I have not, for many years, heard of any contemporary applications of what used to be the first perception of measuring for a child in the use of fairy steps.
I can remember many games and pastimes at home or in school, usually those played with real or imaginary friends, where the fairy step came in very useful to define space, allocate territory and segregate participants. The distinctive heel- to toe-to heel -to toe movement, often with an exaggerated throwing out of the leg or if done rapidly more like a penguin walk, was regularly used as an integral part in pre-school or infants school play activities . Even in senior school it was adopted to set out the distance between coats and blazers for a goalmouth for a break-time soccer game. If the match deteriorated into a brawl or mass scrap close to the goal-line then the fairy step was used to mark out the position of the penalty spot. The end of year and spring terms were mostly football but with the final school term before the summer holidays it was cricket or rounders with the fairy step returning to prominence as an easy and widely accepted medium of measurement to set out the pitch.
I have started to tentatively explore the viability of the wider adoption and use of the fairy step in business and commerce. I am fortunate in that my adult size 10 feet, when shoe'd are exactly 1 imperial foot or 12". This of course is confined to sensible and stout work shoes of a Clarks, Hush Puppies or budget Brantano calibre and not winkle-pickers, brothel creepers or those flat ended fashion shoes of Italian style and panache. Experiments in the accuracy and reliability of a size 10 fairy step over relatively short distances have proven very successful against a Swiss precision made laser device, the stalwart of a reinforced vinyl tape and an antique wooden measuring stick. There are some inevitable disadvantages particularly in the implementation of fairy steps where items of furniture form an obstacle for a clear run across a room not otherwise a problem for a red-spot laser beam or a tensioned tape. There are severe limitations in outdoor areas where ditches, rivers, lakes, seas and oceans are encountered.
The general public may also express some distress at the sight of a practitioner in the process of fairy stepping as this involves a head down stance, mutterings of counting consecutively and of course the often comical body movement which is an inevitable feature of the process. Ideally, the presence of an assistant would be required to attend to the counting and also to offset any public animosity or aggression but that could have severe implications for the financial viability of the system. I can see that its application for long distance measurement is rather limited as it takes a lot of concentration to keep in a straight line particularly on a windy day and the actual physical requirements are quite exhausting. It is very possible to incur an injury through a clash of ankles, pull a muscle or even throw out a knee or hip joint from inattentive or careless actions.
Standardisation of the fairy step would also be difficult. I have a vested interest in advocating that only size 10 shoe wearers should be elegible but that would be open to criticism for elitism and also prejudice against those of other shoe sizes. Another field day for lawyers certainly.The whole thing may just decline into a free for all along the lines of Cinderella's beauty challenged step sisters with self mutilation and severance of toes or those of petite feet buying up stocks of clown shoes. Other aspects for consideration would be conversion rates into the metric equivalent and the Statutory Legislation required to enforce the system for acceptance into the UK economy.
On reflection and at this stage in my considerations the fairy step may actually have only limited practical application but would be great fun to implement anyway. The actual numbers involved are quite interesting along the lines of ;
The Great Wall of China- Twenty nine million, forty two thousand seven hundred and fifty five fairy steps
The Andes Range- Twenty three million, two hundred and thirty two thousand fairy steps
Route 66, USA- Twenty million, eight hundred and twenty nine thousand and six hundred fairy steps
Around the world- One hundred and thirty one million, four hundred and eighty two thousand, five hundred and sixty fairy steps ( This would involve continuous fairy steps on board any water crossing vessels)
John O'Groats to Lands End, a mere Three million, one hundred and eighty three thousand , eight hundred and forty fairy steps.
Hobbiton to Mount Doom- Five Million, eight hundred and eight thousand fairy/elvish steps
By way of encouragement just recall the wisdom of Confucius, slightly paraphrased ,that "every journey begins with a fairy step......"
(One of my favourites from a couple of years ago. Reproduced on the eve of recording 50,000 pageviews or whatever that means)
Wednesday, 7 October 2015
Tuesday, 6 October 2015
I saw nothing (Cornish Tales 7)
Tales of the sea monsters of Cornwall (and neighbouring Devon) are widely recounted and a large variety of forms have reportedly been sighted over the past few centuries, including the belief, still apparently harboured by a few old sailors, that a giant octopus-like creature still plagues the north coast of Cornwall, between Godrevy and Portreath.
Most sightings, though, are of what could be considered to be the sea serpent type, though in various guises.
Most of the sightings, at least those of the modern era, have been attributed to a monster known to the locals as Morgawr. Morgawr (meaning 'sea giant' in Cornish), is a serpent-like cryptid purported to live in the sea near Falmouth Bay, Cornwall.
First sighted in 1876, three various theories have been proposed for as to the identity of this particular sea serpent, ranging from
1) a hoax, and there is certainly evidence for such, or mistaken identity, to
2) the suggestion that the creature is a surviving species of Plesiosaur or
3) that it is a previously undiscovered species of long necked seal.
In the absence of a carcass or a living specimen, identity explanations depend only on eyewitness accounts and low-quality photographs. If the witness accounts are, even in part, to be believed then it would appear that several differing forms of creature are at play around these coasts.
On April 26, 1876 a sea serpent was allegedly captured by fishermen, about 4-500 yards from the shore, near Portscatho, at Gerrans Bay. The Royal Cornwall Gazette was the first to report the story and gave the following account:
Portscatho. THE SEA SERPENT!—Our correspondent, Mr. Bosisto, writes:—"The sea-serpent was caught alive in Gerrans bay on the 26th ult! Two of our fishermen were afloat overhauling their crab-pots, about 400 or 500 yards from the shore, when they discovered a serpent coiled about the floating cork-mark of the crab-pot below. Upon their near approach, it lifted its head and showed signs of defiance, upon which they struck it forcibly with an oar, which so far disabled it as to allow them to proceed with their work, after which they observed the serpent floating about near the boat. They pursued and captured it, bringing it ashore yet alive for exhibition, soon after which it was killed on the rocks and most inconsiderately cast again into the sea." Why was not the wonderful creature, for which so many people have been looking, preserved and exhibited? It would have brought fame to Portscatho and riches to its captors. "There is a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the flood, leads to fortune." The Portscatho fishermen have missed their tide.
A monster was sighted in 1906 off Land's End by two officers and a passenger on a transatlantic liner.
On July 5, 1912 Captain Rauser and the crew of the German vessel Kaiserin Victoria sighted a sea-serpent off Prawle Point in South Devon. It was about 20ft long and a foot to 18 inches thick, blue-grey on top and whitish underneath. The creature was whipping the water violently with its tail and at times nearly the whole of the body was visible.
Sometime in the 1920s, Donald Bray, then aged 15, of Hayle and his father were walking at Clodgy Head, St Ives, when they met a Mr and Mrs S, artists, and their daughter Sylvia. The whole party then witnessed a sea-serpent. It had a head like a cow, the neck 3 or 4 feet out of the water and with a humped body. The creature reportedly looked Donald in the eye.
In 1926, a Mr Reece and a Mr Gilbert, trawling three miles south of Falmouth netted an amazing creature. It was twenty feet long, with an eight foot tail, a two foot long 'beaked' head, four scaled legs attached to the body with armour-like joints and a broad back covered with 'matted brown hair'. Reportedly, the men brought ashore a smaple of the hair, but experts from the Plymouth Marine Biological Observatory were consulted, but could offer no explanation.
In 1933, it was reported that, some years ago, a terrifying monster, "with eyes like saucers" rose by a fishing boat just off the island of Annet in the Isles of Scilly. The men were hauling pots when the monster appeared, they then dropped their pots and set of for the "par" of Annet as hard as they could drive, followed for some distance by the monster.
An unidentified carcass, reportedly of a sea monster, was washed ashore at Praa Sands in West Cornwall in 1933. Experts were said to be baffled.
According to Deane and Shaw the Western Morning News reported on July 4, 1934 that a monster was spotted in Whitsand Bay and that, about a year later, 'a monstrous, glossy, black creature, with a long goose-like neck, a humped back and a tremendous tail' was seen off Port Isaac by several witnesses; one of them, the local postman, stressed that he was a teetotaller. They continue that possibly the same creature was witnessed in the Gannel near Newquay.
In the autumn of 1944 Ed Boddaert and the other crew members of the Mevagissey fishing vessel The Ibis witnessed a creature somewhere off Fowey Point: "Suddenly the black sea parted some ten to twelve feet in front of Percy's face, off the starboard side. A three to four foot diameter object with a ball like head came straight out of the water and rose to a height of some twelve feet above the water's surface. The deck that I was standing on was four feet off the water, I was about five and a half feet and was looking slightly up at it. A tubular form with globular head seen from the bow and the stern. Not a whale nor a submarine periscope or snorkel."
Also in 1944 The Scillonian reported on the sighting, some years ago, by two islanders of a sea serpent "travelling in through St Mary's Sound one early evening in summer. It came from the east, past Peninnis Head (when a school of pilchards scurried out of the way), thumping along the middle of the channel at about the same speed and the same length as the passenger steamer. Coming from the east, it went west, as far as could be seen going off in the direction of Broad Sound. It had a row of humps which kept above the water all the way, the same distance apart, the sea between each hump. The head was not visible, but could be imagined as low in the water. A strange sight, yet not close enough for detail, as it was seen from Carn Mahale. Those who saw it said they were familiar with other sea beasts, but had never seen anything like this before.
It was also reported that, on occasion, great spotted fish or serpents were witnessed just beyond the Western Rocks in the Isles of Scilly.
On July 5, 1949 Harold T Wilkins, a thriller writer, and a companion reported seeing "two remarkable saurians, fifteen to twenty feet long, with bottle-green colubrine heads, one behind the other, their middle parts under the water of the tidal creek of East Looe, Cornwall, apparently chasing a shoal of fish up the creek. What was amazing were their dorsal parts: ridged, serrated, and like the old Chinese pictures of dragons … These monsters—and two of us saw them—resembled the pleisiosaurus of Mesozoic times.
Strange barking sounds were heard underwater off the coast of South Devon in 1970. Graham Sampson of Kingsbridge heard a "kind of fiendish bark" when diving at a depth of 80ft. At least three other divers also witnessed the noises, dubbed the "Lannacombe bark". Members of the Salcombe Shark Angling Society also reported that substantially-built hooks had recently been severed, something which they claim could not have been done by even the strongest sharks known in British waters.
An unnamed person reportedly witnessed a "large snake-like creature swimming in the sea at Mylor" several years ago, according to Miss M Jenkins, writing to the Falmouth Packet in April 1976.
Two witnesses, Mrs Scott and Mr Riley, claim to have seen a "hideous, hump-backed creature" with "stumpy horns and bristles down the back of its long neck", catching a conger eel in its mouth, at Pendennis Point in Falmouth in September 1975. This, regarded by many as the first appearance of Morgawr, was quickly followed by the sighting of a monster by a group of mackerel fishermen, who blamed the creature for bad weather and poor catches.
In January 1976, Duncan Viner, a dental technician from Truro, saw Morgawr swimming "a few hundred yards off Rosemullion Head". At first, he thought it was a whale, as only a dark hump was visible; but as he watched, it started to rise in the water and a long neck appeared. Mr Viner estimated the length of the monster to be between thirty and forty feet.
In the same month, Miss Amelia Johnson, on holiday from London, was taking a walk in the Rosemullion area when she saw a "strange form suddenly emerge from the water in Falmouth Bay". She describes "a sort of prehistoric dinosaur thing with a long neck the length of a lamp post". Also in January, Gerald Bennet of Seworgan, saw a creature swimming in the Helford one afternoon. The part of it above the water was "about twelve feet in length with an elongated neck".
Later in January, a carcass was discovered at Durgan Beach, on the Helford, by Mrs Payne of Falmouth. The remains were still unidentified the following year.
In March 1976, 'Mary F' sent two photographs, apparently of Morgawr, to the Falmouth Packet, along with a covering letter. The letter and photographs were published on St Piran's Day, March 5. She said the creature, spotted off Trefusis Point in Mylor, was black or very dark brown, at least 18ft long and that "it looked like an elephant waving its trunk, but the trunk was a long neck with a small head at the end, like a snake's head. It had humps on its back which moved in a funny way… the animal frightened me. I would not like to see it any closer. I do not like the way it moved when swimming." Neither Mary F or the negatives have ever been traced. Noted mystery writers and photographers Janet and Colin Bord have examined first-generation copy prints, and "feel that these photographs could well be genuine."
Professor Michael McCormick of the University of New Mexico, "a renowned dragon-hunter from Albuquerque, New Mexico", arrived in Falmouth at the end of March 1976 aiming to capture "the Falmouth sea-serpent". He was joined by Doc Shiels and the pair aimed to use "traditional, magical and ceremonial techniques and devices" to lure the creature out.This followed on from the recent sighting by "Barry, Penryn fisherman", of something "long and glistening and undulating, with a head shaped like a giraffe's" and which was "sliding through the water at about 15 knots". The creature apparently favours the water off Trefusis Point, in Mylor, and the mouth of the Helford River. Mr McCormick, however, had left Cornwall by the beginning of May.
On Good Friday, April 16, 1976, a fifteen year old schoolboy from Helston spotted a "weird animal with two humps and a long neck like a snake", moving up the river between Toll Point and the Gew. The monster was 'slimy, black and about twenty five feet long'. He took a photograph of the animal which was later shown on BBC television's Spotlight.
In May 1976 two bankers from London were interviewed by The Packet. Tony Rogers and John Chambers had been fishing off the rocks at Parson's Beach in Mawnan when "suddenly something rose out of the water about 150 or 200 yards away. It was greeny-grey in colour and appeared to have humps. Another smaller one also appeared. They were visible for about ten seconds and looked straight at us."
Christine Shiels wrote a letter to the Falmouth Packet describing a sighting by her, her husband "Doc", and four of their children, of "Morgawr the sea-monster" at the Mawnan side of Grebe Beach on July 3, 1976.
Roy Peters, a 17 year old skin diver from Helston claims to have seen "three mini-Morgawrs" whilst diving in the Helford River off Grebe Beach in July 1976. He said that they had "skin like seals, but because of their ugly heads and necks were definitely not seals."
Also in July 1976, fishermen John Cock of Redruth and George Vinnicombe of Falmouth claim to sight a creature, with 'a great head like an enormous seal' while fishing 25 miles south of the Lizard. Mr Vinnicombe stated that "it looked like an enormous tyre about 4ft up in the water with a back like corrugated iron." He also said that the creature had a black body and a grey head, and estimated the animal's length to be about 22 feet.
Sometime in the summer of 1976, Carol Marshall and her son Guy witnessed a "sea-serpent" from the balcony of their home at Downderry in East Cornwall. She said: "it was a great big long thing, like a snake. It came right in to the beach." They watched the creature for two or three minutes and said: "it really shifted and it didn't leave any wake." She said that the creature was "just black" and looked similar to pictures of the Loch Ness Monster.
Bramwell Holmes, his wife Pauline and son Andrew, reportedly sighted the monster on August 27, 1976. They witnesses two dark grey mottled humps rise above the water's surface off Restronguet Point in Mylor. They described the humps as about 2ft high and 5ft across.
Sometime during the week ending September 11, 1976, Donald Ferris of Falmouth reportedly witnessed the creature at Gyllyngvase Beach in Falmouth whilst exercising his dog at 7:10 am. He said: "I saw what looked like a small boat coming towards Gyllyngvase from Swanpool. When it got closer, I realised it was a creature like a giant eel, at least 60ft long and dark grey. As it submerged its back reared out of the water in a hump formation."
In November 1976, Doc Shiels claimed to have photographed the creature at Parson's Beach in Mawnan, lying low in the water. He said: "I was waving my stick around … and it appeared. No one was more amazed than me." He mentioned "little stumpy horns" on its head, and he described the body of the animal as 15 feet long.
On February 2, 1977, Doc Shiels unsuccessfully attempted to invoke Morgawr at Pendennis Point in Falmouth. "She's playing hard to get," he claimed.62 It was also reported that a schoolboy had witnessed a monster near Durgan a few days before on January 31.
On the weekend of July 9 - 10, 1977, Len Yates, a Caradon district councillor, his wife and a friend witnessed a strange creature skimming the surface of the sea at Whitsand Bay in East Cornwall.
On February 19, 1980, Jeoff Watson (or Wilson) of the Loch Ness Monster Association of Explorers unsuccessfully spent the day at Rosemullion Head with a camera armed with a telephoto lens hoping to capture a photograph of Morgawr. He also planned to repeat the exercise at Trefusis Point and the Helford River.
On July 10, 1985, at about 8.00pm, local author Sheila Bird and her brother, a coastal geomorphologist from Melbourne University, were relaxing on the clifftop at Pencabe, Portscatho when Dr Bird, who had no prior knowledge of Morgawr, saw 'a large marine animal swimming slowly northward, about 200 metres offshore.' He then pointed it out to his sister who realised that they must be witnessing the creature known as Morgawr. Two other passers-by, with binoculars, also witnessed the beast. Sheila stated that it was grey and slightly mottled, that it had two humps and that the skin of the creature's neck was grey and had dark markings like folds or pockets of saggy skin, rather than scales. She also noticed the unaccustomed speed and smooth, gliding motion which appeared not to disturb the still waters. All four witnesses noticed a very long tail and estimated the creatures length to be about 17-20 feet.
Gerrans Bay, August 1985. Christopher and Susan Waldron of King's Stanley, Gloucestershire report on having seen the creature whilst on holiday. It was noted that Mrs Waldron was watching her husband swimming in the sea, when she noticed a large silhouette under the surface behind him. The shape was described to be that of a large, long necked creature.
Devil's Point, off Plymouth, 1987. An experienced diver sees a dog-like head on a neck rising 1 metre out of the sea. He notes that it is in a spot favoured by conger eels.
Gerrans Bay, 1999. John Holmes videotapes what is claimed to be an unidentified creature in the sea. He described the moment he saw the creature: "A bizarre movement caught my attention about 250 metres off shore and this thing appeared to be standing about one metre above sea level." Mr Holmes thought he was looking at the fin of a shark or a killer whale at first. "I then saw a snake-like head and neck which appeared to be raised out of the water. I was so shocked by what I saw that I almost fell off the rock.
I saw nothing whilst on holiday in Cornwall, but it was still a great trip for all that..................
Reproduced from Forteana 2011.
Most sightings, though, are of what could be considered to be the sea serpent type, though in various guises.
Most of the sightings, at least those of the modern era, have been attributed to a monster known to the locals as Morgawr. Morgawr (meaning 'sea giant' in Cornish), is a serpent-like cryptid purported to live in the sea near Falmouth Bay, Cornwall.
First sighted in 1876, three various theories have been proposed for as to the identity of this particular sea serpent, ranging from
1) a hoax, and there is certainly evidence for such, or mistaken identity, to
2) the suggestion that the creature is a surviving species of Plesiosaur or
3) that it is a previously undiscovered species of long necked seal.
In the absence of a carcass or a living specimen, identity explanations depend only on eyewitness accounts and low-quality photographs. If the witness accounts are, even in part, to be believed then it would appear that several differing forms of creature are at play around these coasts.
On April 26, 1876 a sea serpent was allegedly captured by fishermen, about 4-500 yards from the shore, near Portscatho, at Gerrans Bay. The Royal Cornwall Gazette was the first to report the story and gave the following account:
Portscatho. THE SEA SERPENT!—Our correspondent, Mr. Bosisto, writes:—"The sea-serpent was caught alive in Gerrans bay on the 26th ult! Two of our fishermen were afloat overhauling their crab-pots, about 400 or 500 yards from the shore, when they discovered a serpent coiled about the floating cork-mark of the crab-pot below. Upon their near approach, it lifted its head and showed signs of defiance, upon which they struck it forcibly with an oar, which so far disabled it as to allow them to proceed with their work, after which they observed the serpent floating about near the boat. They pursued and captured it, bringing it ashore yet alive for exhibition, soon after which it was killed on the rocks and most inconsiderately cast again into the sea." Why was not the wonderful creature, for which so many people have been looking, preserved and exhibited? It would have brought fame to Portscatho and riches to its captors. "There is a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the flood, leads to fortune." The Portscatho fishermen have missed their tide.
A monster was sighted in 1906 off Land's End by two officers and a passenger on a transatlantic liner.
On July 5, 1912 Captain Rauser and the crew of the German vessel Kaiserin Victoria sighted a sea-serpent off Prawle Point in South Devon. It was about 20ft long and a foot to 18 inches thick, blue-grey on top and whitish underneath. The creature was whipping the water violently with its tail and at times nearly the whole of the body was visible.
Sometime in the 1920s, Donald Bray, then aged 15, of Hayle and his father were walking at Clodgy Head, St Ives, when they met a Mr and Mrs S, artists, and their daughter Sylvia. The whole party then witnessed a sea-serpent. It had a head like a cow, the neck 3 or 4 feet out of the water and with a humped body. The creature reportedly looked Donald in the eye.
In 1926, a Mr Reece and a Mr Gilbert, trawling three miles south of Falmouth netted an amazing creature. It was twenty feet long, with an eight foot tail, a two foot long 'beaked' head, four scaled legs attached to the body with armour-like joints and a broad back covered with 'matted brown hair'. Reportedly, the men brought ashore a smaple of the hair, but experts from the Plymouth Marine Biological Observatory were consulted, but could offer no explanation.
In 1933, it was reported that, some years ago, a terrifying monster, "with eyes like saucers" rose by a fishing boat just off the island of Annet in the Isles of Scilly. The men were hauling pots when the monster appeared, they then dropped their pots and set of for the "par" of Annet as hard as they could drive, followed for some distance by the monster.
An unidentified carcass, reportedly of a sea monster, was washed ashore at Praa Sands in West Cornwall in 1933. Experts were said to be baffled.
According to Deane and Shaw the Western Morning News reported on July 4, 1934 that a monster was spotted in Whitsand Bay and that, about a year later, 'a monstrous, glossy, black creature, with a long goose-like neck, a humped back and a tremendous tail' was seen off Port Isaac by several witnesses; one of them, the local postman, stressed that he was a teetotaller. They continue that possibly the same creature was witnessed in the Gannel near Newquay.
In the autumn of 1944 Ed Boddaert and the other crew members of the Mevagissey fishing vessel The Ibis witnessed a creature somewhere off Fowey Point: "Suddenly the black sea parted some ten to twelve feet in front of Percy's face, off the starboard side. A three to four foot diameter object with a ball like head came straight out of the water and rose to a height of some twelve feet above the water's surface. The deck that I was standing on was four feet off the water, I was about five and a half feet and was looking slightly up at it. A tubular form with globular head seen from the bow and the stern. Not a whale nor a submarine periscope or snorkel."
Also in 1944 The Scillonian reported on the sighting, some years ago, by two islanders of a sea serpent "travelling in through St Mary's Sound one early evening in summer. It came from the east, past Peninnis Head (when a school of pilchards scurried out of the way), thumping along the middle of the channel at about the same speed and the same length as the passenger steamer. Coming from the east, it went west, as far as could be seen going off in the direction of Broad Sound. It had a row of humps which kept above the water all the way, the same distance apart, the sea between each hump. The head was not visible, but could be imagined as low in the water. A strange sight, yet not close enough for detail, as it was seen from Carn Mahale. Those who saw it said they were familiar with other sea beasts, but had never seen anything like this before.
It was also reported that, on occasion, great spotted fish or serpents were witnessed just beyond the Western Rocks in the Isles of Scilly.
On July 5, 1949 Harold T Wilkins, a thriller writer, and a companion reported seeing "two remarkable saurians, fifteen to twenty feet long, with bottle-green colubrine heads, one behind the other, their middle parts under the water of the tidal creek of East Looe, Cornwall, apparently chasing a shoal of fish up the creek. What was amazing were their dorsal parts: ridged, serrated, and like the old Chinese pictures of dragons … These monsters—and two of us saw them—resembled the pleisiosaurus of Mesozoic times.
Strange barking sounds were heard underwater off the coast of South Devon in 1970. Graham Sampson of Kingsbridge heard a "kind of fiendish bark" when diving at a depth of 80ft. At least three other divers also witnessed the noises, dubbed the "Lannacombe bark". Members of the Salcombe Shark Angling Society also reported that substantially-built hooks had recently been severed, something which they claim could not have been done by even the strongest sharks known in British waters.
An unnamed person reportedly witnessed a "large snake-like creature swimming in the sea at Mylor" several years ago, according to Miss M Jenkins, writing to the Falmouth Packet in April 1976.
Two witnesses, Mrs Scott and Mr Riley, claim to have seen a "hideous, hump-backed creature" with "stumpy horns and bristles down the back of its long neck", catching a conger eel in its mouth, at Pendennis Point in Falmouth in September 1975. This, regarded by many as the first appearance of Morgawr, was quickly followed by the sighting of a monster by a group of mackerel fishermen, who blamed the creature for bad weather and poor catches.
In January 1976, Duncan Viner, a dental technician from Truro, saw Morgawr swimming "a few hundred yards off Rosemullion Head". At first, he thought it was a whale, as only a dark hump was visible; but as he watched, it started to rise in the water and a long neck appeared. Mr Viner estimated the length of the monster to be between thirty and forty feet.
In the same month, Miss Amelia Johnson, on holiday from London, was taking a walk in the Rosemullion area when she saw a "strange form suddenly emerge from the water in Falmouth Bay". She describes "a sort of prehistoric dinosaur thing with a long neck the length of a lamp post". Also in January, Gerald Bennet of Seworgan, saw a creature swimming in the Helford one afternoon. The part of it above the water was "about twelve feet in length with an elongated neck".
Later in January, a carcass was discovered at Durgan Beach, on the Helford, by Mrs Payne of Falmouth. The remains were still unidentified the following year.
In March 1976, 'Mary F' sent two photographs, apparently of Morgawr, to the Falmouth Packet, along with a covering letter. The letter and photographs were published on St Piran's Day, March 5. She said the creature, spotted off Trefusis Point in Mylor, was black or very dark brown, at least 18ft long and that "it looked like an elephant waving its trunk, but the trunk was a long neck with a small head at the end, like a snake's head. It had humps on its back which moved in a funny way… the animal frightened me. I would not like to see it any closer. I do not like the way it moved when swimming." Neither Mary F or the negatives have ever been traced. Noted mystery writers and photographers Janet and Colin Bord have examined first-generation copy prints, and "feel that these photographs could well be genuine."
Professor Michael McCormick of the University of New Mexico, "a renowned dragon-hunter from Albuquerque, New Mexico", arrived in Falmouth at the end of March 1976 aiming to capture "the Falmouth sea-serpent". He was joined by Doc Shiels and the pair aimed to use "traditional, magical and ceremonial techniques and devices" to lure the creature out.This followed on from the recent sighting by "Barry, Penryn fisherman", of something "long and glistening and undulating, with a head shaped like a giraffe's" and which was "sliding through the water at about 15 knots". The creature apparently favours the water off Trefusis Point, in Mylor, and the mouth of the Helford River. Mr McCormick, however, had left Cornwall by the beginning of May.
On Good Friday, April 16, 1976, a fifteen year old schoolboy from Helston spotted a "weird animal with two humps and a long neck like a snake", moving up the river between Toll Point and the Gew. The monster was 'slimy, black and about twenty five feet long'. He took a photograph of the animal which was later shown on BBC television's Spotlight.
In May 1976 two bankers from London were interviewed by The Packet. Tony Rogers and John Chambers had been fishing off the rocks at Parson's Beach in Mawnan when "suddenly something rose out of the water about 150 or 200 yards away. It was greeny-grey in colour and appeared to have humps. Another smaller one also appeared. They were visible for about ten seconds and looked straight at us."
Christine Shiels wrote a letter to the Falmouth Packet describing a sighting by her, her husband "Doc", and four of their children, of "Morgawr the sea-monster" at the Mawnan side of Grebe Beach on July 3, 1976.
Roy Peters, a 17 year old skin diver from Helston claims to have seen "three mini-Morgawrs" whilst diving in the Helford River off Grebe Beach in July 1976. He said that they had "skin like seals, but because of their ugly heads and necks were definitely not seals."
Also in July 1976, fishermen John Cock of Redruth and George Vinnicombe of Falmouth claim to sight a creature, with 'a great head like an enormous seal' while fishing 25 miles south of the Lizard. Mr Vinnicombe stated that "it looked like an enormous tyre about 4ft up in the water with a back like corrugated iron." He also said that the creature had a black body and a grey head, and estimated the animal's length to be about 22 feet.
Sometime in the summer of 1976, Carol Marshall and her son Guy witnessed a "sea-serpent" from the balcony of their home at Downderry in East Cornwall. She said: "it was a great big long thing, like a snake. It came right in to the beach." They watched the creature for two or three minutes and said: "it really shifted and it didn't leave any wake." She said that the creature was "just black" and looked similar to pictures of the Loch Ness Monster.
Bramwell Holmes, his wife Pauline and son Andrew, reportedly sighted the monster on August 27, 1976. They witnesses two dark grey mottled humps rise above the water's surface off Restronguet Point in Mylor. They described the humps as about 2ft high and 5ft across.
Sometime during the week ending September 11, 1976, Donald Ferris of Falmouth reportedly witnessed the creature at Gyllyngvase Beach in Falmouth whilst exercising his dog at 7:10 am. He said: "I saw what looked like a small boat coming towards Gyllyngvase from Swanpool. When it got closer, I realised it was a creature like a giant eel, at least 60ft long and dark grey. As it submerged its back reared out of the water in a hump formation."
In November 1976, Doc Shiels claimed to have photographed the creature at Parson's Beach in Mawnan, lying low in the water. He said: "I was waving my stick around … and it appeared. No one was more amazed than me." He mentioned "little stumpy horns" on its head, and he described the body of the animal as 15 feet long.
On February 2, 1977, Doc Shiels unsuccessfully attempted to invoke Morgawr at Pendennis Point in Falmouth. "She's playing hard to get," he claimed.62 It was also reported that a schoolboy had witnessed a monster near Durgan a few days before on January 31.
On the weekend of July 9 - 10, 1977, Len Yates, a Caradon district councillor, his wife and a friend witnessed a strange creature skimming the surface of the sea at Whitsand Bay in East Cornwall.
On February 19, 1980, Jeoff Watson (or Wilson) of the Loch Ness Monster Association of Explorers unsuccessfully spent the day at Rosemullion Head with a camera armed with a telephoto lens hoping to capture a photograph of Morgawr. He also planned to repeat the exercise at Trefusis Point and the Helford River.
On July 10, 1985, at about 8.00pm, local author Sheila Bird and her brother, a coastal geomorphologist from Melbourne University, were relaxing on the clifftop at Pencabe, Portscatho when Dr Bird, who had no prior knowledge of Morgawr, saw 'a large marine animal swimming slowly northward, about 200 metres offshore.' He then pointed it out to his sister who realised that they must be witnessing the creature known as Morgawr. Two other passers-by, with binoculars, also witnessed the beast. Sheila stated that it was grey and slightly mottled, that it had two humps and that the skin of the creature's neck was grey and had dark markings like folds or pockets of saggy skin, rather than scales. She also noticed the unaccustomed speed and smooth, gliding motion which appeared not to disturb the still waters. All four witnesses noticed a very long tail and estimated the creatures length to be about 17-20 feet.
Gerrans Bay, August 1985. Christopher and Susan Waldron of King's Stanley, Gloucestershire report on having seen the creature whilst on holiday. It was noted that Mrs Waldron was watching her husband swimming in the sea, when she noticed a large silhouette under the surface behind him. The shape was described to be that of a large, long necked creature.
Devil's Point, off Plymouth, 1987. An experienced diver sees a dog-like head on a neck rising 1 metre out of the sea. He notes that it is in a spot favoured by conger eels.
Gerrans Bay, 1999. John Holmes videotapes what is claimed to be an unidentified creature in the sea. He described the moment he saw the creature: "A bizarre movement caught my attention about 250 metres off shore and this thing appeared to be standing about one metre above sea level." Mr Holmes thought he was looking at the fin of a shark or a killer whale at first. "I then saw a snake-like head and neck which appeared to be raised out of the water. I was so shocked by what I saw that I almost fell off the rock.
I saw nothing whilst on holiday in Cornwall, but it was still a great trip for all that..................
Reproduced from Forteana 2011.
Monday, 5 October 2015
Kidnapped! (Cornish Tales 6)
The Slave Trade is still a very raw subject.
Talk of reparations and apologies are regularly on the agenda for high level talks between heads of state of those nations whose predecessors were party to the transportation and exploitation of vast numbers of peoples and the unwilling donor countries.
What is not so well known is the slave trade involving white Europeans between the 16th and 19th Centuries. Hundreds of thousands were captured by pirates originating from the North African coast, known as the Barbary Corsairs. These ruthless brigands ranged far and wide and were known to have raided coastal villages in mainland England including Cornwall to make off with whole populations. Many of those seized spent the rest of their precarious lives enslaved on the African Continent.
Few survived to recount their stories.
A remarkable tale was able to be told by a Cornishman, Thomas Pellow.
In 1715, then an 11 year boy, Thomas Pellow persuaded his Uncle John, Captain of Valentine Enys’ ship Francis, to allow him to join him for a voyage shipping pilchard fish to Genoa.
Soon regretting his decision and wishing he was back home at school in his home town, young Thomas found himself homeward bound off Cape Finisterre when the ship was ambushed by 2 Sallateens, ships containing Moorish, Barbary Coast Corsairs, and the crew was taken prisoner.
Whilst waiting for a favourable tide off the pirate’s home port of Sallee, Morrocco, a 20 gun British frigate appeared forcing the pirate captain Ali Hacam to attempt crossing a sandbar under fire, where they ran aground and the ship broke up. Thomas, who could barely swim made it safely to shore by clinging to the errant mast.
Rounded up after struggling to the mainland ,Thomas and 25 others were imprisoned at the town of Rabat whilst his uncle was taken elsewhere with another group including some French captives.
4 days later after being walked to Mequinez, the ruler of that part of modern Morocco , Sultan Moulay Ismail, bought the prisoners into slavery for 50 Ducats each, before claiming a third of the price back as tribute and ordering the beheading of Ali Hacam for failing to fight the man of war at Sallee.
The Sultan, dedicated to the suppression of infidel Christian Europeans acquired many captives as a workforce to build a palace and walled grounds that he intended to stretch for some 300 miles. The white slaves had a high mortality from starvation, disease and cruelty on the construction sites and in their deprived living conditions.
There was also considerable pressure to convert to Islam. The young Thomas was subjected to many beatings and torture by fire to relinquish his Christian faith and “turn Moor” and after several months of this he reluctantly conceded , although not in his heart. He had prayed hard to God to forgive him for what he had been coerced into doing to save his own life,
Thomas was then given lighter duties in the Sultan’s palace, which gave him access to better food. The sultan then married him off to one of the local women, with the hope that the marriage would result in more slaves being born.
For years, Thomas’s family in England had no information about his fate. Even if they had, they had no money to pay a ransom to buy him back. The owner of the Francis, Valentine Enys, was not worried about the fate of his former crew — he could always recruit others.
In 1719 the family received news that Thomas, now 15, was alive but that he had converted to Islam. This meant that the English Government no longer listed him as a slave they would like to buy out of captivity.
Thomas had no choice but to try to escape. This would be a difficult undertaking because informers were scattered across the country and his palace was five days’ march from the Atlantic.
But Thomas had some advantages. His Palace job meant that he was in reasonable health. He was also now a fluent speaker of Arabic and had tanned skin, which meant he could pass himself off as a wandering merchant.
He made his first attempt in 1721 but was captured, and tried again in 1728 or 1729 during a time of civil unrest in Morocco but was caught once more.
In 1729, his wife and daughter both died of a disease. Although it had been a forced marriage, it had been a happy one and he loved his daughter. Indeed, he had often thought that once he had escaped back to England alone, he would send for his wife and daughter, although given they were both Muslims and England was anti-Islamic, it is not clear how realistic he was being.
It was in 1737 that Thomas Pellow made his last dash for freedom. He was aged 33 and had been a slave for more than two decades. He set out pretending to be a travelling doctor and eventually reached the Atlantic coast after six months. Those found assisting the escape of slaves were themselves at risk of death but Pellow was befriended by an Irish Sea Captain and on July 10, 1738, he was on board a vessel heading for London. His arrival there caused a great stir because so few slaves ever lived to tell their tale.
On October 15, 1738, he arrived back at Falmouth, Cornwall.
News of his escape had gone ahead of him thanks to the efficiency of the newspapers of his day. He was given a hero’s welcome in his village — including from his parents, who were now both in their 50s — and returned to being a Christian.
In 1740, he wrote the best-seller "The History of the Long Captivity and Adventures of Thomas Pellow", which gave a fascinating insight into the horrors of white slavery in north Africa. A copy is available for reference in Penryn Museum.
European governments continued to mount operations against the Barbary Corsair pirates, but they were not completely dealt with until the Ottoman Empire (present day Turkey) took over north Africa in the late 18th century.
Talk of reparations and apologies are regularly on the agenda for high level talks between heads of state of those nations whose predecessors were party to the transportation and exploitation of vast numbers of peoples and the unwilling donor countries.
What is not so well known is the slave trade involving white Europeans between the 16th and 19th Centuries. Hundreds of thousands were captured by pirates originating from the North African coast, known as the Barbary Corsairs. These ruthless brigands ranged far and wide and were known to have raided coastal villages in mainland England including Cornwall to make off with whole populations. Many of those seized spent the rest of their precarious lives enslaved on the African Continent.
Few survived to recount their stories.
A remarkable tale was able to be told by a Cornishman, Thomas Pellow.
In 1715, then an 11 year boy, Thomas Pellow persuaded his Uncle John, Captain of Valentine Enys’ ship Francis, to allow him to join him for a voyage shipping pilchard fish to Genoa.
Soon regretting his decision and wishing he was back home at school in his home town, young Thomas found himself homeward bound off Cape Finisterre when the ship was ambushed by 2 Sallateens, ships containing Moorish, Barbary Coast Corsairs, and the crew was taken prisoner.
Whilst waiting for a favourable tide off the pirate’s home port of Sallee, Morrocco, a 20 gun British frigate appeared forcing the pirate captain Ali Hacam to attempt crossing a sandbar under fire, where they ran aground and the ship broke up. Thomas, who could barely swim made it safely to shore by clinging to the errant mast.
Rounded up after struggling to the mainland ,Thomas and 25 others were imprisoned at the town of Rabat whilst his uncle was taken elsewhere with another group including some French captives.
4 days later after being walked to Mequinez, the ruler of that part of modern Morocco , Sultan Moulay Ismail, bought the prisoners into slavery for 50 Ducats each, before claiming a third of the price back as tribute and ordering the beheading of Ali Hacam for failing to fight the man of war at Sallee.
The Sultan, dedicated to the suppression of infidel Christian Europeans acquired many captives as a workforce to build a palace and walled grounds that he intended to stretch for some 300 miles. The white slaves had a high mortality from starvation, disease and cruelty on the construction sites and in their deprived living conditions.
There was also considerable pressure to convert to Islam. The young Thomas was subjected to many beatings and torture by fire to relinquish his Christian faith and “turn Moor” and after several months of this he reluctantly conceded , although not in his heart. He had prayed hard to God to forgive him for what he had been coerced into doing to save his own life,
Thomas was then given lighter duties in the Sultan’s palace, which gave him access to better food. The sultan then married him off to one of the local women, with the hope that the marriage would result in more slaves being born.
For years, Thomas’s family in England had no information about his fate. Even if they had, they had no money to pay a ransom to buy him back. The owner of the Francis, Valentine Enys, was not worried about the fate of his former crew — he could always recruit others.
In 1719 the family received news that Thomas, now 15, was alive but that he had converted to Islam. This meant that the English Government no longer listed him as a slave they would like to buy out of captivity.
Thomas had no choice but to try to escape. This would be a difficult undertaking because informers were scattered across the country and his palace was five days’ march from the Atlantic.
But Thomas had some advantages. His Palace job meant that he was in reasonable health. He was also now a fluent speaker of Arabic and had tanned skin, which meant he could pass himself off as a wandering merchant.
He made his first attempt in 1721 but was captured, and tried again in 1728 or 1729 during a time of civil unrest in Morocco but was caught once more.
In 1729, his wife and daughter both died of a disease. Although it had been a forced marriage, it had been a happy one and he loved his daughter. Indeed, he had often thought that once he had escaped back to England alone, he would send for his wife and daughter, although given they were both Muslims and England was anti-Islamic, it is not clear how realistic he was being.
It was in 1737 that Thomas Pellow made his last dash for freedom. He was aged 33 and had been a slave for more than two decades. He set out pretending to be a travelling doctor and eventually reached the Atlantic coast after six months. Those found assisting the escape of slaves were themselves at risk of death but Pellow was befriended by an Irish Sea Captain and on July 10, 1738, he was on board a vessel heading for London. His arrival there caused a great stir because so few slaves ever lived to tell their tale.
On October 15, 1738, he arrived back at Falmouth, Cornwall.
News of his escape had gone ahead of him thanks to the efficiency of the newspapers of his day. He was given a hero’s welcome in his village — including from his parents, who were now both in their 50s — and returned to being a Christian.
In 1740, he wrote the best-seller "The History of the Long Captivity and Adventures of Thomas Pellow", which gave a fascinating insight into the horrors of white slavery in north Africa. A copy is available for reference in Penryn Museum.
European governments continued to mount operations against the Barbary Corsair pirates, but they were not completely dealt with until the Ottoman Empire (present day Turkey) took over north Africa in the late 18th century.
Sunday, 4 October 2015
Bathtime for Miss Muffet
What can a spider trapped in the bath expect from me?
I can well imagine the trepidation felt by an arachnid (in this sort of self imposed predicament) upon hearing the front door of the empty house open and shut followed by the muffled footfalls and accompanying audio (usually I hum) as I make my way around on my inspection routine.
There must be an eery amplification in the bottom of a vinyl or enamelled bath tub made more intimidating by a long period of silence and isolation. Floor timbers and the structure through the house will carry the smallest of resonant vibrations from footfalls, door movements and clumsy stumblings adding to the suspense of a trapped spider.
Some of the species will be aware, from first hand experience or hearsay, of the dangers of bathtub imprisonment.
I am the first to apologise for the character trait found in some humans that dictates that any such situation justifies a swill down the plughole, squishing by a bathtime implement or a failure to recognise that a creature is on death-row.
I am not sure how long a spider can survive being stranded.
They give the impression of being lean and stringy with good stamina and a strong will to survive. This is of undoubted help when they have to escape from the innards of a vacuum cleaner or make a dash for a miniscule gap in a room corner when being pursued by a highly motivated housewife armed with furniture polish or air freshener.
I do come across some very dessicated carcasses in long term empty houses (spiders, not housewives)
It would be interesting to send these to be examined by a forensic team to establish cause and time of death.
The casting of a human shadow across the valley of a bathtub must be frightening indeed to a boggle eyed and weak spider. Most just seem to feign death by remaining completely motionless hoping not to be noticed or just overlooked. Being committed to spider rescue I do test out the status of any occupants. A brief exhale of air can be enough or failing that a careful poke with the end of a ball point pen.
Signs of life allow me to assess the most appropriate action.
If a spider is very feeble, a bit disorientated or near death then I can usually scoop it out on the corner of my clipboard pad and relocate it to the bathroom floor or another part of the house.
Those determined to put up a fight can get even more agitated and distressed by this method. I prefer , in this situation, to drape a towel or cloth over the side of the bath so as to form a bridge or a bit like a ship-side cargo netting.
This places the emphasis on the spider to take advantage of the escape route.
Many empty houses lack soft furnishings but invariably have net or fabric curtains in situ which can be un-clipped from their rails and rods and used readily. I have not as yet had any complaints from owners or estate agents upon this strange discovery in a bathroom.
I may pop my head around the door at the end of my inspection to see if the offer of liberty has been taken up.it is about 50/50 on uptake.
I do not seek any gratitude for my sympathetic approach.
There is some satisfaction, granted, in prolonging the right to existence of one of God's creations although many will disagree with a passion.
The downside?
Well there can be a couple of things.
The first is that in admitting my policy to others I do excite considerable controversy.
The other is that having helped a spider to escape you have to be very careful not to step on the thing a few minutes later as it makes its gleeful and relieved way home through the rest of the house.
That crunching sound under foot is not very pleasant, more to one party than the other.
I can well imagine the trepidation felt by an arachnid (in this sort of self imposed predicament) upon hearing the front door of the empty house open and shut followed by the muffled footfalls and accompanying audio (usually I hum) as I make my way around on my inspection routine.
There must be an eery amplification in the bottom of a vinyl or enamelled bath tub made more intimidating by a long period of silence and isolation. Floor timbers and the structure through the house will carry the smallest of resonant vibrations from footfalls, door movements and clumsy stumblings adding to the suspense of a trapped spider.
Some of the species will be aware, from first hand experience or hearsay, of the dangers of bathtub imprisonment.
I am the first to apologise for the character trait found in some humans that dictates that any such situation justifies a swill down the plughole, squishing by a bathtime implement or a failure to recognise that a creature is on death-row.
I am not sure how long a spider can survive being stranded.
They give the impression of being lean and stringy with good stamina and a strong will to survive. This is of undoubted help when they have to escape from the innards of a vacuum cleaner or make a dash for a miniscule gap in a room corner when being pursued by a highly motivated housewife armed with furniture polish or air freshener.
I do come across some very dessicated carcasses in long term empty houses (spiders, not housewives)
It would be interesting to send these to be examined by a forensic team to establish cause and time of death.
The casting of a human shadow across the valley of a bathtub must be frightening indeed to a boggle eyed and weak spider. Most just seem to feign death by remaining completely motionless hoping not to be noticed or just overlooked. Being committed to spider rescue I do test out the status of any occupants. A brief exhale of air can be enough or failing that a careful poke with the end of a ball point pen.
Signs of life allow me to assess the most appropriate action.
If a spider is very feeble, a bit disorientated or near death then I can usually scoop it out on the corner of my clipboard pad and relocate it to the bathroom floor or another part of the house.
Those determined to put up a fight can get even more agitated and distressed by this method. I prefer , in this situation, to drape a towel or cloth over the side of the bath so as to form a bridge or a bit like a ship-side cargo netting.
This places the emphasis on the spider to take advantage of the escape route.
Many empty houses lack soft furnishings but invariably have net or fabric curtains in situ which can be un-clipped from their rails and rods and used readily. I have not as yet had any complaints from owners or estate agents upon this strange discovery in a bathroom.
I may pop my head around the door at the end of my inspection to see if the offer of liberty has been taken up.it is about 50/50 on uptake.
I do not seek any gratitude for my sympathetic approach.
There is some satisfaction, granted, in prolonging the right to existence of one of God's creations although many will disagree with a passion.
The downside?
Well there can be a couple of things.
The first is that in admitting my policy to others I do excite considerable controversy.
The other is that having helped a spider to escape you have to be very careful not to step on the thing a few minutes later as it makes its gleeful and relieved way home through the rest of the house.
That crunching sound under foot is not very pleasant, more to one party than the other.
Saturday, 3 October 2015
Emission Impossible
I have just done a round trip of 450 miles in my Volkswagen Diesel.
Yes, it is one of the models currently under investigation following the shocking revelations (purely in the realms of mechanical things that feature in our life) of the software manipulation of emission readings.
In the scheme of things it has been made into a big deal but probably carries less concern amongst the general population of the UK than the use of horse meat in pre-prepared lasagne and other ready meals, salmonella bacteria in fresh eggs, identity theft and the perpetration of on line fraud and trickery.
Some who participated in that beauty parade of models and makes when considering their new car may feel aggrieved at, having selected a VW diesel for its environmental credentials, the treacherous behaviour of unknown persons in the engine management department in Wolfsburg, Germany.
I am on my second consecutive Passat Estate having been more than pleased and impressed after what I thought was a lifetime loyalty to Volvo who kept me safe and mobile for the previous 15 years and covering a distance of around half a million miles.
My reasons for a switch were materialistic in some respects but also dictated by irrational emotions.
My late Father was a great fan of Volkswagen.
My earliest memories revolved around a classic Camper Van which was the principal mode of transport for my family in the late 1960's. I have a strong recollection of being on the bench seating in the van in a traffic jam alongside an airfield with much aerial activity and explosions. I later found out that this was a film location for the Battle of Britain Movie. I also remember seeing a group of flower power hippies at the same place, very much evocative of the era.
These things make quite an impression on a young mind.
The VW badge was still quite a rare sight on the UK roads at that time with the dominance of British Car Makes and an underlying feeling that buying German was somehow wholly unpatriotic.
My Father was far too rational and wise not to be drawn into such nationalistic matters and when the iconic camper van was traded in it was replaced with a brand new (1971) Variant Estate which my youngest brother continues to run.
This was followed over the next forty years by a larger 412LE Estate, two Scirocco coupes and two Polo's, one still being my Mother's daily transport. They were good looking and dependable vehicles, quite spartan in terms of the interior and not without susceptibility to rusting away on the wings and door cills. In retrospect these attributes were common to most cars on the market and down to basic manufacturing material and techniques before technology kicked in big style.
My Father was clever with engines and running gear and was quite in his element when carrying out repairs and renewals in the garage at home.
VW's were, in the spirit of their Founder and as the name translates to- a Peoples Car.
This to me represents ease of ownership and use, function and form, ethics and social responsibility.
Successive generations of my family, like millions of others, placed unquestioning trust in the company. The brand loyalty that this engendered was at a level largely unheard of in the consumer led markets of a global economy.
So, when setting off this morning on my epic round trip from Hull to Hackney, North East London I felt like I was taking a leap of faith in my VW. The decision makers in the Board Room may be in disgrace, the faithful employees betrayed and the share price rocking but my motor car got me there and back in one piece, comfortably. in good style and fairly economically .
Lets face it, if it transpires that all car makers are cheating and pillaging the environment and the diesel particulates in their unrestrained dirty form are clogging our lungs and contributing to extremes in climate events then I will just stick with what I know best.
Yes, it is one of the models currently under investigation following the shocking revelations (purely in the realms of mechanical things that feature in our life) of the software manipulation of emission readings.
In the scheme of things it has been made into a big deal but probably carries less concern amongst the general population of the UK than the use of horse meat in pre-prepared lasagne and other ready meals, salmonella bacteria in fresh eggs, identity theft and the perpetration of on line fraud and trickery.
Some who participated in that beauty parade of models and makes when considering their new car may feel aggrieved at, having selected a VW diesel for its environmental credentials, the treacherous behaviour of unknown persons in the engine management department in Wolfsburg, Germany.
I am on my second consecutive Passat Estate having been more than pleased and impressed after what I thought was a lifetime loyalty to Volvo who kept me safe and mobile for the previous 15 years and covering a distance of around half a million miles.
My reasons for a switch were materialistic in some respects but also dictated by irrational emotions.
My late Father was a great fan of Volkswagen.
My earliest memories revolved around a classic Camper Van which was the principal mode of transport for my family in the late 1960's. I have a strong recollection of being on the bench seating in the van in a traffic jam alongside an airfield with much aerial activity and explosions. I later found out that this was a film location for the Battle of Britain Movie. I also remember seeing a group of flower power hippies at the same place, very much evocative of the era.
These things make quite an impression on a young mind.
The VW badge was still quite a rare sight on the UK roads at that time with the dominance of British Car Makes and an underlying feeling that buying German was somehow wholly unpatriotic.
My Father was far too rational and wise not to be drawn into such nationalistic matters and when the iconic camper van was traded in it was replaced with a brand new (1971) Variant Estate which my youngest brother continues to run.
This was followed over the next forty years by a larger 412LE Estate, two Scirocco coupes and two Polo's, one still being my Mother's daily transport. They were good looking and dependable vehicles, quite spartan in terms of the interior and not without susceptibility to rusting away on the wings and door cills. In retrospect these attributes were common to most cars on the market and down to basic manufacturing material and techniques before technology kicked in big style.
My Father was clever with engines and running gear and was quite in his element when carrying out repairs and renewals in the garage at home.
VW's were, in the spirit of their Founder and as the name translates to- a Peoples Car.
This to me represents ease of ownership and use, function and form, ethics and social responsibility.
Successive generations of my family, like millions of others, placed unquestioning trust in the company. The brand loyalty that this engendered was at a level largely unheard of in the consumer led markets of a global economy.
So, when setting off this morning on my epic round trip from Hull to Hackney, North East London I felt like I was taking a leap of faith in my VW. The decision makers in the Board Room may be in disgrace, the faithful employees betrayed and the share price rocking but my motor car got me there and back in one piece, comfortably. in good style and fairly economically .
Lets face it, if it transpires that all car makers are cheating and pillaging the environment and the diesel particulates in their unrestrained dirty form are clogging our lungs and contributing to extremes in climate events then I will just stick with what I know best.
Friday, 2 October 2015
Ethnic Minority (Cornish Tales 5)
I could feel a hard and disapproving stare from those passing by on the narrow pavement.
The picnic bench style seating along the forecourt of the Patisserie/café had intruded onto the pedestrian walkway but was evidently legal, no doubt positioned right up to the red line boundary depicted on a typical Title Deed Plan. In the days before adoption by the Local Council the frontages of High Street trading premises invariably ended (or started) at the road edge being suited to the display of goods spilling out in racks and wheeled barrows.
Those on foot, in the days before mass car ownership, just made their way along the street dodging water filled potholes, piles of horse manure and recumbent drunkards.
The Patisserie was what us Northern Folk just call a fancy bakery with a window full of iced buns, croissants, chocolate dipped flapjack, millionaire shortbread and the local variant passing for an Eccles Cake, Maid of Honour or ginger Parkin.
The place was, however, a bit more than that as we were in the tourist hotspot of Tintagel, Cornwall with intense competition from businesses in the town to attract the patronage and cash of the seasonal visitors.
Although busy all year round there was, as with most coastal resorts, the golden period of the peak weeks from Whit weekend to August Bank Holiday in which to earn, in the case of a bakery, the icing on the cake otherwise known as the profit to keep the wolfish bank manager happy in the downtime of the winter months of scant cash flow.
In this particular establishment there were multiple income generating activities under the one roof.
On one side of the double fronted shop unit stood long stainless steel work tables with apron clad employees in full public view. There was frantic activity involving the throwing up of clouds of flour as they prepared breads and pastries for the day. A few years ago this will have been quite a secretive process in a back room in the unsociable early hours but what with the fascination of, in particular, the British Public with all things baking this was now part of the pantomime of food production.
Being Cornwall a main item being home made was the Pasty.
They must have been very good or very cheap given the length of the queue waiting patiently at the serving counter.
The other side of the premises operated as a traditional café with gingham chequered table clothes, wheel backed chairs under authentic timber ceiling beams and framed sepia tinted photos of fishermen and cliff views.
The speciality on offer was, of course the Cornish Cream Tea.
As part of our week long vacation in the far south west of England the Cream Tea figured high on our wish list alongside, if not slightly above the procurement of a dressed crab, locally sourced fish and chips and an authentic pasty.
One of the chunky bench and tables fell vacant as we came out of a nearby shop clutching a handful of postcards.
It was a pleasant mid afternoon in late September sunshine, dry and with no perceptible breeze, all constituting the ideal conditions to partake of the county treat.
There was no debate from any of our party about the pavement outlook, close proximity of passers-by of which a high proportion had a curious dog in tow or even the extortionate price for what was, after all, a bit of a snack.
I went into the café to order and having parted with in excess of twenty English Pounds returned to take my place on the hard wooden perch facing the road.
Four tea plates arrived each with two scones, a ramekin of clotted cream and a miniature, ie scaled down jar of strawberry jam plus respective drinks orders including a latte, green teas and hot chocolate.
In bringing together the constituents of the Cornish Cream Tea I became aware of the hardening of attitude of the general public at large as they sidled by from both directions of the main or Fore Street as it was called.
I checked that my trouser flies were done up, that my lightweight jacket was not on inside out and even clocked my reflection in the plate glass window for any potentially major social or fashion transgression on my part.
Nothing seemed amiss.
I mentally backtracked on what I had done in the previous few minutes in case it could be misconstrued as inflammatory, rude or lewd.
Upon arrival of the plate and its contents I had carefully cut open the still warm from the oven scones and applied a thin veneer of Cornwall produced butter. They were just moist enough not to break up under the pressure of the knife. Next was an unhealthily thick layer of the local dairy clotted cream and topped with a dollop of the jam (branded in the name of the tea shop but made on an industrial estate in a Leicester, East Midlands postcode).
My structuring of the cream and jam appeared to be the reason for the silent but very visual disapproval of the wider population.
I glanced at surrounding occupied tables.
Open air Pasty eaters dominated having spent a good period of their day stood in line in the posh baking part of the shop but a few of those seated were, like us, tucking into the ultimate in a civilised afternoon tea.
I felt a chill to my very core at the realisation of having committed a major blunder.
Without exception all of the others had the order of scone, butter, blob of jam and lashings of the dense, lush cream.
Was it that obvious that I was a seasonal visitor.
You could say that I felt a bit of a clot.
The picnic bench style seating along the forecourt of the Patisserie/café had intruded onto the pedestrian walkway but was evidently legal, no doubt positioned right up to the red line boundary depicted on a typical Title Deed Plan. In the days before adoption by the Local Council the frontages of High Street trading premises invariably ended (or started) at the road edge being suited to the display of goods spilling out in racks and wheeled barrows.
Those on foot, in the days before mass car ownership, just made their way along the street dodging water filled potholes, piles of horse manure and recumbent drunkards.
The Patisserie was what us Northern Folk just call a fancy bakery with a window full of iced buns, croissants, chocolate dipped flapjack, millionaire shortbread and the local variant passing for an Eccles Cake, Maid of Honour or ginger Parkin.
The place was, however, a bit more than that as we were in the tourist hotspot of Tintagel, Cornwall with intense competition from businesses in the town to attract the patronage and cash of the seasonal visitors.
Although busy all year round there was, as with most coastal resorts, the golden period of the peak weeks from Whit weekend to August Bank Holiday in which to earn, in the case of a bakery, the icing on the cake otherwise known as the profit to keep the wolfish bank manager happy in the downtime of the winter months of scant cash flow.
In this particular establishment there were multiple income generating activities under the one roof.
On one side of the double fronted shop unit stood long stainless steel work tables with apron clad employees in full public view. There was frantic activity involving the throwing up of clouds of flour as they prepared breads and pastries for the day. A few years ago this will have been quite a secretive process in a back room in the unsociable early hours but what with the fascination of, in particular, the British Public with all things baking this was now part of the pantomime of food production.
Being Cornwall a main item being home made was the Pasty.
They must have been very good or very cheap given the length of the queue waiting patiently at the serving counter.
The other side of the premises operated as a traditional café with gingham chequered table clothes, wheel backed chairs under authentic timber ceiling beams and framed sepia tinted photos of fishermen and cliff views.
The speciality on offer was, of course the Cornish Cream Tea.
As part of our week long vacation in the far south west of England the Cream Tea figured high on our wish list alongside, if not slightly above the procurement of a dressed crab, locally sourced fish and chips and an authentic pasty.
One of the chunky bench and tables fell vacant as we came out of a nearby shop clutching a handful of postcards.
It was a pleasant mid afternoon in late September sunshine, dry and with no perceptible breeze, all constituting the ideal conditions to partake of the county treat.
There was no debate from any of our party about the pavement outlook, close proximity of passers-by of which a high proportion had a curious dog in tow or even the extortionate price for what was, after all, a bit of a snack.
I went into the café to order and having parted with in excess of twenty English Pounds returned to take my place on the hard wooden perch facing the road.
Four tea plates arrived each with two scones, a ramekin of clotted cream and a miniature, ie scaled down jar of strawberry jam plus respective drinks orders including a latte, green teas and hot chocolate.
In bringing together the constituents of the Cornish Cream Tea I became aware of the hardening of attitude of the general public at large as they sidled by from both directions of the main or Fore Street as it was called.
I checked that my trouser flies were done up, that my lightweight jacket was not on inside out and even clocked my reflection in the plate glass window for any potentially major social or fashion transgression on my part.
Nothing seemed amiss.
I mentally backtracked on what I had done in the previous few minutes in case it could be misconstrued as inflammatory, rude or lewd.
Upon arrival of the plate and its contents I had carefully cut open the still warm from the oven scones and applied a thin veneer of Cornwall produced butter. They were just moist enough not to break up under the pressure of the knife. Next was an unhealthily thick layer of the local dairy clotted cream and topped with a dollop of the jam (branded in the name of the tea shop but made on an industrial estate in a Leicester, East Midlands postcode).
My structuring of the cream and jam appeared to be the reason for the silent but very visual disapproval of the wider population.
I glanced at surrounding occupied tables.
Open air Pasty eaters dominated having spent a good period of their day stood in line in the posh baking part of the shop but a few of those seated were, like us, tucking into the ultimate in a civilised afternoon tea.
I felt a chill to my very core at the realisation of having committed a major blunder.
Without exception all of the others had the order of scone, butter, blob of jam and lashings of the dense, lush cream.
Was it that obvious that I was a seasonal visitor.
You could say that I felt a bit of a clot.
Thursday, 1 October 2015
Hull. Start off to come back.
We have all given it some thought.
Picture yourself on some part of the British Coastline.
You may have walked a bit in bare feet along the frothy shoreline or scrambled in an undignified manner over a rocky cliff path. The light sand of the dunes makes any forward progress difficult and there can be a feeling of panic when those distant waves and the water level begin to rapidly approach and rise where a few moments earlier there had just been a rippled and worm caste expanse.
There are the rewards of great elevated views and sense of wind blown isolation from the cliff top.
These experiences may be spread over many years of family seaside holidays. Short stretches of coastal path will have been travelled to stretch legs after a large cooked breakfast in the harbour bed and breakfast establishment or blow out the cobwebs on New Years Day.
On a summer evening there can be a cool respite from the hot of the day from an offshore breeze.
In such a wonderful setting a thought may creep into our consciousness of what would it be like to travel the full circumference of our nation's coastline.
I met someone today who in 1985 did just that.
That year had been a turning point in his life. The death of his father brought about a transition from his role as a son to that of the new elder of the family. I can sympathise with this huge change and emotional upheaval from the death of my own father in recent years.
The events in his life required some form of pilgrimage or quest in the manner of many over the generations for the purpose of self discovery and to define the man.
The round coast walk started in his home city of Hull on the North Bank of the Humber Estuary.
In an easterly direction the inaugural stage of the epic journey hugged the course of that great river which carries one fifth of the whole drainage of the UK sweeping round to the natural promontory of Spurn Point (now sadly decimated following the tidal surge of December 2013).
The appearance of blisters at the end of the first day did not bode well for the rest of the trip but in an act of true instinct and improvisation just soaking the exposed flesh of the feet in the salt water of the waves was soothing and healing.
Over the whole walk and with the luxury of hindsight produced a rough daily average of 20 miles but against inclement weather, rough track ways and inevitable long detours created by inlets, outcrops, river estuaries and obstacles of a man made and natural form this may, on a daily basis have seemed an insurmountable target.
The challenge also involved sleeping out with added complications of selecting a safe camping ground preparing meals and having sufficient time to recover for the efforts of the next day.
The traverse of the coast from Hull is anti-clockwise with the sea always present either in view or just over the immediate horizon on the right hand side.
Within a couple of weeks our intrepid walker had reached Scotland.
A degree of back up and support is required and this was provided in material form by sponsorship of clothing and equipment and by the hovering presence of a supply chain team including essential replacement boots and dry socks.
The walk was also in the name of an overseas charity to equip an aircraft to serve as a medical resource in India.
Looking at a map of the British Coastline does give an impression that some very significant deviations would be necessary inland to skirt around main rivers and major physical features. The rule appears to have been that in such circumstances the first bridge point to be reached must be crossed and the path taken up back towards the main coast route.
There are well trodden long distance paths around the coast and these will have formed some of the easier ways in stark contrast to improvised routes in the remoter regions. The most memorable stretches of the walk were evidently across the top of Scotland into Wester Ross, a true Highland landscape but the desolation of long-abandoned industrial wastelands also made an impression.
Those who have undertaken this great endeavour have measured the total distance from between 5000 to 7000 miles in total.
Our man recorded a very impressive 7500 miles upon his return to Hull and in an elapsed time of 54 weeks which appears to be something of a record. The feat was certainly life affirming and changing in the daily discipline and toleration of pain and should be recommended to all seeking to find themselves and their place in this world.
Picture yourself on some part of the British Coastline.
You may have walked a bit in bare feet along the frothy shoreline or scrambled in an undignified manner over a rocky cliff path. The light sand of the dunes makes any forward progress difficult and there can be a feeling of panic when those distant waves and the water level begin to rapidly approach and rise where a few moments earlier there had just been a rippled and worm caste expanse.
There are the rewards of great elevated views and sense of wind blown isolation from the cliff top.
These experiences may be spread over many years of family seaside holidays. Short stretches of coastal path will have been travelled to stretch legs after a large cooked breakfast in the harbour bed and breakfast establishment or blow out the cobwebs on New Years Day.
On a summer evening there can be a cool respite from the hot of the day from an offshore breeze.
In such a wonderful setting a thought may creep into our consciousness of what would it be like to travel the full circumference of our nation's coastline.
I met someone today who in 1985 did just that.
That year had been a turning point in his life. The death of his father brought about a transition from his role as a son to that of the new elder of the family. I can sympathise with this huge change and emotional upheaval from the death of my own father in recent years.
The events in his life required some form of pilgrimage or quest in the manner of many over the generations for the purpose of self discovery and to define the man.
The round coast walk started in his home city of Hull on the North Bank of the Humber Estuary.
In an easterly direction the inaugural stage of the epic journey hugged the course of that great river which carries one fifth of the whole drainage of the UK sweeping round to the natural promontory of Spurn Point (now sadly decimated following the tidal surge of December 2013).
The appearance of blisters at the end of the first day did not bode well for the rest of the trip but in an act of true instinct and improvisation just soaking the exposed flesh of the feet in the salt water of the waves was soothing and healing.
Over the whole walk and with the luxury of hindsight produced a rough daily average of 20 miles but against inclement weather, rough track ways and inevitable long detours created by inlets, outcrops, river estuaries and obstacles of a man made and natural form this may, on a daily basis have seemed an insurmountable target.
The challenge also involved sleeping out with added complications of selecting a safe camping ground preparing meals and having sufficient time to recover for the efforts of the next day.
The traverse of the coast from Hull is anti-clockwise with the sea always present either in view or just over the immediate horizon on the right hand side.
Within a couple of weeks our intrepid walker had reached Scotland.
A degree of back up and support is required and this was provided in material form by sponsorship of clothing and equipment and by the hovering presence of a supply chain team including essential replacement boots and dry socks.
The walk was also in the name of an overseas charity to equip an aircraft to serve as a medical resource in India.
Looking at a map of the British Coastline does give an impression that some very significant deviations would be necessary inland to skirt around main rivers and major physical features. The rule appears to have been that in such circumstances the first bridge point to be reached must be crossed and the path taken up back towards the main coast route.
There are well trodden long distance paths around the coast and these will have formed some of the easier ways in stark contrast to improvised routes in the remoter regions. The most memorable stretches of the walk were evidently across the top of Scotland into Wester Ross, a true Highland landscape but the desolation of long-abandoned industrial wastelands also made an impression.
Those who have undertaken this great endeavour have measured the total distance from between 5000 to 7000 miles in total.
Our man recorded a very impressive 7500 miles upon his return to Hull and in an elapsed time of 54 weeks which appears to be something of a record. The feat was certainly life affirming and changing in the daily discipline and toleration of pain and should be recommended to all seeking to find themselves and their place in this world.
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