It's something I've heard many times ... I expect most of my readers have, as well. In fact ... I wonder if they actually teach it in schools. Or perhaps they used to but, since it seems to be so self-evident, maybe they no longer bother. I'm talking (rubbish) about the idea that 'History repeats itself'. I believe there's an American Indian saying, "Only an idiot does the same foolish thing a second time hoping for a different outcome!" It says much the same thing, I think.
What's prompted this philosophical line of thought? I may have mentioned before an e-book that I'm reading called "Cat and Mouse" by Tim Vicary. It's set in the early months of 1914 ... a significant point in our history for many reasons. I continue to marvel at the ingenious way this author has planted his principle male characters into the two main concerns of the day (viz. the Suffragettes and their fight for votes for women, and the Irish home-rule crisis), and then linked them by their marriage to two sisters. I need give away no more of the plot than that to make my point ... it's a good read!
These two 'problems' had divided the people of our great nation. No matter where one looked, it seems, there would be some who supported women getting the vote, and many others who opposed it vigorously. Perhaps less on this island, but certainly on the other, there would have been a similar division of opinion regarding setting up a parliament in Dublin to govern the affairs of what geographically might be 'Lesser Britain' as opposed to 'Great Britain' (although I've never seen the former name in print).
And today, just over a century later, there are once more two great concerns in our land. There are many - a growing number, we are told - who would like to see the end of the present electoral system, with its 'winner-takes-all' principle that worked when there were only Whigs and Tories, but so often results nowadays in a disproportionate outcome when compared to the way people voted, and its replacement by a proportional system such as operates in most other countries, and in the devolved institutions here. The second current divider of our land goes by the name of 'Brexit' and is so often in the news that it needs no further expansion here.
In many ways the situation today reflects that of 1914. One contention concerns the governing of the country while the other is about the means of conducting elections; both have large swathes of the population in favour and against, and both campaigns are vociferous in nature and involve occasional localised violence.
In 1914, with the King's reluctant intervention, the Home Rule Bill was passed but its implementation was shelved owing to the brief international crisis that led to the outbreak of war. There was an ineffective rising in 1916, brutally quashed in the interests of focusing attention on the war, and once that was over, Ireland was torn apart by the War of Independence followed by a brief civil war.
After the suspension of Suffragette activities during the war, accompanied by thousands of women taking on what had been exclusively men's work to aid the war effort, it was seen afterwards - whether correctly or not - as a 'pay-off' when in 1918 women over 30 and younger ones who were property owners were given the vote. The remaining women had to wait another ten years.
In 1914, few ordinary people saw the war coming. A minor headline in June reported an assassination on the other side of the continent, but on August Bank Holiday people were sunning themselves on the beaches as usual. This week, a solitary District Council has passed a motion to set up a local commission to look at what Brexit will mean 'on the ground' ... just one, out of hundreds!
I can't help wondering at these comparisons ... and I'm praying that history doesn't, in this instance, repeat itself!
Friday 28 September 2018
Friday 21 September 2018
The Rich Variety of Life
It's good that my life includes a variety of both routines and exceptions that, in juxtaposition, can provide both pleasure and adventure. After a very enjoyable weekend, the highlight of which was an unusual celebration, this week has seen an exciting new development.
The routine of the weekend was a 'normal' Sunday, with bell-ringing, helping with the singing and other rota duties at the church service and an afternoon and evening listening to radio and clicking away at the computer. The complementary excitement came on Saturday afternoon, when I joined in an rare event being celebrated by one of my friends from church. This week marks the twentieth anniversary of my friend's putting into effect her decision to come and live in this country. In that time, she has developed - to a remarkable extent, in my opinion - her skills in our (very strange!) language, found a husband and become a very settled mother-of-two and significant contributor to our church family life.
The test match series might well have finished, but the cricket season is far from over. While I was working, the radio would be on all day and, during a test match, it would be tuned to Test Match Special so long as I had a radio that would receive it. Since my retirement, I hadn't listened to very much cricket, despite having a DAB radio on my sideboard. This year, though, my interest has been re-kindled and I think I have listened to at least part of every day of the five-match series against India. Alongside this, I have discovered that this wonderful facility is not confined to the test matches but, with all-day network links that rival those for coverage of League football at the weekend, all the Spec-savers Championship games have been broadcast live on local radio and relayed - according to which matches are most exciting - on TMS!
So I've been filling my listening hours by following this in-depth commentary on a sport that I never played apart from as a very green schoolboy ... with skill that eventually led to my being appointed scorer for the school team! As I've done so, I've discovered that there is a very definite distinction between things I can and cannot do while there is cricket commentary in the background. Something that involves intricate work with a spreadsheet is quite feasible, for example, while anything that requires reading and/or thought has to be postponed. As a result, on occasion, I've spent long hours playing sudoku or snooker on my phone while other things have been 'parked' ... and then felt guilty about wasting my time!
A few months ago a friend made a passing reference to her voluntary activities in connection with a well known hospice based in our town and tossed out a comment about the variety of 'jobs' that are available there for willing volunteers. Following my abortive exploration of a part-time job with my former boss the other week, I remembered this conversation, and decided to 'push another door'. After a couple of misdirected phone calls, I struck lucky on Monday, and accepted an invitation to pop in for a chat. After a description of all that goes on in their warehouse and a conducted tour, arrangements were made for me to go along for a 'taster' shift this morning.
So far as I know, the operation is entirely self-funding, and to raise the necessary finance, the nearby towns support a chain of shops which both receive and sell a broad variety of donated goods. As well as providing storage facilities, the warehouse is a base for distributing the goods between the various shops, so my chance to see the system in action involved being a working passenger on a van visiting a couple of the outlying high-street stores. Next week, I shall hand in my application forms and decisions will be made whether, and in what way, I might make a regular appearance there.
The routine of the weekend was a 'normal' Sunday, with bell-ringing, helping with the singing and other rota duties at the church service and an afternoon and evening listening to radio and clicking away at the computer. The complementary excitement came on Saturday afternoon, when I joined in an rare event being celebrated by one of my friends from church. This week marks the twentieth anniversary of my friend's putting into effect her decision to come and live in this country. In that time, she has developed - to a remarkable extent, in my opinion - her skills in our (very strange!) language, found a husband and become a very settled mother-of-two and significant contributor to our church family life.
The test match series might well have finished, but the cricket season is far from over. While I was working, the radio would be on all day and, during a test match, it would be tuned to Test Match Special so long as I had a radio that would receive it. Since my retirement, I hadn't listened to very much cricket, despite having a DAB radio on my sideboard. This year, though, my interest has been re-kindled and I think I have listened to at least part of every day of the five-match series against India. Alongside this, I have discovered that this wonderful facility is not confined to the test matches but, with all-day network links that rival those for coverage of League football at the weekend, all the Spec-savers Championship games have been broadcast live on local radio and relayed - according to which matches are most exciting - on TMS!
So I've been filling my listening hours by following this in-depth commentary on a sport that I never played apart from as a very green schoolboy ... with skill that eventually led to my being appointed scorer for the school team! As I've done so, I've discovered that there is a very definite distinction between things I can and cannot do while there is cricket commentary in the background. Something that involves intricate work with a spreadsheet is quite feasible, for example, while anything that requires reading and/or thought has to be postponed. As a result, on occasion, I've spent long hours playing sudoku or snooker on my phone while other things have been 'parked' ... and then felt guilty about wasting my time!
A few months ago a friend made a passing reference to her voluntary activities in connection with a well known hospice based in our town and tossed out a comment about the variety of 'jobs' that are available there for willing volunteers. Following my abortive exploration of a part-time job with my former boss the other week, I remembered this conversation, and decided to 'push another door'. After a couple of misdirected phone calls, I struck lucky on Monday, and accepted an invitation to pop in for a chat. After a description of all that goes on in their warehouse and a conducted tour, arrangements were made for me to go along for a 'taster' shift this morning.
So far as I know, the operation is entirely self-funding, and to raise the necessary finance, the nearby towns support a chain of shops which both receive and sell a broad variety of donated goods. As well as providing storage facilities, the warehouse is a base for distributing the goods between the various shops, so my chance to see the system in action involved being a working passenger on a van visiting a couple of the outlying high-street stores. Next week, I shall hand in my application forms and decisions will be made whether, and in what way, I might make a regular appearance there.
Friday 14 September 2018
September Mourning
It seems that, when September comes, it brings with it each year pretty much the same emotions about life's journey. There are the annual pictures of little ones being left at the school gate with shiny new bag - or elder sibling's hand - clutched tightly, leaving a tear in mother's eye as another milestone in the life of her child passes, never to return. Further down the line are similar, but perhaps more easily stifled, responses to later transitions: to a new school, or college or leaving for far-off parts as they put into practice those rudimentary aims for a 'gap year'.
Mother Nature is ever quick to respond with what my English teacher used to describe as 'her sympathetic background'. We notice the browning of leaves as they prepare to line gutters instead of branches, and with advancing age comes the earlier noticing of lower temperatures, the need for an extra layer of clothing ... along with the frustration of its not being required during the middle of the day when that lingering sunshine still bears some power.
One thing I noticed this year was the dormant spider hanging motionless for days on end, suspended in the large web on the outside of my kitchen window and looking for all the world as if it has passed its allotted life-span. Then along comes the shower that I thought would be nature's undertaker, washing away the cadaver, only for me then to see that it has sprung to life once again and has scrambled to the security of the frame along which the edge of the web had been fastened.
This afternoon I attended the funeral of someone whom I had the privilege to know only for a small proportion of his nearly 87 years and, in the wake of this (sorry, no pun intended), it's easy for me to move my thoughts on from the autumn of the year, to the autumn of life itself.
Yesterday morning I found myself quite alone on arriving at the Salvation Army hall. As I erected tables and spread a gingham check cloth on each one, something triggered recollection of a passing comment made to me by my mother (now dead these fourteen years) that she would like to have owned or run a small roadside tea-shop. I thought of her 'looking down' at her son, performing the same tasks that would have suited that occupation.
I can't recall now when it was she told me this, nor - perhaps more significantly - at what phase of her life she had had this unfulfilled desire. Did she consider this in her early adulthood, after a short while in domestic service, followed by a succession of jobs in retail? How advanced, if at all, were her plans when they were possibly kicked into the long grass by the outbreak of war? Or was this an ambition of more mature years, possibly with a prospective husband in mind? Was it before or after she met my father?
So far as I remember, the matter was only mentioned once and I can only imagine that my response was simple acknowledgement, with no attempt to draw out any further detail. The matter-of-fact attitude that I had to life in those days would probably have not considered it important enough to follow up. Indeed it's taken me twenty or thirty years to remember it at all! How different my life would have been if it had become reality! One thing is certain ... I wouldn't have been writing this blog today!
Mother Nature is ever quick to respond with what my English teacher used to describe as 'her sympathetic background'. We notice the browning of leaves as they prepare to line gutters instead of branches, and with advancing age comes the earlier noticing of lower temperatures, the need for an extra layer of clothing ... along with the frustration of its not being required during the middle of the day when that lingering sunshine still bears some power.
One thing I noticed this year was the dormant spider hanging motionless for days on end, suspended in the large web on the outside of my kitchen window and looking for all the world as if it has passed its allotted life-span. Then along comes the shower that I thought would be nature's undertaker, washing away the cadaver, only for me then to see that it has sprung to life once again and has scrambled to the security of the frame along which the edge of the web had been fastened.
This afternoon I attended the funeral of someone whom I had the privilege to know only for a small proportion of his nearly 87 years and, in the wake of this (sorry, no pun intended), it's easy for me to move my thoughts on from the autumn of the year, to the autumn of life itself.
Yesterday morning I found myself quite alone on arriving at the Salvation Army hall. As I erected tables and spread a gingham check cloth on each one, something triggered recollection of a passing comment made to me by my mother (now dead these fourteen years) that she would like to have owned or run a small roadside tea-shop. I thought of her 'looking down' at her son, performing the same tasks that would have suited that occupation.
I can't recall now when it was she told me this, nor - perhaps more significantly - at what phase of her life she had had this unfulfilled desire. Did she consider this in her early adulthood, after a short while in domestic service, followed by a succession of jobs in retail? How advanced, if at all, were her plans when they were possibly kicked into the long grass by the outbreak of war? Or was this an ambition of more mature years, possibly with a prospective husband in mind? Was it before or after she met my father?
So far as I remember, the matter was only mentioned once and I can only imagine that my response was simple acknowledgement, with no attempt to draw out any further detail. The matter-of-fact attitude that I had to life in those days would probably have not considered it important enough to follow up. Indeed it's taken me twenty or thirty years to remember it at all! How different my life would have been if it had become reality! One thing is certain ... I wouldn't have been writing this blog today!
Friday 7 September 2018
Celebrations, but Alongside Disappointments
A few weeks ago, still dazed by the surprise, I described the remarkable circumstances that had led to the discovery of my second cousin's fiancée. On that occasion the main topic of conversation was the detail of his relationship to me, partly in order to establish my own bona fides, and to convince this lady that I was no ordinary 'stage door lounger'. Consequently I came away knowing very little about her other than her name.
Last Saturday was their wedding day. I hadn't expected an invitation on the strength of nothing more than that encounter, and so had gone to watch an FA Vase tie at Ely, where the local team were playing Norwich United, a club that has fascinated me ever since I first learned of their existence some eight years ago. I'd never seen them play, but as a Norfolk boy myself, I was hoping they would win. Amidst groans from the home fans, they scored the first goal and were 2-1 up at the interval. Ely then scored again after the break, making the scores equal after 90 minutes and extra time was called for, during which three more goals left the home team 4-3 winners.
I returned home to restore my spirits by taking advantage of arrangements that had been made to stream the wedding on Facebook. Thanks to the consideration of a musical couple who were well aware that there would be many friends and relatives for whom distance and/or space in the hall would preclude attendance, I was able to sit in rapt enjoyment, a virtual fly-on-the-wall for an hour-and-a-half, absorbing and vicariously sharing the happiness of their afternoon. Little did I know that more delight was even then being prepared.
All that I had been able to glean about the bride from the internet since our encounter had been purely speculative. On Monday and Tuesday, Facebook carried a number of individual collections of photos from the nuptials and, from the various comments on the pictures, I was able to confirm some of my findings and refute others, and to build up sufficient detail to enable me with confidence to add her to my family tree records. I had been quite amazed by the streaming of the wedding ceremony; on Monday I discovered that the same means had been used to provide a couple of hours viewing of an entertainment that this enterprising couple had devised for the Saturday evening! Some of the photos also revealed the ritual disfigurement of the going-away vehicle, which had required some cleansing activity to make it legal to drive!
On Tuesday evening, football once more took pride of place in my activities. Ten days before, I had been at an FA Cup match that had had to be abandoned after 58 minutes (with my favoured team 3-2 ahead) because of serious injuries to two of the visiting players. This Tuesday saw the re-match, which started off well, but the strength of the opposition was too much and I left after watching a 5-3 demolition of the locals' Cup hopes.
All was not lost, excitement-wise, however, for there was more celebration to come last night, when our church saw the installation of the lady who is now (I almost wrote 'to be', which has been the case since her selection some months ago now, and has become habitual) our new Vicar. Although her authority takes effect at a specific moment - like when at a wedding the priest says, 'you are man and wife' - she has been 'on the scene' for a few weeks since moving into the vicarage. During this time the family have been settling in and undergoing the same transitions that anyone does on moving house. Meanwhile, there has been infrequent, informal contact with key people in the church in order to make various necessary arrangements. In no way did this detract from the sense of occasion when the Bishop proclaimed, 'You have a new vicar!' and the clapping, cheering and whooping would have rivalled that at many a stadium to greet a winning goal!
Sadly winning goals didn't figure in my diary this week, but there has been more than adequate compensation!
Last Saturday was their wedding day. I hadn't expected an invitation on the strength of nothing more than that encounter, and so had gone to watch an FA Vase tie at Ely, where the local team were playing Norwich United, a club that has fascinated me ever since I first learned of their existence some eight years ago. I'd never seen them play, but as a Norfolk boy myself, I was hoping they would win. Amidst groans from the home fans, they scored the first goal and were 2-1 up at the interval. Ely then scored again after the break, making the scores equal after 90 minutes and extra time was called for, during which three more goals left the home team 4-3 winners.
I returned home to restore my spirits by taking advantage of arrangements that had been made to stream the wedding on Facebook. Thanks to the consideration of a musical couple who were well aware that there would be many friends and relatives for whom distance and/or space in the hall would preclude attendance, I was able to sit in rapt enjoyment, a virtual fly-on-the-wall for an hour-and-a-half, absorbing and vicariously sharing the happiness of their afternoon. Little did I know that more delight was even then being prepared.
All that I had been able to glean about the bride from the internet since our encounter had been purely speculative. On Monday and Tuesday, Facebook carried a number of individual collections of photos from the nuptials and, from the various comments on the pictures, I was able to confirm some of my findings and refute others, and to build up sufficient detail to enable me with confidence to add her to my family tree records. I had been quite amazed by the streaming of the wedding ceremony; on Monday I discovered that the same means had been used to provide a couple of hours viewing of an entertainment that this enterprising couple had devised for the Saturday evening! Some of the photos also revealed the ritual disfigurement of the going-away vehicle, which had required some cleansing activity to make it legal to drive!
On Tuesday evening, football once more took pride of place in my activities. Ten days before, I had been at an FA Cup match that had had to be abandoned after 58 minutes (with my favoured team 3-2 ahead) because of serious injuries to two of the visiting players. This Tuesday saw the re-match, which started off well, but the strength of the opposition was too much and I left after watching a 5-3 demolition of the locals' Cup hopes.
All was not lost, excitement-wise, however, for there was more celebration to come last night, when our church saw the installation of the lady who is now (I almost wrote 'to be', which has been the case since her selection some months ago now, and has become habitual) our new Vicar. Although her authority takes effect at a specific moment - like when at a wedding the priest says, 'you are man and wife' - she has been 'on the scene' for a few weeks since moving into the vicarage. During this time the family have been settling in and undergoing the same transitions that anyone does on moving house. Meanwhile, there has been infrequent, informal contact with key people in the church in order to make various necessary arrangements. In no way did this detract from the sense of occasion when the Bishop proclaimed, 'You have a new vicar!' and the clapping, cheering and whooping would have rivalled that at many a stadium to greet a winning goal!
Sadly winning goals didn't figure in my diary this week, but there has been more than adequate compensation!
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