Full Circle

I'm sorry but I was mightily disappointed upon first seeing the Ancient Monument that is Stonehenge in Wiltshire in the South West of England.

To a large extent this was because of the perception of the place from doing projects and assignments about it and the Neolithic Era at every stage in my education.

This was from early years messing about in the Kindergarten sandpit trying to replicate the structures with wooden building blocks, in Junior grade there was learning about how and why it was built by our distant ancestors.


At Secondary level it was more watching of TV programmes on the school channel and as a Senior reading an endless succession of books and articles in the classroom or as part of the dreaded homework.

Stonehenge assumed in this way a great mystical and fantastical personality, if dressed stones can be given humanesque characteristics and I could only hope that one day I would actually get to see the circle of standing stones for myself.

Although only a few hundred miles away from my childhood home it was well into my teenage years before a road trip as part of our family holiday passed within visiting range of Stonehenge.

My excitement and anticipation at the prospect of seeing Stonehenge was unbearable but was immediately defused and deflated by the rather small and quite underwhelming arrangement of pillars and lintels in the squinty near distance.

Yes, it is a monument unlike any other in the known world.

Yes, those who erected it showed skill and determination as well as a bit of cosmic know-how in its alignment to the sunrise of the summer solstice and the sunset at the same period in the winter.

I  spite of this crushing disappointment I have continued to have an interest in all things ancient and historical into my adult years.

With the wisdom of age I have become altogether more cynical and analytical of what I took for granted in my formative years. That can be a good thing especially in the culture of fake news and misinformation that we find ourselves exposed to now but at the same time a bit demoralising as long held beliefs and understandings are shown to be less than the genuine truth.

It is however a measure of our own intelligence and rationality that things can be re-visited and seen for what they are.

For example, in context the construction of Stonehenge from around 2500 BC was at the same time as the building of the Great Pyramid of Giza, the formation of some of the great cities of the ancient world, the rise of major Civilisations and the development of crude but life changing (for the peoples of that time)technology and practices in agriculture, learning and culture.

Dragging some of the Stonehenge monoliths from the depths of Wales was a major feat but don't you think it pales into insignificance when put alongside what was going on in other parts of the known world?

I now able to comprehend that this effort says quite a bit about our predecessors in their outlook and ambitions.

We cannot appreciate their mindset which was one of trying to survive in a wild and hostile environment.

Matters will have been further complicated by superstitions, and practices that to our own sensibilities were barbaric, cruel and terrifying.

Their own territory was defined by and confined to a single valley or hillside.

It was a case of subsistence living, hunter gathering and foraging.

Life expectancy was at best into the 20's and that would require more luck than good fortune in such a dangerous existence where a minor accident or innocuous injury could often as not prove fatal

It is hard for us to imagine the fear and trepidation from natural events such as an eclipse or the sight of a shooting star or comet across a dark night sky.

Having reflected on all of this I can see that Stonehenge was actually a big deal.

In terms of materials and methods of that era it represented the equivalent of a Moon Landing.

If I'm passing that bit of Wiltshire any time in the coming years I might just go and have another look at Stonehenge and put aside my prejudices and ignorance.

Where from or Where at?

I have no regional accent which makes it quite difficult for people to place me.

In fact I have no discernible accent whatsoever which is surprising given that I have lived in Yorkshire for almost 40 of my 56 years.

Prior to my adoption of God's Own County or fully fledged Country as my home I did live a bit of a nomadic and very interesting existence in my formative years.

I was born in Aylesbury in Buckinghamshire followed by, when a very young child, family moves to Abingdon in Oxfordshire, Bury St Edmunds in Suffolk , Brigg in North Lincolnshire and as a teenager to Beverley which was the big move into Yorkshire..

The only constant in these flits across the lower part and towards the middle of the United Kingdom and in terms of an influential accent was my parents, themselves originating from Bedfordshire and North East Surrey (now a London Borough). Like them mine is not a posh voice from the South. There is no plummy or pretentious tone.

I have by good fortune avoided having a voice that can put people in their place by pompous bullying or put them down by an attitude of superiority of upbringing and breeding. I am truly of a neutral accent.

Those I get into conversations with in my home area do pick up on the fact that I'm not originally from these parts but seem to be immediately at ease in my company. That is because I actually have three modes of voice and switch seamlessly and effortlessly between them dependant on where I am and who I am with.

It is said that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery and yes, I am guilty of this but not with any intentions to deceive, act maliciously or to take the piss.

This ability to be a bit of a vocal chameleon continues to serve me well in all sorts of situations, whether at work or just out and about in my local area.

I am frequently reminded of this by my wife and children who cannot always be sure of the identity that I assume in social and other surroundings.

 "Now then" is my most common opening line when meeting someone for the first time and this seems to put everyone at ease straight away.

In my working environment I assume a more authoritative tone but that is to a large part the expectation of me in my Professional capacity. I have to give confidence and reassurance to those using me as an adviser but in a friendly and approachable manner.

I am certainly not alone in that feeling, when running a meeting or asked to contribute to a discussion, that I am a complete fake and fraud and should just not be there in any capacity.

That is where my three voice arsenal comes to my rescue as I can hide behind the impression that a performance, and that is purely what it is- a performance- gives to those around me.

So, I have the local out and about voice and the business voice to fall back on.

The vocal roles do get me out of what could otherwise be awkward and excruciatingly painful situations as I am actually quite a shy and self conscious individual.

I hear my family disputing this assertion as they still contend that I am the most outgoing and gregarious of individuals but yet I know that to be farthest you could possibly get from my true character.

As for my third and favourite voice- well that is just me at home and amongst those that I love and treasure. That’s just me being me.

Dustbins on castors

My wife slept with a Dalek.

Sounds a bit like a spurious claim for intergalactic child support on The Jeremy Kyle Show if it did ever go universal, but it is true.

I should qualify the statement somewhat.

My wife worked at an International Telephone Exchange on the night shift and staff were allowed to rest up in a communal dormitory during their designated breaks. On her particular team when drowsing was a colleague who had, in previous employment, worked on the BBC TV Doctor Who series as a Dalek.

To children of the 1960's the Daleks were the first great horror experience on television before the watershed of 8pm and even today I admit to still being a bit scared and wary of them. This fear has been compounded in recent years by the realisation that the multi-coloured dustbins are now able to fly. Just going upstairs in a house had been an option for escape from the Daleks - but no longer.

After a few weeks of Obituary Announcements for those who played in part in entertaining and enthralling me as a child, including Ray Bradbury, Richard Briers and Bob Godfrey I now have to add to the death list the name of Raymond Cusick.

I was not aware of the man or his actual role in my childhood until reading about his conceptual design for the Daleks leading up to their first appearance on our screens in 1963.

His name will certainly have been credited at the end of each Doctor Who broadcast listings but I will have missed these from my hiding place behind the settee or under an upholstered cushion pressed tightly on my hot, flushed face.

A typical brief for a space villain in the minds of the under 10's age group, as I was, would include an electronic synthesised and menacing voice, an armoury of fantastic, noisy pulverising weapons, the ability to time travel and an intention to dominate the known galaxy. I would not have envisaged that these evil attributes could be carted about in a glorified dustbin on, initially, wobbly wheels as though a descendant of a pensioners shopping trolley.

The Daleks were required to meet a specification for a fictional extra-terrestrial race of mutants and Raymond Cusick came across the distinctive shape and profile apparently whilst at the dinner table. A demonstration of how such an influential race were expected to move was illustrated by the movement of a pepper shaker and the idea stuck.

There is quite an elaborate back-story to the Dalek race and I recall the involvement of the character Davros who was to my young mind, an inside out Dalek with liquid solutions and electronic probes keeping him alive and always thinking about his next evil deed. The best thing about the Daleks was their relentless quest to eliminate the human race and a group of us would, on summer evenings, after the programme but before bedtime, cavort about in each others back gardens making as best as we could the 'Exterminate' sounds accompanied by saliva filled explosive and destruction noises.

They were happy times even though we would occasionally scan the skies for any signs of an actual invasion force from space. It would not be all doom and gloom however for mankind. My Gran lived in a bungalow nearby and would be able to command a premium price from a Dalek looking for a manageable single storey and level floor living space near Scunthorpe, if it figured as a desirable location in their master-plan of galactic domination. Why not?

For Saint George and Velour

Time passes by so very quickly. It is nice to put down little markers along the way.

In the process of tidying the accumulated documents that ever so often threaten to cause my home filing cabinet to burst open and spill out its contents I came across a page from a local newspaper dated February 18th 2004.

In the timeline of world history and events the 15 year old piece of paper represents perhaps a millionth of a heartbeat but it is nevertheless something that provides a record of an event that had significance for someone.

One particular column on the page is a story about a father and his two sons, aged at the time 13 and 12 respectively.

They were, and highly likely remain, staunch supporters of the England National Football Team.

Living in the North East of the country the only possibility of ever seeing a live game involving the National Team would involve a long, tiring and expensive excursion to Wembley Stadium or another main venue. The chances of getting to a match on home turf had, however, improved greatly with the opening of the KCOM Stadium some two years earlier.

Its striking, sweeping roofline, fan-friendly access and amenities and a capacity of just over 25,000 put it on a rather exclusive shortlist as a potential host for an international contest.

That cold evening in the early spring of 2004 saw the England Under 21 team line up against Holland.

Our footballing family had been very excited by the prospect, so much so that in the preceding months they hatched a plan to show their support in quite a unique way.

I'm not sure what sort of question you would raise on an internet search but the father and his sons ordered and took delivery, closer to the date of the match, of individual, beautifully crafted, plush, characterfully cuddly and authentically coloured Lion costumes.

They were a perfect set, two small and one larger and understandably evoking in the wearers a great feeling of pride and patriotism.

There was one minor detail that the trio had overlooked.

No, there was plenty of ventilation inside the insulated mock skins.

Yes, there were eye holes and proper road going feet.

Yes, it would be possible to go for a wee wee at short notice whilst wearing the suit.

Unfortunately, many other football fans in the city and region were also keen to attend the game and the Lions had been unable to purchase any tickets. None were apparently available for love nor money through the normal channels.

That was a devastating blow to morale for a Dad and his Lads.

The only recourse was to put out an Appeal through the local paper under it was gratefully acted upon under the guise of a genuine human interest story.

I am pleased to say that I was able to help out in their predicament.

As a supporter of the city team who shared the KCOM Stadium with one of the local Rugby League Teams I had taken out membership of the stadium and had secured for the use of family and friends a group of five seats in the West Stand. Filling them on saturday or midweek matchdays was a difficult task and I often found myself unable to persuade anyone to go with me.

Sat alone in the middle of the five seats was very much a Johnny No Mates experience.

After answering the Media Appeal from the Lions I handed over the ticket allocation that came with membership and was thrilled to be able to do so.

It was, by all accounts a memorable evening for all those amongst a full capacity and record attendance.

VIP guests included former England players and League Managers. In an end to end contest the England Under 21's came out 3-2 winners.

As for the cuddly Lions?

They had a thoroughly memorable evening. Their back-story had filtered through to the crowd and a lap of honour received a rip-roaring reception.

I like to think that the experience remains as a highlight to that family.

I hope that the Lion suits got plenty more use or at least until the young boys were unable to fit into them.

Political Dogma

Yes, I am a firm believer that dogs and their owners share a number of characteristics.

That can be a self fulfilling prophecy if you go for what I call a lifestyle breed such as a handbag sized chahuahua....chiauhoohaa.......chawawa........anyway, a dog about handbag sized or if you need a working dog such as a Springer Spaniel or Bloodhound.

Others seek out a Bulldog, Staffie or unwittingly take on a small, cute puppy that grows to be a huge and ferocious Rhodesian Ridgeback or possessing similar wholly unsuitable attributes as a domestic pet and companion to family members.

This close association is certainly something I can testify to having been the owner of loveable, athletic, photogenic and somewhat bonkers breeds in the past.

So, if this physical and temperamental matching is tangible then could a dog also assume the political affiliations and beliefs of its master or mistress?

This was the theory that I set out to investigate just yesterday evening.

I was put in the very responsible position of trust by one of the longest and dearest friends of the family in looking after Hugo, a pedigree Border Terrier for a few hours.

He is an only dog and understandably has a privileged and comfortable life. That makes him a Conservative by socio-economic profile and indeed the household that he comes from is similarly persuaded.

We love our friend unconditionally and have shared many good times interspersed with not so happy ones. There is a mutual reliance when reassurance or support is required and yet we could not be farther apart when it comes to politics.

A few hours of exclusivity with Hugo got me thinking about how I could turn him from his Blue One Nation Tory stance.

What better way, yesterday evening, than to try to get him to growl at Boris Johnson during the BBC Question Time broadcast of the main Party Leaders.

It was certainly a challenge as Hugo rarely sits still and has quite a short attention span between chasing tennis balls and more of the same.

My first attempt was to hide away the fluorescent green Slazengers and point at the TV in the direction of Boris Johnson on his plinth in front of the live audience.

"Hugo- that man Boris has stolen your balls!" was my repetitive chant but Hugo has exceptional Terrier skills and rooted out the missing playthings from where I had clumsily hidden them under the travel rug on the sofa.

I clearly had to adopt a more cunning strategy.

Hugo had been dropped off at our house with his travelling bag containing poo-bags, a water bowl and a packet of organic vegetable, gluten free chewy snacks. He had already ripped apart the packet of goodies within a couple of minutes although I had not seen him climb a chair and cross the dining room table to extract them from the fruit bowl.

Just one of the packet contents was left.

I attached this with a bit of sticky tape to the top of the television just above the white mass of hair of Mr Johnson.

Hugo was 100 percent focused on the tempting morsel and I took this opportunity to encourage bad doggy thoughts and emotions about the last 9 years of Tory rule and austerity.

I admit that, as with most seeking to sway the electorate, I did bend the facts a bit and told Hugo that Boris would threaten the very existence and accessibility of public open spaces and impose spending cuts that could, feasibly, result in lower numbers of lamp posts on the streets.

A few gggrrrummpphhhs could be heard but I was unsure if they came from Hugo or Boris, to tell the truth.  The debate on screen was coming to a close and my experiment had not able to claim anything decisive or conclusive.

I am not actually sure of how much a dog can see, hear and appreciate of human forms and dialogue when sat in front of a TV screen or relate the broadcast image to anything in the real world.

The adhesive qualities of the mount for the doggy snack suddenly failed, possibly due to the hot air emanating from the TV and Hugo gratefully accepted the released item as it fell to the floor.

He showed disinterest and boredom with the whole thing and obviously would have preferred to be anyhere else. That could have been cavorting about in the bottom of a ditch or having fun with his like minded pals. I got the impression that Hugo was of the same opinion at that moment.

Prints Charming

In the days before loft insulation and carpet underlay what did our ancestors do?

The basic answer is absolutely nothing.

Cheap and by modern standards plentiful energy could leak out of a house with no thought for environmental issues. Put another bucket of coal on the fire Auntie Maud. The luxury of a soft surface underfoot was reserved for the very wealthy and most of the population were happy with painted floorboards surrounding a small carpet square or the ubiquitous canvas or linoleum which came in many colours and shades based on grey or brown.

The enterprising or just thrifty few latched on to the idea of using old newspapers to lag the space between the ceiling joists in the roof space or to line the tongued and grooved boards beneath a surface finish of choice, usually, again linoleum.

In the days of the broadsheet daily papers there was a great volume of material for such use. In using the old printed pages this way a unique archive has been preserved in many of our homes ripe for discovery by subsequent generations. That is of course dependent on the actual conditions with silverfish, mice, damp, rot and decay the main threats to the preservation of what now constitute historic and social records.

It was down to a conscientious or again just tight, homeowner, moving into the house in York in the 1960's that led to my discovery this week of, amongst a great thick and matted layer of newsprint in a loft, an almost perfect copy of The Daily Express, dated Wednesday 23rd September 1964.

It is numbered 20,004, cost at three old pennies and incidentally the weather, recorded under the banner name, was cloudy and with some rain.

The front page is set out in a multitude of small column features covering stories on the tragic drowning of a toddler in a well in County Antrim, three men trapped in a shaft at an atomic testing site in Nevada, USA, a missing wife of an MP on a holiday behind the Iron Curtain (ask your parents about this), Screaming Lord Sutch intending to stand against Harold Wilson, the Labour Party Leader at his Huyton Constituency, Sean Connery straining a leg tendon whilst filming a James Bond movie in Spain, hospital bed queues at an all time high with 53,864 people on waiting lists in the North West alone and a girl from Wrexham was having her arm stitched on again.

The headline, almost lost in the filler stories, was about the Tory Party refusing to get into argumentative debates on TV with the Opposition. Nothing much changed there then in 49 years.

The paper is surprisingly gossipy and superficial through the large and difficult to manage sheets, a characteristic commonly found in the lesser tabloids today than to be expected from a quality publication. Perhaps a wednesday in 1964 was a quiet news day.

A good proportion of the pages is taken up by advertisements. Smirnoff Vodka has obviously maintained its market share over nearly half a century which cannot be said for Nelson and Cadets Filter Tip Cigarettes.

Popular brands also featured include Ovaltine, probably uniterrupted in coverage since the second world war, Harpic disinfectant, Goodyear Tyres, The Co-Operative Stores and wonderful Bovril.

As a sign of the times in 1964 there are what may have been regarded as the cutting edge of technology in Aldis slide projectors (again, ask your parents), products from Radio Rentals and the revolution that was a paint in an aerosol spray can. This last product warranted a full page spread of how and where to use it on whitewood furniture, toys and prams.

Many households will have been without the modern day expectation of central heating or even background heating other than with a coal fire (Two shillings for Pyruma fireback filler to stop heatloss) and Belling were hard selling their Radiant Convector Heaters, Fan Heaters and cookers under the motto "For all round warmth".

Lifestyle features were also prominent, not much different from today, with the promotion of a seven day milk diet targeted at housewives but also suitable for husbands, Tonic Wine, a Woman's Own ready reference wall chart with handy domestic tips and that problem of fatigue afflicting the over 40's but with Phyllosan available for fortification against being run down, dreary, niggly and nervous. What are the chances of finding a bottle of that nowadays?

Financial matters were also prominent from Midland Bank to Mutual Insurance Policies and Premium Bonds.

The 1960's were still an economic boom time in the UK and the 'Situations Vacant' page listed jobs in the industrial realms of Machine Tools, Aircraft Engineering, Yorkshire Imperial Metals, Wimpey Mechanical and Electrical, Welsh Steel, Diesel Engines, Ford Motor Company, Construction and Draughting. In contrast to today not a mention of call centres, domicillary care or careers in IT. (parents, ask your children about this).

There was evidently considerable activity in industry, manufacturing and civil works at the time. It was also a period when many UK Nationals emigrated to other parts of the Commonwealth and in the autumn of 1964 there was demand from Australia for telecommunications operatives, communications experts in Rhodesia, Waterworks specialists in Gambia, Cooks in the Falklands, Executive Electricians in Sarawak and those with drawing board experience for Tanganyika.

Social tittle tattle was rife on the inner pages.

Prince Charles, then aged 15 was quizzed by his headmaster at Gordonstoun School after a book of his essays went missing and his intelligence could not be readily assessed. James Lascelles, the 10 year old second son of the Earl of Harewood apparently had a nice day out at a Traction Engine Rally whilst leading fashion model Elanna Ellis was reported as saying that the business was , quote, "a great big bag of old rats". Not sure what became of her.

In entertainment the TV listings, shockingly restricted to only two channels included Z Cars at 8pm directly competing with The Fugitive on ITV, Coronation Street earlier on and quite a lot of educational content for schools.

In football Chelsea were at the top of the old First Division but only 9 games into the season with Sheffield United in second place. Liverpool, true to form, had not had a good start to the season and were languishing second from the bottom.

Football Pools, Greyhound Racing and Horse Racing still maintain their social standing today as they apparently did 49 years ago.

Hull City, my team could only manage a tuesday night 0-0 draw with Southend in the League Cup showing that they still needed a striker as today.

I conclude with a foray into the Horoscope of cloudy and possibly wet wednesday in September 1964.

This is particularly poignant for me as I seem to recall that the prediction was exactly right, unnervingly so in its relevance to my own circumstances.

Cancer: The day favours routine work but take no financial chances, Romance may cool off.

I took no risks that day as I recall and just sat around minding my own business in my terry nappy, filling it with my usual regularity and not attempting to digest any loose change lying around the house. I recall I may have been a bit moody with my Mother but then again I was only 14 months old at the time. I like to think that I have changed for the better in the interim.

English Lesson 11

One of the many radio re-runs that I find myself laughing out aloud to is "I'm Sorry I haven't a Clue" which is a very long running improvisational comedy show which over its many decades has featured the very best in comedic and entertainment talent.

A regular feature in the show is the offering by the participants of definitions of words towards the Uxbridge English Dictionary.

For any student of the English Language this must be most confusing as although the donor word is a bona fide one the meaning as described is only intended to elicit laughter or gasps of shock and awe.

I am now up to the letter "K". It's not the most prolific source of combination words and I have had to add a few of my own inventions.

Koala- an all natural Australian rival to Coke

Kleenex- expressing surprise at the improved hygiene of a former partner

Kilobyte- very large portions of food

Kidney Bean- after a major operation

Kerosene- an oil refinery

Karate- what Top Gear do with different models of vehicles

Knighthood- contraceptives for the members of Arthur's Round Table

Knapsack- a sleeping bag

Ketchup- to draw level after initially falling behind

Khaki- a way to start a motor vehicle

Kilometre- means of measuring the death rate

Kinship- a boat owned by a family

Kitten- hit by a kite

Kermit- gloves for a Muppet Frog

Kingdom- a royal birth control method

Kings Cross Station- a royal lobster

Knee Pads- Scottish TV campaign for Turnips

Knackers Yard- enormous underpants

Kaleidoscope- traffic camera at a busy and dangerous junction

Kephalonia- the best person to buy a second hand car from

Kidology- the study of infants

King Post- the Royal Mail

Knick Knack- the most skilled of thiefs

Kremlin- mischievous Russian creature

Krypsis- a favourite snack food of Gollum

Kudos- where cattle sleep

Kook- a Yorkshire chef

Kinky- fetish of being covered with ink

Kaftan- consequence of occupying the outside seating of a pavement eatery in summer

Kebab- winner of a beautiful baby competition

Kidnap- afternoon sleepies in the kindergarten

Kindred- fear of family

Kinfolk- derogatory comment about folk

Knavish- a bit like the sound of a horse

Tied up in Notts

It's really interesting to find an old newspaper.

I come across them a lot with the most common places being under a carpet, stuffed up a disused fireplace or amongst the dust and forgotten items in a loft space.

The old broadsheets are packed with interesting information, not just the main headline stories of the day but more so in the small print columns of items being sold, services being offered and local reports of who did what, to whom, when and sometimes why.

I have kept a four page sheet in my personal archive which was published by the Nottingham Evening Post on Friday the 30th August 1985.

I will explain why the now yellowing document has been quite a prized possession a bit later on but as a snapshot of the day it is a fascinating record.

Here are just a few things that featured 34 years ago.

There was quite a lively entertainment scene at that time and I was fortunate to be a temporary citizen of Nottingham for the first half of the 1980's being a student at Trent Polytechnic and made the most of opportunities to see top bands and artists at such venues as Rock City, Theatre Royal, The Royal Concert Hall and in clubs and other venues.

Rock City was very atmospheric and over a short few weeks it hosted gigs as diverse as Womack and Womack, Spear of Destiny, The Waterboys, Prefabn Sprout, The Cult, REM and The Fall.

Just up the road at the more civilised Theatre Royal were Ken Dodd, the Drifters, The Rocky Horror Show and a good selection of Plays and Thrillers including Dennis Waterman and Rula Lenska in Same Time Next Year.

The newly opened Royal Concert Hall  had Bucks Fizz, Billy Connolly, Nils Lofgren, Jasper Carrott, Elton John, Squeeze, Gary Numan and The Syd Lawrence Orchestra.

If you fancied a night out at the cinema the films showing in late August 1985 included Rambo First Blood Part 2, the first Police Academy, The Care Bears Movie, A View to a Kill, The Killing Fields and Harrison Ford in Witness.

Being, at that time still the centre of a Coal Mining area there was always a chance to see a Colliery Brass Band in a smoky Welfare Club.

Eating out was a good social thing to do and in this friday edition you could plan a weekend's activities around food. A Three course traditional lunch could be had for £3.95, A Greek Evening with half a bottle of wine for £9.50, a Chinese four course meal from £1.70 and an Italian Lunchtime special £2.60.

The pages in my archive also include car sales, either brand new stock from Main Dealers or classified ad private sales. Most exotic is a Classic Pontiac Trans Am of 1970 vintage and 350 BHP at £4000. A 1985 plate VW Golf GTi was £7500, a new "C" reg Lada Riva 1200L was £2695, a Rover 213LE at £6490, ex- demonstrator Vauxhall Senator at £9995 and a sporty Opel Manta GTE Hatchback at £6595.

I was an impoverished student and could only gawp at these models whilst driving around in a 1966 Mini that I shared with my sisters.

It seems that a reliable builder, like today, was an issue some 34 years ago with 42,000 complaints according to Government Statistics. The practice of DIY was much more popular with many adverts for home improvement materials and projects. It was possible to purchase and have supplied and fitted a set of eight double glazed windows for £1800 plus VAT although these were likely to be the forerunners of UPVC such as softwood, hardwood and aluminium. The sought after product of a neo-Georgian interior door with a solid brass handle was available for £46 plus VAT. Other popular DIY items included Yorkstone for fireplaces and alcoves, leaded windows, olde worlde beams and, strangely, Home Brew Kits.

The usual competitions were also to be found in the newspaper pages. The Jackpot for Spot the Ball was £8750 for an entry of just £1 for 220 crosses on a photo of a match between Notts County and Wimbledon. The area around Nottingham is very picturesque and for those not DIY'ing there were plenty of activities such as rambling, camping and caravanning and angling.

As for the reason for having this historic extract?

One of the pages has a column dedicated to the local cycling scene. There is a report on a 25 mile Time Trial which was organised by the cycling club that I had joined in the first year of my student life.

It reads as follows;

Peter Thompson (mis-spelt surname) emerged as a surprise winner in the inter-club championship with an excellent 1-1.25 in a rare appearance against the clock

Some things are just worth keeping.......................................................

Points North

I do not mean to be a hypochondriac and indeed consider myself to have quite a robust and sturdy constitution.

This does not however prevent me from getting worried sometimes on health issues.

There are fairly frequent media campaigns on matters of concern in well being and in self diagnosis for various maladies and complaints. I was encouraged, and rightly so, by my family to attend a Well Man Clinic a few years ago which revealed that I was clinically obese but had acceptable cholesterol and a lung capacity that sent the small cardboard tube contraption right across the room much to the amazement of the Practice Nurse when I simply exhaled.  I challenged the weight issue on the basis that I believe the statistics to be from either wartime data when the population at large were not that large or, if on a European model, those puny and undersized mediterranean types.

As I get older there are a few aches and pains which I have decided to listen to and try to understand rather than fight and get all upset and depressed. Knees and hips have travelled plenty of miles and are bound to be a bit worn and abraded on cartledge, muscle and tendon.

I did fall asleep a couple of weeks ago in a 56 year old foetal position which caused my left foot to be deprived of any circulation. As I jumped up startled by a sound in the house but mainly to hide the fact that I was dozing unofficially the foot just folded up in a classic dead leg and I crashed to the floor. Over the next 24 hours toes went black and blue from a very unnatural curling over. I actually thought for a moment that I had broken the little digits as I am certainly not double jointed. The family heard my collapse but chose to ignore it, even though micro-fragments of ceiling plaster will have been released to cascade down on the avid TV watchers.

Us men of a certain age are also pamphleted on the merits of checking out our dangley downers for any abnormalities. I admit to doing this quite regularly, as is prudent, although the people on the top deck of the 66 Bus, when it passes my house, are obviously not up to date with the latest medical recommendations. More fool them is what I say.

Anyway, my current concern springs from a recent radio broadcast.

What was mentioned did hit home.

I firmly believe that, on the balance of probabilities and given the hard facts, I am a Viking.

Consider the physical facts, oh ,and my surname Thomson is a bit Scandinavian.

I have green eyes. Not too rare but more commonly found accompanied by red hair. My Father was a ginger and it is thought that the colouration skips a generation. My eldest daughter has pledged to have any red headed offspring adopted if she has the misfortune of having any. The ginger congregation has done well to spread the myth that they are artistic and creative and that they are the new blonde. Very clever. Adversity as we all know does breed considerable ingenuity and guile. If I let myself go a bit of a weekend there can be seen a slight ginger tinge in my stubble and certainly in any unruly eyebrow or nasal hair that escapes scrutiny.

I also love all things Scandinavian.

I was only really at ease driving a Volvo.

I found IKEA initially fascinating and stylish but after a few visits and the collapsed of badly assembled flat pack furniture rather bland and a bit yesterday. This is likely to be due to some dilution of the ethos of IKEA to meet the market demands of the rest of europe and not because of a lack of flair from the very talented designers.

TV dramas and especially crime thrillers grounded in Copenhagen, Malmo or Trondheim are of great interest to me and I revel in hearing the tone and flow of the native language whilst concentrating hard on the subtitles.

I am drawn to women of Scandinavian bone structure and my wife is a clear illustration of this strong genetic trait.

I like swedes. They are amongst my favourite vegetables, boiled and mashed with butter and pepper.

After they knocked England out of the European Championships I supported Denmark out of a strange feeling of brotherhood.

I like being on the water, especially stood at the prow of a boat. This could of course be confused with admiring the acting talents of that Di Caprio guy.

Pillaging, or as they have restyled-it, car booting is a particular favourite activity.

One of my favourite movies was The Vikings with Tony Curtis and Kirk Douglas from 1958 although I was shocked by how rubbish it was when recently shown on TV. I had of course built it up to epic and classic status in my mind and was quite embarrassed after watching it with my son. Lame or what?

So, the evidence is very strong to suggest that I am of Viking descent.

This does explain certain events and emotions during my formative years such as liking pickled fish, snow, smokey atmospheres, trolls, Daim Bars and wearing sandals in winter.

I am reluctant to go in for the test to determine within reasonable probability my genetic composition because I could not stand the disappointment that my name is not, according to one of those find your Viking name sites, Petr Sheeptipper.

Eulogy for BK10 HSV

At the age of 56 I can say that I have just sold a car for the first time.

Of course, I have had around thirty vehicles since passing my driving test in 1981 but the difference is that the VW Golf was the first actually owned by the family and not otherwise of company car status.

I have been spoiled in having a succession of motors that came as a perk of the job and spared the stress and anxiety of going through the process of having to sell one before getting the next.

In being a company man I have only had to present the vehicle in half decent condition in a car park near the office for it to be scrutinised by someone working for the Leasing Company before it disappeared and was replaced seamlessly with the next set of wheels.

The Golf was acquired in the Spring of 2010, brand new, and was my wife's principal means of getting about. In its first three years it was on one of those Private Contract Hire Agreements at a monthly cost of £269.

It was a bit of an extravagance in, as always, a hand to mouth budgetary existence and that was even with two decent salaries between us. There were a couple of times in that 36 month period when I did struggle to honour one or two of the payments which did give me some sleepless nights until a bit of financial juggling allowed me to meet the commitments just in time.


At the end of the contract it was just a case of handing the car back. A complication was that the car, a good, reliable and sturdy make and model (1.6TDi) showed the scars of its urban and suburban territory. A few dents at corners, some paint scrapes, chipped door edges, scratched windscreen and a very strange and unexplained dint in the roof. The interior had done remarkably well and just showed a few flashes of glitter, swirls of biro on the seat back, amateur sketching on the headlining and a smudge of blue/green paint on black, faux leather cover of the Driver's handbook.

The glitter had been from a trip to the Fair. The biro from a naughty and bored child passenger. The headlining graffitti was me with the damage having been done by getting out of the car with a pen stuck behind my ear and the blue/green..... well, my wife and daughter had participated in the installation by a world renowned artist in which they had, naked, been body painted and with around 3500 others had laid down on a city centre street to take on the form of an ocean scene. I had seriously thought of keeping the handbook in anticipation of a surge in its value as an art history artefact at some point in the future but it had to stay in the glove box.

On Valentines Day in 2018 a motorist pulled out of a kerbside parking bay without seeing my wife driving past in the Golf. The damage sustained in that swipe was enough to be considered an insurance write off, a Category N status which means not structurally damaged but beyond economical repair.

The "at fault" drivers' payout was fair and left us with a nominal scrap value. We had some cosmetic works done.  I bought a new set of push on wheel trims and paid for a full inside valet and external polishing.

The Golf looked like it had 8 years earlier.

Another story linked to the car were beyond our control. This was the scandalous fraud of VW lying about the emissions which required the car to have something done to it to rectify the polluting issues. Whatever the technicians tweaked meant thereafter a persistent and very intrusive smell of diesel fumes causing  much respiratory discomfort amongst the occupants of the car when in use.

I personally loved driving about in the Golf. Although a basic and boring model and colour (metallic silver) it still had the VW Golf aura that had fascinated me as far back as the Mark 1's and the GTi sports hatchback.

Running costs were, it should be said, quite high not just for fuel but also other consumables such as tyres, wipers, brake pads and filters but I still felt we were getting value for money for the monthly lease payment.

In spite of being all dewy eyed about BK10 HSV I knew that it was time to let it go. We already run another diesel car and felt that this was an unnacceptable contribution to particulates and airborne pollution.

The Golf was replaced by an all electric Nissan.

The local "We Buy Any car" outlet lived up to their unique selling point with our trusty VW.

The price they offered, when added to the 2018 insurance pay-out meant that we had achieved the going rate although the verified mileage was only 57071 so well below average.

I was sad to see it go but at the same time pleased to have gained more parking space on the driveway at the back of the house. They didn't mess around and I have just tracked down the car in a catalogue for a large auction house in the English Midlands.

The mechanical report is all green ticks for good.

The bodywork report is a bit of a horror with a very long list of scratches, poor paint work, dints, dents and abrasions so as to give it a Category 5 rating ( worst).

I will keep an eye on its progress over the next week or so and hope that it finds a good home and gives as good service to a new owner as it has for us over the last decade.

The Ultimate Knock Knock

A wonderful bit of comedy acted out by The Goons in a radio show first broadcast in September 1954. 

Sellers, Secombe and Milligan all combine in this nonsensical sketch which starts when they go in search of the answer to "The whistling spy enigma".

I apologise for any errors in the transcript which I took from a radio re-run on BBC Four Extra.

Peter Sellers is Mr Henry Crun, Spike Milligan plays Eccles and Harry Secombe as Neddie Seagoon

Knock Knock sounds that go on for an age, echoing and repeating........


Sellers; Who is it eh? Who is it?

Secombe; Open this door or I'll break it down as long as so heaven help me as I live and breathe

Sellers; However did you get a name like that

Secombe; I have influence

Milligan; Open Up Mr Crun, It's me Eccles

Sellers; Oh Eccles, it's me Mr Crun

Milligan; Oh Mr Crun, it's me Eccles

Sellers; Mr Eccles?

Milligan; oh,

Sellers: well, well

Secombe; You idiot, Mr Crun, just open this door at once

Sellers; I can't. It's locked and the key's lost

Secombe: Curse, the doors locked

Sellers; Try the window, that's open

Secombe; Right (rattles the window a few times) oh curse, the window's locked as well

Sellers; It's open

Secombe; It's locked. Come out and see for yourself

Sellers; I will (door opens) now let me try it, (rattles the window)  Ooh, aah. You're right you know- the window is locked What a state of affairs. The window and the door are locked.

Milligan : I'll go inside and open it

Secombe: Bravo

Milligan: Ok, Hello, it's no good Mr Crun. The window's locked from the inside as well

Secombe; It's a fine howd'ya do

Sellers: Where?

Secombe: Are you sure you can't find the key to the door

Sellers: Oh, my dear military gentleman, come inside and look for yourself

Secombe; Right, lead on

Sellers; Now, it used to hang on the nail behind this door

Secombe; Well, it's certainly not there. Looks as if we're locked out

Knock Knock

Sellers: Who's there?

Milligan; It's me Eccles. I've got the window open. If you come out you can crawl through it

Sellers: We can't come out. The door's locked and we've lost the key

Milligan; Ooh, can I come in and help you look for it (door opens)

Sellers; Of course, come in

Milligan: Thank you, Thank you

Sellers; Now let me see, oh, Eureka! temper fidelis! I've found it, It was in my pocket all the time

Secombe; Good show

Sellers; Now, I'll just unlock the door and let them in . ( key turns) Oh Good Heavens.All that trouble for nothing.

Secombe; Why?

Sellers; There's nobody out here.

New Faeces

Welcome to Nature Corner and I extend that to all of you. 

By subscribing to this page you are showing that you have a deep care and affection for the Natural World and all of the creatures that inhabit it. 

This is a difficult time for flora, fauna and wildlife faced with pressures on their habitat from urban sprawl, pollution, land clearances and the worst excesses of climate change including adverse weather and wildfires.

Just take a few moments to marvel and be amazed at the habits and practices of some of the most iconic animals on the planet.

We start with a fossorial herbivorous marsupial only found in Australia and Tasmania. 

It is, of course, the Wombat or Vombatus ursinus. 

Rarely seen because of its solitary nocturnal lifestyle it is actually the largest of burrowing mammals and the second largest marsupial with individuals from 90 to 115cm in length. 

Another unique feature of the species is the distinctive shape of their poo- it is cube shaped. 

Such regular shapes are more likely to be from a manufacturing or machine process such as from extrusion or injection moulding and are otherwise unknown in the natural world 

Scientists have devoted much time and effort to research into why the poo should be in cubic form and have come to the following conclusion. 

Wombats have two alimentary systems and the investigation of this tract was undertaken on poor unfortunate Wombats who were recovered but ultimately died from injuries sustained in collisions with road traffic. 

It appears that in the final eight percent of the intestine the faeces are changed from a liquid like state into a solid composed of separate cubes of around 2cm length. 

This transition is due to the azimuthally varying elastic properties of the intestinal wall. 

In the very natural process of emptying their intestines this part of the digestive system of the Wombat experiences a degree of inflation into a long balloon profile. 

The waste matter, in traversing this route, is subjected to different strains and stresses. 

These have been measured at 20 percent force to the outer corners of the faeces and 75 percent at its edges. 

If you were to take a cross-section of the intestine under such stresses you would clearly see the formation of a cube shape mould. 

The cubic poos are not a freak of nature but act in perfect synergy with the territorial behaviour of the Wombat. 

In being of regular flat sides the deposits stay exactly where they are first pooped out and so serve to easily and efficiently mark the territory of the dominant Wombat in any one area of their natural habitat. In the potentially extreme weather conditions and topography in their native Australia and Tasmania what could be worse than any other shaped poo just rolling away leaving the forests and shrublands open for territorial claims by other wombats. 

Fortunately Wombats are continuing to thrive in the wild and have been categorised as being a species of LC or Least Concern in Environmental and extinction criteria.(2016 figures)

Official citation for the core research document  http://meetings.aps.org/link/BAPS.2018.DFD.E19.1
Yang, Chan, Carver and Hu (2018)

Rees-Mogg - Gang Initiation Test

Country Life, the magazine launched in 1897 and aimed at the wealthier and discerning in British Society has remarkably survived in the more egalitarian social structure that we like to think we live into today.

Originally focusing on golf, horse racing and property it has broadened its subjects into the realms of gardens and gardening, country house architecture, fine art and books, rural issues, luxury products and interiors.

Another area in which Country Life offers an opinion is the conduct becoming of a Gentleman.

This takes the form of thirty nine key factors to define the particular qualities and attributes to be able to claim membership of this anachronistic and irrelevant sector of society. This is the 2019 list.

A Gentleman...........................

39- Knows that there is always an exception to a rule

38- Never blow dries his hair

37- Demonstrates that making love is neither a race nor a competition

36- Swats flies and rescues spiders

35- Wears a rose, not a carnation

34- Sandals? No, Never

33- Knows the difference between a rook and a crow

32- Would not go to Puerto Rico

31- Can tie his own bow tie

30- Has read Pride and Prejudice

29- Would never own a Chihuahua

28- Knows when to use an Emoji

27- Seeks out his hostess at a party

26- Can prepare a one match bonfire

25- Cooks an omelette to die for

24- Never kisses and tells

23- Knows the difference between Glenfiddich and Glenda Jackson

22- Can sail a boat and ride a horse

21- Is not vegetarian

20- Sings lustily in Church

19- Can undo a bra with one hand

18- Has two tricks to entertain children

17- Is good with Waiters

16- Arrives at a meeting five minutes before the agreed time

15- Knows when to clap

14- Is unafraid to speak the truth

13- Breaks a relationship face to face

12- Says his name when being introduced

11- Tips staff in a private house and a gamekeeper in the shooting field

10- Carries house guests' luggage to their rooms

9- Turns his mobile to silent at dinner

8- Avoids lilac socks and polishes his shoes

7- Possesses at least one well made dark suit, one tweed suit and a dinner jacket

6- Wears his learning lightly

5- Knows when not to say anything

4- Is aware that facial hair is temporary but a tattoo is permanent

3- Can train a dog and a rose

2- Never lets a door slam in someone's face

1- Negotiates Airports with ease

Filthy Lucre- it's a scientific fact

I am sure that you, like me, may have pondered how many souls, before us, have handled the notes and coins in our pockets, wallets or purses.

There can be clues.

I have had Fivers with columns of inked-on figures likely to have been from a shop trader tallying up the contents of his cash register at the end of the day. Sometimes a Tenner may have a hastily scrawled telephone number from a brief contact or liaison. Various bits of loose change have been well worn from passing through a multitude of human hands or have scars and chunks taken out of them from popular misuse. Coins and paper money can also be thrust into trouser pockets and exposed to a further level of germs and pathogens.

Not that I have ever frequented the likes of a Lap Dancing Club but I am led to believe that a wad of grubby notes can be wicked away quite easily in knicker elastic and brassiere straps.

Given the potential for transmission of bacteria through everyday money transactions I was interested to see a 2012 Academic Study on this very subject.

This piece of investigation formed a submission to the Journal "Antimicrobial Resistance and Infection Control" attributed to Gedik et al.

The Research which used banknotes from a number of countries was on a strictly controlled laboratory basis in order to eliminate any potential influences from climate and hygiene which may otherwise be present.

It was thought in setting up the lab experiment that general hygiene levels on a country to country basis would certainly contribute to levels of microbes.

The currencies selected were from mainstream economies and some lesser ones and comprised the Euro, Canadian and US Dollars, The Romainian Leu, Moroccan Dirham, Indian Rupee and Croatian Kuna.

Sample notes were thoroughly cleaned and sterilised and after a long drying out period were inoculated with strains of staphylococcus, E-coli, resistant strains of Enterococci and MRSA.

The volunteers in the lab were similarly subjected to cleansing before being given the bank notes to handle in a normal way as in a simple daily transaction over the counter.

Just by way of background to the composition of Bank notes they are not like most printing paper. This is down to the fundamental requirement for durability not just in everyday multi-person handling but in such circumstances as the regular accidental insertion into a washing machine.

The traditional recipe for a sturdy banknote is reinforced paper with cotton fibre, linen, abora wood and other textile fibres and also polyvinyl alcohol and gelatin.

There has been a gradual move towards polymer (plastic) notes.

I first came across these in Australia in 2008 and although first brought out in the UK in 2000 in Northern Ireland they are a relatively new phenomena on the mainland.

The plastic does have better durability and can also carry improved anti-counterfeiting measures.

I have not put one yet through the 60 degree wash cycle for that particular test.

In the final reckoning of the Bacterial Research the worst offender for not only the transmission but also the growth of nasties was the Romanian Leu.

There were varying and quite inconsistent results for the other currencies.

Canadian and US Dollars could be responsible for the spread of MRSA amongst their communities.

The Euro allowed E-Coli to thrive for 6 hours but with none of the sample volunteers contracting the strain. 

The Rupee and Dirham results were not officially cited but with a clean bill of health completely for the Croatian Kuna.

The use of the polymer banknotes may be seen as the future of currency in circulation but with the proviso that the specific mix in the Romanian Leu, a polymer and not conventional paper, needed some strong scrutiny to find out why it could be more of a hazard to the population.

Inspired by a 2019 Ignobel Award Winner

Pondering on the fate of Carp

I didn’t hear it myself but during the widespread and shocking flooding of the City of Hull in June 2007 , it is said that an appeal went out on the radio to get down to a local Asda Supermarket. It was not for a bargain clearance or sales promotion but to claim and retrieve a shoal, or whatever the collective name is, of ornamental Koi Carp that had been seen swimming around freely amongst the water filled car park. 

The washing out of garden ponds in the inundation of the summer of 2007 inadvertently released many a prized and pampered Koi into the streets of Hull along with the wider contents of plant life and vegetation. 

As well as the hardship and stress imposed by the damage to their own homes and possessions by the brackish and sewage polluted flood waters this loss of carefully nurtured fish will have hit hard emotionally and financially. 

Residents in the worst affected areas of the city also reported that when wading calf deep to salvage furniture and fittings or directing traffic so as not to cause an even more destructive bow-wave of water they could regularly see distinctive Koi passing by.

The task of an actual owner to recapture their involuntarily liberated fish, unless confined to their actual waterlogged gardens, will have been near impossible. 

The flood waters did rapidly recede in the majority of residential areas and yet I am not aware of any stories of Koi carcasses being found high and dry in the following days. 

So what happened to those that were never found? 

It is widely thought that the Koi, a non-native species to the UK ,will not have been able to survive in the local rivers and streams. The combination of intolerance to water temperatures, oxygen levels and scarce availability of suitable food may have been too much. The level of contamination from release of sewage into the water will also have been a major threat. 

Natural predators from the voracious Pike to vigilant Heron, rarer Mink and Otter will have enjoyed a welcome variation in their normal boring diets. In shallow pools and puddles the fish may have been devoured by the fox or even domestic cats. Carp is supposed to be quite a tasty fish and although is not now widely eaten by the population of this country it is a popular dish in parts of Europe.

A few fish will have found their way into neighbourhood ponds either privately owned or in Corporation Parks and become easily acclimatised although having previously relied on regular feeding a further number will have perished. 

In the recent flood hit city of Carlisle three Koi were found lurking around in the goalmouth of the football stadium and were returned to captivity. 

More hardy species previously safely managed in ponds such as catfish and even the exotic Piranha have been spotted in the wild, or rather their presence has been indicated by the decimation of native fish stocks. In the case of the carnivorous South American Piranha the hooking of one by a local angler must have been an unexpected surprise and a big shock.

As well as the introduction of Koi and other fish breeds into the local ecology another identified problem has been the rapid growth of alien species of pond vegetation in rivers and streams. 

Although controllable in a domestic pond the Environment Agency has issued alerts over thriving plants such as Pygmy Weed, Parrots Feather, Floating Pennywort and the most prolific in terms of speed of spread and choking surface coverage, the Curly Waterweed.

As well as preventing the reaction of sunlight with the flora and fauna of a watercourse the density of the weeds has caused livestock fatalities. Sheep and cattle have mistaken the verdant appearance to be an indication of solid ground and have not been prepared for the reality of the ditch, dyke or waterhole concealed beneath. 

The statistics arising from the Hull flood of 2007 are hard enough to comprehend. Notwithstanding the incalculable tragic loss of a life in West Hull some 6300 of the population were forced into temporary accommodation and a further 1400 took to caravans, mainly in the front or rear gardens of their flooded homes. Many endured a long and difficult time until it was possible to re-occupy. 

The equivalent of two months rainfall fell in a two hour period and across a wider Yorkshire region some 17,000 homes were affected. The cost of insurance reinstatement is estimated to have been around forty one million pounds. 

By comparison, the loss of a few fish may seem trivial.

Ragged Schools

I like a bit of social history particularly as it has great resonance and significance to our current era.

It is always interesting to see if we, in our supposed enlightened and affluent existence , have taken on board and learned from the often harsh and tragic events of the past.

Take the year 1866.

There had been a number of accelerating factors across the globe at that time with a series of poor harvests,  an international banking crash, a depression in trade and various pandemics including cholera.

That list has ominous familiarity for our 21st Century world with, in the last decade or so and to the present day a cyclical procession of financial and commercial crises.

Of course the are those who always tend to profit from the misfortunes and hardships of others. On the flip side there are certainly more who lose out.

The published Attendance Registers of Copperfield Road Free School in the East End of London starting from 1866 make for interesting and sobering reading about the pressures at play in the social structure of that time.

This particular educational establishment, not in any way different to others in main towns and cities in Britain in the late Victorian Era, was one of the Ragged Schools founded by the great philanthropist, Doctor Thomas Barnardo.

It took in the children, some still swaddled infants, of the poorest in the working classes not as an escape from poverty and destitution but as a stop-gap measure in the interests of their health, welfare and mental development.

Below is one of the many analysed extracts from an academic study of the School Registers.

It refers to the circumstances of the students behind their arrival at the doors of the Ragged Schools.

Father in hospital or Infirmary- 9 children

Father ill- 60 children

Father out of work- 34 children

Father absent/deserted/abroad/at sea - 9 children

Father in prison- 3 children

Father in irregular/casual work- 2 children

Father Dock Labourer- 68 children

Father labourer- 117 persons

Father in receipt of casual/intermittent work- 13 children

Father labourer out of work - 46 children

Father out of work - 101 children

Fatherless- 73 children

Motherless- 14 children

Boarded out- 7 children

Transferred specifically by LCC- 70 children

Gone in to Workhouse- 6 children

Came from Workhouse- 1 child

Dead - 8 children

Under Age- 4 children

Enrolment postponed until older - 3 children

Mother says too ill- 1 child

Mother says not coming/won't send - 11 children

Left area or removed to......- 6 children

Attendance problems /long continued absence/attended only half a day- 3 children

Disabled- 7 children

Left- 328 children

Of age- 13 children.

The Ragged Schools saved the families the sum of one penny per week which was a princely amount in their circumstances but more importantly provided an essential lifeline of nutritious food, professional training and clothes.

For Fawkes Sake

Last thursday evening I stood briefly in the hallway of the birthplace of Guy Fawkes in York.

I was not on a pilgrimage or following in the footsteps of the cult hero and stylish beard wearer but stepped inside because it was a cold night and the building has for many years operated as a bar and eatery and was warm and inviting.

A good proportion of those shopping, posing or just wandering about the historic city seemed to have the same destination because there was no available seating, hardly any standing room and certainly no prospect of getting served at the bar, already four deep with persons, each trying to persuade the single indifferently cool barman that their displayed and waved banknotes were any more acceptable as legal tender.

Just resting the back of my legs on a scorchingly hot radiator for a few minutes was as much a reviver as a stiff drink and so much less of an outgoing.

I was in a good position to just gaze casually around. Perhaps the place had not really changed all that much since Mr Fawkes had lived there and the decor, shabby chic, suggested a fairly minimal amount of cash had been spent internally, but why should it be necessary given the pedigree and provenance of such a place. The wood panelling was stained black which accentuated its old age although there was some suggestion of charring and scoring from fire damage whcih I speculated may have been from some early-years arsonist tendencies from the former celebrity resident.

My visit to High Petergate was five days before Guy Fawkes Night or just bonfire night as it is referred to in non-contentious, neutral political and inoffensive speak. Already and every night for some preceeding days there had been regular jarring disturbance from exploding fireworks of every conceivable tone and reverberation as mischievous youths and anarchic adults could not wait for the actual night of commemoration/celebration.

I had noticed that this year there was no problem whatsoever in tracking down a supply of fireworks with seemingly every sales outlet offering discount prices and special offers. The austerity and, until last week officially, recessionary conditions affecting the UK economy seem to have by passed the fireworks industry. There remains and contrary to all trends and frugality a  willingness of the general public to spend their hard earned cash in large amounts  on items that explode and disappear in a puff of smoke and possibly not as satisfyingly loud a bang as you might have hoped for ,given the outlay.

The purchase of fireworks represents a great opportunity for one-upmanship, unfortunately an extension of other but less noisy forms of competition in everyday life. It also represents the highest form of rebellion without usually incurring the attention of the law or other Civil sanctions. As a means of acting in an anti social manner in the setting afire of things, bombarding the neighbours, terrorising local animals and handling explosives it cannot be rivalled. I speak from personal experience as a red blooded male with very few activities left available for misbehaving and acting my shoe size (Imperial not Continental Sizing).

The actual reason for 5th November clouds into insignificance amongst the commercial hype and merchandising.

The date in 1605 represented a difficult period in the history of this Nation and although it is one of those stock dates firmly entrenched in memory from schooldays I would challenge many of the current population to providing a reasonable explanation of why it was significant enough to have lasted beyond such comparable events as (in no particular order) , 'Canutes wet sock day', 'Alfred burn the cakes day', 'King John's Lost Treasure Day', 'Is that something in your eye, Harold day',' Queen Victoria's not very amused day' and other historical milestones.

I am not trying to appear superior in my knowledge of the Gunpowder Plot but wasn't it just an amazing coincidence that Guy Fawkes' fellow conspirators were called Billy Bonfire, Freddie Firework and Robbie Rocket.

English Lesson 10

One of the many radio re-runs that I find myself laughing out aloud to is "I'm Sorry I haven't a Clue" which is a very long running improvisational comedy show which over its many decades has featured the very best in comedic and entertainment talent.

A regular feature in the show is the offering by the participants of definitions of words towards the Uxbridge English Dictionary.

For any student of the English Language this must be most confusing as although the donor word is a bona fide one the meaning as described is only intended to elicit laughter or gasps of shock and awe.

The letter featured here has a heavy Jewish influence for which I can only apologise. Please remember that some of the definitions are from a distant and much less enlightened and sensitive era.

Here is a bit of a compilation of definitions either broadcast since its launch in 1972 or just held in a remarkable database produced by Kevin Hale, undoubtedly the greatest fan and authority on the subject. I admit to contributing a few as the letter J otherwise offers fairly sparse pickings for humour.

Jigsaw- Repetitive Strain Injury from too much Irish Dancing

Jacobites - a snack range from the Pop Star Michael Jackson

Jittery- a bit like a jitt

Justice- a Pub Bar that has no sliced lemons or cocktail cherries

Jamboree- a hat made out of fruit conserve

Jockey- how a Scotsman lets himself into his house

Jeopardise- a sad bit of news about Jeopar

Jellied Eels- Special Offers on Hartleys Strawberry and other flavoured gelatine treats

Jasmine- high opinion of his own body of work by Miles Davis

Judiscious- Hebrew Crockery

Juncture- a flat tyre in the middle of a busy crossroads

Jodhpurs- where Show Jumpers keep their loose change

Jerrycan- a German Version of Jim'll Fix it

Jerrycan- Vorsprung Durch Technik

Jackaroo- a tool to lift up a Joey

Joking- a very ordinary monarch

Junkyard- the first three feet of an antique shop

Joust- the Birmingham accent equivalent of "only"

Jugular- a well endowed female Vampire

Jocular- A Scottish Vampire

Jointly- something owned by two blokes called Lee

Jedward- sick bay for Irish Novelty Act

Juniper- small child from Tel Aviv

Jocularity- laughter on horseback

Judo- raw material for Bagels