A Political Week

Well, of course it was, but I'm neither Trump-eting about Hillary, nor Hillary-ous about Trump.  Other things have kept me busy.  Towards the end of last week I had a phone call from someone I met at Witney last month.  He lives in the next town to me, where there was a local council by-election yesterday, and he asked me whether I would be prepared to give any help.  After considering over the weekend, I advised him that I would deliver some letters on Tuesday morning.  When he brought them round on Monday, our conversation revealed that we have many interests and experiences in common ... not all of which I revealed to him: it's good to keep some things to oneself!

Tuesday's experience went smoothly, in chilly sunshine, and I'm sure the exercise did me good.  It was complemented in the evening by my attendance at the local party's AGM,  This, too, was a first-time experience for me, and I made several new acquaintances.  My new friend had also asked if I would take a turn as a Teller at the election itself.  The name itself defines one who counts votes, but in practice it refers to one who notes who has voted - as I described it the other day, "one of those annoying people who ask for your number when you go to cast your vote".  It has no connection at all to how you voted, merely to record the fact that you have done so.  The effect is to spare one who has performed this civic duty from the attentions of enthusiastic canvassers later in the day.

Realistically at this level, little is achieved beyond maintaining a presence at the polling station, and seeing that all is done in a fair and orderly manner, although the teller has no authority to enforce this.  I had been asked to undertake a similar duty at Witney, but declined.  Looking back, my only reason for doing so was fear.  I was unwilling to confront people.  This time I decided that I must face this reticence head-on, so I said I would oblige and was allocated an hour slot during the mid-morning.  Between the arrangement being made and its discharge, my imagination was working overtime conjuring up all manner of hazards and problems I might face, and it was with no little apprehension that I eventually presented myself for duty.

I recently wrote about this difficulty in my other blog; you can read about it here.  I suggested that the solution to the condition is being given some external authority for this confrontation.  As I now reflect on my experience yesterday, I can see that same truth in action.  When I arrived at the polling station, I was greeted by the man whom I was relieving, and presented with a pen, a pad of recording sheets ... and a party rosette.  Once I was wearing the rosette, I was no longer the timid and reluctant individual, but an officially accredited party worker.  I moulded with the representatives of the other parties in a team, all focused on the same task, some with more devotion to the detail than others.

An hour later, when a lady came in and announced that she was relieving me, I confidently handed over my badge of authority and the 'tools of the trade', like a hardened professional ... albeit after only one hour's experience.

As I wrote that last sentence, I found my mind drifting to pilots flying Spitfires and Hurricanes, and wondering how few flying hours they might have clocked up before finding themselves in a dog-fight with Heinkels and Messerschmitts.  I think the day has finally caught up with me.  It's still referred to as Armistice Day, despite that being 98 years ago, and the fact that today the theme is the commemoration of the dead of all wars.

Although the official commemorations will take place on Sunday - some years on the previous Sunday - many people still stopped what they were doing this morning and remembered.  I confess that, although I had intended to do so, I forgot.  I recall that when I was driving, with the radio on, there was a silence before the hourly news bulletin.

On the first anniversary of '9-11', I was driving in the Cambridgeshire countryside and saw traffic coming to a halt in the early afternoon on the adjacent road, so I and many others did the same.  Even so, it's hard to imagine - as is reported - the whole country stopping all activity in response to the King's call on the first anniversary in 1919.  How times have changed ... in many ways, rightly so.  However, the important thing is the remembering, the giving of thanks, and the commitment for the future.  If this can only be fulfilled by ceasing all else, then so be it.