Today is Michaelmas Day. Put liturgically, it's the Feast Day of St Michael and All Angels, but here is not the place to go into that. In terms of my own recollections and present experience, it's more particularly Old Michaelmas. That's to distinguish it from New Michaelmas, of course. Although it's known as 'New', the term is actually 260 years old and, to be fair, is probably not in very common use at all today. Some of my readers will have already done the maths, realised that 260 years ago was 1752, and made another quick calculation to find out when New Michaelmas is (... or was.)
For the benefit of those less intuitive, let me put you out of your misery and tell you that it's 11th October. Significantly, that's in twelve days' time, reflecting the fact that, in 1752, the day after 2nd September was 14th September, as Great Britain took a major step in international relations and leapt from the old Julian calendar to join our European neighbours in the Gregorian system that they had been using since Elizabethan times. However, we British are a stubborn race, and heels were dug in to preserve certain aspects of our national heritage from the effects of that change. That's why our tax year ends on 5th April.
Until then, New Year's Day was celebrated on 25th March, liturgically the Feast of the Annunciation - supposedly the day on which the Angel Gabriel visited Mary to tell her that she was going to have a baby, who would be Jesus, the Christ. So, if 25th March was New Year's Day, the year would have ended on 24th: 24th March 1751 - already known for (confusing) clarification as 1751/2 - had been followed by 25th March 1752. However, the British (and stubborn) Government, while re-naming the dates to align with the rest of the world, didn't want to lose out on tax revenue, even for one year, so they tacked those twelve 'lost' days onto the end of the year, making their books up to the 5th April. And if one year ... then all years had to follow suit. And while we were about it, why not declare that for all other purposes the year would henceforward begin at the beginning, on 1st January, right in the middle of winter - which was when most people were celebrating it anyway, since there was little else to do at that time.
So, what was the significance of Michaelmas - whether old or new? Simply, it was half-way between one year-end and the next; being just after the harvest, and thus at the end of the farming year, it was also a convenient point for land to change hands, for rents to be calculated and for workers to move from one boss to another. For financial reasons, workers were often taken on from Michaelmas to the end of harvest. Since entitlement to welfare payments depended on their being in employment for more than a year with the same employer, it was important to be able to declare that you had been in post for 'a year and a day.' Hence there were 'hiring fairs' across the country, where men - and sometimes women, too - would gather, carrying symbols of their trade, and farmers could take their pick of the available talent. Terms would be agreed, and a new year's work begun.
In my own childhood, being the son of a farm worker who, while not directly affected by these affairs, was aware of them through family talk and the culture in which he had grown up, I heard comments and phrases that were part of that culture too. For instance, as today's date was noticed on the daily paper, my father might comment, 'Old Michaelmas today.' Occasionally, if I had been helping him in the garden, and had done well what had been asked of me, he might tell me, 'you'll be kept on.' In other words, going back to those times long past, a good worker would be spared the uncertainty of the hiring fair, and an appreciative employer would promise him in advance the security of another year's engagement.
And what of today? As I wrote the last paragraph, I realised that in some ways the same practice persists in the matter of professional footballers and the transfer market. At the end of the season, a contract might be offered to a good player to keep him with the team for whom he had performed well, rather than risk losing him to another club whose manager had noticed his prowess with admiration and envy. For me, personally, it's also a time of renewal and/or re-engagement, for on 'New Michaelmas' eve' my annual subscription to Find my Past expires, and on the same day the insurance on my van is due for renewal. I've already had the papers, and this year I'm facing an almost 20% premium increase - Ouch!
More news next week, when I've recovered from the £-shock!
Saturday, 29 September 2012
Saturday, 22 September 2012
Is this Normality again?
It's been one of those deceptive weeks when things have seemed quite slow, and yet achievement has been made. After complaining, for example, that the previous Monday had been completely dead, this one was quite full. It began with only an hour or so's wait before I was sent to Bedford with a load of empty cartons from one of our local firms. This is a job I've done before - it's always easier second time and following - so I was ready to misread SatNav's instructions to go to a housing estate on the other side of the road! (Maybe that was one of the errors that TomTom's maps carried over to Apple for their new phone app!)
I'd scarcely got back from that, when I was sent back to Bedford to collect some computer spares for a nationally-known organisation based in Folkestone. While I was on my way with this, came a call to divert into Stevenage to collect some labels for a firm situated by the Thames, not far from the Dartford Crossing. I was just back from Kent in time to change and go ringing. This was as well, for it was an enjoyable practice, with just enough ringers present to make good exercise for all, with one or two to 'stand behind' and guide those still in learning mode.
Tuesday began with a delivery to Northampton with a collection in Wellingborough on the way back, and then came the longest job of the week, collecting in Baldock and then Bishop's Stortford for a delivery in Derbyshire. This was to a lighting firm, and I arrived just after 6.0 pm., by which time it should have been closed for the night, and would have been apart from their waiting for a delivery (other than the one I'd brought), for which a lorry was being delayed in the yard. On the way there I had a call giving me details of a job for Wednesday morning; when I arrived in Royston to collect this, at 8.30am, the office called to ask about my delivery last evening in Derbyshire. They'd just had an e-mail from the idiots (sorry: our esteemed clients) for whom we did the job, saying that they believed the place would be closed - could we please re-schedule delivery for this morning! After setting things to rights, I went in to collect the next job and carry on as normal.
That afternoon found me in Kent again, and provided another late night. Thursday started with a tight run to get a tender to King's Lynn by noon, and ended with deliveries in Peterborough and Soham, and Friday fell into what has of late become the pattern for the last day of the working week, with half-a-dozen fairly local jobs fitted into a long day, setting out at 7.0am, taking me to destinations ranging from Northampton to southern Essex, and ending back home at 9.30pm.
I'd put off until this morning the inevitable call to BT about the broadband problem I've mentioned recently, but by now matters had come to something of a head, and on three occasions yesterday I had discovered that there was now no link to the internet at all, which perhaps added urgency to my actions. The call resulted in extensive tests and investigations, which led eventually to my discovery that there is enough cable to run the broadband hub in the lounge where the computer is, but plugged directly into the main socket in the hall, instead of using an extension cable (probably in excess of ten years old) that had previously served to bridge that gap. Now, at least, I'm back in the situation I was a week ago, and am awaiting another call back from BT to carry on the investigations. To be honest, I wouldn't be too disheartened if it were left as it is at present, since the only thing I'm really missing is the use of iPlayer, and in all honesty there have to be better uses for my time and, if I'm desperate for visual entertainment, there's a shelf of DVDs in the bedroom, some of which have yet to be watched for the first time!
I'd scarcely got back from that, when I was sent back to Bedford to collect some computer spares for a nationally-known organisation based in Folkestone. While I was on my way with this, came a call to divert into Stevenage to collect some labels for a firm situated by the Thames, not far from the Dartford Crossing. I was just back from Kent in time to change and go ringing. This was as well, for it was an enjoyable practice, with just enough ringers present to make good exercise for all, with one or two to 'stand behind' and guide those still in learning mode.
Tuesday began with a delivery to Northampton with a collection in Wellingborough on the way back, and then came the longest job of the week, collecting in Baldock and then Bishop's Stortford for a delivery in Derbyshire. This was to a lighting firm, and I arrived just after 6.0 pm., by which time it should have been closed for the night, and would have been apart from their waiting for a delivery (other than the one I'd brought), for which a lorry was being delayed in the yard. On the way there I had a call giving me details of a job for Wednesday morning; when I arrived in Royston to collect this, at 8.30am, the office called to ask about my delivery last evening in Derbyshire. They'd just had an e-mail from the idiots (sorry: our esteemed clients) for whom we did the job, saying that they believed the place would be closed - could we please re-schedule delivery for this morning! After setting things to rights, I went in to collect the next job and carry on as normal.
That afternoon found me in Kent again, and provided another late night. Thursday started with a tight run to get a tender to King's Lynn by noon, and ended with deliveries in Peterborough and Soham, and Friday fell into what has of late become the pattern for the last day of the working week, with half-a-dozen fairly local jobs fitted into a long day, setting out at 7.0am, taking me to destinations ranging from Northampton to southern Essex, and ending back home at 9.30pm.
I'd put off until this morning the inevitable call to BT about the broadband problem I've mentioned recently, but by now matters had come to something of a head, and on three occasions yesterday I had discovered that there was now no link to the internet at all, which perhaps added urgency to my actions. The call resulted in extensive tests and investigations, which led eventually to my discovery that there is enough cable to run the broadband hub in the lounge where the computer is, but plugged directly into the main socket in the hall, instead of using an extension cable (probably in excess of ten years old) that had previously served to bridge that gap. Now, at least, I'm back in the situation I was a week ago, and am awaiting another call back from BT to carry on the investigations. To be honest, I wouldn't be too disheartened if it were left as it is at present, since the only thing I'm really missing is the use of iPlayer, and in all honesty there have to be better uses for my time and, if I'm desperate for visual entertainment, there's a shelf of DVDs in the bedroom, some of which have yet to be watched for the first time!
Sunday, 16 September 2012
Uncle on the Run!
It's been some while since my last 'confession', i.e. a blog where I've told you what's been going on in the last week. In some ways that's because nothing really spectacular has come my way, in others, it's because my mind (if not my body) has been occupied.
This business of a change to my broadband provider that I described in my last blog, still hasn't come to a proper conclusion. I haven't been able to watch a programme on iPlayer yet, although I have managed to catch about a dozen minute-or-two snatches of a one-hour programme in between trying one strategy after another to resolve the underlying problem. While this problem has been going on at home, and soaking up much more of my time at the desk than usual, I've found that my mind wanders back to it while I'm driving, too. I usually switch off the radio or mp3-player in the last mile or so before reaching a destination, so I can fully focus on the job in hand. The other day I was several miles into the return journey before I realised that I hadn't switched the radio on again, and by then I'd missed what was an interesting programme!
As I said, not a lot of interest has happened workwise, so keen 'courier-observers' will not have missed much. In fact, Monday last week was totally empty, apart from a 4.30pm call advising me that, 'Today has been a bit dead ...,' (I knew that already), '... but can you be in West Bromwich at this address ... for 9.0 tomorrow morning.' If only there were a little more notice of empty days, one could prepare for them. I suppose it'll be the same for death ... one day.
One thing that has been something of a triumph this week relates to my family history. I can't remember whether I have told you, dear reader, about my great-uncle George. He was last heard of in his native village in Suffolk at the age of 7, when he was recorded in the 1861 census. Last heard of, that is, until last summer when I had what I had determined would be my last shot at locating him in the next census ten years later. Miracle of miracles, there he was in Colchester Barracks, a private soldier in the 27th Regiment of Foot (which later became the 1st Battalion, the Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers.)
It was then the work of but a few minutes to discover that he'd been discharged from the regiment in March 1876, following an accident with a target, and gave his future dwelling place as Enniskillen, Co. Fermanagh. Subsequent research revealed that he had married a local girl there at Christmas, and was listed in the 1901 census still living in Enniskillen with his wife and nine children. I learned of the marriage of his two eldest daughters and the death of his wife during the next ten years, one daughter living with her family in Belfast, the other in Dartford, Kent. Of George and the rest of the family there was no sign. He'd disappeared - again!
Last weekend I discovered that the Irish civil registration indexes up to 1958 are now available on familysearch, the website of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (Mormons), whose beliefs have led to their becoming one of the major sources worldwide of family history information. I spent much of my otherwise 'dead' Monday seeing what I could find about George and his family, and in particular discovered that two more of his daughters had married before records for what became Northern Ireland disappeared in 1922. Unfortunately, the records that were available to search didn't give the name of their respective husbands.
The reply to an e-mail to the General Record Office of Northern Ireland was less than helpful, indicating that I would need to actually visit GRONI if I wanted to learn more with minimal expenditure (which the cost of getting there would outweigh at the outset!) Back to the internet and, more in hope than expectation, I posted an enquiry on a mailing list I'd joined last autumn for this very purpose
This business of a change to my broadband provider that I described in my last blog, still hasn't come to a proper conclusion. I haven't been able to watch a programme on iPlayer yet, although I have managed to catch about a dozen minute-or-two snatches of a one-hour programme in between trying one strategy after another to resolve the underlying problem. While this problem has been going on at home, and soaking up much more of my time at the desk than usual, I've found that my mind wanders back to it while I'm driving, too. I usually switch off the radio or mp3-player in the last mile or so before reaching a destination, so I can fully focus on the job in hand. The other day I was several miles into the return journey before I realised that I hadn't switched the radio on again, and by then I'd missed what was an interesting programme!
As I said, not a lot of interest has happened workwise, so keen 'courier-observers' will not have missed much. In fact, Monday last week was totally empty, apart from a 4.30pm call advising me that, 'Today has been a bit dead ...,' (I knew that already), '... but can you be in West Bromwich at this address ... for 9.0 tomorrow morning.' If only there were a little more notice of empty days, one could prepare for them. I suppose it'll be the same for death ... one day.
One thing that has been something of a triumph this week relates to my family history. I can't remember whether I have told you, dear reader, about my great-uncle George. He was last heard of in his native village in Suffolk at the age of 7, when he was recorded in the 1861 census. Last heard of, that is, until last summer when I had what I had determined would be my last shot at locating him in the next census ten years later. Miracle of miracles, there he was in Colchester Barracks, a private soldier in the 27th Regiment of Foot (which later became the 1st Battalion, the Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers.)
It was then the work of but a few minutes to discover that he'd been discharged from the regiment in March 1876, following an accident with a target, and gave his future dwelling place as Enniskillen, Co. Fermanagh. Subsequent research revealed that he had married a local girl there at Christmas, and was listed in the 1901 census still living in Enniskillen with his wife and nine children. I learned of the marriage of his two eldest daughters and the death of his wife during the next ten years, one daughter living with her family in Belfast, the other in Dartford, Kent. Of George and the rest of the family there was no sign. He'd disappeared - again!
Last weekend I discovered that the Irish civil registration indexes up to 1958 are now available on familysearch, the website of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (Mormons), whose beliefs have led to their becoming one of the major sources worldwide of family history information. I spent much of my otherwise 'dead' Monday seeing what I could find about George and his family, and in particular discovered that two more of his daughters had married before records for what became Northern Ireland disappeared in 1922. Unfortunately, the records that were available to search didn't give the name of their respective husbands.
The reply to an e-mail to the General Record Office of Northern Ireland was less than helpful, indicating that I would need to actually visit GRONI if I wanted to learn more with minimal expenditure (which the cost of getting there would outweigh at the outset!) Back to the internet and, more in hope than expectation, I posted an enquiry on a mailing list I'd joined last autumn for this very purpose
Thursday, 6 September 2012
Well, doctor, it's like this ...
Have you ever had one of those aches - like a sprain, I suppose - that come from a definite cause, and give you great discomfort at the drop of a hat (or brick!)? For what seems ages you struggle to cope with it, do things differently, or avoid tackling certain things altogether. You moan and groan, wishing that whatever it was that caused it hadn't been done, that you had been more careful, and so on. Then, just as you forget to moan, you suddenly realise that the pain is gone, that life is back to normal, and gradually you no longer recall just how incapacitated you were when the problem was at its peak.
The last fortnight has been a bit like that for me. But I didn't drop anything on my feet, or bend over too much and strain my back. No, it's not been a physical problem at all, but I have certainly done my share of moaning, cursing and muttering ... and it's not all over yet, although it is getting better.
It all stemmed from a phone call I had whilst driving along a few weeks ago. It was from someone at Orange, putting to me what seemed at the time an attractive offer for a new contract to combine my broadband service with my telephone landline. He went through all the points, the terms and the benefits, as I drove round the M25, and said he'd send me an e-mail with all the details. It occurred to me that he hadn't asked for my e-mail address, so I asked him if he had this. Yes, he said, and referred to one that was many years out of date. I spelled out for him my present e-mail, and he quoted it back to me character by character. I began to relax, thinking of all the money I was about to save.
A couple of weeks passed. I received the letter I'd been advised would arrive from BT saying, in effect, 'sorry to see you go', and I pushed it to the back of my desk thinking I ought to file it somewhere 'one day.' Then as I left for work one morning, it happened to catch my eye and I quickly read through it again. 'If you wish to change your mind,' it said, 'let us know before 4.0 pm on ...' and I read that day's date. Suddenly I realised that I'd not seen that e-mail from Orange. I had no point of contact with them; I had no idea whether the changeover that they had spoken of was in hand or not, and within hours my BT line would be discontinued. PANIC! Fortunately I was only going on a short job, and as soon as I got back I called the number in the BT letter.
The lady on the other end couldn't have been more understanding. Within seconds, the threat to my landline was averted, and I was back to the status quo ante. Once this was secure, she picked up on my explanation of what had gone before and, quite naturally, asked if I had thought about bringing my broadband to BT instead. She then outlined a package that was as beneficial as that offered by Orange and, when I decided to accept it, told me that all I'd have to do would be to get a migration code from Orange. When I told her I had no contact number for them, she gave me the number, and even managed to put me through!
After a couple of calls to Orange, involving countless explanations and transfers, I learned that they wouldn't be able to give me the code over the phone, but would post it to me. Apparently their contract was in operation, they were on the brink of sending me the equipment, and as a result there would now be a cancellation charge - was I sure I wanted to make this move? They offered no explanation why I had received neither any written confirmation nor the promised e-mail. I felt it important to stand on a point of principle and against bad practice, and told them yes, I would proceed with BT. A few days later, I received the code in the post, but not before another call came from Orange, telling me the code was on its way, repeating the threat of a cancellation charge, and giving me one final opportunity to change my mind. It's too late, I told them, and noted when it arrived that the migration code hadn't actually been posted until the day after that call!
Immediately, I called BT and explained that I now had the necessary code and was ready to proceed on the terms they had outlined. I was told that there was now an even better deal available, involving six months' free broadband. There followed a succession of letters and e-mails from BT that couldn't but underline to me the wisdom and confidence of choosing to consolidate my position with them. And at the end of these, at the beginning of last week, the box arrived - early on the appointed day - containing the new broadband hub. Installation was straightforward, following the instructions provided, and I felt cock-o'-the-walk.
Then began my 'sprain', the sting in the tail of the whole exercise. All the literature had indicated that for about ten days following installation, I would notice that the internet speed would be 'slow and erratic, sometimes even stopping'. True on all counts. It reminded me of many years ago when I had a dial-up modem that played a familiar tune as it dialled into the provider. Sometimes it seemed to forget I was there, until I jiggled the cursor on the screen. Now, though, there is nothing I can do but wait. Social media sites have been slow to load; my bank connection has been timed out before I've completed the log-in process, and You-tube and i-player have presented me with black screens for minutes on end, and 'reception' has been jerky to standstill in quality when it does begin. Downloading a podcast has been an absolute nightmare - with the 'time remaining' for a 60-minute programme varying from twenty minutes to several days, and changing wildly every few seconds! I've lost count of the times I've given up, closed the internet window and got on with something else.
In the last couple of days, however, I've noticed a distinct improvement in most of the services and websites that I use regularly. Response times are nowhere near as quick as they used to be, but I have to admit that, equally, they are by no means as tortoise-like as they were at the beginning of last week. Most things are usable again, and for that I'm so grateful that I'm telling you all about it!
The last fortnight has been a bit like that for me. But I didn't drop anything on my feet, or bend over too much and strain my back. No, it's not been a physical problem at all, but I have certainly done my share of moaning, cursing and muttering ... and it's not all over yet, although it is getting better.
It all stemmed from a phone call I had whilst driving along a few weeks ago. It was from someone at Orange, putting to me what seemed at the time an attractive offer for a new contract to combine my broadband service with my telephone landline. He went through all the points, the terms and the benefits, as I drove round the M25, and said he'd send me an e-mail with all the details. It occurred to me that he hadn't asked for my e-mail address, so I asked him if he had this. Yes, he said, and referred to one that was many years out of date. I spelled out for him my present e-mail, and he quoted it back to me character by character. I began to relax, thinking of all the money I was about to save.
A couple of weeks passed. I received the letter I'd been advised would arrive from BT saying, in effect, 'sorry to see you go', and I pushed it to the back of my desk thinking I ought to file it somewhere 'one day.' Then as I left for work one morning, it happened to catch my eye and I quickly read through it again. 'If you wish to change your mind,' it said, 'let us know before 4.0 pm on ...' and I read that day's date. Suddenly I realised that I'd not seen that e-mail from Orange. I had no point of contact with them; I had no idea whether the changeover that they had spoken of was in hand or not, and within hours my BT line would be discontinued. PANIC! Fortunately I was only going on a short job, and as soon as I got back I called the number in the BT letter.
The lady on the other end couldn't have been more understanding. Within seconds, the threat to my landline was averted, and I was back to the status quo ante. Once this was secure, she picked up on my explanation of what had gone before and, quite naturally, asked if I had thought about bringing my broadband to BT instead. She then outlined a package that was as beneficial as that offered by Orange and, when I decided to accept it, told me that all I'd have to do would be to get a migration code from Orange. When I told her I had no contact number for them, she gave me the number, and even managed to put me through!
After a couple of calls to Orange, involving countless explanations and transfers, I learned that they wouldn't be able to give me the code over the phone, but would post it to me. Apparently their contract was in operation, they were on the brink of sending me the equipment, and as a result there would now be a cancellation charge - was I sure I wanted to make this move? They offered no explanation why I had received neither any written confirmation nor the promised e-mail. I felt it important to stand on a point of principle and against bad practice, and told them yes, I would proceed with BT. A few days later, I received the code in the post, but not before another call came from Orange, telling me the code was on its way, repeating the threat of a cancellation charge, and giving me one final opportunity to change my mind. It's too late, I told them, and noted when it arrived that the migration code hadn't actually been posted until the day after that call!
Immediately, I called BT and explained that I now had the necessary code and was ready to proceed on the terms they had outlined. I was told that there was now an even better deal available, involving six months' free broadband. There followed a succession of letters and e-mails from BT that couldn't but underline to me the wisdom and confidence of choosing to consolidate my position with them. And at the end of these, at the beginning of last week, the box arrived - early on the appointed day - containing the new broadband hub. Installation was straightforward, following the instructions provided, and I felt cock-o'-the-walk.
Then began my 'sprain', the sting in the tail of the whole exercise. All the literature had indicated that for about ten days following installation, I would notice that the internet speed would be 'slow and erratic, sometimes even stopping'. True on all counts. It reminded me of many years ago when I had a dial-up modem that played a familiar tune as it dialled into the provider. Sometimes it seemed to forget I was there, until I jiggled the cursor on the screen. Now, though, there is nothing I can do but wait. Social media sites have been slow to load; my bank connection has been timed out before I've completed the log-in process, and You-tube and i-player have presented me with black screens for minutes on end, and 'reception' has been jerky to standstill in quality when it does begin. Downloading a podcast has been an absolute nightmare - with the 'time remaining' for a 60-minute programme varying from twenty minutes to several days, and changing wildly every few seconds! I've lost count of the times I've given up, closed the internet window and got on with something else.
In the last couple of days, however, I've noticed a distinct improvement in most of the services and websites that I use regularly. Response times are nowhere near as quick as they used to be, but I have to admit that, equally, they are by no means as tortoise-like as they were at the beginning of last week. Most things are usable again, and for that I'm so grateful that I'm telling you all about it!
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