Jesse Rae- Scottish Hero

 

Rae of Hope

I have Scottish ancestors on my father's side consisting of my Gran from the far northern fishing town of Wick and my Grandfather from similar parts.

Consequently, I have deep rooted genes which dictate that I go all dewy eyed whenever I hear the bagpipes, know by heart the words of Auld Lang Syne, can fashion a passable porridge from scratch and there are distinct ginger tones in an attempted or lazy growth of facial hair. Although of generous intentions I can be quite frugal and tight with money.

As head of my branch of the family I have also tried to perpetuate Scottish type traditions with observance of such rituals as first-footing at New Years and the cooking of Haggis, neeps and tatties on Burns Night.

I am the proud owner of a kilt in which I was wed but have not been able to secure around my middle-aged girth for some years now. It is brought out on special occasions to prove to incredulous friends that indeed I did honour my Scottish heritage and is always well received. In fact many have commented that the Thomson Tartan weave is quite familiar but they are not sure why. I gloss over the fact that the reason for the deja-vu moment is that Vauxhall cars used the pattern for seat covers in their Astra model hatchbacks in the late 1970's and early 1980's.

We have enjoyed many a family vacation in the Old Country regardless of the blood sucking intentions of the midge population.

That moment of approaching and then crossing the border from England to Scotland, in itself a bit of an anti-climax really, has in recent years been celebrated by the playing on the Car CD of a certain evocative and emotional track- that of "Over the Sea" by Jesse Rae.

It first came to public attention in, I think, 1978 or 1979 after a video version was broadcast on the Channel 4 media and music show of The Tube presented by Jools Holland and the late Paula Yates.

In it an armour clad Jesse Rae wields his broadsword on the top of a Highland Peak and then appears in the same attire on top of a New York skyscraper with the ill fated twin towers just visible in the misty distance. The lyrics, in the terminology of a Sociologist, rue the day that proud Scots were forced to leave their homes and make their way in the brave new world.

The theme and sound of the track remains quite unique and many may recall it on the basis of my description although in fact it did not do much in the very competitive pop charts of that time.

For my 40th birthday my wife sought out a supplier of the otherwise elusive 'Over the Sea' recording through an E Bay seller and confirmed the order by phone. The voice on the other end of the line, in a lilting Scots Border region accent, confessed that he did have quite a stock of the things in his garage and that my wife's interest was quite a rarity.

He asked if she would like the CD autographed. You would be understandably suspicious over such an offer of an added bonus from a complete stranger in spite of a favourable seller rating.

My wife envisaged a hasty scrawl of limited authenticity but it turns out that the vendor was Jesse Rae himself.

It is clear that he has fallen on hard times, mainly brought on by one of those disagreements with a bank that usually and in Jesse Rae's case did prompt financial ruin.

His career had promised much and he was courted by big record companies and the prospect of big money but it did not go strictly to plan.

In 1981 he wrote "Inside Out" which was an international sensation and hit for New York soul and disco group Odyssey and still gets airplay even today. It is all too clear that the reaping of royalties for the record was not enough to stave off bankruptcy in 2002. He also co-wrote "This Time" for The Human League.

In more recent years he has made a few live appearances at Festivals and has provided rugby commentaries on Borders Radio.

As with many short lived but nevertheless iconic figures in the oh-so fickle pop music industry there has been a fading into relative obscurity and anonymity apart, that is from the special place that Jesse Rae has in our own family tradition whenever we boldly venture into Scotland and engage with our proud ancestry.

Footnote; Jesse Rae was seen at the recent UK General Election in his full Highland regalia and looked mighty well.

Link to Over the Sea

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dOad0FU9zF8

Listless

 

Looking forward

Things that I have not yet done;

Run naked across a wide expanse of beach
Shouted something rude across a street at Phil Spencer and Kirstie Allsop (if together at the time)
Jumped out of an aircraft
Swum across a wide stretch of open water, fresh or saline
Taken part in a full marathon
Painted something in oils
Won anything in any form of competition
Managed to devour an Oilmans Breakfast of 16oz steak, various other meats, eggs, chips, etc
Had my stomach pumped
Fallen through a ceiling
Been victorious in a game of Scrabble on holiday with my wife
Dressed up in drag
Been entirely happy in wearing boating shoes with no socks
Executed a hand brake turn on a public road
Thrown a McDonalds product out of a moving car window
Eaten a meal without some of the food dropping onto my shirt front
Kept my shirt tail tucked into my trousers on a continuous basis
Had two suits to wear on rotation
Busking with just a descant recorder
Dyed my hair
Played a full round of golf
Burglary
Been the first to be picked for any type of sporting activity
Morris Danced
Written anything that has been published for money
Ridden a cow
Stared at the moon and howled
Driven an Aston Martin
Waved a flag in anger
Placed a one way bet in a High Street Bookies
Preached to the public
Base jumped
Used a spray can to write anything on a wall surface owned by the Local Authority
Cooked a soufflé
Fired an air rifle at a living creature intentionally to harm
Had a moustache or a commitment to facial hair
Chased someone in the street
Kicked in a plate glass window
Jumped a queue in a supermarket
Been civil to anyone riding a horse through a town
Volunteered in a community soup kitchen
Shown disrespect to Marmite
Knowingly left dog mess on a public pavement or area
Baked a fruit cake without assistance
Had the tidiest garden in the street, unless it has snowed.
Walked across the UK
Allowed my hair to be stroked by a chimpanzee
Visited the City of Liverpool
Invested in Ostriches or Jojoba
Played the Stock Market for selfish gain
Paid the local newsagent on presentation of his first bill
Watched an episode of Channel 4's Shameless
Shown any interest in how many pairs of shoes Carrie from Sex in The City possesses
Stared at a guinea pig
Stayed awake for more than 36 hours- ever
Launched a ship on request
Journeyed to the USA
Purchased or owned a Japanese built motor car
Owned a firearm
Read a book in one sitting
Stolen eggs from under a chicken
Contemplated jumping off a motorway bridge
Been friends with anyone Welsh
A victim of a pick pocket
Been the Mr Big of a Betterware or other pyramid selling organisation
Sold a body part, mine or otherwise
Serenaded anyone after a quick course of how to play a guitar and sing
Advanced further than 3rd Cornet in a brass band
Learnt another language to any level of natural fluency
Had my car parked by a Valet Service
Cut and eaten my toenails
Kicked an elderly person who might be a bit annoying
Been in a fight with a serving member of the clergy
Spoken with the Queen
Dressed up in any form of World War 2 uniform
Been stranded in quicksand
Set fire to a public building
Driven an omnibus
Had a pair of leather trousers
Jumped into my pants when suspended between two chair backs and I've been in a hurry
Owned a Jaeger suit
Kept a silk tie from going out of shape
Found an item of treasure trove
Scuba- dived
Bowled an over in proper cricket
Thrown a hand grenade
Skipped along a public highway like a girl
Consumed more than five pints of Guinness in any one sitting
Been mistaken for anyone famous
Sat quietly in a church when not in a formal service or event
Made a daisy chain
Run anyone over
Composed a hit record
Washed my hair in a mountain stream
Climbed Snowdon
Walked along an active railway line
Played on a stair lift in a private residence
Skied
Owned a watch of a type favoured by flyers or nautical types
Completed even a single side of a Rubik Cube
Won a two player video game involving running and shooting
Changed a spark plug in an engine
Worn my wedding kilt with 'T' shirt and plimsolls
Skated on ice with ice skates
Had highlights in my hair
Had any appreciation for the music of Coldplay
Organised a barn dance or beetle drive
Pretended to be foreign
Knowingly lied to a policeman
Found that the other man's grass is always greener or the sun shines brighter on the other side
Resisted humming parts of hymn tunes in the company of non-church goers
Loitered in a public convenience
Forged any coinage
Re-slated a house roof
Tarmac surfaced someone else's driveway
Obtained monies by deception
Smoked a pipe
Leased an allotment
Danced across a pedestrian crossing during the rush hour
Hidden a bar of Galaxy chocolate from another human being
Startled a fox
Swum with Dolphins
Squashed a spider
Agreed wholeheartedly with the idea that a tin can say exactly what it does at any one time
Defaced a public monument
Ascended in a hot air balloon and by definition descended in the same object
Been to Africa
Excavated a hole and created a garden pond
Tickled a trout
Made up any form of explosive from readily sourced domestic ingredients
Drunk more than 1 bottle of wine in any seven day period
Sat astride the ridge of a roof
Taken any form of narcotics
Had my own adult sized duffle coat
Travelled in a three wheeler car
Laughed at a Koala Bear, however ridiculous
Found a truffle in a forest
Walked behind a waterfall
Understood the apparent appeal of adopting a donkey that lives away all of the time
Loosened my necktie before 5.30pm on a weekday
Arson in a Naval Dockyard
Walked along and rattled a stick on the railings of a public park
Rolled down a grassy bank
Held a dance floor enthralled
Used a public address system
Had any form of cosmetic surgery
Learned to waltz
Played a character from Shakespeare in a proper performance
Had my portrait painted
Imagined that I was David Bowie
Mastered the pronunciation of the longest place name in the British Isles
Managed a soccer team
Held a membership of a Health Club or Gym for more than 6 months
Owned a pair of classic Converse All-Stars bovver boots
Possessed a flat cap
Run with the bulls at Pamplona
Walked out of the surf in slow motion wearing light blue coloured Speedo's
Sold any secrets to a rogue power
Successfully rubbed my head and tummy simultaneously in front of witnesses
Burped the anthem of any sovereign nation
Farted before anyone in a position of authority
Chained myself to railings in protest
Had any thoughts whatsoever about world domination
Personally undertaken a medical procedure on NHS premises
Thrown a spear
Wasted my vote
Karaoke singing
Delivered a baby
Invented anything to revolutionise modern living
Participated in any form of subversive plotting
Limbo danced
Extracted a tooth from my own head or anyone I know
Understood why anyone admits to coming from Essex
Walked on the hard shoulder of a motorway, barefoot
Performed street magic
Desired  to hang up a dream catcher in my house
Worn a gold medallion
Upset a gang, the Mafia or a Triad
Perfectly cooked a meal on a disposable barbecue bought from a Tesco Express
Brewed
Purged my colon
Spray painted a piece of tatty furniture to pass off as shabby-chic
Pointed a laser pen at an overflying civil aircraft
Jumped over the turnstile in a tube station
Pretended to be a serving police officer
Slapped a horse on its rump to see what it does
Eaten more than 3 pork pies in one sitting
Served on a Jury
Got stuck in the mud in a tidal estuary
Worried a badger
Travelled on the outside of a train
Spoken disrespectfully of a Chelsea Pensioner
Sported a toupee
Worn my pants above my trousers
Pulled the emergency cord in a railway carriage
Excited the attentions of a security guard
Rummaged in the bargain and end of line shelf at the supermarket
Had an urge to shave off my eyebrows
Envisaged ever developing a dislike for corned beef
Ridden a unicycle to work

I wrote this list exactly 10 years ago to the very day. I am sorry to say that the only thing I can actually cross off my list is that I have only recently startled a fox. 

12 New Pence in Old Money

 

Plane Speaking

What did twelve pence purchase some fifty years ago?

That is an easy one for me as that was the cover price of my weekly magazine entitled "Speed and Power"- dedicated to planes, cars, trains, ships and science fiction. It was also the total allowance of pocket money that I received from my parents every seven days.

The publication started in 1974 but only ran for some 89 or so issues before it was taken over by the mega-magazine of Look and Learn.

I lost interest in it after that.

Rather geekily I have kept my collection together and from time to time I browse and reminisce about the amazing technology of that era although such has been the pace of progress in the last four decades that everything featured as revolutionary then does now seem rather crude, basic and clunky.

Speed and Power also did features on characters and events centred on transport and one from the November 7th edition of 1975 is worth re-telling.

It was about a 31 year old aviator, Douglas Corrigan from California who on July 16th 1938 took off from Floyd Bennett Field, New York with the intention of making a non-stop flight across America to Los Angeles.

This was quite a challenge over 2000 miles and particularly so in his choice of plane-a single engined Curtiss Robin, 8 years old with no radio and the most basic of instruments, some of which he had made himself. Corrigan was actually more of an aircraft mechanic than an experienced pilot perhaps lacking a bit of natural ability and aptitude for an endurance flight.

His map for the westerly journey was to be gauged using a page from a school atlas.

Corrigan's attire was only a leather jacket and his rations restricted to a couple of chocolate bars, fig snacks and some water.There was no parachute on board.

Fully laden with extra fuel tanks it took 3000 feet of runway to lurch airborne and gradually ease up to 500 feet, the required height to set off on the planned course.

Unfortunately, a combination of disorientation and stupidity saw Corrigan mis-read the compass set down on the floor near his feet. He unwittingly took up not a westward inland line but, following the wrong end of the needle, began one of the strangest flights in aviation history.

With no means of communication from those on the ground who quickly realised that he was flying in the opposite direction Corrigan remained oblivious to his error. At a cruising altitude of 3000 feet he found himself between two layers of dense cloud giving no chance of visibility of ground landmarks and certainly giving no hint that he was heading out over the Atlantic Ocean.

His actual view from the cockpit was impeded in a forward direction by a bolted on fuel tank and with another wedged in behind his seat. The only real view was acheived by rolling the plane sideways and looking out that way.

Ten hours into the flight a fuel leak washed around his feet and fearing a fire he frantically stabbed a hole in the floor pan with a screwdriver and by banking steeply any surplus liquid was able to drain off and a fireball disaster was averted.

The loss of fuel led Corrigan to consider an emergency landing but any serious thoughts of this would require daylight.

By his reckoning he would shortly have to climb to 8000 feet to clear the Guadalupe Mountains of Texas. At that height there was always a risk of icing up and sure enough a rain storm turned to sleet freezing on the fuselage and wings. De-icing involved poking a long pole out of the window to chip away at the covering on the wings.

Corrigan felt it would be wise to descend to slightly warmer weather and emerging through the cloud base he was shocked to see nothing but a mass of ocean.

At first he thought that he had overshot the west coast and was above the Pacific but then with horror realised the magnitude of his navigational error.

Now airborne for 26 hours he had reached the point of no return.

The sole option was to carry on and hope that the fuel supply lasted.

Ironically, Corrigan had asked for official clearance to emulate the exploit of his great hero Charles Lindbergh in crossing the Atlantic 12 months earlier but was denied permission on the grounds of the lack of airworthiness of the veteran plane. He was now doing it by mistake.

The fuel situation was a major concern but luckily a strong prevailing westerly had swept him along without depleting the on board reserve.

Two hours further on Corrigan sighted a rocky headland and with the engine straining on the last drops of kerosene he was able to land at Baldonnnel Airport, to the south west of Dublin.

The newspapers lapped up his epic story calling him "Wrong Way Corrigan", although many did not believe that he had flown the entire Atlantic in error. He was however a National Hero and returning to New York was given a ticker-tape parade along Broadway.

Corrigan denied any intention and laughed when the Liars Club of America elected him an Honorary Member.

Written ten years ago

 

Bhutan the other foot.

In these current times of obscene weekly wage levels for Premier League footballers fuelled by extraordinary deals with broadcasters it is nice to hear of a grass-roots story associated with the sport.

There was of course the recent honouring of a goal scored by Stephanie Roche in Irish Football in its attaining second place in the FIFA 2014 Goal of the Year Award beating many of the best male players in the world.

However, the most heart-warming recent story has involved the national football team of Bhutan.

The tiny landlocked country, known as Land of the Thunder Dragon, wedged between India and China has struggled to overcome geographical, social and economic difficulties which to a certain extent have to be well established before any thoughts can be given to leisure or recreation of the population. The hereditary rulers, the Wangchuck Dynasty have been in power for the last hundred years and have controlled citizens through imposing compulsory national dress and through the philanthropic ideas of Gross National Happiness whereby a happy harmony is imposed balancing the spiritual and the material. The Buddhist Culture is strong and has caused conflict with an ethnic Nepalese enclave  in recent years. The landscape in the Himalayas is striking but tourism is controlled.

The national sport of archery has been dominant and it was only until students, studying overseas, returned and brought back the idea of football that things started to progress. There had been no exposure to the world of football prior to this particularly as television had been banned until the late 1990's.

Bhutan joined FIFA in the year 2000 giving eligibility to compete in Asian Tournaments and a few Friendly matches with near neighbours but still involving great distances to be travelled.

The team was made up of part timers and those in education with sparse resources and skills to call upon.

There was some early success with wins against Afghanistan, Montserrat and Guam but in the 18 games since 2008 Bhutan failed to run out winners in any form of competition.

Consequently, the outcome has been that Bhutan have been, officially, the worst international team of the 209 member associations within FIFA with no points earned.

The standard of play or rather the extent of being outclassed was emphasised by a defeat to Kuwait some 15 years ago which at 20-0 remains a record score. This did prompt additional investment in the sport with infrastructure changes including artificial turf pitches, an Academy Structure and a support network of medical and ancillary services.

The players have seen a more formal pay regime put in place although at £100 per month there is no comparison to even the lower league salaries in Europe and the wider world.

In the second preliminary round of qualification for the 2018 World Cup a few weeks ago, Bhutan were to play an away tie in Sri Lanka, themselves ranked 173rd by FIFA.

The hosts fully expected a bit of a goal-fest and before the match media interviews with Sri Lanka's national coach and captain aired a feeling of being belittled at having to play such a lowly band of no-hopers.

The fixture list for the early qualifiers included Cambodia v Macau, Timor Leste v Mongolia and Yemen v Pakistan but Bhutan trumped the lot by winning in Columbo by a solitary goal by Tshering Dorji.

Hopes have been heightened for further points to lift Bhutan out of the bottom place of the rankings and the return match in the Changlimithang Stadium, ringed by snow capped mountains in Thimpu is eagerly awaited.

After the historic away win there was no bonus payment to the squad and certainly no trip down to the Bentley or Porsche Car Showrooms to browse the latest models as befitting top footballers.

The team did celebrate however in a visit to a KFC Fast Food Restaurant just down the road from the hotel.

Written Ten Years Ago Today

 

Child's Play

A recent Report from The Children's Society in the UK expressed concerns that teenagers are becoming increasingly unhappy with their lives.

Amongst the reasons cited for the disgruntled mindset of the current youth of the country are school, appearance, choice and freedom.

I am the first to accept that we are living in very different times. There are economic undercurrents, Environmental issues, World Unrest, we are up to a NOW!85 album for goodness sake  but when I was a teenager I never had time to even contemplate if I was worried about anything because I, like my peers, was just too busy getting on with things.

From getting up early to going to bed, early, the day was simply packed with activities.

Of course, during school term time there was the effort to get ready which in a household of 5 children was only kept from being chaotic by good adult supervision and a rota for the bathroom and the breakfast table.

We were always well turned out in school uniform, washed and brushed and with clean shoes. This enabled us to follow our Father as he strode off down the street to take on his role of Manager at a bank in the town. We would straggle along before peeling off at the top of the road to the school although on more than one occasion my younger brother just doubled back when out of sight and went home.

We did range about quite freely in our teenage years whereas with the modern phenomena of paranoia around stranger danger and the perception of crime many of todays young adults are driven about everywhere by over indulgent parents.

We stayed for dinner at the canteen. This was not one of these multiple choice affairs which feature in State Schools today and rival a reasonable bistro but with a menu that you could set your calendar by. Monday was fish fingers and chips, Tuesday liver and onions, Wednesday some form of meat in a pie, Thursday cold salad and Friday some other form of meat in some form of gravy. There was dessert  including flapjack, treacle sponge pudding, spotted dick, chocolate sponge and Angel Delight on a strict rotation basis whether or not complimentary to or inducing an adverse reaction when combined with the main course. All washed down with tap water and ,oh yes, pink custard.

As for lessons, well we just stuck to the basics of the three 'R's as they say with a smattering of science, languages, arts, crafts, music and strenuous physical exercise. There was none of the variation found in the current curriculum such as multi faith studies, media studies, citizenship and vague arty-farty subjects for which everyone gets a certificate of merit.

There was a level of mutual respect between the teaching staff and us pupils although it was borne more out of fear and retribution rather than anything enlightened. I do not think that I ever knew the Christian names of any of my teachers in senior school unless bastardised into a nickname or if it was unusually hilarious and capable of being sung or put in an offensive rhyme.

We did have a clear objective in our schooling years whether to go on to a University, Polytechnic or College or go straight into employment. I can appreciate some of the anxiety of the current teenagers about what to do with their lives post-secondary education given the lack of meaningful full time jobs in the UK economy.

As for money in our pockets, well, I only had my pocket money which until I got a paper round was based on one new pence per year of age. This did not go very far other than my monthly comic/magazine, goodies and my flirting with being a smoker, briefly, one rebellious summer.

I was never a saver and shamefully this still applies into my 6th decade on the planet.

In the absence of personal wealth the only option was to make your own entertainment and this we did large.

What was better than having competitive foot running or bike races around the housing estate with your mates or going into battle armed with home made bows and arrows against the kids from the nearby council houses?

The local streams and ponds were teeming with sticklebacks, frogspawn and newts providing endless hours of fun from daybreak to dusk. Just take a net on a stick and a jam jar.

There were trees to climb, gardens and allotments to trespass through, small shops ripe for a five finger discount if in enough of a group to constitute a distraction for the proprietor, things to set alight and wait for the fire brigade, doors to knock on before running off, people to follow at random through the town just to see what they were up to, Bob a Job week once a year with a licence to wash cars and use all of my Father's chrome polish on gleaming bumpers and hub caps, animals to stalk and worry, girls to chase, catch and kiss, small kids to impress with bravado and daring near the railway line, river and on the bridge over the by-pass.

It all now sounds borderline delinquent and illegal but I like to think that all of these things were enacted in the right spirit and with not a malicious thought in our heads. Some friends did get arrested or died though.

Any prowess at sport, in music or in performing arts was hard earned through many hours of practice and sacrifice of time and effort. That was probably why I never did much in any discipline in my teenage years. Todays youth are just waiting around optimistically to be discovered by talent spotters whether singing flatly and nasally under their headphones at the Mall ,on a You Tube video or through posted on Facebook.

I can sense their frustration if by the age of 17 they have not signed to a record label or modelling agency or are not otherwise entrepreneurial millionaires.

Teenagers today are very fashion and image conscious. We were never too concerned about our appearance. Take a look in the family photo album from my mid teens and you will know this to be true. My idea of style was a pair of Lopez jeans, formal shoes, button up shirt and a cardigan. Pretty square you would be entitled to say but I can assure you that I did not stand out as being any different to my contemporaries. My hair style, or lack of it, was a bit of a basin cut, floppy fringe and with the later mature growth of sideburns which, if shaved off after the summer, just left a white stripe down the side of my head.

Perhaps we were innocent and naïve compared with the current crop of teenagers who have multi-media and Wikipedia at their fingertips. Perhaps we were happy to look up in a book or just wait if a question was needed to be answered rather than demanding immediacy. Perhaps we lived in a time of guaranteed employment and a job for life. Perhaps the world did not seem such a scary place because we were not force fed scaremongering news on a 24 hour basis. We did, it should not be forgotten, live under the threat of nuclear world war, civil and social unrest and turmoil but the key factor to maintaining our sanity and off setting those very modern ailments called childhood stress and unhappiness was that we knew how to play and have fun.

Cooking a Kipper

Following on from the last blog I promised to tell you about how to cook the beautiful Fortunes of Whitby Kippers. 

In my haste to savour the salty smokiness I unfortunately used the least complimentary and definitely the most odour producing method- that being the sticking of them under a double grill. 

I was foolish in the extreme by doing this. 

Like a polythene magic fish that used to be found in Christmas Crackers the direct heat of a radiant grill in just a few minutes caused the Kipper to curl up and immolate. 

I did of course eat it but it was a 50/50 trade off between a good nutritious meal and possibly introducing harmful carcinogenic residues into my body. 

The lingering fish smell, not just in the kitchen but throughout the house and well into the next couple of days only, served to remind me of my ridiculous urgency. 

It reminded me of a story from my youth when at a family wedding a raw Kipper was hidden on the engine block of the bride’s Fathers car and on the way home after the celebrations everyone on the vehicle was overcome with travel sickness as it slowly cooked to destruction. 

Luckily we had over-shopped at the Fortunes Kipper Shack and so could try out some of the many methods advocated by the Smoke House owners, fish wives, learned cooks and people of a Scottish origin on the four or so pairs still wrapped up in their Yorkshire Post newsprint in the fridge.

I mention the Scottish connection in that up until the beginning of the First World War there was a massive seasonal migration of around 6000 young girls from North of the Border to the port town fish processing venues in England as they followed the herring fleet to apply their gutting and dressing skills. 

The fish was referred to as “silver darlings” although this could as easily have applied to the flowers of Scotland so far away from home. 

Steaming is a method of less odour production involving the lining of a colander with tin foil and then placing it with Kipper laid out over a pan of boiling water. This is likely to be the healthiest way of cooking with a piping hot meal after about 5 minutes. 

Baking in a tin foil parcel with a knob of butter can help to contain the distinctive Kipper smell although this process can take up to 15 to 20 minutes. 

Most of us will have just taken out the frying pan and washed the Kipper about in melted butter for a few minutes until it looks heated through. This is not recommended in a confined space or if the over-stove extractor is not working. A Kipper can be a good personal treat but yet the rest of the household are forced to participate if only on the basis of smell in these stove top operations. 

In an uncooked state a Kipper has been described as a poor mans smoked salmon. 

The raw fillet can be marinaded in an oil and lemon dressing and then in thin slices laid onto rye bread with an egg yolk. There is, in some cook books, the option of taking the raw fish with vodka or schnapps although this suggests more of an evening starter than a nourishing breakfast after which you would simply get nothing done.

I will not even bother to cover the subject of the microwaving of a Kipper as I find this upsetting and an insult to the spirit of the great fish. The same goes for "boil in the bag".

The highest level of approval for a cooking method is undoubtedly that of using a tall and squat jug. These were probably pretty common in the kitchens of yesteryear but difficult to find, even in antique or reproduction form, nowadays.

The Kipper can either keep or have its head removed before folding the sides inwards to allow insertion into the neck of the vessel. This is with the exception of the tail - the reason for this being clear later. 

Boiling water is then poured into the jug to envelope the Kipper. 

It is here that opinion differs as to the duration of the submersion. Five minutes is a popular timing although one of the founders of the famous Northumberland Craster Kipper smokers recommends at least six minutes. There is agreement that the jug method should never exceed ten minutes. 

After this virtually odourless process it is by the projecting and cool tails that the fish is removed before laying out ready for eating in a light wash of melted butter and with plenty of rounds of white,crusty bread.

My own attempt at worshipping the Fortunes of Whitby Kipper failed miserably at the first hurdle but I am determined to try and try again until I reach that level of perfection that the proud smoked herring demands.

Once a month I have a postal delivery of Whitby Kippers giving me ample opportunity to try out the best method of cooking 

Kipper Ties

I might not ever say those same words in the same order ever again. 

It is a quite unique combination of words perhaps muttered by mere mortals on a very rare occasion.

They were the most apt and explanatory words for what I had to do but nevertheless caused quite a stir amongst my co-workers upon announcing them as the reason for leaving the office this morning.

 “I have to go and deliver some Kippers”. 

I was not being euphemistic, ambiguous or double-entendering  (not sure if that is a real word). 

My late Father had his own phrase about “going to see a man about a horse” which gradually sank in amongst the rest of the family as meaning that he had to leave and do some errand but with no predetermined timescale. 

I had no intention of developing my own euphemism but “I have to go and deliver some kippers” is as good as any and could cover all manner of trips, jaunts and absences from the office or home. 

In fact I was trying to help out my wife’s Australian cousin, who with his wife is on a visit to the UK after some seven or so years of last being here. On his wish list for the 3 week vacation was the purchase of some Kippers- surely everyone knows what these are- wood smoked herring. 

There is a good choice of these on any ice packed fish counter at a supermarket and even in the ordinary seafood display down the delicatessen aisle. It is even possible to buy a rather bland and unappetising boil in the bag version. 

However, the best ever kippers are from a specific source in a magical place. 

I am talking about Fortunes in the North Yorkshire coast town of Whitby. 

I had not actually heard of them before but as far away as Australia they were held with some reverence. They regularly featured on those regional food programmes on TV channels where celebrity chefs or just plain celebrities go in search of good, authentic, honest and artisan products. You know the sort of broadcasts where the presenter wears a safari suit, fancy hat and drives around in a classic motor vehicle decrying the globalisation and anonymity of food production. 

There has been a huge emphasis in the media on provenance of food especially after the controversy and public outcry about horse flesh in lasagne and the re-emergence in the food supply chain of previously condemned and supposedly confiscated meat, fruit and vegetables. 

You cannot get any more authentic and pure than a Fortunes Kipper- no, not a slick marketing slogan from a top-notch advertising agency but my own endorsement having been to the Whitby headquarters just yesterday. 

The use of the term HQ is as far from reality as you can get. 

Fortunes premises comprise of a shack of a shop about 5 metres by 3 metres and leaning against the back of it the smokehouse, another shack. 

We could smell the wonderful aroma of the curing smoke from the bottom of the steep 199 steps that snake up the cliffside from Whitby Town to the ruins of the Abbey. The odour reminds me always of the open log and coal fires of rented cottages during a winter weekend or early springbreak along that part of the Yorkshire coastline, Robin Hoods Bay and Staithes in particular which are not far off equidistant from Whitby to the south and north respectively. 

My Whitby visit was on a beautiful late September day, one after some very mixed and unpredictable weather over the preceding summer months. 

The town, for a Tuesday and out of season was as busy as ever with the main pedestrian flow being along the narrow harbourside streets and up the ladder-like steps. We veered off from the pack following with our noses the smokey air, just visible as a light cloud between the parallel terraced houses of Henrietta Street perched high above the convergence of the River Esk and the North Sea. 

We could not yet see the source of the feast of sight and smell but were pretty close as successive cottages were named along a Kipper theme amongst the usual tributes to Captain Cook and nautical terms. A rather weather beaten sign on the side of a low single storey building could just be seen bearing the Fortunes name and pedigree of time served Kipper smoking. 

A hand written piece of paper in the squat window said that they were not open until1.30pm that day, a tantalising 40 minutes ahead. 

A white smoke, a sort of Papal vote hue, was wisping around the top of a hefty door on the outbuilding and was fine enough to squeeze its way seemingly through the roof and every knot hole, nook and cranny of the timber and brick walls. 

Time dragged by even with the purchase of an ice cream and a welcome sit down on a precariously angled timber bench in a warm sunny spot just around the corner. At last we retraced our steps along the well worn cobbles where you are never far away from the spirits and lost souls of the historic fishing and whaling community from centuries past. 

As a treat the doors to the smoke house were wide open having been emptied of the tarry racks of aromatic Kippers which now stood on a counter in the shack shop. The floor of the smoke house was strewn with part combusted woodchips and its walls caked in a treacle-like residue from over 140 years of production. 

We were first in, a bit like kiddies in a sweet shop and for £3.95 we could have a pair of mellow toned, fine boned Kippers of our very own. 

Six pairs were bought from a recited list of family members to whom had been promised a proper Kipper over the previous few days by our Australian guests. 

Wrapped up they were whisked away back down the narrow street and held close as though freshly found treasure. 

Tomorrow I will tell you about the cooking of them.

Whitsuntide, Hull, 1877

Monday 21^st May 1877 had been widely advertised in Hull as the day of a Whitsuntide Gala. 

It was to be held on fields on the northern edge of the then extent of the city, off Brunswick Avenue and behind Harley Street. 

The Promoter of the event was Mr James Henry Wood, a music hall manager. Amongst the attractions of shooting galleries, striking machines, swing boats, stalls including the popular refreshment of cooked peas and a firework display the most eagerly awaited was the ascent of a hot air balloon by the Aeronaut, a Mr Metcalf. 

The crowd rapidly swelled and the count through the entrance was around 1000 children and 2000 adults. 

For the safe operation of the “aerial monster” a rope and post circle of 40 yards was formed and with Police in attendance in anticipation of trouble from a boisterous and potentially unruly general public.

Although late in the Spring the weather was blustery and not altogether ideal for a balloon launch. 

Mr Metcalf had changed his plans to match the weather forecast and had chosen to bring his 18000 cubic foot balloon rather than the usual 30000 cubic feet specimen.  Nevertheless it represented a large investment for him at a cost of £250 for the India Rubber and oil infused silk cloth construction. 

A special dispensation for the event was the laying onto the site of a 7 inch gas supply pipe under the supervision of the local Gas Company Inspector. This would help to rapidly inflate the balloon and further excite the assembled crowds. 

The original timings were for commencement of inflation at 4pm for a 5pm ascent by Metcalf and an acquaintance, a Mr Whitaker of Hull. There was obviously some discontent in those watching that balloon rides were not being offered on a fare paying basis. 

The wind was still strong at 4pm from the north north east and the ascent was progressively delayed causing yet further disquiet in the crowd. The blustery conditions abated slightly in late afternoon and a new 7.30pm  launch time was decided. 

The flimsy rope cordon had by now disintegrated and large groups of men, boys and young girls were within touching distance of the balloon and basket. Some 30 to 40 men helped to hold the mooring ropes as the gas was pumped in and the balloon started to rise into what was now the dusk. 

There was no real co-ordination on the ground and as a consequence the still present blustery wind led to the balloon being dragged unceremoniously across the field with many hangers-on in tow. The out of control contraption was seen to catch onto a mounted bell at the top of one of the striking machines (boxing game) and this acted as an anchor but also causing a rip in the material of the balloon with a resulting escape of the gas.

The Aeronaut and his passenger were thrown clear.  In a well ventilated open space the gas cloud was not necessarily a problem but what had been overlooked by the Organisers of the Gala was the presence of naked flames in the kiosks serving up the popular hot pea refreshments. 

The gas, highly combustible, saturated the air as the balloon collapsed and there was a mighty flash and explosion described by the spectators as though lightning followed by dense white smoke. 

Many onlookers were engulfed by the flaming debris and the melting India Rubber and oil from the tattered silk formed a sticky residue on the skin and clothing of the  victims causing severe burns and related injuries. 

The scene was apocalyptic as scores of injured, mostly children with severe burns were gathered up and taken to the Infirmary on Prospect Street. about half a mile away.  The medical staff struggled with the influx of the 100 most affected of which 30 were critical. The age range of the afflicted was from just 12 months to 22 years.

The Infirmary Chapel was opened up as an overflow treatment area. Weeping mothers and anxious relatives were not admitted until a list of the injured was posted. 

Sadly a 13 year old girl, Lucy Hanson of Goodwin Street, Hull died of her injuries. Others had life changing burns and it was not until well into the following month that the last was discharged. 

At the subsequent Formal  Enquiry into the tragedy the focus of attention was on the main protagonists of the Organiser, Aeronaut and Gas Inspector. The former was strongly criticised for the continuation of the Gala after the balloon explosion with further entry fees collected until 9pm and the firework display gong ahead as planned.

Other witnesses, including from the Police, mentioned the influence on the tragic events of unruly elements in the crowd. This type of event was cited as being of typical attraction to the rougher population perhaps drunk and disorderly. There was some speculation that wagers had been made that the ascent would not go ahead and that those holding the ropes had tried to manipulate this outcome.

Indeed the catastrophe had attracted even more by way of crowds to the field by way of morbid onlookers. 

Against this was the collection of donations to support the injured and affected families. 

The Jury at the Enquiry came to a verdict of accidental death in the case of the unfortunate Lucy Hanson but with valuable lessons to be learned in separating gas filled balloons from potential ignition sources in such public events. 

A conspiracy to thwart the balloon launch for gambling gain was not proven.