Category Archives: history

Freedom to Disrespect

Several friends have today posted this on Facebook:

Yesterday a group of Muslims broke the 2 minutes silence in central London, with banners “British Soldiers Burn In Hell” & the burning of a poppy. If you don’t like us English people paying respect for our brave fighters, then you know where the airport is. Disgusting, disrespectful b***ards. Copy and paste this if you’re English, and proud. RIP all those who lost their lives.

Much as I dislike the current sycophantic “poppy-fest” (see here) I too find such reactions (by anyone) disrespectful and even obscene. However the objectors have every right to their opinions and to voice them – however distasteful it is to us. Just as we have every right to call them (probably untruthfully) “b***ards” etc. – however much they dislike it. It is called “freedom of speech” and is what we pay our “brave fighters” to defend and uphold. Freedom of speech works both ways! And to see it thus makes me no less proud to be British.

Let’s keep in mind the words of two old-time great Americans, perhaps two of the world’s greatest ever statesmen …

Love your enemies, for they tell you your faults.
[Benjamin Franklin]

Am I not destroying my enemies when I make friends of them?
[Abraham Lincoln]

… and finally …

The best thing to give to your enemy is forgiveness; to an opponent, tolerance; to a friend, your heart; to your child, a good example; to a father, deference; to your mother, conduct that will make her proud of you; to yourself, respect; to all men, charity.
[Benjamin Franklin]

Quotes of the Week

Thin pickings again this week, partly I suspect as I’ve not been reading as much due to this ****ing cold I can’t get rid of. Anyway here are the best four …

Every great advance in natural knowledge has involved the absolute rejection of authority.
[Thomas Huxley]

She had a pretty gift for quotation, which is a serviceable substitute for wit.
[Somerset Maugham]

War divides pretty neatly into the twin activities of “fighting” and “running away”.
[Ben Miller; The Times, Eureka; 11/2010]

Do you realize if it weren’t for Edison we’d be watching TV by candlelight?
[Al Boliska]

The Season of Humbug

Bah! The season of humbug and sycophancy is upon us. No, not the looming presence of Christmas but the even nearer Remembrance Day.

The whole thing is a politically correct sycophant’s delight. “Oh, you’re not wearing a poppy?” – so you’re not patriotic and don’t care about those who were sacrificed in two world wars. Work for TV? No poppy, no job, it seems – even football pundits are made to wear poppies! If those who were sacrificed died for anything it was to free us from such tyrannies.

I’m not unpatriotic. Nor am I ungrateful to those who were sacrificed: much as I abhor the idea of war I concede it is occasionally necessary. I likely wouldn’t go as far as my father: a conscientious objector in WWII, who played just as valuable a part in the war effort by working on the land and in hospitals. And certainly not as far as my grandfather: a conscientious objector in the Great War but who volunteered for the RAMC as a stretcher bearer at the front; probably a whole lot more gruesome, and no less dangerous, than the lot of any cannon fodder squaddie. (I’m much prouder of my grandfather for this than if he’d towed the line and been cannon fodder.) But Remembrance Day, and everything associated with it, makes me sick.

While we’re here let us remember three other things about Remembrance Day:

  1. Many of the fallen in the Great War were sacrificed by testosterone-fuelled and blinkered senior officers (eg. Kitchener) who could not see beyond the old horrors of trench warfare. Yes the Great War was a war of technological change (tanks, aircraft etc.) but stagnant trench warfare wasn’t, as I understand it, a necessity. The senior officers were aided and abetted by the politicians who needed the war to protect the oil interests which Britain had in the Arab world. (See AN Wilson, After the Victorians)
  2. Remembrance Day is all about the two so-called world wars; there is no remembrance that I’m aware of for the fallen of the Boer War, the Crimean War, the Falkland’s War or the Battle of Hastings.
  3. There is also precious little recognition of those who didn’t fight but still contributed much (like my father and grandfather), nor for the many civilian fallen. Did these people not contribute and sacrifice much too?

Yes by all means let those who wish remember the fallen. But, as with all belief systems, don’t ram it down other people’s throats after the style of so much of Christianity. (Oh, I thought Christianity was supposed to be anti-violence?!) What is maybe worse is that the whole charade is so backward looking; it focuses on the past and almost yearns for the “good old days” to return – forgetting that the “good old days” were once known as “these trying times”. It’s like someone grieving for their dead child or spouse: sooner or later one has to come to terms with it and move on; go forward. But with Remembrance Day we don’t move on – it has been set in stone as forever sacred and gets an extra coat of gilding every year with poppies going on sale ever earlier (it’s become Remembrance Month, not Remembrance Day).

Stop it! Let go! Especially now there are effectively no survivors of those who fought in the Great War. Sadly though I suspect to be able to let go of the Remembrance Day sycophancy we will have to kill off the British Legion first; now there’s an organisation looking for something to do if ever there was one, and in Remembrance Day they think they’ve hatched a golden goose egg. By all means remember if you need to, but cut the sycophancy and the tyranny; let’s move forward.

None of this means I’m not grateful to those who fought (and in many cases died) to give me the freedom to write this. I just find the whole thing very sick and would rather we look forward as most of the fallen (having secured us “a better life”) would I’m sure have wanted. So I will not be wearing a poppy, making a donation or observing two minutes silence, whatever the day. Remembrance should be a question of individual conscience not some politically-imposed public tyranny. Bah! Humbug!

Elf 'n' Shafty Mad

Dunster in Somerset is a picturesque and historic village whose castle and cobbled streets attract thousands of tourists every year.

Image: Drury Art
But guess what, children? Yes, that’s right, the local councils have now decreed that the cobbles have to go, all in the name of the gods Elf and Shafty. They allege that several people have already been whisked away by ambulance this year having fallen on the cobbles. So they are proposing to replace the cobbles with “smooth surfaced roads”.

It isn’t just me that thinks this is a load of old cobbles either. The news item at Small World has several vox pop defending the cobbles and pointing out that they are a key part of Dunster’s history and most people manage pretty well on the cobbles.

What I want to know is, why are (fairly flat) cobbles at Dunster not OK when other places appear not to have a problem? In all the time I’ve spent in Rye I have never seen anyone fall or be majorly incommoded by the cobbles – and Rye’s cobbles are made of very round, and often widely spaced stones; they aren’t nice and flat and certainly not suitable for “fuck me” shoes.

Pathetic is about the kindest thing I can say about this.

Things

Now here’s something for the nosey and the magpies amongst us.

The Wellcome Collection in London wants your Things. Yeah not very specific is it! Well that’s the point.

Henry Wellcome was one of the world’s greatest collectors. On display in [the] Wellcome Collection you will find more than 500 objects from his original collection of over one-and-a-half million, spanning centuries and continents.

And now the collection is running a “community project” (my expression, not theirs) to add a modern perspective to this collection.

The project runs from just Tuesday 12 October to Friday 22 October. You are invited to go along between these dates (except Monday 18 October; the Wellcome is closed on Mondays) to give or loan a “thing” as long as it is smaller than your head. If you can’t get there in person you can always send in a photograph of your “thing”.

Alternatively you can go along just to gawp at the trash exotica other people have given.

But what should you take along? Well anything as long as it is no bigger than your head (there are a few other sensible restrictions like no explosives; see the terms & conditions) although the advice is to take a “thing” which has meaning for you. It doesn’t have to be valuable, or beautiful, or collectable … just something with meaning for you. And if that means you can’t bring yourself to part with it then by all means loan your “thing”.

This sounds like a fun project, much in the spirit of Keri Smith’s How to be an Explorer of the World.

More details on the Wellcome Collection website.

Now to decide what I take along …

“Things” runs from 12-22 October (except Monday 18 October) at Wellcome Collection, 183 Euston Road, London NW1 2BE. Opening hours: 1000-1800 (Thursdays until 2200; closed Mondays).

The Millipede Brothers

It always surprises me what the brain does and the associations it makes.

Like many here I have been extremely bored recently by the charade the Labour Pain Party have been going through to elect a new leader – well at least it didn’t provide the expected result for once, which is perhaps one advantage of a transferable vote system – and the follow-on shenanigans.

My boredom has however been in part alleviated by the fact that I can’t help but think of the two main protagonists as The Millipede Brothers.  A somewhat amusing, if slightly droll, piece of mental gymnastics.

But of course The Millipede Brothers do sound rather like an act from some Victorian Circus. Perhaps they were a star turn promoted by Barnum and Bailey. Or more likely they were part of Pablo Fanque’s Fair, featuring Mr Kite, a poster for which so inspired John Lennon and the Beatles to produce Sgt Peppers.

I wasn’t even sure Pablo Fanque was real – he was! Fanque, born plain William Darby in Norwich as early as 1796, was not just a circus performer but, more importantly, Britain’s first black circus impresario.

Pablo Fanque, began as a famous circus performer in his youth but became the proprietor of his own circus company. His earliest known appearance in the sawdust ring was in Norwich on 26 December 1821, as ‘Young Darby’, with William Batty’s company. His circus acts included horsemanship, rope walking, leaping and rope vaulting. In 1841, aged forty-five and living in Oxford, he left William Batty to begin business on his own account, with just two horses. The towns of Lancashire, Yorkshire and adjacent counties became Fanque’s favourite venues and it was his visit to Rochdale on 14 February 1843 which produced the poster (above) that inspired John Lennon’s lyric For the Benefit of Mr Kite. Fanque died in Stockport in 1871 and is buried in Woodhouse Cemetery, Leeds next to his first wife Susannah Darby.

Much more interesting than Labour Party politics!

Edith Nesbit Grave


Edith Nesbit Grave, originally uploaded by kcm76.

Another snap from our recent break in Rye.

Children’s author Edith Nesbit is buried at St Mary-in-the-Marsh and the grave marked by this simple wooden marker. Actually this isn’t the original – that fell apart some years ago and was replaced by Edith Nesbit’s family. The remains of the original are in the church along with a memorial plaque.

St Mary-in-the-Marsh is a lovely little country church, almost in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by the fields of the Romney Marsh.  As well as the memorial to Edith Nesbit it contains a memorial plaque to Anne Roper, one of the earliest and still foremost historians of the Romney Marsh. The village itself, just a few miles inland from New Romney, is little more than a dozen houses, the church and a pub. It really is in the middle of the country and still filled with summer birdsong – a delightful place for a quiet half hour or so.

Capital Cures

Browsing Shakespeare’s London on 5 Groats a Day by Richard Tames the other day I came across the following remedies.

Loss of hair. Try doves’ dung, burnt, failing that the ashes of a small frog

Nits in the hair. Comb with mercury ointment and pig fat
Yep that should see off the nits, if it doesn’t see you off first

Head colds. A sliver of turnip in the nostril

Tinnitus. Oil of hempseed in the afflicted ear, followed by hopping on that side

Retention of urine. Three large lice inserted in the penis
Hmm, I can imagine that might work too; not sure I fancy the side effects though

Asthma. The lungs of a fox washed in wine, herb and liquorice
OMG

Tuberculosis. Incurable, but for relief try asses’ milk and snails in their shells

I think on balance I’m glad I live in the 21st century!

Hut, Rye Harbour


Hut, Rye Harbour, originally uploaded by kcm76.

We’re just back from spending a week in Rye, East Sussex with a friend and her three children.  The children were a delight: great fun and very amusing if a bit noisy at times. Everyone seems to have had a good time. Amongst other things we got in: the late Derek Jarman’s cottage at Dungeness; several Romney Marsh churches; Romney, Hythe & Dymchurch Railway; some bookshops; a couple of trips to the beach; as well as lots of Rye itself and too little sleep because we sat up talking until late. We could easily have stayed another two weeks and still not run out of interesting things to do. Many thanks to Katy, Tilly, Tallulah and Oscar!

More photos on Flickr as I get time to do post-processing.

1599 Huguenots

More from Richard Tames’s, Shakespeare’s London on 5 Groats a Day which depicts the eccentricities London life in about 1599 in the words of the people of the time.

LONDON LIVING

Huguenot habits are catching on with other Londoners. Because weavers have to spend all day at their looms they brighten their workrooms by growing fragrant flowers in wooden boxes which they hang at the windows and keep caged canaries by them for the sweetness of their singing.

Thrifty Huguenot housewives have shown their neighbours that the tail of an ox should not be thrown away as useless but can be braised to make a hearty stew and the bones and leftovers rendered into a delicious soup.

They also gather scraps of meat to make a spicy, scarlet sausage called a saveloy. This can be eaten hot or cold and has become a great favourite with those whose work compels them to eat on the streets or on the move, such as porters and carriers. It is said that the main ingredient that gives the saveloy its distinctive flavour and texture is brains, but this may be only a rumour.

Love the bit on saveloy; clearly the MacDonald’s of its day.