Despite the obvious, including the most appalling lack of prudent and effective leadership on both sides of the pond, leading to who knows what clusterbourach* in 2019, we have had some excellent adventures this year. We have visited places we had never thought to look for previously, as we sought out new horizons, or to be precise, car charging points. Some, like Coldstream, are a delight, with a beautiful park on the river and a cosy pub with log fires right next door. (Soft drinks available). Others may prioritise the functional over the aesthetic, particularly those in multi story car parks, but if they work, and are not already in use, or ICEd***, that’s all that matters, and we can have a blether while we wait. Or not. Other trips with chums and family have been grand fun, catching up and meeting new folks, and if we happened to go to Africa for the first time then we kept really quiet about it. **
Yesterday my school chums and I ate loads of food then went for a walk. That’s a good way to end a year.
*my politics are a mystery, especially to me, but the National reported this, so it gets the credit. A bourach is a mess, clusterbourach references a much ruder term coined, I think, by the American army.
**that is so far from the truth.
***parking space for EV^ taken up by car using fossil fuel, or Internal Combustion Engine.
Yesterday, being Dad’s third anniversary and with the commemorations for the cessation of hostilities in 1918 being very much on our minds, we did what most families do; got together for a meal and then went for a walk.
Below, Fiona, Callum, Lily, Les, Ali, Ally and Paul. Were I more confident with the timer I would have got myself in there too, but my efforts in Durham proved to me that more work is required in that area. We had a lovely afternoon and spoke of many things, like cabbages and kings, ending on an impromptu lecture on meteorites. Long ago, on a similar visit, Michaela opined “Youse would never get bored here.” She was right.
So. Just home from an all too brief trip to Slaley Hall, for the last time. Nothing lasts forever and we, as a group, have decided it’s time to move on. Journeying there for the first time by electric car, we called in at various chargers in the Borders towns. I was struck by the commemorative work in evidence for the 100th anniversary of the Armistice, the official cessation of hostilities for World War 1, although God knows the seeds of World War 2 were being sown, even then. Anyway, in particular, Coldstream, a town with significant connections to the armed forces, had poppies everywhere, knitted, sewn, crocheted, fashioned out of metal, and in gardens. It was significant and notable.
Tonight, listening to a special edition of Antiques Roadshow being broadcast from Etaples, I noted a speech from an unnamed participant,which seemed, to me, to sum up so much of what is happening just now. Whatever you think of the BBC, they did broadcast this.
“Well, looking back in time, I think these people went through hell with the lid off, and I stand in awe of what they endured, and the price they paid, so that we could live in freedom. But looking forward, I would wish that every politician would come and visit a place like this so that they can learn what happens when politics fails.”
When politics fails.
Transcription my own.
Today is the 100th anniversary of the death of Wilfred Owen.
After a splendid 5th birthday party for Lily, we found ourselves at East Fortune, specifically the Nation Museum of Flight. Displaying our new found tendency to be so far ahead of the curve that we come up behind it again, I proudly and possibly pompously showed my Member’s card, only to be told “It’s Doors Open day, no-one pays”. This explains the unfeasibly long queue to get in, the extra car parks, the raft of stewards and the crammed café. Ah well, it meant that the Concorde Experience was also open to all, and if it took 25 minutes to board, what’s that against 3½ hours in Windhoek, plus 50 years to be in with a chance.
Paul was absolutely delighted, as was I, to see the iconic Mach 2 signs. International politics meant the demise of this technological marvel, but for a moment we could imagine ourselves hurtling through the skies with barely a quiver in our champagne.
Later on, a caption for one of the Red Arrows, housed nearby G-BOAA, brought back memories of a day in 1999 when Rosemary and I, along with her friend Margaret, stood on the Mound in Edinburgh watching the procession to mark the opening of the Scottish Parliament. I can’t have been the only person who burst in to tears when the Arrows appeared over the Forth, led by Concorde, the former trailing their trade mark coloured plumes.
Lastly, in the shop (there’s always a shop) I came across this lovely image.
Recently I wrote up a page about Mum’s war work. This is the type of plane she worked on, so here she was, tapping me on the shoulder, via a card made in Norfolk…..
Fiona and I fell to talking about her Gran, our mum, on Saturday. She mentioned that she didn’t know much about what Gran did during the war, so I thought I would write down what little I know, and maybe my sisters can fill in some blanks.
Jean Stephen* was 19 when the war broke out. She lived in Falkirk, I believe at that time the family was in Forbes Road.
Having shown keen interest in the sciences at school (not so much the languages, on one occasion asking the adjudicator of a Latin exam if she should translate the French parts too…) she obtained a position in the laboratories of the “dyes” in Grangemouth. Previously Scottish Dyes, then British Dyestuffs Corporation, the company was bought by ICI in the 1920s. Mum would only ever buy Dulux paints when we were little. She was placed with a team of research chemists and wartime projects were given to them Mum worked on the problem of aircraft tyres bursting into flames on impact. The received wisdom is that she applied her tried and tested cure for everything – baking soda – which worked. The Head of the Lab got the kudos for the solution, but on an open day he apparently took Granda (Mum’s father) aside and told him that Jean had solved the issue.
Other snippets were that the technicians there were keen on photography, some tried various methods to print colour photos, and there is a lovely headshot (below) of mum with an interesting background. On closer inspection it is revealed to be scrumpled up brown paper. A couple of the men experimented with ethanol and ended up being very ill. Not an alcohol substitute, then. It was also said that the Head of the Lab had already made so much money for the company that he never needed to do anything more, but I am sure that he continued his research. He did set the entire lab on fire once, when demonstrating fire drill procedures. I believe ethanol featured again as he poured an entire bottle of it onto the bench and set it alight.
Like most people during that time, mum also worked with defence agencies, as an ARP warden. She did call out the Guard one night during thick fog which she mistook for a gas attack.
I think a lot of Mum’s war must have been quite tedious and worrying. I know she knitted a cardigan with one ply wool – how long must that have taken? There were trips to London to see sister Betty, and then there’s the story of Mum walking past a phone box in Falkirk where the phone was ringing. Mum went in and picked up, it was Betty on the other end, so they had a chat and then she went away without thinking about it until days later when she realised that they had made no arrangement to speak to each other … Holidays were cycle trips with friends. She also played hockey for ICI.
16.06.18 Alison has pointed out that Mum’s occupation would be a reserved one, which would account for that fact that she was not in the armed forces. Betty was a warrant officer, working in communications, spending a lot of time in England and latterly abroad. Older sister Joan was a nurse. Alison also recalls that Jean and Betty attended college in Glasgow, we both know that she had thoughts of becoming a doctor at one point and this may have been to obtain further exam passes?
* I don’t use her name as a security password for anything.
A busy and fruitful weekend: Saturday lunch in Cafe Portrait, where we narrowly missed Ali and Les. Then we strolled along the main streets before heading up to the museum on Chambers Street to view Tim Peake’s landing craft. Hied off to our café du jour, the Angus Fling, where Paul was able to stave off his hunger with a venison burger, whilst I had a more sedate, and rather good, scone. Tripped back down the road to Coda Music, where there was a new CD being launched, by Aidan O’Rourke, of LAU fame. We enjoyed a short concert, with James Robertson reading his stories and Kit Downes on the harmonium, plus Aidan on fiddle. They were all kind enough to sign my CD.
Sunday began with a swim, and a serendipitous trip to Loch Ore meadows, where the cafe was open ridiculously early for a marathon bicycle race. allowing us to sneak a cup of tea and a scrambled egg roll. A walk round the loch itself was followed by a sail on two fun boats. “Fun” was maybe not quite the order of the day since there was no wind to propel these sail boats, but we had a good time and the staff at the park could not have been kinder, or more helpful.
We had to wear wetsuits. No pictures exist of either of us in that garb. Nor will they.
As our island nation emerges from a long long winter, we have begun our programme of jaunts short and long. I have very quickly run into the issue of not being able to keep up with the updates, so this post will have to cover at least three such peregrinations.
First to Kenmore with the Folk Club. The journey up was made in weather most foul. The A9 runs alongside some vast swathes of Perthshire farmland, and I don’t think I will forget seeing so many lambs huddled behind sodden hay bales, trying to find shelter from the incessant rain. What a welcome to the world. 48 hours later, we were taking some glorious shots along Loch Tay, although the Ben was still caked in snow. We had a merry time with chums, a rare old daunder round Aberfeldy and a climb up to see the Falls of Acharn.
The next weekend saw us off to York, to meet Team Discovery, on the (near enough) 10th anniversary of our inaugural AGM. We were too busy chatting and laughing to remember the group photo, suffice today the girls won the quiz. The journeys there and back were smooth, plus the majority of the taxi drivers we encountered were pleasant and helpful.
I ticked a box at the National Railway Museum, which is free to visit, btw, what an utter bargain. When I was little, steam trains were still on the go and the ones that captured my imagination were the Bittern and the Mallard. I think it was the streamlined design and punky funnels which caught my childish eye, the bird names would have nothing to do with it, oh no. Mallard was awol from the museum last time we went, in 2010, but this time she was centre stage, and even had a café named after her.
I did manage to take a picture with only two humans in it, which was not easy. All I know about rains is from the standpoint (touchy subject) of a commuter and occasional steam groupie, but if I could meet Sir Nigel Gresley*I would shake him by the hand. The trains he designed looked stunning and outperformed most others. Interestingly, his home had a moat in which he bred ducks.
Once I was forcibly extracted from the sheds, we wandered round the town, which was extremely busy with hen parties and football fans. Every pub had at least two bouncers, mid afternoon. It’s not like that in Dunfermline. Passing by York Minster we noticed that the restoration of some stonework was laid out for all to see, and by poking the camera lens through the wire fence I managed to capture this fine fellow. I found this link which could well show the stonemasons involved.
I have many more photos of trains, if you wish to see these please do call round.
We also travelled to Berwick. However, despite Paul’s best efforts the PC will not view the SD card from the camera, so I have to wait for him to upload them to the shared drive and them drag them in from the network. Looking at you, Panasonic, and your WiFi link that scrambled my files. Lastly, a street with identity issues.
*From Wikipedia *A statue of Gresley was unveiled at King’s Cross station in London on 5 April 2016, the 75th anniversary of his death. Sculptor Hazel Reeves originally included a duck alongside Gresley in reference to his hobby of breeding water fowl and his bird-themed locomotive names such as Mallard, but this was removed from the final design when two of Gresley’s grandsons complained it was “demeaning”.
Hazel Reeves also researched, designed and sculpted the Cracker Packers statue in Carlisle, as I discovered this morning.
Aberdour beach just before sunset in February, after a long week at work.
Saw this exhibition yesterday, small but interesting (who said eclectic?) collection of paintings by the Glasgow Boys, including Arthur Melville, E A Hornel, George Henry and William J Kennedy. Fife has some wonderful artworks to behold, in amongst the various legacies of mining, farming, fishing and Royal politics.
We also hope to visit Lumen, site specific light installations in Edinburgh. A lumen, as we all know, is a measure of the total quantity of visible light emitted by a source. It’s Latin for light. *
This song has nothing to do with light, except perhaps its seasonal absence.
*On the same dictionary page, lumpen as in proletariat, from Germanic Lumpus, a rag. And lunette, from lunus, which is the official name for the middle of the hairline at the back of your neck. And you thought it meant spectacles on a stick. Ha.