldi Store when I saw a rogue trolley working itself loose from the grip of its user and rolling across the tarmac on a potential collision course with other parked vehicles.
The lady shopper had turned her back for a moment to transfer the last of her plastic bagged goods into the car and the trolley had taken the opportunity to escape. I felt obliged to intervene and veered off my route to the main pedestrian walkway and intercepted the empty wheeled cart before it could do any damage.
It was, in my minds eye a smooth and seamless operation and I felt most chivalrous and considerate in my action.
The lady seemed to acknowledge my assistance with a hesitant wave which I put down to a combination of shyness and a reluctance to leave her vehicle and its precious load. I thought that it would be silly to take the trolley to her as by all accounts she had finished with it. I waved and gestured, being out of polite earshot, that I would return the trolley to the forecourt of Aldi and park it up amongst the others.
Pleased with my act of good citizenship I made my way through the traffic, humming and content with the world.
About half way between the lady and the front of the supermarket I glanced down at the handle on the trolley. It had an advert sealed inside the plastic grip for some wash powder or other which I nonchalantly read before noticing that sticking out above was one of those holders for a pound coin deposit which used to be commonplace to ensure the return of a trolley. Many supermarkets had done away with the system which was inconvenient and unpopular amongst shoppers but it appears that an inner city located Aldi needed something to retain their trolleys rather than them being abandoned in the surrounding streets or dumped in the canal.
I realised in horror that my newly adopted trolley contained a shiny new pound coin.
This meant that rather than being a gentleman by my act I was really in the category of a thief.
Daring to look back in the direction of the lady I saw that she was just climbing into her car, perhaps a bit bemused at being the victim of a crime.
She would have to leave the parking space by driving past me and so I slowed down and prepared to wait.
The situation now resembled a bit of a Mexican Stand-Off.
I was keen to reimburse the lady but she was reluctant to approach me for fear of what I would possibly attempt next.
Her car was making a most tortuous route towards the exit to the main road. I was not sure whether to just make a run for it abandoning my ill gotten proceeds of crime, the £1 coin or just hold out for a chance to make recompense. After what seemed like an age the car and lady emerged from behind the first row of shoppers vehicles at a snails pace. Perhaps she was also weighing up her options either putting her foot down and careering past me or running me down. I could imagine that in a Court of Law she would be admonished of my manslaughter in the name of self defence and reasonable force.
Of course the coin was firmly locked in the mechanism on the handle and could only be released by smashing into the stack of other trolleys and connecting up to the nearest. I calculated that I would not have time to do this and also apologise to the driver and so fidgeted about in my pockets for a loose £1. I did not appreciate at the time that rummaging about in such a manner may have looked a bit furtive and perverted.
By now the car and myself were level and I made a flagging motion inviting the lady to slow and stop.
Surprisingly and against all reason the driver side window whirred down and I was met by a smiling and laughing face. My antics had fortunately for me amused the lady but may have as easily gone completely the other way.
I sheepishly handed over a warm coin without having to say a word and we parted on our separate ways.
As I left the supermarket car park on my originally intended way I aimed a hefty kick at a sorry looking discarded trolley which felt most satisfying in a strange and justified way.
To this end you will find that most modern car parks serving larger retailing operations have a distinct camber, or drainage fall by which any surface water can easily and with no nonsense be directed into an unnoticeable system of gullies.
The downside is that when pushing a fully laden shopping trolley across to your parked vehicle there is the need to be pretty forceful and determined to tackle the incline. Most adopt the practice of getting a good run up and rely upon the momentum generated by weight and motion of the weekly provisions to reach the boot or hatchback of the family car.
I was crossing one such parking lot at the local Aldi Store when I saw a rogue trolley working itself loose from the grip of its user and rolling across the tarmac on a potential collision course with other parked vehicles.
The lady shopper had turned her back for a moment to transfer the last of her plastic bagged goods into the car and the trolley had taken the opportunity to escape. I felt obliged to intervene and veered off my route to the main pedestrian walkway and intercepted the empty wheeled cart before it could do any damage.
It was, in my minds eye a smooth and seamless operation and I felt most chivalrous and considerate in my action.
The lady seemed to acknowledge my assistance with a hesitant wave which I put down to a combination of shyness and a reluctance to leave her vehicle and its precious load. I thought that it would be silly to take the trolley to her as by all accounts she had finished with it. I waved and gestured, being out of polite earshot, that I would return the trolley to the forecourt of Aldi and park it up amongst the others.
Pleased with my act of good citizenship I made my way through the traffic, humming and content with the world.
About half way between the lady and the front of the supermarket I glanced down at the handle on the trolley. It had an advert sealed inside the plastic grip for some wash powder or other which I nonchalantly read before noticing that sticking out above was one of those holders for a pound coin deposit which used to be commonplace to ensure the return of a trolley. Many supermarkets had done away with the system which was inconvenient and unpopular amongst shoppers but it appears that an inner city located Aldi needed something to retain their trolleys rather than them being abandoned in the surrounding streets or dumped in the canal.
I realised in horror that my newly adopted trolley contained a shiny new pound coin.
This meant that rather than being a gentleman by my act I was really in the category of a thief.
Daring to look back in the direction of the lady I saw that she was just climbing into her car, perhaps a bit bemused at being the victim of a crime.
She would have to leave the parking space by driving past me and so I slowed down and prepared to wait.
The situation now resembled a bit of a Mexican Stand-Off.
I was keen to reimburse the lady but she was reluctant to approach me for fear of what I would possibly attempt next.
Her car was making a most tortuous route towards the exit to the main road. I was not sure whether to just make a run for it abandoning my ill gotten proceeds of crime, the £1 coin or just hold out for a chance to make recompense. After what seemed like an age the car and lady emerged from behind the first row of shoppers vehicles at a snails pace. Perhaps she was also weighing up her options either putting her foot down and careering past me or running me down. I could imagine that in a Court of Law she would be admonished of my manslaughter in the name of self defence and reasonable force.
Of course the coin was firmly locked in the mechanism on the handle and could only be released by smashing into the stack of other trolleys and connecting up to the nearest. I calculated that I would not have time to do this and also apologise to the driver and so fidgeted about in my pockets for a loose £1. I did not appreciate at the time that rummaging about in such a manner may have looked a bit furtive and perverted.
By now the car and myself were level and I made a flagging motion inviting the lady to slow and stop.
Surprisingly and against all reason the driver side window whirred down and I was met by a smiling and laughing face. My antics had fortunately for me amused the lady but may have as easily gone completely the other way.
I sheepishly handed over a warm coin without having to say a word and we parted on our separate ways.
As I left the supermarket car park on my originally intended way I aimed a hefty kick at a sorry looking discarded trolley which felt most satisfying in a strange and justified way.
Wednesday, 28 January 2015
Spag bull
In this era of instant news, social media and immediate access to reference information it is impossible, you would think, to be taken in, hoaxed or bamboozled by a practical joke and especially one launched on a national scale.
Times were certainly different however in 1957 when on April Fools Day of that year the respectable BBC and its most revered broadcaster Richard Dimbleby spun a wonderful spoof documentary about the bumper harvest of spaghetti on the Swiss/Italian border.
The monday night regular programme of Panorama had run features on unrest in Cyprus and The Duke of Edinburgh before the final story, beautifully timed and professionally produced. It is now a much played TV Classic mainly because of its slickness and the fact that it was the first real hoax of its type.
It was something that would just not be permitted in the modern world of serious journalism.
The idea had come out of a meeting of BBC Editors some weeks before when it was realised that the scheduled Panorama coincided with April the 1st, the legitimate day for practical joking.
A budget of £100 was allocated for the project allowing a team to travel out to Switzerland in the area close to Lake Lugano.
Richard Dimbleby, whose reputation had become established from his correspondent work in the European theatre of war after D-Day did not hesitate to lend his credibility and weight to the item. Many in his esteemed position may have shied away for fear of having their authority undermined.
Only the production crew and four others in the BBC were aware of what was being filmed and this added to the impact of the joke.
The opening shots of the then black and white film were of a spring scene in the foothills of Switzerland with peasants in regional costume preparing to harvest the spaghetti crop as it dangled and waved in the breeze below the boughs of orchard trees festooned with bright blossom blooms.
The popular form of pasta, now commonplace on British tables was still comparatively unknown in 1957 and so many viewers were easily taken in by the thought that it grew on trees as they had not otherwise given much thought to where it came from.
It had been an effort to drape the cooked strands over and around branches and where at risk of falling there was a liberal use of sticky tape.
Dimbleby's tone was perfect in the delivery of the narrative. He reported that it had indeed been a good growing period and momentous news for the farmers following a mild winter and the non-appearance of the damaging spaghetti weevil which had decimated crops in previous years.
Furthermore, hard frosts had been absent and there were prospects for a good price to be achieved in the world markets.
Swiss production was described as being on a smaller scale than in the nearby Po Valley in Italy but nevertheless essential for the local economy.
The script cleverly worked in the metaphor of the better known wine harvest giving yet more credibility.
After collection from the trees the spaghetti was laid out to be naturally dried in the spring sun. The uniform lengths were attributed to many decades of endeavour by plant breeders.
To mark the successful bringing in of the crop the villagers held a feast with, of course, home grown spaghetti taking place of honour amongst plenty of wine and other delicacies.
At the end of the broadcast on the night Richard Dimbleby reminded viewers that it was 1st April and was seen to coyly tap the side of his nose to signify the joviality of what had seemed a serious subject.
The realisation of a hoax caused much anger and criticism although this was more than matched by the acceptance of hilarity by the British Public who generally have a mischievous and keen sense of humour.
One Director General of the BBC after watching at home was completely fooled and was said to have reached for his encyclopedia to find out more about the fascinating subject.
In order to pacify the more indignant of the viewers it was deemed necessary to broadcast a clarification within a few hours.
To illustrate the convincing nature of the spoof documentary many garden centres were, in the first weeks of April, inundated with enquiries about the availability and cost of spaghetti bushes.
Times were certainly different however in 1957 when on April Fools Day of that year the respectable BBC and its most revered broadcaster Richard Dimbleby spun a wonderful spoof documentary about the bumper harvest of spaghetti on the Swiss/Italian border.
The monday night regular programme of Panorama had run features on unrest in Cyprus and The Duke of Edinburgh before the final story, beautifully timed and professionally produced. It is now a much played TV Classic mainly because of its slickness and the fact that it was the first real hoax of its type.
It was something that would just not be permitted in the modern world of serious journalism.
The idea had come out of a meeting of BBC Editors some weeks before when it was realised that the scheduled Panorama coincided with April the 1st, the legitimate day for practical joking.
A budget of £100 was allocated for the project allowing a team to travel out to Switzerland in the area close to Lake Lugano.
Richard Dimbleby, whose reputation had become established from his correspondent work in the European theatre of war after D-Day did not hesitate to lend his credibility and weight to the item. Many in his esteemed position may have shied away for fear of having their authority undermined.
Only the production crew and four others in the BBC were aware of what was being filmed and this added to the impact of the joke.
The opening shots of the then black and white film were of a spring scene in the foothills of Switzerland with peasants in regional costume preparing to harvest the spaghetti crop as it dangled and waved in the breeze below the boughs of orchard trees festooned with bright blossom blooms.
The popular form of pasta, now commonplace on British tables was still comparatively unknown in 1957 and so many viewers were easily taken in by the thought that it grew on trees as they had not otherwise given much thought to where it came from.
It had been an effort to drape the cooked strands over and around branches and where at risk of falling there was a liberal use of sticky tape.
Dimbleby's tone was perfect in the delivery of the narrative. He reported that it had indeed been a good growing period and momentous news for the farmers following a mild winter and the non-appearance of the damaging spaghetti weevil which had decimated crops in previous years.
Furthermore, hard frosts had been absent and there were prospects for a good price to be achieved in the world markets.
Swiss production was described as being on a smaller scale than in the nearby Po Valley in Italy but nevertheless essential for the local economy.
The script cleverly worked in the metaphor of the better known wine harvest giving yet more credibility.
After collection from the trees the spaghetti was laid out to be naturally dried in the spring sun. The uniform lengths were attributed to many decades of endeavour by plant breeders.
To mark the successful bringing in of the crop the villagers held a feast with, of course, home grown spaghetti taking place of honour amongst plenty of wine and other delicacies.
At the end of the broadcast on the night Richard Dimbleby reminded viewers that it was 1st April and was seen to coyly tap the side of his nose to signify the joviality of what had seemed a serious subject.
The realisation of a hoax caused much anger and criticism although this was more than matched by the acceptance of hilarity by the British Public who generally have a mischievous and keen sense of humour.
One Director General of the BBC after watching at home was completely fooled and was said to have reached for his encyclopedia to find out more about the fascinating subject.
In order to pacify the more indignant of the viewers it was deemed necessary to broadcast a clarification within a few hours.
To illustrate the convincing nature of the spoof documentary many garden centres were, in the first weeks of April, inundated with enquiries about the availability and cost of spaghetti bushes.
Tuesday, 27 January 2015
A warm feeling
The sound of the front door bell can mean many things to as many people.
It can announce the arrival of the Postman or delivery van bringing a large parcel on a birthday or special occasion or a surprise visit by relatives or friends keen to share good news or to celebrate something momentous.
These are just two examples of a happy and joyous moment.
In direct contrast the sound of a melodious ringtone could herald bad news such as in the serious face of a policeman or the apologetic but legally indignant attitude of a bailiff.
In my early years, when I was about 8, the silhouette of a shuffling, stooped shape through the frosted glass of the front door of our house and the soon to follow sounding of the bell chimes struck sheer and mortal terror into my very soul.
It was the dreaded weekly visit of the old lady delivering a local newspaper.
For some reason, whether bad timing or wholly intentional our house was the regular location when her bowels demanded attention.
My parents, kind, compassionate and Godly people, had made, in the opinion of us children a gross error of judgement in letting the lady use our downstairs toilet just the one time. It was a natural and humane thing to do, I appreciate that now at my world weary age of 51, but it was taken to be an acceptance that the cloakroom at 21 West Garth Gardens was now a public convenience or at least an exclusive facility for a specific employee of the free press.
Getting caught short is no laughing matter, something else I have learned from getting on in years.
Notwithstanding the potential embarrassment of being caught having a whiz in front of innocent passers by it is also an offence which could result in prosecution, a hefty fine and some very unwanted publicity and local notoriety.
There are limited options to have a legal wee but most of them involve spending not just the proverbial penny but having to fork out funds to buy something from a shop or hostelry in order to justify use of their facilities.
In remote locations there is wider scope to relieve yourself but conditional on the critical factors of checking wind direction, speed and the probability of being overlooked from a distance or in the freakish scenario of providing the roadside entertainment for a coach trip from the Women's Institute who just happen to be passing by and glancing up from their books and magazines.
The number of public lavatories is dwindling year on year being an easy target for Local Authority cutbacks. Those left are often unsanitary and frankly, pretty scary to enter and use with confidence.
It is just such a current situation that has prompted two citizens of New Orleans, USA to pioneer the phenomenon known as AirPnP.
There is already a thriving business in providing accommodation under the guise of Air BnB and so why not run out the model and ethos for subscribers to find a clean and comfortable bathroom on line or through a mobile phone App.
The marketing stance of AirPnp is;
"When there aren't enough bathrooms nearby for the amount of people in any given location Airpnp is there to save the day.
Airpnp gives residences and businesses the opportunity to rent out their bathrooms to people in their immediate location who need to use it.
This currently happens through a mobile optimized web app (native apps are in the works!). Users are able to rate their pee experience afterwards to others can see how each restroom stacks up.
The founders during the Mardi Gras in their home town of New Orleans routinely experienced the pain point of having no place to legally urinate.
This problem is often solved by using what is known as a “rogue pee.” If caught the person faces a weekend in Orleans Parish Prison. Yet this stiff penalty doesn’t stop thousands upon thousands of “rogue pees.” This clearly demonstrates the demand for a legal alternative"
The scheme has proven popular with around 177 loo locations already available and with charges ranging from a few dollars to use the toilet in someone's home to a few hundred dollars for a truly luxurious and indulgent number one or number two in equally prestigious premises.
Unfortunately, in the UK the idea has been slow to take off with, to date, only two locations listed with one in Cornwall and the other within the premises of University College London.
The advertised cost is however quite an enticement at only £1 per sitting, or is that a standing charge?
It can announce the arrival of the Postman or delivery van bringing a large parcel on a birthday or special occasion or a surprise visit by relatives or friends keen to share good news or to celebrate something momentous.
These are just two examples of a happy and joyous moment.
In direct contrast the sound of a melodious ringtone could herald bad news such as in the serious face of a policeman or the apologetic but legally indignant attitude of a bailiff.
In my early years, when I was about 8, the silhouette of a shuffling, stooped shape through the frosted glass of the front door of our house and the soon to follow sounding of the bell chimes struck sheer and mortal terror into my very soul.
It was the dreaded weekly visit of the old lady delivering a local newspaper.
For some reason, whether bad timing or wholly intentional our house was the regular location when her bowels demanded attention.
My parents, kind, compassionate and Godly people, had made, in the opinion of us children a gross error of judgement in letting the lady use our downstairs toilet just the one time. It was a natural and humane thing to do, I appreciate that now at my world weary age of 51, but it was taken to be an acceptance that the cloakroom at 21 West Garth Gardens was now a public convenience or at least an exclusive facility for a specific employee of the free press.
Getting caught short is no laughing matter, something else I have learned from getting on in years.
Notwithstanding the potential embarrassment of being caught having a whiz in front of innocent passers by it is also an offence which could result in prosecution, a hefty fine and some very unwanted publicity and local notoriety.
There are limited options to have a legal wee but most of them involve spending not just the proverbial penny but having to fork out funds to buy something from a shop or hostelry in order to justify use of their facilities.
In remote locations there is wider scope to relieve yourself but conditional on the critical factors of checking wind direction, speed and the probability of being overlooked from a distance or in the freakish scenario of providing the roadside entertainment for a coach trip from the Women's Institute who just happen to be passing by and glancing up from their books and magazines.
The number of public lavatories is dwindling year on year being an easy target for Local Authority cutbacks. Those left are often unsanitary and frankly, pretty scary to enter and use with confidence.
It is just such a current situation that has prompted two citizens of New Orleans, USA to pioneer the phenomenon known as AirPnP.
There is already a thriving business in providing accommodation under the guise of Air BnB and so why not run out the model and ethos for subscribers to find a clean and comfortable bathroom on line or through a mobile phone App.
The marketing stance of AirPnp is;
"When there aren't enough bathrooms nearby for the amount of people in any given location Airpnp is there to save the day.
Airpnp gives residences and businesses the opportunity to rent out their bathrooms to people in their immediate location who need to use it.
This currently happens through a mobile optimized web app (native apps are in the works!). Users are able to rate their pee experience afterwards to others can see how each restroom stacks up.
The founders during the Mardi Gras in their home town of New Orleans routinely experienced the pain point of having no place to legally urinate.
This problem is often solved by using what is known as a “rogue pee.” If caught the person faces a weekend in Orleans Parish Prison. Yet this stiff penalty doesn’t stop thousands upon thousands of “rogue pees.” This clearly demonstrates the demand for a legal alternative"
The scheme has proven popular with around 177 loo locations already available and with charges ranging from a few dollars to use the toilet in someone's home to a few hundred dollars for a truly luxurious and indulgent number one or number two in equally prestigious premises.
Unfortunately, in the UK the idea has been slow to take off with, to date, only two locations listed with one in Cornwall and the other within the premises of University College London.
The advertised cost is however quite an enticement at only £1 per sitting, or is that a standing charge?
Monday, 26 January 2015
Points of View
Some things seen from an unusual angle can be difficult to recognise.
They may be everyday objects in close-up which mystify until the process of panning out gives the view of something so familiar as to cause extreme surprise or embarrassment.
The following are three examples of such things. See if you can fathom out what or where they are..............
Number 1. Found in most older UK houses as a fundamental part of the structure and as an amenity. There is an increasing trend for these to be built into new homes or retro-fitted. I did think that this resembled an opening credit for a classic James Bond Film as a view down a gun barrel awaiting the arrival of a silhouetted figure and the would be assassin copping it for good.
Number 2. A fancy geometric shape spanning a large open space. The photo does not do justice to the scale and magnificence of the architectural design and also the visual impact.
Number 3. A large bolted connection on a piece of oversized machinery. The view downwards may give a clue as to the whereabouts of the object if you are, of course, not afraid of heights.
Answers; 1. A metallic chimney flue 2. The roof over The British Museum 3. London Ferris Wheel
They may be everyday objects in close-up which mystify until the process of panning out gives the view of something so familiar as to cause extreme surprise or embarrassment.
The following are three examples of such things. See if you can fathom out what or where they are..............
Number 1. Found in most older UK houses as a fundamental part of the structure and as an amenity. There is an increasing trend for these to be built into new homes or retro-fitted. I did think that this resembled an opening credit for a classic James Bond Film as a view down a gun barrel awaiting the arrival of a silhouetted figure and the would be assassin copping it for good.
Number 2. A fancy geometric shape spanning a large open space. The photo does not do justice to the scale and magnificence of the architectural design and also the visual impact.
Number 3. A large bolted connection on a piece of oversized machinery. The view downwards may give a clue as to the whereabouts of the object if you are, of course, not afraid of heights.
Answers; 1. A metallic chimney flue 2. The roof over The British Museum 3. London Ferris Wheel
Sunday, 25 January 2015
Yellow Honey Monster Bus
Rest one buttock on the edge of the seat towards the aisle, do not look out of the window or allow yourself to be seen aboard what was referred to as 'The Big Yellow Honey Monster Bus".
During the academic week the brightly coloured bus was on the school run with no particular attachment to a specific school or age group and with no great problems or stigma attached to being carried as a passenger especially if in uniform.
However, on a weekend when the bus was used to take us to Youth Orchestra practice it attracted the attentions and ridicule of otherwise quite normal and placid pupils or just members of the public who would gesticulate and hurl abuse at what they considered as (and I hesitate to repeat the following offensive words), a busload of remedial or somehow retarded kids being taken out for a saturday trip.
As far as I was concerned this treatment by my peers was bad enough but to actually surrender half of a precious weekend to music practice only added further insult to the verbal and demonstrative injuries.
I was having trumpet tuition as an extra-curricula subject and a condition of taking up school time and resources was to relinquish some of my own leisure hours in the pursuit of a coming together of district musicians with the ultimate outcome in any one year being a grand concert to which Civic Dignatorys and mums and dads were invited.
I was understandably miffed at missing out on saturday TV on the bi-monthly incarceration on the dreaded bus and at some massive comprehensive school in the nearest large town.
Anything to do with playing my trumpet always made me quite hot and sweaty so as well as a feeling of indignation about the practice days I was always very uncomfortable and by mid afternoon probably not very pleasant to be down-wind of.
There were some very talented individuals attending who had the ability and inclination to actually take up a career in music. I hated them. They were always sat up front as the lead players in their particular brass, woodwind or string sections and flaunted in any conversational opportunities their current level of Royal School of Music gradings. They also looked better dressed, composed and probably had excellent packed lunches as well, you know the thing- Pate, croissant, freshly squeezed juice, home made fairy cakes and nutritious healthy snacks. I had usually eaten my peanut butter sandwiches, crisps, marathon bar and flapjack before the bus even arrived at the practice session.
I had no Music Grades and no hope within reason of actually attaining any. The day would drag on incessantly. The morning session was usually in sub groups working on a musical piece. I could seek refuge in the third or back row of the trumpet section and get away with miming or just getting enough air down the tubes to eke out a semblance of a tune if really pushed to do so. The only real fun in playing a trumpet was building up a massive amount of spit and bile which accumulated in the bottom tubing. When the tubes were full there would be a bubbling and gurgling sound signalling the need to vent and evacuate the trumpet of its bodily fluids by pressing a small valve key and blowing. The third row, known for its excess spit, soon took on the appearance of a bunch of bed wetters sat amongst their own pools of waste.
The afternoon session was a combination of all orchestral sections to work on the concert pieces.
Early on in the academic year the sound was excruciatingly bad and showed only very slow improvement for many months. The tutors had great ambitions and enthusiasm but must have been hearing something very different to what I was exposed to on the back row. The imagination of the noise made by the mass strangling of cats came to mind.
With immense relief the day would finish with only the bus journey to be survived.
In the winter months there was some security provided by the cover of darkness but in the summer we were an easy target for what would today be regarded as wholly politically incorrect behaviour by all those who encountered the bright yellow bus on its usually slow and laborious journey back to our starting point.
During the academic week the brightly coloured bus was on the school run with no particular attachment to a specific school or age group and with no great problems or stigma attached to being carried as a passenger especially if in uniform.
However, on a weekend when the bus was used to take us to Youth Orchestra practice it attracted the attentions and ridicule of otherwise quite normal and placid pupils or just members of the public who would gesticulate and hurl abuse at what they considered as (and I hesitate to repeat the following offensive words), a busload of remedial or somehow retarded kids being taken out for a saturday trip.
As far as I was concerned this treatment by my peers was bad enough but to actually surrender half of a precious weekend to music practice only added further insult to the verbal and demonstrative injuries.
I was having trumpet tuition as an extra-curricula subject and a condition of taking up school time and resources was to relinquish some of my own leisure hours in the pursuit of a coming together of district musicians with the ultimate outcome in any one year being a grand concert to which Civic Dignatorys and mums and dads were invited.
I was understandably miffed at missing out on saturday TV on the bi-monthly incarceration on the dreaded bus and at some massive comprehensive school in the nearest large town.
Anything to do with playing my trumpet always made me quite hot and sweaty so as well as a feeling of indignation about the practice days I was always very uncomfortable and by mid afternoon probably not very pleasant to be down-wind of.
There were some very talented individuals attending who had the ability and inclination to actually take up a career in music. I hated them. They were always sat up front as the lead players in their particular brass, woodwind or string sections and flaunted in any conversational opportunities their current level of Royal School of Music gradings. They also looked better dressed, composed and probably had excellent packed lunches as well, you know the thing- Pate, croissant, freshly squeezed juice, home made fairy cakes and nutritious healthy snacks. I had usually eaten my peanut butter sandwiches, crisps, marathon bar and flapjack before the bus even arrived at the practice session.
I had no Music Grades and no hope within reason of actually attaining any. The day would drag on incessantly. The morning session was usually in sub groups working on a musical piece. I could seek refuge in the third or back row of the trumpet section and get away with miming or just getting enough air down the tubes to eke out a semblance of a tune if really pushed to do so. The only real fun in playing a trumpet was building up a massive amount of spit and bile which accumulated in the bottom tubing. When the tubes were full there would be a bubbling and gurgling sound signalling the need to vent and evacuate the trumpet of its bodily fluids by pressing a small valve key and blowing. The third row, known for its excess spit, soon took on the appearance of a bunch of bed wetters sat amongst their own pools of waste.
The afternoon session was a combination of all orchestral sections to work on the concert pieces.
Early on in the academic year the sound was excruciatingly bad and showed only very slow improvement for many months. The tutors had great ambitions and enthusiasm but must have been hearing something very different to what I was exposed to on the back row. The imagination of the noise made by the mass strangling of cats came to mind.
With immense relief the day would finish with only the bus journey to be survived.
In the winter months there was some security provided by the cover of darkness but in the summer we were an easy target for what would today be regarded as wholly politically incorrect behaviour by all those who encountered the bright yellow bus on its usually slow and laborious journey back to our starting point.
Saturday, 24 January 2015
Smog and Mischief in Fish Town
As another street urchin was trapped in the spokes of his hired Hansom Cab and thrown headlong into an adjacent town house basement well, Josiah Raskelf mused to himself on his good fortune in discovering a most interesting document which could be to his ultimate gain.
The acquisition of the document had been undertaken with much stealth and guile from a second hand book seller in the less celubrious part of Fish Town, the bit which moved around on the ebbing tide of the all dominating muddy estuary.
The flickering coal gas mantles had made the scouring of the display shelves for any antique book treasures problematic but there was no mistaking the sound of good quality parchment slipping from the pages of a weighty tome entitled ' Marrying for Financial Advantage in Victorian Society".
After some undignified scrabbling around amongst the flotsam and jetsam on the semi submerged and rotting timber floor of the shop, the intriguing paper was retrieved. In elaborate copper plate handwriting Josiah found to his interest a detailed schedule of the widows of the town and what appeared to be a figure of their net worth in cash and property assets.
The proprietor of the shop had finished his victuals of a large mutton bone washed down with warm ale and could be heard preparing for a stock taking visit to the inner sanctum in which Raskelf was encamped. In a deft sleight of hand the moneyed list was eased into the pages of the book and in a flourish he offered the grubby and insanitary shop keeper a shilling in return for the said book. Immediately suspicious of the well dressed and evidently affluent visitor to his very humble premises the owner, one Herbert Sprakeworthy insisted that the retail price was in fact nine shillings and sixpence including bookbinder tax. Raskelf showed no emotion in forking out the vastly inflated price again arousing the curiosity of the seller who now regretted not coming in at a considerably higher figure.
So in due course Raskelf and his exciting find were on their way across Fish Town .
Being a man of means and leisure he would enjoy a very prolonged period in which to deliberate a strategy to attain maximum exploitation of the bereaved womenfolk for minimum effort and entanglement.
Alighting at his own residence he was fussed over by a small retinue of domestic servants who between the cab and his front door managed to provide him with a complete change of clothes and a good close wet shave and manicure.
He dined alone and the fifteen courses were relished with extreme delight in anticipation of his forthcoming course of action.
He slept fitfully, however, as befits a person with no soul or conscience and on a very full and bloated belly from the excesses of his dining table notwithstanding a tangible volume of his best Port wine.
In the morning, sat at his study desk he considered whom he could recruit to undertake the shabby elements of his masterplan. Various brigands and thieves had served him well in the past but he doubted whether they had survived the onslaught of cholera, the attention of other competing villains and the complications of childhood rickets.
His Manservant, by the name of Egbert Headbasher, a threatening figure even in traditional attire, was a veritable human directory of the criminal fraternity and could provide contact details for any perpetrator for any requirement whatsoever.
The task in hand, considered Raskelf, was rather specialised in that each of the potential victims would have to be wooed into relinquishing their fortunes rather than bludgeoned and beaten in the conventional manner of the time.
It would be a long term project, there was no doubt about that. The targets would have to be carefully selected. It was entirely conceivable that the prettier ones would re-marry quickly being very sought after and particularly in the light of the guidance and instruction of chapter headings in the book in which he had first discovered the detailed list.
He feared that he would be left with the dowdy matrons and righteous shockers and no amount of incentive or reward based proposals would entice an unscrupulous Player or Beau to partake in the scam.
Perhaps, on reflection the project was destined to be just too arduous and fatiguing and not for him, whose aim in life was to enjoy the better things and reap the rewards from, as far as possible, the labours and tribulations of others. He felt there was little scope to pass on the information to another scallywag for a small consideration or even a profit share.
Regrettably, but in his mind, entirely fittingly, he pushed the parchment document into the glowing embers of his fireplace and as it quickly scorched and curled into flame he ignited his most favourite brand of cigar and planned his next despicable endeavour with a most unflattering grin and escape of gas from the excesses of the previous evening.
The acquisition of the document had been undertaken with much stealth and guile from a second hand book seller in the less celubrious part of Fish Town, the bit which moved around on the ebbing tide of the all dominating muddy estuary.
The flickering coal gas mantles had made the scouring of the display shelves for any antique book treasures problematic but there was no mistaking the sound of good quality parchment slipping from the pages of a weighty tome entitled ' Marrying for Financial Advantage in Victorian Society".
After some undignified scrabbling around amongst the flotsam and jetsam on the semi submerged and rotting timber floor of the shop, the intriguing paper was retrieved. In elaborate copper plate handwriting Josiah found to his interest a detailed schedule of the widows of the town and what appeared to be a figure of their net worth in cash and property assets.
The proprietor of the shop had finished his victuals of a large mutton bone washed down with warm ale and could be heard preparing for a stock taking visit to the inner sanctum in which Raskelf was encamped. In a deft sleight of hand the moneyed list was eased into the pages of the book and in a flourish he offered the grubby and insanitary shop keeper a shilling in return for the said book. Immediately suspicious of the well dressed and evidently affluent visitor to his very humble premises the owner, one Herbert Sprakeworthy insisted that the retail price was in fact nine shillings and sixpence including bookbinder tax. Raskelf showed no emotion in forking out the vastly inflated price again arousing the curiosity of the seller who now regretted not coming in at a considerably higher figure.
So in due course Raskelf and his exciting find were on their way across Fish Town .
Being a man of means and leisure he would enjoy a very prolonged period in which to deliberate a strategy to attain maximum exploitation of the bereaved womenfolk for minimum effort and entanglement.
Alighting at his own residence he was fussed over by a small retinue of domestic servants who between the cab and his front door managed to provide him with a complete change of clothes and a good close wet shave and manicure.
He dined alone and the fifteen courses were relished with extreme delight in anticipation of his forthcoming course of action.
He slept fitfully, however, as befits a person with no soul or conscience and on a very full and bloated belly from the excesses of his dining table notwithstanding a tangible volume of his best Port wine.
In the morning, sat at his study desk he considered whom he could recruit to undertake the shabby elements of his masterplan. Various brigands and thieves had served him well in the past but he doubted whether they had survived the onslaught of cholera, the attention of other competing villains and the complications of childhood rickets.
His Manservant, by the name of Egbert Headbasher, a threatening figure even in traditional attire, was a veritable human directory of the criminal fraternity and could provide contact details for any perpetrator for any requirement whatsoever.
The task in hand, considered Raskelf, was rather specialised in that each of the potential victims would have to be wooed into relinquishing their fortunes rather than bludgeoned and beaten in the conventional manner of the time.
It would be a long term project, there was no doubt about that. The targets would have to be carefully selected. It was entirely conceivable that the prettier ones would re-marry quickly being very sought after and particularly in the light of the guidance and instruction of chapter headings in the book in which he had first discovered the detailed list.
He feared that he would be left with the dowdy matrons and righteous shockers and no amount of incentive or reward based proposals would entice an unscrupulous Player or Beau to partake in the scam.
Perhaps, on reflection the project was destined to be just too arduous and fatiguing and not for him, whose aim in life was to enjoy the better things and reap the rewards from, as far as possible, the labours and tribulations of others. He felt there was little scope to pass on the information to another scallywag for a small consideration or even a profit share.
Regrettably, but in his mind, entirely fittingly, he pushed the parchment document into the glowing embers of his fireplace and as it quickly scorched and curled into flame he ignited his most favourite brand of cigar and planned his next despicable endeavour with a most unflattering grin and escape of gas from the excesses of the previous evening.
Friday, 23 January 2015
Thursday, 22 January 2015
Allison.A Happy Birthday
A short birthday message to my lovely wife, Allison
It’s here, another birthday, somewhat inevitable but nevertheless it crept up very quickly.
When you were young you did not think you would make it this far,
Convention says that your best years are behind you but you will prove them wrong,
You may feel that you have lost your girlish spirit but I know you have not,
You feel that time has passed you by but you have lived every second to the full,
You expected to have more in your universe , but look who you brought into the world.
Where is all that ‘me’ time you may ask? Well, it is lavished on others who are richer for it,
You have not done everything you expected........ yet. There is plenty of time for that going ahead,
You are not the one asking but the person to whom others look for wisdom and experience,
You may feel tired and without energy but you are actually very much in your prime,
You wanted to make a noise and be heard but your true value is being able to listen,
You wanted to start a revolution. Who is to say that you have not?
You feel you have had your best half century already but it really continues today,
52, and counting.
Wednesday, 21 January 2015
Yorkshire versus the Nazis
A good story is even better if it can be authenticated above and beyond what can often and disappointingly be just an urban myth.
I had come across a book of the experiences of children during the second world war and blitz and amongst the first hand stories of evacuation, rationing, air raid shelters and wartime education was a great tale from the North Sea coast town of Withernsea from about 1941.
An enemy aircraft, a Heinkel or Dornier returning from a bombing raid on Hull or the further west industrial areas of South Yorkshire had crash landed in fields just south of Withernsea. No mention was made of the fate of the crew. The wreck remained reasonably intact and in order to protect the landing site for intelligence gathering a small guard party were assembled amongst RAF personnel stationed in the local area.
A cordon was erected to keep sightseers and the morbidly fascinated away.
The combination of a remote field and chilly coastal weather soon persuaded the guardians to take refuge in a farmers barn out of clear view of the fallen aircraft. This lapse in discipline allowed a large group of local children, who had never been more than a few yards beyond the cordon, to swarm over the plane.
Initially the attraction was in play-mode each taking turns to be pilot, navigator, nose and tail gunners and , as a matter of improvisation, cafe owner for the serving of enemy refreshments overhead from the adults in such mysterious and guttural terms as 'Ersatz Coffee' and 'Bratwurst' and all sorts of turnip based snacks.
Boredom, even with such a lifesize plaything ,soon prevailed and the attention of the children turned to the next project of securing souvenirs.
The prized items went to the larger, stronger members of the group. The control column from the pilots position, a portion of the mangled tail with pockmarked spider-like emblem and pieces of the clear canopy from over the cockpit. Smaller items filled pockets to bursting.
A large but well motivated gang of the younger children managed to wrestle clear of its mounting a very heavy and cumbersome machine gun complete with live magazine and lots of loose ammunition. Someone had the idea to test the weapon and with a squeeze of the trigger a stream of tracer bullets streaked out towards the cliff top. This startled the group but there was no reaction at all from the direction of the sheltering guards.
Children in wartime can feel a bit sidelined and belittled by the participating adults. The plan with the machine gun was to smuggle it up the Church tower in the town centre and prepare to fire it in anger against the regular waves of Nazi aircraft crossing the North Sea coast.
The downed bomber was left in situ now considerably lightened and depleted of its equipment and ordnance.
The investigation by the embarrassed authorities upon discovery of the stripping out of the plane was swift and merciless. The Vicar's son, a key participant in the project was first to crack but only after his father found some of the live ammunition in the Vestry storage cupboards behind the hymn books. The children were hauled in front of the convening Magistrate and persuaded to relinquish their treasure trove. The adults in the Court House spoke in very formal terms but the children sensed some restrained amusement in their eyes. The poor guard contingent however faired less well and the lessons learned from their lackadaisical actions were enforced through the Service from that day.
I recalled my enthusiasm for this story during a work appointment at a house in Withernsea only a couple of years ago. The occupiers were born and bred in the town over at least three generations. They remembered the story very well because their late father had been one of the co-conspirators and it was all completely true.
I had come across a book of the experiences of children during the second world war and blitz and amongst the first hand stories of evacuation, rationing, air raid shelters and wartime education was a great tale from the North Sea coast town of Withernsea from about 1941.
An enemy aircraft, a Heinkel or Dornier returning from a bombing raid on Hull or the further west industrial areas of South Yorkshire had crash landed in fields just south of Withernsea. No mention was made of the fate of the crew. The wreck remained reasonably intact and in order to protect the landing site for intelligence gathering a small guard party were assembled amongst RAF personnel stationed in the local area.
A cordon was erected to keep sightseers and the morbidly fascinated away.
The combination of a remote field and chilly coastal weather soon persuaded the guardians to take refuge in a farmers barn out of clear view of the fallen aircraft. This lapse in discipline allowed a large group of local children, who had never been more than a few yards beyond the cordon, to swarm over the plane.
Initially the attraction was in play-mode each taking turns to be pilot, navigator, nose and tail gunners and , as a matter of improvisation, cafe owner for the serving of enemy refreshments overhead from the adults in such mysterious and guttural terms as 'Ersatz Coffee' and 'Bratwurst' and all sorts of turnip based snacks.
Boredom, even with such a lifesize plaything ,soon prevailed and the attention of the children turned to the next project of securing souvenirs.
The prized items went to the larger, stronger members of the group. The control column from the pilots position, a portion of the mangled tail with pockmarked spider-like emblem and pieces of the clear canopy from over the cockpit. Smaller items filled pockets to bursting.
A large but well motivated gang of the younger children managed to wrestle clear of its mounting a very heavy and cumbersome machine gun complete with live magazine and lots of loose ammunition. Someone had the idea to test the weapon and with a squeeze of the trigger a stream of tracer bullets streaked out towards the cliff top. This startled the group but there was no reaction at all from the direction of the sheltering guards.
Children in wartime can feel a bit sidelined and belittled by the participating adults. The plan with the machine gun was to smuggle it up the Church tower in the town centre and prepare to fire it in anger against the regular waves of Nazi aircraft crossing the North Sea coast.
The downed bomber was left in situ now considerably lightened and depleted of its equipment and ordnance.
The investigation by the embarrassed authorities upon discovery of the stripping out of the plane was swift and merciless. The Vicar's son, a key participant in the project was first to crack but only after his father found some of the live ammunition in the Vestry storage cupboards behind the hymn books. The children were hauled in front of the convening Magistrate and persuaded to relinquish their treasure trove. The adults in the Court House spoke in very formal terms but the children sensed some restrained amusement in their eyes. The poor guard contingent however faired less well and the lessons learned from their lackadaisical actions were enforced through the Service from that day.
I recalled my enthusiasm for this story during a work appointment at a house in Withernsea only a couple of years ago. The occupiers were born and bred in the town over at least three generations. They remembered the story very well because their late father had been one of the co-conspirators and it was all completely true.
Tuesday, 20 January 2015
Name Game
His initials were and still are RFBK.
An interesting combination of consonants perhaps only found in pseudo terror organisations such as, I would imagine, Revolutionary Freedom Brigade Kommittee, action groups along the lines of Raise Furry Bunnies Kindly or political activists such as Republicans For Better Knowledge.
I was intrigued to read on a bit more about the man.
It was clear that someone called Randolph Falcon Baden King would have an extremely interesting story to tell over how he was given such an auspicious name.
I had not spoken with him to arrange to look around his property but I had an appointment for 3pm that afternoon and my office informed me that I would be let in by the occupant, a tenant. I thought nothing of such an arrangement which was common in my workload of inspecting and valuing investment type properties or Buy to Lets as they are more widely known.
Most days I had no idea who would be opening up the door of any particular address or if anyone would be there at all. Fortunately complete "no-shows" after a date and time had been fixed were quite rare.
The property of today's person of interest was a purpose built modern flat in a good location, central to the City, close to the river and just inside the ancient walls. The three factors themselves were dead certs for a premium element of value but the latter, secure within the battlements was in itself a special and attractive feature for those in the market for a rented place, second home or just a pad.
I had one other job in the city and the originally arranged time of 3pm fitted in well with my schedule making generous allowances for the usual traffic congestion and the problematic issue of finding a parking space.
En route however the circumstances of the other appointment changed and I had to think about bringing the mid afternoon job forward by a couple of hours,
I was nervous about contacting Randolph Falcon Baden King as the name conjured up an image of a power crazy tycoon type who did not suffer fools gladly and certainly not those who could not manage something as simple as a work day diary.
As usual I rang my office to get them to do my dirty work but thought twice in case such an indirect approach would cause criticism or annoyance to be levelled at my staff.
It would be easier and logical for me to just ring the man and cobble together a believable reason why I needed to change the appointment.
I imagined RFBK having to answer his phone whilst in a power lunch, striding forcefully across the golf course or tacking furiously on his yacht. If a Personal Assistant answered the call I would probably become flustered and sound like a completely gormless idiot.
After four rings I thought about cancelling the call but the line crackled and a soft, warm and distinctively Yorkshire accent could be heard.
It was indeed Randolph Falcon Baden King or at least his disembodied voice.
He sounded kind and considerate from the outset and was more than willing to drive from his home, some ten miles outside the city with his set of keys to the property so that I could get in at the earlier time than arranged.
I stood in the cold at the communal doors to the prestigious development of flats or rather apartments which was a more apt description looking towards the entrance to the car parking area. A few vehicles drew up and entered as the wrought iron electronically controlled gates strained and creaked open at a painfully slow rate. If being chased by Zombies this arrangement would be problematic, I could see that.
A dark blue saloon arrived and negotiated the security measures before disappearing out of view into the far end of the courtyard. My earlier perceived image of Randolph Falcon Baden King before having spoken with him put him firmly in the seat of a large executive motor or even sat behind a chauffeur in similar splendour. The mellow voice on the phone suggested that a dark blue saloon was the normal mode of transport of the man.
A medium height and white haired gent came down the steps from the car park onto the landscaped walkway towards me. He introduced himself and we shook hands in a formal but affable manner. I could not resist asking him about his name and he was more than pleased to explain how he came to have it.
He blamed it, he said, on his father rather than his mother.
He had been an avid devotee of the great men and heroes in his own lifetime.
Randolph came from the great Hollywood actor Randolph Scott of whom his father had been a great fan in the heyday of cinema going. Perhaps a bit lazy was the fact that the first middle name of Falcon also came from someone with the surname of Scott, this time the tragic South Pole Explorer Robert Falcon Scott. His exploits had inspired many in the early years of the emerging 20th Century and epitomised much of the British spirit for doing and invariably dying whilst doing. Baden needed no explanation as I had myself been a Cub Scout and Scout and knew of the background and pioneering skills of Baden Powell in wartime and afterwards when he wanted to encourage youths to take on the very best of a healthy and moral existence helping country and community.
No doubt my new acquaintance had been remorselessly bullied in his school days for the indulgence shown by his father in the naming of his son but he did not express any animosity or regret about it. He must have spent many similar times expanding upon his name.
My work completed we parted as though we had been friends for years. #
In walking away I thought about my own name. My Christian name and two middle names were those handed down in the family, the latter two being those of my grandfathers.
What if my own father had thought along the same lines as Randolph's calling upon the names of those things he admired or things he liked?
Realistically I could have been called Peter Morris Minor Thomson.
An interesting combination of consonants perhaps only found in pseudo terror organisations such as, I would imagine, Revolutionary Freedom Brigade Kommittee, action groups along the lines of Raise Furry Bunnies Kindly or political activists such as Republicans For Better Knowledge.
I was intrigued to read on a bit more about the man.
It was clear that someone called Randolph Falcon Baden King would have an extremely interesting story to tell over how he was given such an auspicious name.
I had not spoken with him to arrange to look around his property but I had an appointment for 3pm that afternoon and my office informed me that I would be let in by the occupant, a tenant. I thought nothing of such an arrangement which was common in my workload of inspecting and valuing investment type properties or Buy to Lets as they are more widely known.
Most days I had no idea who would be opening up the door of any particular address or if anyone would be there at all. Fortunately complete "no-shows" after a date and time had been fixed were quite rare.
The property of today's person of interest was a purpose built modern flat in a good location, central to the City, close to the river and just inside the ancient walls. The three factors themselves were dead certs for a premium element of value but the latter, secure within the battlements was in itself a special and attractive feature for those in the market for a rented place, second home or just a pad.
I had one other job in the city and the originally arranged time of 3pm fitted in well with my schedule making generous allowances for the usual traffic congestion and the problematic issue of finding a parking space.
En route however the circumstances of the other appointment changed and I had to think about bringing the mid afternoon job forward by a couple of hours,
I was nervous about contacting Randolph Falcon Baden King as the name conjured up an image of a power crazy tycoon type who did not suffer fools gladly and certainly not those who could not manage something as simple as a work day diary.
As usual I rang my office to get them to do my dirty work but thought twice in case such an indirect approach would cause criticism or annoyance to be levelled at my staff.
It would be easier and logical for me to just ring the man and cobble together a believable reason why I needed to change the appointment.
I imagined RFBK having to answer his phone whilst in a power lunch, striding forcefully across the golf course or tacking furiously on his yacht. If a Personal Assistant answered the call I would probably become flustered and sound like a completely gormless idiot.
After four rings I thought about cancelling the call but the line crackled and a soft, warm and distinctively Yorkshire accent could be heard.
It was indeed Randolph Falcon Baden King or at least his disembodied voice.
He sounded kind and considerate from the outset and was more than willing to drive from his home, some ten miles outside the city with his set of keys to the property so that I could get in at the earlier time than arranged.
I stood in the cold at the communal doors to the prestigious development of flats or rather apartments which was a more apt description looking towards the entrance to the car parking area. A few vehicles drew up and entered as the wrought iron electronically controlled gates strained and creaked open at a painfully slow rate. If being chased by Zombies this arrangement would be problematic, I could see that.
A dark blue saloon arrived and negotiated the security measures before disappearing out of view into the far end of the courtyard. My earlier perceived image of Randolph Falcon Baden King before having spoken with him put him firmly in the seat of a large executive motor or even sat behind a chauffeur in similar splendour. The mellow voice on the phone suggested that a dark blue saloon was the normal mode of transport of the man.
A medium height and white haired gent came down the steps from the car park onto the landscaped walkway towards me. He introduced himself and we shook hands in a formal but affable manner. I could not resist asking him about his name and he was more than pleased to explain how he came to have it.
He blamed it, he said, on his father rather than his mother.
He had been an avid devotee of the great men and heroes in his own lifetime.
Randolph came from the great Hollywood actor Randolph Scott of whom his father had been a great fan in the heyday of cinema going. Perhaps a bit lazy was the fact that the first middle name of Falcon also came from someone with the surname of Scott, this time the tragic South Pole Explorer Robert Falcon Scott. His exploits had inspired many in the early years of the emerging 20th Century and epitomised much of the British spirit for doing and invariably dying whilst doing. Baden needed no explanation as I had myself been a Cub Scout and Scout and knew of the background and pioneering skills of Baden Powell in wartime and afterwards when he wanted to encourage youths to take on the very best of a healthy and moral existence helping country and community.
No doubt my new acquaintance had been remorselessly bullied in his school days for the indulgence shown by his father in the naming of his son but he did not express any animosity or regret about it. He must have spent many similar times expanding upon his name.
My work completed we parted as though we had been friends for years. #
In walking away I thought about my own name. My Christian name and two middle names were those handed down in the family, the latter two being those of my grandfathers.
What if my own father had thought along the same lines as Randolph's calling upon the names of those things he admired or things he liked?
Realistically I could have been called Peter Morris Minor Thomson.
Monday, 19 January 2015
Snow White Turtle Doves
I would not necessarily describe myself as being of the Coca-Cola generation but that product has been one of those constant presences in my life like a favourite song or cherished belonging.
I may, of course, have just succumbed to the slick marketing campaigns such as the 1970's "I'd like to buy the world a Coke", seduced by the distinctive liveried packaging or become addicted to something in the top secret recipe.
It is understandable that I like many others over the last almost 90 years have contributed financially to establishing Coca Cola as the single, most widely distributed soft, fizzy drink on the planet. Not at all bad for what is essentially a 99% solution of sugar water.
In business terms it is a perfect product. Cheap to produce with maximum mark up and profitability.
So why in the summer of 1985 did the executives of the company meddle and tamper with the recipe and by doing so commit what has been regarded as one of the biggest marketing blunders ever?
It was a case of blind panic that prompted the strange decision of Coca Cola.
In spite of the hype of advertising, universal distribution and aggressive behaviour the company was losing market share to its arch rivals Pepsi.
The Chief Executive Officer had made it clear that the pride and history associated with the product was sacred and yet would have no qualms on playing with and tampering with the secret recipe in order to maintain dominance over Pepsi.
In house flavour scientists and test panels were confronted with a new flavour coca cola reporting that in blind tests it was preferred to other cola drinks and of course Pepsi. The new coca cola was less fizzy than the original and a bit fruitier. In fact it was more Pepsi than Pepsi.
The launch of the beverage was slick and appealing in an attempt to win over the public, the American public who regarded Coca Cola as an integral part of the American Lifestyle, a symbol of good old values, a reminder of first dates and family cook-outs.
Workers at the Statue of Liberty on Ellis Island, New York were targeted as recipients of the product along with marching majorettes and razzamatazz in Atlanta, Georgia, where the Coke headquarters were based.
It was soon evident to the loyal consumers that this variation was just not the real thing.
What was behind the logo was something different and the reaction was one of outrage.
The switchboard of the company was bombarded with 8000 calls a day in complaint. A Seattle man founded the "Old Cola Drinkers Campaign" and the media and comedians had a topic to expand upon and secure sales and attention. Fidel Castro, the leader of Cuba, suggested that the chaos and controversy was a symptom of a wider national malaise.
A low point was the booing by the crowd attending the Houston Astrodome when the Coke advert was aired in a time out period. Protests continued nationwide on a daily basis and gallons were poured into drains in a very public show of disaffection.
In the face of so much animosity the only thing that the company could do was to backtrack.
The old Coke, now called Classic was returned to the shelves and the stocks of new coke were gradually run down.
The reprieve was huge news making the front pages of national newspapers and a speaker in the US Senate described the event as a meaningful moment in the history of the country.
The company had teetered on the edge of a PR disaster and yet with a return to normal trading it's market share surged ahead and Pepsi ran flat. Coke Classic the rebranded original again became the leading soft drink so much so that many began to think that the whole scenario had been an intentional ruse by the company, a true conspiracy theory.
I may, of course, have just succumbed to the slick marketing campaigns such as the 1970's "I'd like to buy the world a Coke", seduced by the distinctive liveried packaging or become addicted to something in the top secret recipe.
It is understandable that I like many others over the last almost 90 years have contributed financially to establishing Coca Cola as the single, most widely distributed soft, fizzy drink on the planet. Not at all bad for what is essentially a 99% solution of sugar water.
In business terms it is a perfect product. Cheap to produce with maximum mark up and profitability.
So why in the summer of 1985 did the executives of the company meddle and tamper with the recipe and by doing so commit what has been regarded as one of the biggest marketing blunders ever?
It was a case of blind panic that prompted the strange decision of Coca Cola.
In spite of the hype of advertising, universal distribution and aggressive behaviour the company was losing market share to its arch rivals Pepsi.
The Chief Executive Officer had made it clear that the pride and history associated with the product was sacred and yet would have no qualms on playing with and tampering with the secret recipe in order to maintain dominance over Pepsi.
In house flavour scientists and test panels were confronted with a new flavour coca cola reporting that in blind tests it was preferred to other cola drinks and of course Pepsi. The new coca cola was less fizzy than the original and a bit fruitier. In fact it was more Pepsi than Pepsi.
The launch of the beverage was slick and appealing in an attempt to win over the public, the American public who regarded Coca Cola as an integral part of the American Lifestyle, a symbol of good old values, a reminder of first dates and family cook-outs.
Workers at the Statue of Liberty on Ellis Island, New York were targeted as recipients of the product along with marching majorettes and razzamatazz in Atlanta, Georgia, where the Coke headquarters were based.
It was soon evident to the loyal consumers that this variation was just not the real thing.
What was behind the logo was something different and the reaction was one of outrage.
The switchboard of the company was bombarded with 8000 calls a day in complaint. A Seattle man founded the "Old Cola Drinkers Campaign" and the media and comedians had a topic to expand upon and secure sales and attention. Fidel Castro, the leader of Cuba, suggested that the chaos and controversy was a symptom of a wider national malaise.
A low point was the booing by the crowd attending the Houston Astrodome when the Coke advert was aired in a time out period. Protests continued nationwide on a daily basis and gallons were poured into drains in a very public show of disaffection.
In the face of so much animosity the only thing that the company could do was to backtrack.
The old Coke, now called Classic was returned to the shelves and the stocks of new coke were gradually run down.
The reprieve was huge news making the front pages of national newspapers and a speaker in the US Senate described the event as a meaningful moment in the history of the country.
The company had teetered on the edge of a PR disaster and yet with a return to normal trading it's market share surged ahead and Pepsi ran flat. Coke Classic the rebranded original again became the leading soft drink so much so that many began to think that the whole scenario had been an intentional ruse by the company, a true conspiracy theory.
Sunday, 18 January 2015
Inflation and Deflation in 1915
It is 100 years this month since the launch of raids by Zeppelin airships on Britain
A failure rate at 67% is, in my opinion,an indication that something is not really viable or sustainable and should be stopped immediately. Unfortunately, such a pitifully poor statistic can only be judged in hindsight.
More unfortunate is the fact that from 1914 to 1918 the specific statistic was being generated by the 115 Zeppelins of the German military. A total of 77 craft were shot down, crashed or otherwise terminally malfunctioned but not before they had terrorised the civilian population of the UK in the first incidences of aerial attack in what became known, much later in the second global conflict, as Total War. Count von Zeppelin had been pioneering large airships and their application to military use in the late 1800's and with the first progression from patented blueprint to actual airborne prototypes as early as 1900.
A bit cumbersome, quite unpredictable to manoeuvre and very volatile in their hydrogen inflation there must have been some scepticism from the authorities about their practical use.
However, in the early stages of the first world war they were very highly regarded for reconnaisance over the front lines and for a few silent forays and bombing missions over Paris and other allied targets. The time was right for an otherwise prominent, ponderous and highly flammable blimp as neither small arms fire from the trenches, anti-aircraft fire or pursuit aircraft were sufficiently advanced or potent to constitute a threat .At an operating height of around 3000 feet and propulsion speeds of 85 mph nothing could touch the imposing Zeppelins. It was therefore a natural strategic decision to use the airships in a much more offensive role.
The Kaiser did not want London to be bombed from the air or at least there was a strict directive not to inflict damage on any of his favourite and historic buildings in th capital. Next choice for the onslaught of the first aerial assault on mainland England was, logically, Hull, an important east coast Port within good range.
The first mass Zeppelin raids were commenced in early to mid 1915 . Adverse weather and winds prevented the primary target being reached. Hull had a reprieve but Great Yarmouth was bombed and recorded the first home fatality of bombardment from the air.
It was not long before Hull resumed its place as the most attacked city, by Zeppelins, outside London. The silent menace of the airships was both sinister and terrifying for the civilian population of Hull. The Zeppelins would leave their mooring masts and hangers at dusk, head across the North Sea and make landfall on the east coast in the early hours of the morning. The combination of darkness, cloud induced invisibilty and the prospect of a torrent of high explosive bombs and incendiaries caused many citizens to stay outdoors in public open space and parks for the peak threat periods.
The prospect of after-dark attacks led to the description of these hours as 'Buzzer Nights'.
One documented account of a typical attack illustrates the rising tension and fear. Zeppelin Raiders had been spotted in the North Sea at 7.25pm. A blackout was ordered in Hull at 9.30pm. The first airships appeared over the town of Hedon, 5 miles to the east of the city at 11.47pm. In the subsequent slow and circling bombing run from 3000 feet altitude a total of 32 devices were dropped with a loss of life and widespread devastation to buildings and infrastructure. The Ordnance was intended for maximum destruction by explosive impact or a firestorm. Canisters containing the explosive Thermite mixed with tar and benzol were most effective to set buildings alight. The target areas of the extensive docks, wharves,warehouses and the centre of the city were also close to or inclusive of dense areas of terraced housing and many women and children were killed. A poster and propaganda campaign showed a searchlight captured Zeppelin under the title of 'The Baby Killer'. The largest Parish Church in England (almost a cathedral) , Holy Trinity, Hull narrowly escaped destruction after the adjacent Edwin Davis Department Store, only 27 feet away collapsed under incendiary attack.
The people of Hull, under the menace of attack expressed anger at the apparent lack of civil defence measures of either land based guns or interceptor aircraft. More socially disruptive was a very unhelpfully devisive campaign by the Hull Daily Mail newspaper speculating that residents of the city with German origins may be signalling to,or assisting in target spotting for the Zeppelins. A number of longstanding family run shops and businesses of settled German migrants, now British citizens,were attacked by small ,angry mobs. This was widely condemned by the vast majority of the population as the work of mindless thugs. The air raid sirens were frequent from June 1915 to the summer of the following year.
Such was the arbitrary nature of the wind and weather in the flight planning of the raiders that Hull was on alert even if not the main target. It was easy for the Zeppelins to follow the course of the Humber immediately south of Hull to reach the Midlands and as far west as Liverpool. The looming mass of an airship in proximity to the city even en-route elsewhere must have instilled great fear and trepidation. The burgeoning statistics of failure for the Zeppelin fleet did prompt developments in technology to try to offset the high losses of men and machines. The L-designated models of the first attacks were replaced by successive M and P Class models, the former with 6 engine propulsion, a ceiling height of 13,000 feet and bomb carrying payload of 4 tons.
Another well documented attack on Hull took place in early March 1916. This involved 3 of the P Class Zeppelins. Captain Scheutze commanding L-11 had originally intended to attack the naval shipyards at Rosyth near Edinburgh but was driven south east. The weather was atrocious with snow storms, dense snow and ice bearing clouds and swirling winds which at 54mph largely checked any chance of progress by the straining engines. The gondola slung under the gas filled balloon was icing up and inhospitable to Captain and crew. Unable to control the craft in such conditions the Captain contemplated abandoning the mission. After discounting Middlesborough, the tertiary target of Hull was considered. Navigation by sight, usually following the course of railway lines was difficult and L-11 could have been anywhere along the eastern side of England. Then a series of explosions were spotted through a break in the cloud cover. The sister P Class airships had found their default targets in Hull. The Captain completed his objective.
A later attack by 9 Zeppelins in the August of 1916 caused a further 9 deaths, again predominantly defenceless citizens. Gradually tactics by ground based gunners and intrepid flyers became a tangible threat to the Zeppelins and operations against mainland England scaled down significantly. The manufacturing, fuelling and mooring stations of the Zeppelins in the axis countries also came within range of allied attacks. The last recorded Zeppelin over Hull was in March 1918 with one fatality on the ground, a lady, dying from the shock of the return of the aerial threat, and not directly from enemy action.
At great loss to life, Hull had nevertheless survived as a frontline city in the new phenomena of Total War. What was not foreseen or anticipated at the time was the even more severe devastation of Hull in the Second World War by the same enemy but with battle hardened and considerably more efficient flying machines.
(previously published as 'Buzzer Nights' on 9th November 2011 and "Hull versus the Zeppelins" on 2nd April 2012)
A failure rate at 67% is, in my opinion,an indication that something is not really viable or sustainable and should be stopped immediately. Unfortunately, such a pitifully poor statistic can only be judged in hindsight.
More unfortunate is the fact that from 1914 to 1918 the specific statistic was being generated by the 115 Zeppelins of the German military. A total of 77 craft were shot down, crashed or otherwise terminally malfunctioned but not before they had terrorised the civilian population of the UK in the first incidences of aerial attack in what became known, much later in the second global conflict, as Total War. Count von Zeppelin had been pioneering large airships and their application to military use in the late 1800's and with the first progression from patented blueprint to actual airborne prototypes as early as 1900.
A bit cumbersome, quite unpredictable to manoeuvre and very volatile in their hydrogen inflation there must have been some scepticism from the authorities about their practical use.
However, in the early stages of the first world war they were very highly regarded for reconnaisance over the front lines and for a few silent forays and bombing missions over Paris and other allied targets. The time was right for an otherwise prominent, ponderous and highly flammable blimp as neither small arms fire from the trenches, anti-aircraft fire or pursuit aircraft were sufficiently advanced or potent to constitute a threat .At an operating height of around 3000 feet and propulsion speeds of 85 mph nothing could touch the imposing Zeppelins. It was therefore a natural strategic decision to use the airships in a much more offensive role.
The Kaiser did not want London to be bombed from the air or at least there was a strict directive not to inflict damage on any of his favourite and historic buildings in th capital. Next choice for the onslaught of the first aerial assault on mainland England was, logically, Hull, an important east coast Port within good range.
The first mass Zeppelin raids were commenced in early to mid 1915 . Adverse weather and winds prevented the primary target being reached. Hull had a reprieve but Great Yarmouth was bombed and recorded the first home fatality of bombardment from the air.
It was not long before Hull resumed its place as the most attacked city, by Zeppelins, outside London. The silent menace of the airships was both sinister and terrifying for the civilian population of Hull. The Zeppelins would leave their mooring masts and hangers at dusk, head across the North Sea and make landfall on the east coast in the early hours of the morning. The combination of darkness, cloud induced invisibilty and the prospect of a torrent of high explosive bombs and incendiaries caused many citizens to stay outdoors in public open space and parks for the peak threat periods.
The prospect of after-dark attacks led to the description of these hours as 'Buzzer Nights'.
One documented account of a typical attack illustrates the rising tension and fear. Zeppelin Raiders had been spotted in the North Sea at 7.25pm. A blackout was ordered in Hull at 9.30pm. The first airships appeared over the town of Hedon, 5 miles to the east of the city at 11.47pm. In the subsequent slow and circling bombing run from 3000 feet altitude a total of 32 devices were dropped with a loss of life and widespread devastation to buildings and infrastructure. The Ordnance was intended for maximum destruction by explosive impact or a firestorm. Canisters containing the explosive Thermite mixed with tar and benzol were most effective to set buildings alight. The target areas of the extensive docks, wharves,warehouses and the centre of the city were also close to or inclusive of dense areas of terraced housing and many women and children were killed. A poster and propaganda campaign showed a searchlight captured Zeppelin under the title of 'The Baby Killer'. The largest Parish Church in England (almost a cathedral) , Holy Trinity, Hull narrowly escaped destruction after the adjacent Edwin Davis Department Store, only 27 feet away collapsed under incendiary attack.
The people of Hull, under the menace of attack expressed anger at the apparent lack of civil defence measures of either land based guns or interceptor aircraft. More socially disruptive was a very unhelpfully devisive campaign by the Hull Daily Mail newspaper speculating that residents of the city with German origins may be signalling to,or assisting in target spotting for the Zeppelins. A number of longstanding family run shops and businesses of settled German migrants, now British citizens,were attacked by small ,angry mobs. This was widely condemned by the vast majority of the population as the work of mindless thugs. The air raid sirens were frequent from June 1915 to the summer of the following year.
Such was the arbitrary nature of the wind and weather in the flight planning of the raiders that Hull was on alert even if not the main target. It was easy for the Zeppelins to follow the course of the Humber immediately south of Hull to reach the Midlands and as far west as Liverpool. The looming mass of an airship in proximity to the city even en-route elsewhere must have instilled great fear and trepidation. The burgeoning statistics of failure for the Zeppelin fleet did prompt developments in technology to try to offset the high losses of men and machines. The L-designated models of the first attacks were replaced by successive M and P Class models, the former with 6 engine propulsion, a ceiling height of 13,000 feet and bomb carrying payload of 4 tons.
Another well documented attack on Hull took place in early March 1916. This involved 3 of the P Class Zeppelins. Captain Scheutze commanding L-11 had originally intended to attack the naval shipyards at Rosyth near Edinburgh but was driven south east. The weather was atrocious with snow storms, dense snow and ice bearing clouds and swirling winds which at 54mph largely checked any chance of progress by the straining engines. The gondola slung under the gas filled balloon was icing up and inhospitable to Captain and crew. Unable to control the craft in such conditions the Captain contemplated abandoning the mission. After discounting Middlesborough, the tertiary target of Hull was considered. Navigation by sight, usually following the course of railway lines was difficult and L-11 could have been anywhere along the eastern side of England. Then a series of explosions were spotted through a break in the cloud cover. The sister P Class airships had found their default targets in Hull. The Captain completed his objective.
A later attack by 9 Zeppelins in the August of 1916 caused a further 9 deaths, again predominantly defenceless citizens. Gradually tactics by ground based gunners and intrepid flyers became a tangible threat to the Zeppelins and operations against mainland England scaled down significantly. The manufacturing, fuelling and mooring stations of the Zeppelins in the axis countries also came within range of allied attacks. The last recorded Zeppelin over Hull was in March 1918 with one fatality on the ground, a lady, dying from the shock of the return of the aerial threat, and not directly from enemy action.
At great loss to life, Hull had nevertheless survived as a frontline city in the new phenomena of Total War. What was not foreseen or anticipated at the time was the even more severe devastation of Hull in the Second World War by the same enemy but with battle hardened and considerably more efficient flying machines.
(previously published as 'Buzzer Nights' on 9th November 2011 and "Hull versus the Zeppelins" on 2nd April 2012)
Saturday, 17 January 2015
The Empire Strikes Out
It may have been a last gasp in the history of the British Empire when nations and peoples under the rule of London were regarded as being available at a whim for the exploitation, pleasure and entertainment of their masters.
In June 1905 a soldier, traveller and big-game hunter from East Yorkshire, Colonel James J Harrison was furthering his pursuits in the Ituri or Stanley Forest region of the Eastern Congo in Africa.
It was the home of various tribes of Pygmies, the diminutive natives who existed as nomads in a harsh environment roaming about unclothed which to the genteel Edwardians was regarded as a trademark of irreligious bush savages.
For those who befriended the pygmies and took time to learn their ways and customs it was obvious that theirs was an intelligent culture relying on bravery and strength. Their lives were not long by European expectations of the day but nevertheless full and to be valued.
Colonel Harrison, unsuccessful in hunting Okapi, coaxed six of the Ituri from the forest to accompany him on what turned out to be an adventure of three years away from their families and loved ones.
There was opposition to the announcements of the travelling half dozen from anti-slavery organisations including the Aboriginal Protection Society who managed to strand the party in Cairo for some time in the early stages of their passage to England but the fact that they were not British citizens meant that no action could be taken to prevent them boarding the passenger ship Orestes which docked in London in the summer of 1905.
Harrison's motives may have been questionable in that with no apparent consideration of human rights the African visitors were booked to appear at the Hippodrome Theatre along the theme of a freak show.
The stage was dressed as the deepest, darkest jungle and the public flocked to have a sight of and gawp at the crude tableau. Chief Bokore and Princess Quarke took the limelight assisted by the 18 year old Mogonga, Matuka 23, Masutiminga aged 22 and the senior Annirape at 31.
On their day off, Sundays, they travelled in a 16 vehicle convoy around the countryside and were invited to attend in July 1905 the birthday party at Buckingham Palace of Princess Victoria.
Colonel Harrison did remain as their patron and in the August they were billeted as guests at his large country house in Brandesburton, near Beverley in East Yorkshire, They remained as celebrities and 3000 locals, which for the period will have represented most of the population of the East Riding paid to see them.
It must have been a relaxing time as well for the intrepid six as they made themselves very much at home. Villages would regularly see them stalking and hunting birds and rabbits in the expansive Hall grounds and forging arrowheads at the Main Street forge. They were regular attenders of Sunday School in the good old Missionary spirit of Africa,
The exhibiting continued for the next two and a half years in the Moss Stahl Empire Theatres of the North-West followed by Edinburgh and Glasgow, the Midlands, West London, Bradford, Portsmouth and then into Europe to Berlin.
In East Yorkshire they were regular attractions for the seaside trippers to Hornsea and Withernsea.
Back in London there was a photo opportunity at the House of Commons and more money spinning performances at Olympia and Earls Court.
It appears that although used for profit and gain the six were not badly treated and even thrived on their celebrity status.
By the time they left the Port of Hull on SS Hindoo bound for the Congo in early 1908 over 1 million people had been privileged to share the life and times of the Ituri residents. It was a remarkable concluding chapter of the influence of the Old Empire over so many of the world's peoples.
In addition to a few grainy photographs there were scratchy 78 rpm recordings made of their conversations as a lasting archive.
In June 1905 a soldier, traveller and big-game hunter from East Yorkshire, Colonel James J Harrison was furthering his pursuits in the Ituri or Stanley Forest region of the Eastern Congo in Africa.
It was the home of various tribes of Pygmies, the diminutive natives who existed as nomads in a harsh environment roaming about unclothed which to the genteel Edwardians was regarded as a trademark of irreligious bush savages.
For those who befriended the pygmies and took time to learn their ways and customs it was obvious that theirs was an intelligent culture relying on bravery and strength. Their lives were not long by European expectations of the day but nevertheless full and to be valued.
Colonel Harrison, unsuccessful in hunting Okapi, coaxed six of the Ituri from the forest to accompany him on what turned out to be an adventure of three years away from their families and loved ones.
There was opposition to the announcements of the travelling half dozen from anti-slavery organisations including the Aboriginal Protection Society who managed to strand the party in Cairo for some time in the early stages of their passage to England but the fact that they were not British citizens meant that no action could be taken to prevent them boarding the passenger ship Orestes which docked in London in the summer of 1905.
Harrison's motives may have been questionable in that with no apparent consideration of human rights the African visitors were booked to appear at the Hippodrome Theatre along the theme of a freak show.
The stage was dressed as the deepest, darkest jungle and the public flocked to have a sight of and gawp at the crude tableau. Chief Bokore and Princess Quarke took the limelight assisted by the 18 year old Mogonga, Matuka 23, Masutiminga aged 22 and the senior Annirape at 31.
On their day off, Sundays, they travelled in a 16 vehicle convoy around the countryside and were invited to attend in July 1905 the birthday party at Buckingham Palace of Princess Victoria.
Colonel Harrison did remain as their patron and in the August they were billeted as guests at his large country house in Brandesburton, near Beverley in East Yorkshire, They remained as celebrities and 3000 locals, which for the period will have represented most of the population of the East Riding paid to see them.
It must have been a relaxing time as well for the intrepid six as they made themselves very much at home. Villages would regularly see them stalking and hunting birds and rabbits in the expansive Hall grounds and forging arrowheads at the Main Street forge. They were regular attenders of Sunday School in the good old Missionary spirit of Africa,
The exhibiting continued for the next two and a half years in the Moss Stahl Empire Theatres of the North-West followed by Edinburgh and Glasgow, the Midlands, West London, Bradford, Portsmouth and then into Europe to Berlin.
In East Yorkshire they were regular attractions for the seaside trippers to Hornsea and Withernsea.
Back in London there was a photo opportunity at the House of Commons and more money spinning performances at Olympia and Earls Court.
It appears that although used for profit and gain the six were not badly treated and even thrived on their celebrity status.
By the time they left the Port of Hull on SS Hindoo bound for the Congo in early 1908 over 1 million people had been privileged to share the life and times of the Ituri residents. It was a remarkable concluding chapter of the influence of the Old Empire over so many of the world's peoples.
In addition to a few grainy photographs there were scratchy 78 rpm recordings made of their conversations as a lasting archive.
Friday, 16 January 2015
Buying a house in 74 Text messages
The following text messages in real time took place between July 4th 2013 and 5th September 2013 in the process of buying our current house. Names and details have not been changed.
Interested in your Parade house. Own property under offer in Hessle, Any Chance to view? Peter
Hi Peter, thanks for the text. I am away in Greece at the moment. Of course a viewing would be fine. Are you interested in sale or renting? Jill.
Looking to buy. Do you have a guide price in mind.
The house is being updated with full double glazing, full insulation and it has a new condensing boiler. Looking for offers around £165,000.
Definitely interested. What would be arrangements to view.
I am back late weds next week so anytime thursday or friday would be fine.
I will contact you thursday morning if that's ok
Yes, that's fine.
Hope your travelling was ok. Is it possible to arrange a viewing say 6.30pm to 7.00pm
Yes Peter.That will be fine.7pm would be good for me. The house is still in the middle of being worked on so it's upside down at the moment. It should be finished in a couple of weeks for a true impression. Look forward to seeing you later, 7pm at the back.
See you then. Thank You.
Jill, Thank you for the tour of the house. We love it. It would suit us ideally and will be making an offer in a few days if all on track with our sale. If you want to check our progress our solicitor is Heather Midwinter at Sandersons. I would like to instruct my Surveyor next week but will be guided by you with the works underway. Thanks. Peter and Allison.
Hi Peter and Allison. It was very nice to meet you and your family last night. Whilst I am happy with your interest in the house and the ideas you have put forward regarding your solicitor, etc I feel I must point out that I do have other viewings from buyers which I must continue with until your offer comes in. Again, if you would like a surveyor to visit an offer would naturally have to be agreed first. I don't want to rush you in any way however I need to have something constructive to work with just as you do with your property. Kind Regards, Jill.
Jill, We would like to make an offer of £165,000 for your property subject to contract and survey. Regards, Peter and Allison.
I would like to accept your offer. What is the timescale for completion? I would like it to be ASAP. I will let you know how the building works are progressing re the surveying. If you would like another viewing just let me know, I will let you have details of my solicitor.
Jill, we are looking at 8 to 10 weeks to completion. Our estate agent can give information but we are in a small chain with first time buyers for our buyers. Speak soon
Hello Peter. I need to instruct my solicitors which will incur me costs. Please can you confirm you wish to proceed, Can I have your names and any other relevant details please. If you would like another viewing let me know. The windows should be finished towards the end of next week so a surveyor could inspect thursday/friday.
Jill. Full ahead now. I will e mail you the requested information this evening, We are away next week but contactable. Peter and Allison.
Thanks Peter
Did you recieve the e mail with our details?
Hi Peter, yes thank you. I did reply to your email this morning, It was very helpful. I have a new contact at my solicitors.
Jill, Hope you are well, Is it possible to have another look around say late afternoon or evening on saturday. Regards. Peter and Allison.
Hi Peter and Allison. I am very well thank you. I hope you had a good trip. Would 7pm saturday be a suitable time to meet up?
That would be ideal,thank you
Hi Peter. It was good to meet you all again on saturday. Do you have any idea when the surveyor will be visiting the house this week. Kind regards Jill.
Jill. I have contacted the Surveyors and hope to agree terms tomorrow, I will provide them with your details to liaise direct if convenient.
That will be fine, thank you.
Has my Surveyor contacted you yet Jill?
Hi Peter. Yes he came today for about an hour. I asked him if everything was satisfactory and he said everything was in order and couldn't see any problem areas. When do you plan for the Building Society/bank one to visit.
I have paid the Valuation Fee so just appears to be down to availability of the Valuation Surveyor. I will chase up.
Thanks. That would be appreciated. I can be free to show them around to suit as soon as possible is good for me as I am planning to book a holiday in the very near future. Jill
Our buyers want to complete on 22nd August ( 3 weeks). We are working towards this for our sale but if it is not possible to synchronise the purchase of your house we will make arrangements to store furniture and stay with family. Our solicitor has been instructed to try for simultaneous transactions but will keep you informed of progress.
Hi Peter. Thank you for the update on how things are progressing. I am ale to move quickly but have a mortgage tie-in until 31st August which is around £3000. I have spoken to my solicitor to ask if there is anything I can do to help the situation along. At the moment I have no problem exchanging on the 22nd August with a completion as it stands on 2nd September. I will keep in touch with any further proposals/ideas. Have you any news on the Surveyor? Jill
The appointed Surveyors should be contacting you shortly
Thanks Peter
Jill. Has the mortgage valuer been in contact yet? Peter and Allison
Hi Peter and Allison. Yes they did. Yesterday late PM, They will visit next tuesday at 11am. Kind Regards Jill.
The Surveyor came today.He said everything was fine re; the house price. He will send his report to your Building Society today, Do you have any update on exchange?
Jill. We are at our solicitors tomorrow to sign on our sale for 23rd August. For the purchase of your property I will check on status whilst at the same meeting. Your timescale is still ok so hopefully exchange pretty soon. I will update you late tomorrow,
Hi Peter. Regarding your storage and moving things twice if you would rather move things into the House on the 23rd then I am sure we can come to some arrangement after checking it out with my solicitor.
Jill. That does sound a very good proposal. I will discuss with Allison and run it past our solicitor. Speak tomorrow, thanks again. Peter
Hi Peter. Just to update you my solicitor has invited me to sign the necessary paperwork next monday 19th. Do you have any updates?
If you are signing monday we should be doing the same within a couple of days so would hope to exchange next week. Our solicitor is doing our sale and purchase so is aware that we both want to exchange at earliest date possible. Can you spare some time for Allison to view again?
Hi Peter. Allison is welcome to view, I am available next week now. Does she want to visit during the day or in the evening/tea time-ish?
I will get Allison to ring you.
Jill, Is it possible for Allison to view monday or tuesday early evening?
Peter. Tuesday early evening would be fine, Say 6.30pm
That would be great. Allison will see you then.
Jill. We have now moved out of our house following completion today. I will press our solicitors on tuesday after the Bank Holiday as everything is in place for Allison and myself to sign. We are shacked up near York for this week but contactable. Regards
Hi Peter and Allison. Thanks for the update. Do you have any news on the signing of the contracts. Jill
Jill. One local search being chased but available to sign tomorrow with exchange and completion for monday as per your timescale. On the road again from tomorrow. Peter and Allison.
Thank you, That's great.
Jill. Sorry but our solicitor is off work ill and her caseload has been passed over to a colleague. The Local Search has also been delayed until tomorrow, If you Solicitor rings ours everything will be clear.
Yes, thank you I will do so. Regards Jill
Peter and Allison. My Solicitor advises me that everything is now in order for you to proceed with exchange and completion tomorrow. Given the previous confusion please can you tell me if you are going ahead with this tomorrow and I can sort out the keys, etc.
We are all ready for tomorrow.Did you want to meet up at the house late afternoon or evening?
Can I get back to you today.I am just travelling back from Rome. Got up at 3am and don't know whats happening tomorrow yet. I will text you around 6pm tonight. Kind Regards Jill.
That's fine Jill. Look forward to hearing from you. Hope journey goes well.
Hi Peter and Allison. Would tomorrow be ok. I can meet you anytime after 4.15pm. Jill
We can be there for 5pm
That is fine. Look forward to seeing you then. Jill
Hi Peter and Allison.Can you update me on what's happening. Are you exchanging and completing today as arranged?
Jill. In our solicitors at 1pm today, I understand our side sent over a few questions to yours yesterday. We expect everything to go through today as planned, We will contact you in a couple of hours. Peter and Allison.
Thank you both. I was just unsure how things were progressing. Jill
All signed up. Can you solicitors confirm that we have exchanged?
Hi Peter. They cannot confirm it yet, I am unable to move ahead at the moment. They have advised me that your solicitor is asking for a number of details some of which date back to 1978 and others where information was forwarded to them several weeks ago. I think this is because of the illness issue and another solicitor taking things over, Unfortunately I cannot give you the keys until completion. If all goes ahead we could meet up. I could do 4pm if that;s any good to you or after 6.30pm Please let me know your thoughts.
We have instructed our solicitor that we are happy with all of your responses and have signed to indicate this. We still expect to exchange today or simultaneously tomorrow. We are as frustrated as you are but 8 weeks from first viewing is pretty good progress.
I agree Peter. I can make 6.30pm if that's ok
Jill. Our solicitors say we have completed , Is that confirmed on your side?
Hi Peter. Yes, subject to funds arriving all is completed.
Hello Peter and Allison. Congratulations! We will meet you at the front of the house if that's ok, We will need to take readings and a screwdriver to open the water meter on the footpath. Do you have one in your car? We are on our way now, Jill
Sounds like a good plan. Will find implement for water meter.
Two weeks later.............Jill, Hope you are well. We are loving everything about the house. Do keep in contact. Perhaps a coffee and cake on Prinny Ave some time, Peter and Allison.
Glad you are happy. Yes, cake would always be nice, (smiley face) Jill.
Interested in your Parade house. Own property under offer in Hessle, Any Chance to view? Peter
Hi Peter, thanks for the text. I am away in Greece at the moment. Of course a viewing would be fine. Are you interested in sale or renting? Jill.
Looking to buy. Do you have a guide price in mind.
The house is being updated with full double glazing, full insulation and it has a new condensing boiler. Looking for offers around £165,000.
Definitely interested. What would be arrangements to view.
I am back late weds next week so anytime thursday or friday would be fine.
I will contact you thursday morning if that's ok
Yes, that's fine.
Hope your travelling was ok. Is it possible to arrange a viewing say 6.30pm to 7.00pm
Yes Peter.That will be fine.7pm would be good for me. The house is still in the middle of being worked on so it's upside down at the moment. It should be finished in a couple of weeks for a true impression. Look forward to seeing you later, 7pm at the back.
See you then. Thank You.
Jill, Thank you for the tour of the house. We love it. It would suit us ideally and will be making an offer in a few days if all on track with our sale. If you want to check our progress our solicitor is Heather Midwinter at Sandersons. I would like to instruct my Surveyor next week but will be guided by you with the works underway. Thanks. Peter and Allison.
Hi Peter and Allison. It was very nice to meet you and your family last night. Whilst I am happy with your interest in the house and the ideas you have put forward regarding your solicitor, etc I feel I must point out that I do have other viewings from buyers which I must continue with until your offer comes in. Again, if you would like a surveyor to visit an offer would naturally have to be agreed first. I don't want to rush you in any way however I need to have something constructive to work with just as you do with your property. Kind Regards, Jill.
Jill, We would like to make an offer of £165,000 for your property subject to contract and survey. Regards, Peter and Allison.
I would like to accept your offer. What is the timescale for completion? I would like it to be ASAP. I will let you know how the building works are progressing re the surveying. If you would like another viewing just let me know, I will let you have details of my solicitor.
Jill, we are looking at 8 to 10 weeks to completion. Our estate agent can give information but we are in a small chain with first time buyers for our buyers. Speak soon
Hello Peter. I need to instruct my solicitors which will incur me costs. Please can you confirm you wish to proceed, Can I have your names and any other relevant details please. If you would like another viewing let me know. The windows should be finished towards the end of next week so a surveyor could inspect thursday/friday.
Jill. Full ahead now. I will e mail you the requested information this evening, We are away next week but contactable. Peter and Allison.
Thanks Peter
Did you recieve the e mail with our details?
Hi Peter, yes thank you. I did reply to your email this morning, It was very helpful. I have a new contact at my solicitors.
Jill, Hope you are well, Is it possible to have another look around say late afternoon or evening on saturday. Regards. Peter and Allison.
Hi Peter and Allison. I am very well thank you. I hope you had a good trip. Would 7pm saturday be a suitable time to meet up?
That would be ideal,thank you
Hi Peter. It was good to meet you all again on saturday. Do you have any idea when the surveyor will be visiting the house this week. Kind regards Jill.
Jill. I have contacted the Surveyors and hope to agree terms tomorrow, I will provide them with your details to liaise direct if convenient.
That will be fine, thank you.
Has my Surveyor contacted you yet Jill?
Hi Peter. Yes he came today for about an hour. I asked him if everything was satisfactory and he said everything was in order and couldn't see any problem areas. When do you plan for the Building Society/bank one to visit.
I have paid the Valuation Fee so just appears to be down to availability of the Valuation Surveyor. I will chase up.
Thanks. That would be appreciated. I can be free to show them around to suit as soon as possible is good for me as I am planning to book a holiday in the very near future. Jill
Our buyers want to complete on 22nd August ( 3 weeks). We are working towards this for our sale but if it is not possible to synchronise the purchase of your house we will make arrangements to store furniture and stay with family. Our solicitor has been instructed to try for simultaneous transactions but will keep you informed of progress.
Hi Peter. Thank you for the update on how things are progressing. I am ale to move quickly but have a mortgage tie-in until 31st August which is around £3000. I have spoken to my solicitor to ask if there is anything I can do to help the situation along. At the moment I have no problem exchanging on the 22nd August with a completion as it stands on 2nd September. I will keep in touch with any further proposals/ideas. Have you any news on the Surveyor? Jill
The appointed Surveyors should be contacting you shortly
Thanks Peter
Jill. Has the mortgage valuer been in contact yet? Peter and Allison
Hi Peter and Allison. Yes they did. Yesterday late PM, They will visit next tuesday at 11am. Kind Regards Jill.
The Surveyor came today.He said everything was fine re; the house price. He will send his report to your Building Society today, Do you have any update on exchange?
Jill. We are at our solicitors tomorrow to sign on our sale for 23rd August. For the purchase of your property I will check on status whilst at the same meeting. Your timescale is still ok so hopefully exchange pretty soon. I will update you late tomorrow,
Hi Peter. Regarding your storage and moving things twice if you would rather move things into the House on the 23rd then I am sure we can come to some arrangement after checking it out with my solicitor.
Jill. That does sound a very good proposal. I will discuss with Allison and run it past our solicitor. Speak tomorrow, thanks again. Peter
Hi Peter. Just to update you my solicitor has invited me to sign the necessary paperwork next monday 19th. Do you have any updates?
If you are signing monday we should be doing the same within a couple of days so would hope to exchange next week. Our solicitor is doing our sale and purchase so is aware that we both want to exchange at earliest date possible. Can you spare some time for Allison to view again?
Hi Peter. Allison is welcome to view, I am available next week now. Does she want to visit during the day or in the evening/tea time-ish?
I will get Allison to ring you.
Jill, Is it possible for Allison to view monday or tuesday early evening?
Peter. Tuesday early evening would be fine, Say 6.30pm
That would be great. Allison will see you then.
Jill. We have now moved out of our house following completion today. I will press our solicitors on tuesday after the Bank Holiday as everything is in place for Allison and myself to sign. We are shacked up near York for this week but contactable. Regards
Hi Peter and Allison. Thanks for the update. Do you have any news on the signing of the contracts. Jill
Jill. One local search being chased but available to sign tomorrow with exchange and completion for monday as per your timescale. On the road again from tomorrow. Peter and Allison.
Thank you, That's great.
Jill. Sorry but our solicitor is off work ill and her caseload has been passed over to a colleague. The Local Search has also been delayed until tomorrow, If you Solicitor rings ours everything will be clear.
Yes, thank you I will do so. Regards Jill
Peter and Allison. My Solicitor advises me that everything is now in order for you to proceed with exchange and completion tomorrow. Given the previous confusion please can you tell me if you are going ahead with this tomorrow and I can sort out the keys, etc.
We are all ready for tomorrow.Did you want to meet up at the house late afternoon or evening?
Can I get back to you today.I am just travelling back from Rome. Got up at 3am and don't know whats happening tomorrow yet. I will text you around 6pm tonight. Kind Regards Jill.
That's fine Jill. Look forward to hearing from you. Hope journey goes well.
Hi Peter and Allison. Would tomorrow be ok. I can meet you anytime after 4.15pm. Jill
We can be there for 5pm
That is fine. Look forward to seeing you then. Jill
Hi Peter and Allison.Can you update me on what's happening. Are you exchanging and completing today as arranged?
Jill. In our solicitors at 1pm today, I understand our side sent over a few questions to yours yesterday. We expect everything to go through today as planned, We will contact you in a couple of hours. Peter and Allison.
Thank you both. I was just unsure how things were progressing. Jill
All signed up. Can you solicitors confirm that we have exchanged?
Hi Peter. They cannot confirm it yet, I am unable to move ahead at the moment. They have advised me that your solicitor is asking for a number of details some of which date back to 1978 and others where information was forwarded to them several weeks ago. I think this is because of the illness issue and another solicitor taking things over, Unfortunately I cannot give you the keys until completion. If all goes ahead we could meet up. I could do 4pm if that;s any good to you or after 6.30pm Please let me know your thoughts.
We have instructed our solicitor that we are happy with all of your responses and have signed to indicate this. We still expect to exchange today or simultaneously tomorrow. We are as frustrated as you are but 8 weeks from first viewing is pretty good progress.
I agree Peter. I can make 6.30pm if that's ok
Jill. Our solicitors say we have completed , Is that confirmed on your side?
Hi Peter. Yes, subject to funds arriving all is completed.
Hello Peter and Allison. Congratulations! We will meet you at the front of the house if that's ok, We will need to take readings and a screwdriver to open the water meter on the footpath. Do you have one in your car? We are on our way now, Jill
Sounds like a good plan. Will find implement for water meter.
Two weeks later.............Jill, Hope you are well. We are loving everything about the house. Do keep in contact. Perhaps a coffee and cake on Prinny Ave some time, Peter and Allison.
Glad you are happy. Yes, cake would always be nice, (smiley face) Jill.
Thursday, 15 January 2015
Hot Line Cold Calling
Outsourcing is a common term nowadays in business circles.
It is a fact of life that many functions previously carried out "in house" by larger operations have been transferred to other companies and even to other continents through the revolutionary phenomenon of the Call Centre.
In 1997, an Indian entrepreneur, returning to his home country from some years working for a multinational in the United States, saw an opportunity to establish the first of its kind in the Sub-Continent.
It was a simple concept of a telephone based customer service industry making use of a cost effective pool of workers, highly motivated to learn and earn.
European Trade Unions questioned and campaigned against the potential loss of jobs amongst their members in the name of profit and considerable hostility was directed towards the fledgling companies based in India.
It was accepted that the job was demeaning and boring to those Graduates and Professionals who took up employment but it undoubtedly changed lives, outlook and in a large part contributed to the emerging status of India as an economic powerhouse.
The first call centres were small and very basic. These would occupy the smallest of rooms with cardboard partitions to form the work stations and with saris and curtains draped around before the sophistication of actual soundproofing.
One of the first employers advertised for English speaking staff and was inundated with 8000 applications, twice the amount of positions on offer. This illustrated the calibre of those in the market and the growth potential for the sector.
The simplicity of the idea was also eminently viable on this basis.
One of the biggest challenges was the Indian phone network. Most households and businesses kept two lines because of the notorious unreliability of communications. Telecom companies were slow to respond to the needs of the call centres for dedicated services and it took time and constant badgering before the first private satellite dishes began to be seen on the now larger and highly staffed offices of the companies.
Overcoming the technical difficulties was relatively easy compared to meeting and managing customer expectations.
In spite of good qualifications and a command of English it was often the case that an Indian accent was not well received inciting hostility, anger and frustration if recipients were not sure where the call was from or if the accent was just not understood. Specific accent correction training was implemented to counter this source of animosity.
The cultural differences between India and call centre users in Europe and America was also foremost.
An example given was in relation to customer services for domestic appliances. Those seeking answers or guidance for a fault or problem on a washing machine, dish washer or dryer were speaking to operatives who in most cases had not ever seen such equipment. Triple checking and back up was essential to combat a high error rate in the early days of the service.
Further training was given to staff on other main cultural traits of those on the other end of the phone line. Football, other national sporting interests, celebrity gossip and even TV soap series were studied so that conversations could be struck up during the call.
Gradually those dealing with North America and European consumers could be heard adopting and mimicking accents and colloquialisms. It was important for even closer attention to regional and local characteristics, for example to know that the weather in Texas was likely to be hot and that in Seattle most likely to be wet. It was learned the hard way that calls were not to be made on 4th July to the US or during Superbowl or Thanksgiving.
It may have been seen as demeaning for staff to adopt anglicised names rather than their own in the interests of customer service.
The job did however offer great employment opportunities as well as being something open to both men and women which represented an empowerment in a country of segregation of sexes in most working environments.
The greatest benefits were to the Indian economy as a whole with wages making their way into purchases of goods and services. Restaurants, Malls and Shops saw an increase in spending by the mainly younger workforce as well as in lifestyle acquisitions of houses, cars and putting family members through college.
The main Indian Cities attributed their rapid development to the phenomena of the Call Centre.
Considerable competition began to attract business away from India with the Phillipines and Bangladesh able to offer even more competitive services.
The Indian call centre revolution still employs around 500,000 persons today but its greatest legacy is in promoting the skills, entrepreneurial flair and aptitude for business of a sleeping giant of a nation.
It is a fact of life that many functions previously carried out "in house" by larger operations have been transferred to other companies and even to other continents through the revolutionary phenomenon of the Call Centre.
In 1997, an Indian entrepreneur, returning to his home country from some years working for a multinational in the United States, saw an opportunity to establish the first of its kind in the Sub-Continent.
It was a simple concept of a telephone based customer service industry making use of a cost effective pool of workers, highly motivated to learn and earn.
European Trade Unions questioned and campaigned against the potential loss of jobs amongst their members in the name of profit and considerable hostility was directed towards the fledgling companies based in India.
It was accepted that the job was demeaning and boring to those Graduates and Professionals who took up employment but it undoubtedly changed lives, outlook and in a large part contributed to the emerging status of India as an economic powerhouse.
The first call centres were small and very basic. These would occupy the smallest of rooms with cardboard partitions to form the work stations and with saris and curtains draped around before the sophistication of actual soundproofing.
One of the first employers advertised for English speaking staff and was inundated with 8000 applications, twice the amount of positions on offer. This illustrated the calibre of those in the market and the growth potential for the sector.
The simplicity of the idea was also eminently viable on this basis.
One of the biggest challenges was the Indian phone network. Most households and businesses kept two lines because of the notorious unreliability of communications. Telecom companies were slow to respond to the needs of the call centres for dedicated services and it took time and constant badgering before the first private satellite dishes began to be seen on the now larger and highly staffed offices of the companies.
Overcoming the technical difficulties was relatively easy compared to meeting and managing customer expectations.
In spite of good qualifications and a command of English it was often the case that an Indian accent was not well received inciting hostility, anger and frustration if recipients were not sure where the call was from or if the accent was just not understood. Specific accent correction training was implemented to counter this source of animosity.
The cultural differences between India and call centre users in Europe and America was also foremost.
An example given was in relation to customer services for domestic appliances. Those seeking answers or guidance for a fault or problem on a washing machine, dish washer or dryer were speaking to operatives who in most cases had not ever seen such equipment. Triple checking and back up was essential to combat a high error rate in the early days of the service.
Further training was given to staff on other main cultural traits of those on the other end of the phone line. Football, other national sporting interests, celebrity gossip and even TV soap series were studied so that conversations could be struck up during the call.
Gradually those dealing with North America and European consumers could be heard adopting and mimicking accents and colloquialisms. It was important for even closer attention to regional and local characteristics, for example to know that the weather in Texas was likely to be hot and that in Seattle most likely to be wet. It was learned the hard way that calls were not to be made on 4th July to the US or during Superbowl or Thanksgiving.
It may have been seen as demeaning for staff to adopt anglicised names rather than their own in the interests of customer service.
The job did however offer great employment opportunities as well as being something open to both men and women which represented an empowerment in a country of segregation of sexes in most working environments.
The greatest benefits were to the Indian economy as a whole with wages making their way into purchases of goods and services. Restaurants, Malls and Shops saw an increase in spending by the mainly younger workforce as well as in lifestyle acquisitions of houses, cars and putting family members through college.
The main Indian Cities attributed their rapid development to the phenomena of the Call Centre.
Considerable competition began to attract business away from India with the Phillipines and Bangladesh able to offer even more competitive services.
The Indian call centre revolution still employs around 500,000 persons today but its greatest legacy is in promoting the skills, entrepreneurial flair and aptitude for business of a sleeping giant of a nation.
Wednesday, 14 January 2015
Horse Play
Yes, I think that I would eat horsemeat.
In fact I am convinced that on a school trip to France in the 1970's I was fed horse as a main course during one of those large host family gatherings and long, leisurely meals which are decried by the English as being typically French but secretly we, as a nation, yearn for the time and social skills to partake in something similar here. It was a bit chewy and grisly but flavoursome in a sweet sort of way.
The controversy two years ago this week that burgers supplied to the largest UK supermarkets were found to contain a small amount of horse has touched a bit of a nerve.
Notwithstanding the evaporation of any trust and loyalty we may have had as customers of the named outlets, well at least until it is time to actually go shopping, I feel that a good proportion of the outcry has been because of our attitude to horses themselves.
Is it right and proper to eat, whether unknowingly or not, a creature that has contributed to our economic and social growth, carried us to and from home and to battle, achieved almost mythical status as in the case of the famous steeds of our historical figures and even won us a few quid in a sporting arena? We have no qualms about consumption of beef, pork, lamb and chicken because they are principally bred for their meat and not any other characteristic, in spite of an element of charm and cuteness in some cases, mainly frolicking spring lambs, wobbly new born calves and scampering little piggies.
The horse is held particularly in part reverence and part fear by the English. The former is more than evident when coming across a horse and rider on our road network. Traffic grinds to a crawl to furtively pass by something with the combined girth of a fat man on a bicycle but yet the same care and diligence is not afforded to a fat man on a bicycle. There may be a few thousand points to be earned from a cheery, appreciative wave from a high-viz clad, firm thighed stick of a lass on top of the animal or an equally withering stare and hand signal if there is any suggestion of less than suitable respect being shown.
We fear horses because, lets face it they are big, heavy and muscley added to which they are skittish and unpredictable. Ask a striking miner or a Molotov throwing anarchist what figures amongst their most terrifying experiences and I am sure that facing a line of mounted riot police preparing to charge would be right up there. Even more likely to strike panic into small children than to ask them to walk past an unruly dog is asking them to walk behind a horse. A swift kick can be the result of an approach from the blind side, or at least the fear of such is sanction enough to give a very wide clearance.
Some distant relatives had a farm with horses and I remember clearly being a bit in awe of a beast close-up and even more so when allowed to sit on and astride it. I can appreciate from this very limited exposure that riding a horse is quite a dangerous thing even on the flat. Add to the equation a few hurdles, varied terrain, low tree boughs and every manner of potential noise and disturbance and it is a case of taking your life into your own hands in the name of recreation .
A horse formed a major asset for households in the 17th and 18th centuries as a means of transport for the better off , or to haul a cart or wagon by which the artisans and tradespersons could earn a living but was not indispensable being regularly traded and replaced as age, infirmity or economics dictated.
Stables in the cities and towns lent out horses for hire if a journey over a short distance was a necessity. If owners were not able to accommodate their horses within their own properties then business opportunities arose for liveried stables. Old sepia tint photographs of most urban streets of the late 19th and into the early 20th century often featured piles of horse dung and yet another allied commercial opportunity for this to be collected up and sold as manure.
Horses have had excellent endorsements in literature, for example, Black Beauty, on TV with such tear jerkers as 'On White Horses' and Follyfoot and the recent blockbuster movie and stage play of War Horse.
Most city centres have a statue of a mounted hero and the names of famous horses are well known. Try these as a bit of a quiz. Bucephalus (A t G), Copenhagen (D of W), Marengo (N B), Black Bess (D T) , Trigger (R R) and Hercules (S and S). Someone did tell me about the significance of the pose and number of legs in the air for an equine statue to the fate of the depicted dignatory, ie killed in battle or never actually partaking in any conflict.
So, the chain of events that led to the detection of horsemeat in our everyday food, has forced us, as a nation to examine our position and regard for these proud and dignified animals. We should remember that they are not immortal and often end up in the knackers yard to be processed for a range of products from glue to an ingredient in feedstuffs.
As I sat at the head of a line of traffic, just today, behind a slow moving horse I admit that I did lick my lips in anticipation of a juicy steak made from its ample rump and haunches which ranged about in front of me.
In fact I am convinced that on a school trip to France in the 1970's I was fed horse as a main course during one of those large host family gatherings and long, leisurely meals which are decried by the English as being typically French but secretly we, as a nation, yearn for the time and social skills to partake in something similar here. It was a bit chewy and grisly but flavoursome in a sweet sort of way.
The controversy two years ago this week that burgers supplied to the largest UK supermarkets were found to contain a small amount of horse has touched a bit of a nerve.
Notwithstanding the evaporation of any trust and loyalty we may have had as customers of the named outlets, well at least until it is time to actually go shopping, I feel that a good proportion of the outcry has been because of our attitude to horses themselves.
Is it right and proper to eat, whether unknowingly or not, a creature that has contributed to our economic and social growth, carried us to and from home and to battle, achieved almost mythical status as in the case of the famous steeds of our historical figures and even won us a few quid in a sporting arena? We have no qualms about consumption of beef, pork, lamb and chicken because they are principally bred for their meat and not any other characteristic, in spite of an element of charm and cuteness in some cases, mainly frolicking spring lambs, wobbly new born calves and scampering little piggies.
The horse is held particularly in part reverence and part fear by the English. The former is more than evident when coming across a horse and rider on our road network. Traffic grinds to a crawl to furtively pass by something with the combined girth of a fat man on a bicycle but yet the same care and diligence is not afforded to a fat man on a bicycle. There may be a few thousand points to be earned from a cheery, appreciative wave from a high-viz clad, firm thighed stick of a lass on top of the animal or an equally withering stare and hand signal if there is any suggestion of less than suitable respect being shown.
We fear horses because, lets face it they are big, heavy and muscley added to which they are skittish and unpredictable. Ask a striking miner or a Molotov throwing anarchist what figures amongst their most terrifying experiences and I am sure that facing a line of mounted riot police preparing to charge would be right up there. Even more likely to strike panic into small children than to ask them to walk past an unruly dog is asking them to walk behind a horse. A swift kick can be the result of an approach from the blind side, or at least the fear of such is sanction enough to give a very wide clearance.
Some distant relatives had a farm with horses and I remember clearly being a bit in awe of a beast close-up and even more so when allowed to sit on and astride it. I can appreciate from this very limited exposure that riding a horse is quite a dangerous thing even on the flat. Add to the equation a few hurdles, varied terrain, low tree boughs and every manner of potential noise and disturbance and it is a case of taking your life into your own hands in the name of recreation .
A horse formed a major asset for households in the 17th and 18th centuries as a means of transport for the better off , or to haul a cart or wagon by which the artisans and tradespersons could earn a living but was not indispensable being regularly traded and replaced as age, infirmity or economics dictated.
Stables in the cities and towns lent out horses for hire if a journey over a short distance was a necessity. If owners were not able to accommodate their horses within their own properties then business opportunities arose for liveried stables. Old sepia tint photographs of most urban streets of the late 19th and into the early 20th century often featured piles of horse dung and yet another allied commercial opportunity for this to be collected up and sold as manure.
Horses have had excellent endorsements in literature, for example, Black Beauty, on TV with such tear jerkers as 'On White Horses' and Follyfoot and the recent blockbuster movie and stage play of War Horse.
Most city centres have a statue of a mounted hero and the names of famous horses are well known. Try these as a bit of a quiz. Bucephalus (A t G), Copenhagen (D of W), Marengo (N B), Black Bess (D T) , Trigger (R R) and Hercules (S and S). Someone did tell me about the significance of the pose and number of legs in the air for an equine statue to the fate of the depicted dignatory, ie killed in battle or never actually partaking in any conflict.
So, the chain of events that led to the detection of horsemeat in our everyday food, has forced us, as a nation to examine our position and regard for these proud and dignified animals. We should remember that they are not immortal and often end up in the knackers yard to be processed for a range of products from glue to an ingredient in feedstuffs.
As I sat at the head of a line of traffic, just today, behind a slow moving horse I admit that I did lick my lips in anticipation of a juicy steak made from its ample rump and haunches which ranged about in front of me.
Tuesday, 13 January 2015
Kiss Catch
I did not fully know or comprehend, at the age of 10 and in a new school the process of getting to go out with a lass.
Up to the age of 10 I remember vaguely a girl who was a friend but I had never put the words together to constitute a bona fide girlfriend. At that age girls were just playmates and playground friends. If you were told to pair up and hold hands to go into school assembly or on a trip beyond the school gates you did not have a second thought about whether your walking partner was a girl or boy.
Sure, we did play games revolving around the now very non politically correct role playing of doctors and nurses, wounded soldiers and nurses ,cowboys and squaw nurses, six million dollar man and wonder woman nurse or various characters from the Onedin Line but there was no hidden agenda of gender or suppression of ambition.
It was quite alright to be invited to a girls party and sometimes I was the only lad who bothered to have his parents drop him off. I was a regular attender in white pressed shirt, blue 'V' neck cardigan, casual but smart short trousers and my trademark fashion statement of an elasticated dickie bow tie. After all it was only being polite and I had been brought up proper.
The under 10's party calendar was the highlight of social activity whether at someone's house, at a church hall or in the function room above a public house where, afterwards we always stank of second hand cigarette smoke and stale beer.
They were innocent times. Thinking about girls on an actual relationship basis started to be a bit more serious from age 10 onwards.
The move to a new town and junior school meant starting again in making friends. It was always difficult to assimilate into a class where the rest had forged friendships and developed arch-enemies right from pre-school. Desk positions were already allocated.There was a defined hierarchy of kids in the class and in the playground. There was suspicion over where you had come from. It was not the done thing to appear too keen to be accepted or too clever in front of teacher. You knew when you had been accepted by being invited by the girls to play kiss catch at playtime.
Sociologists and Psychiatrists write volumes and make reputations on studies of human behaviour. The game of kiss catch is the perfect illustration of human behaviour. The fittest and strongest are the elite group able to run and run and choose their partners at will. Those of average ability have to settle for average. The chubby kids were soon exhausted and stood around on their own, wheezing or lost concentration and stared up at the sky.
I was reasonably fast at running and was able to catch and kiss Lesley Whitehand. Of course at the bell to resume classes the adapted adage applied, "whatever happens in the playground, stays in the playground". I did not realise at the time that my capture and kiss of Lesley Whitehand constituted some form of contractural arrangement to make us a boyfriend and girlfriend.
Apparently this was the status of our relationship for the next five years, right through to late secondary school although we never spoke, hung around together or had any common ground in all of that time. It was obviously an open relationship as we both dated other people. We eventually agreed, aged 15, to call it quits as it was not working. I think that was the longest conversation we ever had to the effect;
Me, blushing and flushed " I think you are my girlfriend from 5 years back"
Lesley, non-plussed, " Yeah, it's not working out very well is it- you're chucked".
So, after a short time of forced laughter at our folly and misunderstanding we were both able to move on. It had been a quickie divorce after all that.
In junior school as I gained confidence and a reputation for catching and kissing, another girl let it be known through her friends and then my friends that I should ask her out. This terminology confused me on a number of grounds.
1) Was the asking out a formal invitation in a form of words or did I just catch and kiss her?
2) Did we actually go out somewhere because at our age and in a small town there was nothing to do.
3) Did I have to lay out any money for a gift or token of going out?
4) Did we have to hold hands out of school?
We did go for a couple of walks around to the recreation ground and sat talking and tight lipped kissing on the pile of out-of season goalposts overlooking the cricket pitch but the relationship was doomed from the start. Oh, and I did swap her for a packet of rainbow drops with my best friend and she was not best pleased when she found out.
It was very difficult keeping track of who was going out with whom either officially or not. There was very little opportunity otherwise for social interaction. School disco's were usually just after school hours at 3.30pm. The teachers were of the opinion that a disco was strictly a non-contact event and patrolled the assembly hall forming a defined line of segregation between boys and girls. We were not that bothered at that age. Anyway, smoochy records were stupid when you could leap about and work up a sweat to Slade, Sweet, Wizzard, Suzi Quattro, wholesome and whacky Gary Glitter and Simon Park Orchestra.
After junior school came the All Boys Grammar and with very little opportunity to meet and even talk to girls until co-ed classes from age 15. This was definitely a retrograde feature of an all boys school and made the later re-introduction to girls that much more difficult and traumatic.
I did not have, or in fact actively seek, a girlfriend for the next five years, after all I did have Lesley Whitehand as back-up anyway, allegedly.
Up to the age of 10 I remember vaguely a girl who was a friend but I had never put the words together to constitute a bona fide girlfriend. At that age girls were just playmates and playground friends. If you were told to pair up and hold hands to go into school assembly or on a trip beyond the school gates you did not have a second thought about whether your walking partner was a girl or boy.
Sure, we did play games revolving around the now very non politically correct role playing of doctors and nurses, wounded soldiers and nurses ,cowboys and squaw nurses, six million dollar man and wonder woman nurse or various characters from the Onedin Line but there was no hidden agenda of gender or suppression of ambition.
It was quite alright to be invited to a girls party and sometimes I was the only lad who bothered to have his parents drop him off. I was a regular attender in white pressed shirt, blue 'V' neck cardigan, casual but smart short trousers and my trademark fashion statement of an elasticated dickie bow tie. After all it was only being polite and I had been brought up proper.
The under 10's party calendar was the highlight of social activity whether at someone's house, at a church hall or in the function room above a public house where, afterwards we always stank of second hand cigarette smoke and stale beer.
They were innocent times. Thinking about girls on an actual relationship basis started to be a bit more serious from age 10 onwards.
The move to a new town and junior school meant starting again in making friends. It was always difficult to assimilate into a class where the rest had forged friendships and developed arch-enemies right from pre-school. Desk positions were already allocated.There was a defined hierarchy of kids in the class and in the playground. There was suspicion over where you had come from. It was not the done thing to appear too keen to be accepted or too clever in front of teacher. You knew when you had been accepted by being invited by the girls to play kiss catch at playtime.
Sociologists and Psychiatrists write volumes and make reputations on studies of human behaviour. The game of kiss catch is the perfect illustration of human behaviour. The fittest and strongest are the elite group able to run and run and choose their partners at will. Those of average ability have to settle for average. The chubby kids were soon exhausted and stood around on their own, wheezing or lost concentration and stared up at the sky.
I was reasonably fast at running and was able to catch and kiss Lesley Whitehand. Of course at the bell to resume classes the adapted adage applied, "whatever happens in the playground, stays in the playground". I did not realise at the time that my capture and kiss of Lesley Whitehand constituted some form of contractural arrangement to make us a boyfriend and girlfriend.
Apparently this was the status of our relationship for the next five years, right through to late secondary school although we never spoke, hung around together or had any common ground in all of that time. It was obviously an open relationship as we both dated other people. We eventually agreed, aged 15, to call it quits as it was not working. I think that was the longest conversation we ever had to the effect;
Me, blushing and flushed " I think you are my girlfriend from 5 years back"
Lesley, non-plussed, " Yeah, it's not working out very well is it- you're chucked".
So, after a short time of forced laughter at our folly and misunderstanding we were both able to move on. It had been a quickie divorce after all that.
In junior school as I gained confidence and a reputation for catching and kissing, another girl let it be known through her friends and then my friends that I should ask her out. This terminology confused me on a number of grounds.
1) Was the asking out a formal invitation in a form of words or did I just catch and kiss her?
2) Did we actually go out somewhere because at our age and in a small town there was nothing to do.
3) Did I have to lay out any money for a gift or token of going out?
4) Did we have to hold hands out of school?
We did go for a couple of walks around to the recreation ground and sat talking and tight lipped kissing on the pile of out-of season goalposts overlooking the cricket pitch but the relationship was doomed from the start. Oh, and I did swap her for a packet of rainbow drops with my best friend and she was not best pleased when she found out.
It was very difficult keeping track of who was going out with whom either officially or not. There was very little opportunity otherwise for social interaction. School disco's were usually just after school hours at 3.30pm. The teachers were of the opinion that a disco was strictly a non-contact event and patrolled the assembly hall forming a defined line of segregation between boys and girls. We were not that bothered at that age. Anyway, smoochy records were stupid when you could leap about and work up a sweat to Slade, Sweet, Wizzard, Suzi Quattro, wholesome and whacky Gary Glitter and Simon Park Orchestra.
After junior school came the All Boys Grammar and with very little opportunity to meet and even talk to girls until co-ed classes from age 15. This was definitely a retrograde feature of an all boys school and made the later re-introduction to girls that much more difficult and traumatic.
I did not have, or in fact actively seek, a girlfriend for the next five years, after all I did have Lesley Whitehand as back-up anyway, allegedly.
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