The Wheels of War

An upsurge in interest in cycling amongst the civilian population in the first decade of the 20th Century for leisure and recreation had created mass demand and production to meet the demand brought about a lowering of cost and greatly improved efficiency and reliability of different models.

In 1910 King George the Fifth was made Patron of the Cyclist Touring Club and this Royal Endorsement was the catalyst to the further rapid growth of clubs and societies who would organise cycling day trips and tours to appeal to the largely urban population. It was an activity that crossed many of the social divides of the time representing independence and excitement for all ages, genders and standings.

I am not sure about the thought process that led to the role that bicycles played in the First World War (1914-18) being seen as an important means of transporting troops to the battle zones and as a support for regular infantry. It may have just been the pure economics, a cheap mode of movement or the realisation amongst recruiters that enthusiasts on two wheels could just continue their  activity but in a war zone and on the front line. The poster below was typical of those appealing for cyclists to fight for King and Country.

                                                                                                                                                

There is a very strange use of words linking a fondness for cycling to a potential killing role in war.,

The first bikes in military use were just ordinary shop-bought types very much of the sit up and beg style of the time.They would be painted in camouflage khaki green and taken back to bare essentials in order to be used by quick response battalions to engage the enemy in skirmishing and in scouting for main operations. The machines were easily dispensed with in a conflict situation being just thrown down to release their riders for immediate action.

In the early period of the First World War with roads and byways not yet churned up by heavy artillery or the deep ruts of gun carriages and supply wagons the bike could be used for patrols, field exercises and to compliment the mounted divisions. Other roles included two wheeled messengers, signallers, runners and the Military Police.

As the workload of cycling soldiers increased it was necessary to develop purpose built bikes and these were by design more robust and adaptable. The standard equipment that had to be loaded up consisted of great coat, mess tin and rations, blanket and kit, waterproof cape, webbing  and of course a gun and ammunition. These were mounted on a series of fitted carriers and racks making a heavy payload that only a more solid and robust bike could cope with. 

A handbook was brought out for the wheeled regiments with such practical advice as push the bike up hill to save on wear and tear and make sure the mechanical parts were well maintained. The theatre of war was dominated by heavy trench fighting and mud and it soon became impractical for bikes to play anything more than a support and logistical part . 

The Second World War saw a return of cycling soldiers, particularly in the Wehrmacht or German Army in its rapid over-running of much of Europe. The Low Countries were of ideal flat terrain for bikes to be used in the occupation and this was down to great effect, often with the element of surprise. However, the increasing use of heavy weapons, tanks and the new found dominance of aircraft in warfare sounded the end of cycling soldiers, somewhat primitive as military equipment in comparison.

Those fortunate enough to return in one piece from the savagery of the First World War resumed their two wheeled leisure and recreational pursuits and cycling went from strength to strength in the inter war period which was the halcyon period for the activity. In the post war years there was the same trend of a resurgence in riding bikes for pleasure and any association with warfare and killing was confined to the history books and a sizeable library of grainy black and white photographs.

Mr Darcy branches out into speculative house building

 For those unfamiliar with the term "Cowboy Builder"; it refers to a tradesperson or artisan who performs substandard work at an inflated price. It is not such a modern phenomena as I shall explain.

Those surviving to any sort of maturity or senior age in the Georgian Period were still unlikely to exceed, say, five foot four in height. That probably excludes Mr Darcy based on the standard requirements of a literary hero.

I have come to this conclusion not through a careful archive study of that era or having been told that fact through Wikipedia or The History Channel but in a practical and quite painful way.

It is my privilege, in the course of my employment to visit and inspect, on a fairly regular basis, the grand and imposing houses from the 18th Century which are in pretty good supply in many of the East Yorkshire towns and villages on my patch.

In all, bar none, my assessment of the average height of its former occupants is based on the frequent clashing of my head as I neglect to stoop my five foot ten form through the low and squat doorways.

There are mitigating circumstances behind what many may regard as inattentiveness, carelessness or just plain stupidity.

I do have my wits about me in a Georgian House mainly because of the requirement of my job to be observant of building defects, problems and shortcomings.

Even if the house was originally built for a historically significant local or national character and at great comparative expense for that period in time with the highest quality of workmanship and materials there is still a possibility of the Master Craftsmen having a bad day on the tools.

I expect that, the same as today ,the approach of a friday afternoon and weekend exerted the same feelings of laziness and complacency on our labouring ancestors, particularly the promise of a Toby Jug quart of strong cider, porter or ale and the luxury of a leisurely clay pipe full of tobacco. The male workforce of time served artisans and their apprentices will also, undoubtedly, have had wife or fiancee troubles, money worries and health problems serving to distract them from applying their skills and diligence to the task in hand.

Take the sheer thickness of a typical 18th Century Manor House. Stone built or in the newly arrived North European building phenomena of clay bricks an external wall could exceed 2 feet from facing to plasterwork finish.

The intention was for such a mass of masonry to resist weathering and inevitable dampness from the British climate and with the added benefit of forming a very sturdy platform on which to build upwards in the absence, otherwise , of a meaningful foundation.

In volume, that is a considerable amount of stone, brick and lime plaster. There will certainly have been a temptation to pack out the supposed solid wall construction with debris, loose stones or even grass and straw and then charge the Client the full amount.

House Builders today heartily discourage prospective buyers from touring their intended acquisition whilst it is being built for the same reason. I have seen a cavity wall full of the wrappers and detritus from packed lunches, bits of wood wedged into shortly to be concealed voids and no amount of brick bits squashed and cajoled into yet more gaps in what appears to be a perfectly finished product upon handover to the buyer.

Armed with historic and contemporary knowledge of builders short cuts and sharp practice you can appreciate that I walk about in a Georgian house in an agitated and probing manner. A good thump on the plasterwork of a thick outer wall, of course out of the earshot of the current owner, can result in an interesting sound of loose and falling materials behind.

Under foot the floors in a Period property also take some careful negotiation. The preference for large dressed Yorkstone slabs is evident in hallways, Garden Passages and the business end of a posh residence, the kitchen, scullery and utility areas. These gravestone dimensioned bits of stone were laid directly onto the soil or with a chalk base and under countless footfalls and fluctuations in ground conditions these can become very uneven and a stumbling hazard.

The best rooms in the house reserved for the 18th Century family had timber floors, warmer being raised off the ground and usually well polished and exposed as a feature. However, if surviving to the present day care must be exercised in a simple walking action due to weakness from rot and decay, wood boring insect and general wear and tear.

The quality of a Georgian House diminishes dramatically on a directly proportional basis both upwards floor by floor and backwards through the accommodation.

Typically orientated to the South are the main habitable rooms. This is logical for natural warmth and light with large multi-paned sash windows. Farther back in the cold damp and dark northerly recesses are the kitchens, pantries and wine cellars. At the top of the house in the draughty and poorly insulated eaves lived any of the domestic staff and servants if not commuting in daily by foot.

The attic accommodation is in contrast most spartan and crude but then again a reminder of your position in the social hierarchy.

I do therefore have to keep my wits about me when inspecting an Old Georgian pile and you may now understand that the matter of a low door casing is very easy, therefore, to miss until too late and that inevitable eye watering clash of head on seasoned timber.

Tin Can from Stockton

 I was just a bit concerned that the round, glazed section within the scorched metal shell was described on the schematic as "Navigation Window".

It did strongly resemble the porthole on a ship or a fancy feature window in the side of a house. It was a thick tempered glass oval, set and sealed in a shiny surround with some very prominent seals or rivets.

There were other similar apertures.

and a few more rivets....

If I had been the British Astronaut Tim Peake returning to earth from the International Space Station I would have insisted, categorically, on a better and more reassuring description than Navigation Window for that part of the Soyuz capsule particularly as it was entrusted with bringing the fictional me and the actual him through the tempestuous atmosphere of Earth in June 2016.

The scarily heat blackened and rust-red object that is currently on display to the public at the National Railway Museum in York, England is one of wonder and amazement.

It stands just a few metres away from a faithful replica of George Stephenson's Rocket Locomotive from 1829 and there is some element of shared DNA between them in terms of engineering ingenuity and the impact that their inventiveness has had on humanity.

Ironically, the Space Age rocket on which the capsule was mounted spent some of its journey to the Baikonur Cosmodrome by conventional rail.

Side by side, the Soyuz TMA-19M could, with a bit of adaptation, have been a spare boiler for Stephenson's iconic 19th Century steam engine given its shape, quality of manufacture and resistance to huge physical and dynamic forces. These, granted on the edge of Space were not the same as those at play between Stockton and Darlington in the North East of England but in their own way did have some similarities.

I was initially shocked by the compact form of the Russian spaceship. I am of that generation weaned on Star Trek, Space 1999, Buck Rogers and Sci-Fi movies where inter-stellar travel was done in civilised comfort aboard a fantastic vessel with all of the usual home comforts and accompanying visual and sound effects.

Tim Peake in contrast, for his return journey, was slung in a chair in the Soyuz surrounded by post Soviet supremacy technology and I would think, not a little bit concerned about quality control and safety standards.

His safe delivery, however, to the vast and remote Kazakh Steppe was testament to the skill and dedication of the team behind his Mission and much praise and admiration must be forthcoming to the hundreds and thousands involved.

And they landed the thing using fabric parachutes..........................................................

Earth Day

 

Earthrise is a photograph of the Earth and parts of the Moon's surface taken by astronaut William Anders in 1968, during the Apollo 8 mission as the first manned orbit of the moon. It has been considered to be the most influential environmental photograph ever taken.

The whole opportunity was almost overlooked as is illustrated by the recorded conversation between Apollo crew members, Frank Borman and William Anders, during the taking of the Earthrise photograph;

Anders: Oh my God! Look at that picture over there! There's the Earth coming up. Wow, is that pretty.
Borman: Hey, don't take that, it's not scheduled. (joking)
Anders: (laughs) You got a color film, Jim?
            Hand me that roll of color quick, would you...
Lovell: Oh man, that's great!

The colour photograph with the earth just touching the horizon was taken from lunar orbit on December 24, 1968, with a highly modified Hasselblad 500 EL with an electric drive. The camera had a simple sighting ring rather than the standard reflex viewfinder and was loaded with  custom Ektachrome film developed by Kodak.

The Blue Marble, so called because of its striking appearance and perceived size to the observing Astronauts  is a famous photograph of the Earth, taken on December 7, 1972,  at 5.39am Eastern Standard Time by the crew of the Apollo 17 spacecraft, at a distance of about 45,000 kilometers (28,000 miles).

It is one of the most iconic, and among the most widely distributed images in human history.

The image with the official NASA designation AS17-148-22727 reproduces the view of the Earth as seen by the Apollo crew travelling toward the Moon. The translunar coast photograph extends from the Mediterranean Sea to Antarctica.

This was the first time the Apollo trajectory made it possible to photograph the south polar ice cap with the Southern Hemisphere heavily covered in clouds. Almost the entire coastline of Africa is clearly visible and the Arabian Peninsula can be seen at the northeastern edge of Africa. The large island off the coast of Africa is Madagascar. The Asian mainland is on the horizon toward the northeast. An Indian Ocean cyclone can be seen in the top right of the image. This storm had brought flooding and high winds to the Indian state of Tamil Nadu on December 5, two days before the photograph was taken.

The photographer used a 70-millimeter Hasselblad camera with an 80-millimeter Zeiss lens. Such is the iconic status of the photograph that NASA credited it to the entire Apollo 17 crew—Eugene Cernan, Ronald Evans and Jack Schmitt—all of whom took photographs during the mission with the on-board Hasselblad, although evidence examined after the mission suggests that Jack Schmitt was the photographer.

Apollo 17 was the last manned lunar mission. No human since has been far enough from Earth to photograph a whole-Earth image such as The Blue Marble, but whole-Earth images have been taken by many unmanned spacecraft missions.

This was the case with the Pale Blue Dot ,a photograph of planet Earth taken on February 14, 1990, by the Voyager 1 space probe from a record distance of about 6 billion kilometers (3.7 billion miles).
In September 1977, NASA launched Voyager 1, a 722-kilogram (1,592 lb) robotic spacecraft on a mission to study the outer Solar System and eventually interstellar space.

The spacecraft, travelling at 40,000 miles per hour (64,000 km/h), is the farthest man-made object from Earth and the first one to leave the Solar System. Its mission has been extended and continues to this day, with the aim of investigating the boundaries of the Solar system, including the Kuiper belt, the heliosphere and interstellar space. Operating for 38 years, 10 months and 6 days as of today (July 13, 2016), it receives routine commands and transmits data back to the Deep Space Network.

After encountering the Jovian system in 1979 and the Saturnian system in 1980, the primary mission was declared complete in November of the same year. Voyager 1 was the first space probe to provide detailed images of the two largest planets and their major moons.

Voyager 1, which had completed its primary mission and was leaving the Solar System, was commanded by NASA to turn its camera around and take one last photograph of Earth across a great expanse of space, at the request of astronomer and author Carl Sagan.

In the photograph, Earth's apparent size is less than a pixel; the planet appears as a tiny dot against the vastness of space, among bands of sunlight scattered by the camera's optics.

Sagan's words are an epic statement, inspirational and thought provoking;

"We succeeded in taking that picture, and, if you look at it, you see a dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever lived, lived out their lives. The aggregate of all our joys and sufferings, thousands of confident religions, ideologies and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilizations, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every hopeful child, every mother and father, every inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every superstar, every supreme leader, every saint and sinner in the history of our species, lived there – on a mote of dust, suspended in a sunbeam"

(sources; wikipedia, BBC Radio Five Drive, Carl Sagan, NASA)

Wednesday Footie on the Wireless

My absolute favourite Radio broadcasts were the midweek football matches especially when English league teams played in the UEFA or European Cups against the likes of Borussia Monchengladbach, Grasshoppers of Zurich, Panathanaikos and Sporting Lisbon. The buzz of the radio and the atmospheric crowds noises set a wonderful background for the commentary of the all time great, Peter Jones. It was always the case that Liverpool needed to score at least 4 goals in a second leg tie at Anfield and they always did it just in time. By that I mean my bedtime. Football somehow seemed magical and wholesome in those days before the arrival of the mercenary millionaires.

Kev and Billy do handbags

The English football season is starting to re-emerge from its summer break. The press agencies are spinning stories which have had difficulty in getting column inches and airtime in the close-season. The hype has begun again.

The realisation that a new season is upon us comes with the Charity Shield Match.

The curtain raiser to this season took place last weekend. This was always a bit of a non-event.

From memory during my childhood it was rarely televised and also poorly reported. Apart from the participation of the winners of the League and FA Cup from the previous season I am not sure what role, function or purpose it served. Even the Charitable aspect was never really explained at any time.

I was, in my 11th year, absolutely obsessed with football. It had really started as an all engrossing thing in 1970 with the World Cup and my quest to fill up the book of collectors cards for all of the main squad members. It was the Brazil team of that time that caught my imagination and fascination. An exotic mix of skillful, athletic and charismatic players which was so much in contrast to the dour, drab, characterless and, frankly, old looking contemporaries of the English teams.

I lived, breathed, talked and dreamed football.

I did follow Chelsea at that time but I think my main motivation was the playing kit, especially the white stripe flash on the side of the team issue shorts, again a burst of colour in a black and white world. My first ever kit was however Liverpool and I recall the oval profile cardboard container which my parents bought from the town sports shop containing the bright red Umbro made kit. It was very, very red with only the thinnest dog collar in white, a bit  like our vicar's. I lived in that strip for weeks and months. I could soon reel off the full Liverpool team from Clemence, Lawler, Lindsay, etc through to Smith, Lloyd, Heighway, Hall, Toshack and of course Kevin Keegan.

As a tenuous link with Kev we had moved, as a family to a town close to the Steel Manufacturing town of Scunthorpe. Kevin Keegan had been discovered as a talent on the playing field by Scunthorpe United and spared a working life down the coal mines of South Yorkshire around Doncaster.

Keegan was a mini-powerhouse. A bustling, frizzy permed haired striker of a style not really seen in British football. It was not surprising that a good part of his career was spent in the German Bundesliga where he fitted in well in all aspects of a fast paced game and fashions of the period. He was a prolific talent, play-maker and goalscorer.

Imagine my shock and horror when Keegan my hero was sent off for fighting in, of all things, the 1974 Charity Shield match.

The match was being broadcast on the radio as our family were driving down to Somerset for our summer holiday. It was a hot, sultry day. The whole family sweltered in the VW Estate Car.

Liverpool against Leeds United was always going to be a niggly, competitive game. It must have been difficult for the 22 players to get motivated for a Wembley game after a long, lazy summer break and the match was labouring on through the first half.

I could not believe my ears when the commentator described the boxing match, scuffle or hand-bagging between Keegan and the equally diminuitive Billy Bremner. Both of them were respected figures in the game but all was forgotten in the melee. The two players did not stop at the fisticuffs.

They both took off their shirts and threw them down on the pitch.

The double sending off was headline news at a quiet time in the sporting calendar but had significant after-tremors in football and through the media and public.

An 11 match ban and a fine was imposed on the miscreants.

It was a very ugly incident. Over the next decade there followed equally disgraceful behaviour by so called fans and followers in the English game as though the foundations holding up the beautiful game had been blown apart on that sunny afternoon in August.

Misadventure and A Cow on the Head

The following newspaper cuttings come from The Hull Advertiser from the 30th April 1852. 

They relate to two unfortunate fatal events in the Hull Docks. 

The first column could be from the current day as it involves the perennial attraction to youths of wastelands and industrial land and buildings for mischief and entertainment. 

I had to look up the meaning of "deals" which are planks of softwood timber such as Norway Spruce, Scots Pine or Fir and with the word originating in the 12th Century. Hull Docks were in 1852, as today a major point of import for timber from the Baltic States. 

FATAL ACCIDENT- week after week the Hull Police Court is almost overrun with cases in which boys are charged with playing on the dockside quays and under the dock shed, whereby property in not only much damaged but the lads' lives are frequently endangered. The Magistrates have taken much pains to suppress it by warning the parents of the danger of allowing their children to range about the quays but it seems all to no purpose. A fatal instance of the necessity of parents keeping their children at home occurred on Wednesday evening last to a boy, five years of age, named William Atkinson. It appeared that the deceased and several other boys were amusing themselves by jumping on some deals which has just been delivered from the steam-ship Courier from Gothenburg and which were laid on the Humber Dockside, rather unsafely piled when the deals fell and crushed the deceased to death. An Inquest was held over the body yesterday before John Thorney ESq Coroner when the jury returned a Verdict of "Accidental Death"

The second column is just tragic , a clear indication of someone just being in the wrong place at the wrong time and victim to a wholly freakish series of interconnected events. 

That someone was one of the 2.2 million souls who landed in Hull in the 19th and early 20th Centuries escaping persecution, poverty and deprivation en-route from Europe to North America and all-points West. 

It is perhaps an indication of the sheer volume of those migrating and their anonymity, either intentionally or not, that the individual is not actually named in the Newspaper Report. 

On Sunday morning last, as a bullock was being hoisted upon deck out of the hold of the steam ship Seagull some of the tackling gave way and the animal fell upon a German emigrant who was between decks at the time, The poor fellow's chest was severely injured and he was taken to the Infirmary where he lingered until Wednesday night before he died. An inquest was held over the body yesterday (John Thorney Esq Coroner) and a verdict of Accidental Death was given.

I will try at some time to find out this information out of respect and commemoration for the unfortunate German who may have been travelling with his family, dependants or friends. 

                      

Stratospheric

 It is a legend of a car. The Lancia Stratos.....the what?

That sort of response is understandable as the car was built in the early 1970's with the intention of rallying and in order to be eligible for the World Rally Championships (WRC) there had to be a production run of at least 500 vehicles.

Not many made it out to the open roads mainly because of the impracticality of its size, smaller than a Ford Escort and being mid engined under the Bertone styled shell there was limited storage and scope for the comfort of the driver and sole passenger.

The inaugural car was fast for its era with a 2.4 litre Ferrari Dino powerhouse giving a 0 to 60mph time of under seven seconds and a top speed of 144 mph. The distinctive and unique wedge body shape with pop up headlights was made from a combination of glass fibre and steel for lightness and strength and with the engine cover and tail section in plastic. The design and performance led to three years from 1974 of dominance in the WRC.

Bertone had to work hard to get the commission from Lancia as the Italian car maker had a strong and seemingly unbreakable association with the Pininfarina styling house but a bit of ingenuity including mocking up a concept car using the bits of a friends Lancia Fulvia got him the job. The Bertone pedigree was already well established with the striking Miura and Countach models from Lamborghini. The 1971 Turin Motor Show was the launch pad for the Stratos HF (High Fidelity).

Apart from the 2.4 litre version there were two other engine variants albeit from the Lancia factory somewhat forced on the model as Enzo Ferrari saw the Stratos as a serious competitor to the Dino V6 and was reluctant to supply the superior engine. However, with the end of the production run of the Dino all of the remaining 500 engines were unceremoniously dumped at the Lancia factory gates. It is thought that only 492 cars were actually built hence their rarity and premium value amongst todays collectors and enthusiasts.

There were mechanical issues with regular transmission failure and quite a few accidents from over-egging it on the loose dressed forest and mountain tracks during the rallying seasons. Fiat, the parent company of Lancia were jealous of the success of the Stratos over their Abarth model and politics came into play to reduce support and financing.

In spite of this and new regulations restricting engine power the Stratos continued to perform well until the last victory albeit by a private rather than  manufacturers team in 1981. After rallying there was a brief foray into endurance racing but consistently being second best to the Porsche 935's in most events.

Any surviving cars ended up in private collections or with infrequent appearances in classic car events. A few replicas have been produced by such companies as Hawk Cars, Lister Bell Automotive and Napiersport .

In 2010 a new Stratos roughly based on the 1970's design  was announced but at a price of about a million euro's was unlikely to be widely seen by the general public.

Perhaps more in reach would be the well crafted scale models by Polistil or Burago but the best buy is definitely the comic book Transformer known as Autobot Wheeljack  based on the classic Alitalia green, white and red livery of the best known version , all for 99 pence NOW! on EBay

Send the Navy- Hull to the Rescue

This is a bit of interesting correspondence from the British Newspaper Archive which was published as a small news column on December 15th 1800. 

It was received by the Mayor of Kingston Upon Hull via express delivery from the Bailiffs of Scarborough, John Coulson and John Travis who were concerned about something that they had observed a couple of days prior that required some external assistance. 

Sir,

About an hour ago two large ships (evidently from the Baltic) were observed from the Castle, distance eight or nine miles at the same time that a lugger rigged Privateer attacked and captured one of them and as the other ship is not more than one mile to the Southward of the Privateer it is apprehended and may be captured also. 

There are also many other ships in sight, coming from the Northward and the signal for an enemy is now flying and the alarm guns fired from the Castle to warn them of the danger which is all that can be done here for their preservation. 

We trust you will have the goodness to despatch any Men of War if there are any in the Humber and if you would have the goodness to forward a copy of this letter to Yarmouth to the Admiral commanding there.

It might be the means of recapturing the ship or ships.

The wind is now from the North-East, a slight breeze and fine weather but rather foggy towards the sea,

We are, etc

Copy to the Worshipful Mayor Hull

I have not been able to find any further historical references to the specific incident apart from the sending of naval vessels by Admiral Dickson and that the Vine, Kirkus and other ships, part of the Baltic Fleet for this port were captured off Scarborough. The enemy of that period will have been from the Alliance made up of Denmark-Norway, Prussia, Russia and Sweden. The Castle still stands intact and that seems to indicate that the worst fears of the good officials of Scarborough did not, after all, materialise. 

Russia Report 1873

 The good people of Kingston Upon Hull always put on a good show to make visitors welcome. 

This would normally be with plenty of forward planning but what about with as little as 48 hours notice? 

That was certainly the case in the July of 1873 when the Lord Mayor and Corporation of Hull received notification of the imminent arrival of the Heir Apparent to the Russian Empire, the Czarewitch who within 8 years would become Alexander the Third. 

It was an important visit for the City given the strong commercial links of the port with Russia but it was not a State sponsored visit which was disappointing for the local Council and its Officers in terms of making it a great Civic Event. 

The Heir Apparent was on a flying visit to oversee the construction, by Earles Shipbuilders who operated on Hedon Road, of a Yacht for use by the Russian Royal Family. 

The entourage were to arrive by train from London with a brief halt at Hessle where the baggage was off loaded for forwarding to Kirkella Hall which was to host the private party. 

Even with such short notice a very credible programme of events was rapidly formulated to the extent that tickets were issued for those privileged enough to be on the platform at Paragon Station for the arrival. 

As the locomotive approached the citizens of Hull congregated on the newly built Park Street bridge and in the precincts of the station itself men and boys clambered up onto the roofs of carriages to get a better vantage point. 

From somewhere in the vaults was found VIP carpets in green and crimson as well as a multitude of what was described in the local press as "large and handsome flags" on municipal buildings. 

The Officials of Kingston Upon Hull dressed in their formal ceremonial attire and a good contingent of the Fourth East York Artillery Volunteers and their Band formed a guard of honour for the Russian Heir. 

There was by all accounts a large crowd either drawn by news of the event or just milling about on their own normal day to day activities. They were all trying to catch a glimpse of Alexander and his Consort. The Czar to be was a tall man, over six feet in height and wore a light grey suit. 

He paused briefly to receive the welcome speech from the Lord Mayor but without response as he was understandably keen to fulfil the purpose of his private visit across town. 

The route taken by the Royal convoy followed Whitefriargate, Lowgate, High Street and Market Place with yet more displays of flags and bunting and an enthusiastic crowd. 

The shipyard of Earles was a major employer in Hull with around 2000 workers covering all of the skills and tasks of an important company. As well as surveying his own commissioned Yacht the Czarewitch showed great interest in many of the other vessels at varying stages of construction, amongst them warships for the Chilean Navy and a vessel intended for a cross channel route with a revolutionary Bessemer Saloon which pivoted with the motion of the ship to counter sea sickness. 

After a couple of hours the Russian Royal party took the long drive westwards along Anlaby Road, Wold Carr and through the small village of Anlaby to stay and be entertained at Kirkella Hall. 

The best intentions of a Civic Welcome had been largely thwarted by the private purposes and brevity of the visit but graciously the Czarewitch sent a letter of very complimentary thanks to the Hull Corporation which was very well received. 

Whitehull HU1

The magnificent municipal building of The Guildhall in Kingston Upon Hull has few rivals outside of the nation’s Capital and indeed it is still regularly used to recreate a movie scene of Whitehall, London  and very effectively so. 

This great civic edifice nearly didn’t happen as the existing Town Hall by local architect Cuthbert Brodrick built to show off the wealth of the Port of Hull in 1862 was deemed to be appropriate even after the granting of City status in 1897. 

The Brodrick design was a fancy Italianate building and easily took on a large extended floor area to provide law courts, council chamber and offices which was completed by 1911. 

However, there were obviously even greater ambitions of grandeur amongst the decision makers and in a competition open to one and all in the Architectural world.

A thirty year old, Edwin Cooper of the firm Russell, Cooper, Davis and Mallows won the commission, his first major job, and his design replaced the mid nineteenth century original. 

Although giving the impression of being a very old building the Cooper design was only completed in 1916. 

The elevation to Lowgate comprises nine bays under a recessed portico of coupled columns and topped with a three stage, symmetrically faced clock tower which today sounds out tunefully across the roofscape of central Hull. I just heard it a couple of days ago for the first time in a while and it is quite hauntingly beautiful in its clarity. 

Just below the clock is an open Corinthian arcade and to emphasise the global reach of Hull in trade, commerce and shipping there is a representation of the sphere of the world. 

It is however the long south elevation onto Alfred Gelder Street that is the most striking and splendid. 

The Ancaster stone is warm and textural, although on walking past on the pavement the ravages of a century of Yorkshire weather can be seen in eroded and etched detail on the large dressed blocks. 

The design is very much in the style of the National Monument in Rome to Vittorio Emanuele II, the first unified king of Italy which had only just been completed in 1911 and was much admired and influential with designers for its statement of grandiose patriotism. It was fondly referred to as The Wedding Cake because of its colossal white marble layered shape. 

The Guildhall is by comparison understated and mellow in stone but at thirty five bays in length between columns it would not look out of place in any great continental state capital. 

At the centre of this imposing façade is a giant recessed arch on Corinthian columns with a seated figure representing Justice. Flanking this statement of legal power are fifteen bay colonnades of Darley Dale stone. 

The western end of the building is dominated by a huge statue to Maritime Prowess in the form of a female figure standing at the bows of a boat drawn by seahorses and at the eastern end it is balanced up by Britannia as the strength of a nation in her chariot in the company of lions. 

It is a shame that much of this show of civic pride is either missed or unappreciated as the building can only really be seen at an offset angle from the open aspect to the city centre or when coming into town over the river. Leeds and Bradford Town Halls respectively are better regarded because of their domination of a square or piazza giving an unrestricted and full on view. 

The domed cupola from Brodricks demolished building now sits on an embankment just across the road from where I live in Pearson Park. 

As for the interior of The Guildhall it is pretty grand as well but apart from having to go there to pay bills or attend a function I would rather just stand about on Alfred Gelder Street and try to take in the magnificent features of what is an apt and fitting monument to this great Yorkshire city and its people.

Paris Roubaix and the etiquette of the finger buffet

 It was my first competitive cycle race of the year.

A tough undulating circuit of 8.5 miles per lap including five ascents of a wickedly long and steep hill.

On the ascent on the final lap I was just behind the lead group of riders and prepared to move up the field when suddenly the tightly packed bunch accelerated. I had missed my chance to overtake and had to be content with crawling over the line behind the last man. Never mind.

I came over the finish line and parked up the car safely away from the Officials and spectators. My passenger for the previous two and a half hours, the Second Commissaire (Race Referee) alighted and went with clipboard in hand to get the numbers of the winner and finishers.

So ended my participation, on a voluntary basis, as one of the vehicle drivers accompanying the 56 riders at an unearthly hour on a April Sunday morning.

It had been a very eventful road race but thankfully all of the field made it back safe and soundly returned to their homes and families.

You would not think that so much could happen in the space of that distance and time to try to thwart, intimidate and exact harm on a band of dedicated amateur athletes on two wheels.

The race convoy was made up of a lead vehicle with high-viz signs and an array of flashing roof mounted lights to inform approaching road users of the event, a second safety car similarly festooned with hazard warnings, my own car with a magnetic roof box sign and beacon, the Chief Commissaire with lights, PA system and more fluorescent displays and a car with a Doctor on board. When providing a cocoon either side of the riders this is a long line of traffic and cannot fail to make an impression and cause observant and conscientious motorists to at least slow down or keep well to the left side of the carriageway until the multicoloured cavalcade of sporting excellence had passed by.

On this Sunday morning in pleasant countryside it was evident to me that the typical driver was possibly drunk, nursing a headache from the night before, angry about something, half asleep, hurrying to the Car Boot sales or just plain ignorant and stupid. There was scant regard or respect shown to our authorised use of the roads in that locality and more than once I had to take evasive action whilst, of course, keeping a happy smiling face as an Ambassador for the sport and resisting an overwhelming urge to commit an act of road rage myself.

The omens for a troubled day were there from the first roll out of the village hall car park when the CB radios on a selected waveband for the convoy crackled into life with a voice placing an order for an apple crumble for lunch. This was a farmer communicating with his Missus whilst out somewhere in nearby fields on a tractor. My passenger, an experienced race official reported that on a race the previous weekend the frequency adopted had coincided with that used by the delivery service for Tesco's with amusing consequences.

Verbal traffic on the airwaves during a race is busy and varies from time checks, warnings of obstructions in the road, providing information on rider problems both physically and mechanically and some good humour.

Within a few minutes of racing one of the riders sheared off a crank and had to retire. The field fragmented on that first climb as limbs and muscles had not been warmed up or stretched enough to catch a solo attacker. He was away and soon out of sight whilst the other, now 54 riders struggled to organise a pursuit.

The next hazard came from what we refer to as leisure riders. These are superbly attired and very expensively mounted affluent couples taking the fresh air before a stop off at a gastro pub and then a slow wobble home. The combined cost of a typical pair of bikes and gear can exceed £5000 at least. They look the part but have no road sense and what is worse, no empathy or identification with those who race seriously. The posers insist on hogging the road and refuse to take account of the approach or passing of a large group of fast moving riders.

Again, a smile and gesturing wave is necessary to avoid any grievance or complaint reaching the local constabulary.

Unusually for the rural surrounds there were no gals on horses to become excited and annoyed at the presence of us obvious town based types. This was a bonus although on successive laps the convoy encountered a loose dog, low flying hedgerow hopping pheasants, a lazy fox sauntering across a narrow part of the course, more rude motorists and drivers of large 4x4 SUV's trying to avoid getting their tyres dirty in the gutter or by a slight pull over on to a verge.

A few stray cars found themselves amongst the riders after ill advised and hasty manouvers to try to jump the whole line in one go on a blind bend or hidden dip.

Walkers and Ramblers were visibly shaken and disturbed when sneaked  upon by cyclists travelling at 40mph with no apparent warning apart from the prior passing of multiple, brightly coloured and very prominent escort vehicles.

So, in spite of the best efforts of man, not discounting the equal endeavours of women and assorted beasts the race turned out to be a good one with controlled but aggressive riding and a well deserved victory for...well, I never did find out as I was keen to get first dibs on what looked like wonderful cheese and pickle sandwiches and the equally fine buffet fare back at the Village Hall HQ.

Last one out shut the gate

 A favourite from a couple of years ago. I'm out that way tomorrow which led me to think of it again.

This island of ours, Britain, is a small land mass.

There cannot be a square foot of its soil on which no soul has trodden over the millenia.

Imagine this scenario. You buy a house and look out over the back garden.

You might wonder, in an idle moment, about its history or past land use but in the majority of cases not much thought is given to this theme.

It is different when you purchase something with a designated Ancient Monument within your boundaries.

This was the case just this week when I was asked to look around an old farmhouse close to the North Sea coast of Yorkshire.

The Estate Agents were understandably vague in their sales details about the existence in the grounds of the site of a deserted Medieval Village but then again some folk are a bit wary and suspicious of the thought of long lost souls on their doorstep.

On the adjoining paddock there is nothing really to see apart from a few lumpy bits of earth and a regular arrangement of trench type excavations but in the context of a nicely elevated site, proximity to a source of fresh water and an abundance of natural resources who would not think that this specific location would be an ideal place to make a home and a living?

A few country dwellers around the time of the Domesday Survey obviously held the same opinion as a settlement existed at Southorpe just to the south west of the town of Hornsea around that time and evidently thrived for some centuries after that.

By the year 1374 there was reported to be a population of 60 persons of which 28 were of sufficient personal means to be liable for an early form of taxation- the Poll Tax.

The land was obviously capable of providing a livelihood in what must have been a fairly precarious existence and all crammed in to a life expectancy not beyond 30 or so years.

This Deserted Medieval village (DMV)  has been the subject of archaeological and scientific study in the modern era being regarded by the academic community as a well preserved example but still with considerable evidence of an ordinary working life yet to be investigated.

Nothing much has been imposed on that environment to disturb the wealth of information and insight concealed within those earthworks.

The house adjacent to the undulating pasture has been part of a larger agricultural estate for decades and the land  kept , as though in thoughtful consideration, as pasture.

In fact the only alien structure in that landscape is a lozenge shaped concrete pill box from the second world war civil defence programme.

A series of investigations in the near past identified a small group of houses, gardens, yards, streets, paddock, village green, a manor house and church all of which were fundamental to a God fearing community devoted primarily to survival through agriculture.

So what contributed to the decision of the occupants, en masse ,or at least in the majority to abandon Southorpe village some time around 1600?

Those villagers were not alone in making that sort of life changing thought process.

Across the UK there are over 2000 deserted Medieval Villages and the reasons for leaving are almost as numerous.

Most cited is the decimation of human life by the ravages of the Black Death in the 14th Century but other documented cases suggest peculiarly local or regional circumstances at play.

The whims of a powerful landowner in handing over a village to sheep pasture often resulted in depopulation.

Environmental changes could not be ruled out as although we regard Climate Change as a modern phenomena there were crop and livestock failures at other periods in history from volcanic eruptions, mini ice ages and heat waves, drought and flood.

In the situation of Southorpe Village there may have been a disastrous decline in the potability of the freshwater supply of the adjacent freshwater Mere or an inundation affecting the grazing and cultivation of the lower lying marshland.

Fluctuations in the ground water levels or water table could cause bore holes and wells to run dry therefore depriving villages of one of the prime resources for habitation.

The abandonment of any place of livelihood will not have been an impulsive decision, being more of a grinding down of the residents with variable determination and means to tough out any threats.

Financial burdens will have been a contributing factor through the imposition of lay subsidies, poll and hearth taxes and pressure exerted by the landed classes with Manorial Rights.

The Civil War in England in the 17th Century saw a few villages burnt to the ground by either of the protagonists for strategic reasons withe their populations distributed elsewhere locally.

Villages which had, for example, relied upon the trade and patronage of Medieval religious pilgrims could become discredited by rumour or falsehoods of miracles and experience a catastrophic decline in fortunes.

The rise in the attraction of a neighbouring settlement could also sound the death knell for a previously thriving one.

The Domesday roll call could conceivably have been misleading in its recording of a local population as although a monetary value was given to a certain location this could have been concentrated on a cluster of farmsteads and buildings giving the impression of a larger cluster of population where none existed.

 A very specific example of the desertion of a village is from another location in East Yorkshire when in the 17th Century a popular Preacher took with him to America the majority of his parishioners. In reality they could probably be counted on one or more hands but still represented a good proportion of the village-folk.

So, in the case of Southorpe we may not ever know the motivation to vacate what even today was clearly a bit of a garden of Eden.

Bust and Boom; Inter war house buying in 1930

 With hindsight any thoughts on the purchase of a house in 1930's England will have been a cause of some anxiety.

The Great Depression had just crossed the Atlantic from the United States and was beginning to affect the economies and incomes of citizens across England and in Europe. There was already the emergence of fascism and even as early as the start of that decade there was speculation that the world was heading for a war. In all pretty unstable times.

However, those attending a house auction in the Lincolnshire town of Louth on 23rd July 1930 may already have committed to the prospect of acquiring "Fir Close", a Grand Mansion in just over an acre of mature grounds and a Trout stream.

The fact that the sale was being conducted in a town hostelry, the historic Masons' Arms may have given an opportunity to take in some liquid courage or even a luncheon before the advertised punctual 3pm commencement of proceedings.

Fir Close,  a large red brick and tile pile in the Victorian Gothic Style. It is likely to have been built around 1870 or slightly later as it first appears on the 1889 Ordnance Survey and in the modern era did not attain Listed Status on the criteria of architectural and local significance.

Who it was built for is not clear but money and social standing will have been factors in its commission.

In that respect it was quite a generic design with hand made facing bricks, slate/tile roof, parapets, fancy chimney pots, gables and bays, arched and hooded detail to doors and multi-paned windows.

The Auctioneers in 1930 did not make a lot of the heritage aspect of the house, rather concentrating on emphasising the conservatory, double garage, gardens, tennis lawn and angling rights from the banks of the River Lud.

Other marketing features included the modern electric plant and a 5 HP Petter Junior Petrol Engine in a Battery House.

These attributes were intended to excite the interest of the monied classes, nouveau riche and upwardly mobile Professionals. The town of Louth was after all just three and a half hours by steam locomotive from Kings Cross Station in London.

As for the location- Westgate was on the verge of the town and promoted as the best residential part of Louth.

The residence itself comprised a spacious entrance hall with oak parquetry surround, cloakroom with WC, a fine dining room with polished floor and Bathstone mantel, a lofty drawing room with a radiator, Billiard Room, a Breakfast Room with a Yorkist Stove, what is described as a convenient kitchen, scullery, pantry and on the upper floor a total of six bedrooms of which two had radiators and served by a modern up to date bathroom.

The extensive grounds in addition to the garaging had a wash-house, wood and coal houses, workshop, tool house, petrol store, the heated conservatory, a summer house, aviary and brick built dog kennel.

All in all a suitable specification for a gentleman or genteel lady.

According to the pencilled notes on a copy of the sales particulars by the Auctioneer or a Clerk the bidding at 3pm started off at £1000.

The incremental increases of £100 per bid suggest reasonable activity but it is not possible to say if this was down to multiple interested parties or just two vying to secure the house.

The whole event will have concluded within a few minutes and with the winning bid being indicated as £1980. In today's money that is the equivalent of just over £90000.

I cannot make out the name of the successful party but it looks like Cresswell or Fresswell. The sale was for the bricks and mortar only but if you wanted to take home any of the antique and modern furniture then there was an opportunity some 2 weeks later when the contents were to be auctioned on the premises.

As for Fir Close today- well it is a well established Care Home for the Elderly and earning its keep where other mansions have fallen into disrepair and obsolescence which drastically affects their survival even today.

Bangers and Merckx

 I was a bit geeky as a child and was always fascinated by the next thing, whatever that was.

In one summer holiday period I displayed an obsessive desire to be, in what I recollect as the correct chronological order,

1) In the US 7th Cavalry

2)Apollo Mission Astronaut

3)Racing Driver

4) Professional footballer
and, strangely,

5) A show Jumper.

All of these career ideas were spawned by, following the same numbering, Saturday morning cowboy films, Cape Canaveral rocket launches, Le Mans 24 hours, an FA Cup Final and latterly an invitation to the Burleigh Horse Trials in Lincolnshire.

In my late teens I became interested in cycling.

It was another of those genetic traits inherited from my late Father, himself a very keen and well travelled cyclist following on from an affinity to pick up litter in public open spaces.

In the 1980's TV coverage of cycling was very limited. Only a few enthusiasts knew about the Milk Race in the UK to the Classic European Races and the National Tours.

That was until the big sponsorship by cereal manufacturers Kelloggs who promoted some great city centre criterium races with prime time commercial channel coverage. The viewing figures and sheer numbers of on-course spectators must have taken the programmers by surprise and to capitalise on this there was an up-scaling of coverage with  The Nissan Classic in Ireland and then Channel Four began their excellent live and highlights broadcasting of the Tour de France.

I began to compete in local races in the early 1980's and began to live, eat and sleep all things cycling, If not out training, taking part in events or sitting glued to the TV the best thing to do was to catch a live event out in the countryside or in a town centre. A few of us would ride miles, often setting out at first light, to be in a good roadside spot to catch the race as it passed by.

I did get to see a stage of the Tour de France in 1984, setting off on my own from the house near Paris where I was staying for a week with my younger sister, at that time nannying for a French family. It was quite an ambitious thing to do in a strange country, with only schoolboy language skills and a large scale map that covered from the Scottish Lowlands to Morocco.

That flash of the pre-race publicity caravan, motorcycle outriders and then the riders themselves was absolutely thrilling, albeit over in all too short a time.

My journey in cycling has been and still is quite a surprise to me.

I was a poor and very under-achieving competitor in a very brief foray into racing but have two small trophies for "Best in Club" for one particular year.

In my late twenties Self employment allowed me to sponsor a local cycle racing team in my home town over 15 good years before the banking crisis and recession. My son has started to compete and trains hard.You can find me following some distance behind.

I continue to enjoy the sport and hope to stay fit and healthy to continue to ride out when I get an opportunity. In this way I have been able to live out an obsession, now the longest single one in my catalogue of obsessions and fascinations.

I was therefore quite taken with the achievement of one Alex Clarke, whose story has some paralells with my own.

He started off collecting and selling vintage bicycles in the US before acquiring a consignment of classic cycle team jerseys. These sold well through the internet and his natural thought was to capitalise on this demand and actually make replica jerseys using modern Merino Wool.

The baggy and obviously very hot woollen team wear, both shirts and shorts in the 1970's included some gawdy and striking designs such as Brooklyn, Bianchi, Dreher, Sammontana, KAS and Jolly Ceramica. One jersey design that Alex Clarke openly avoided was Molteni, the team of Eddy Merckx and before him Motta, Altig and Basso.

However he had an open mind and meeting a well known Italian Cycling Photographer convinced him that Molteni embodied the core values of cycling.

The Molteni team was financed not by a large pan-European Corporation but a family firm who made award winning sausages.

Clarke's new obsession saw him spend thousands of dollars of his own money on turning a plain and drab 1976 Volvo 244 Saloon Car into an authentic replica of the Molteni Team Car that accompanied Merckx and co on some of their greatest exploits.

The result is striking and I am, I admit, just a little bit jealous.