It's Personal!

Personal - adj. - one's own; done or made in person; directed to or concerning an individual; existing as a person, not as an abstraction or thing - Oxford English Dictionary (selections).

Most of my work is the collection and delivery of goods the ownership of which is being transferred from one inanimate entity to another.  By contrast, the work is carried out by receiving the goods from an employee of one company and later having them signed for by an employee of another company.  I receive them from one person and give them to another person ... in that way, it's a personal service: rarely, if ever, does it take place without the passage of words - more likely a brief conversation - between us.

Some of the people I collect from are already known to me, like Martin, who used to be a fellow bell-ringer, and whom I sometimes encounter watching the same football match on a Saturday.  Others I have come to know through regular contact, some by name, like Shazad, who usually sends me on my way with a friendly comment like 'take care, mate!'; others simply by being the same face at the same door every time.  On the delivery side, regular jobs often involve meeting the same people each time I deliver there.  Sometimes a single delivery can generate conversation sufficient to warrant the parting greeting, 'see you again', or 'see you next time', even when there is little likelihood of my ever going there again.  Often peculiar situations make specific people or jobs easy to recall.  This week, for example, I delivered a piece of equipment to a dental practice in Liverpool.  It was heavy, and the occasion was memorable for the genial conversation between myself, the recipient, with whom I carried it from the van to the office, and his female assistant, who dealt with the doors.

I'm reminded of another dental delivery some months ago, this time for a different customer, and to a practice in Oswestry.  Here the goods consisted of a single box, less than 12" cube, but exceedingly heavy.  It was as much as I could do to lift it from the floor to the van.  When I arrived, the nearest I could park to the door was several yards away, and the comment that sprang into my mind, as I asked if there was someone who could carry it in, has lodged there ever since.  I said to the woman who answered the door, 'I don't know what's in that box, but it's far heavier than something that size has any right to be!'  The smile of sympathetic amusement that accompanied the reply, 'I'll fetch our young man,' underlines the personal nature of my work.

This line of thought was prompted by two separate incidents this week.  On Wednesday, I did a job for one of our oldest customers, whose goods are always fragile.  When he gave me the job the previous evening, the controller said, "I'm not sure I should tell you this, but they asked for you in particular to do it: 'can we have the man with the cross, please?' "  I have to explain that, for many years now, I have consistently worn a small wooden cross around my neck.  It is usually overlooked, perhaps thought of as a mere eccentricity, or unmentioned because of familiarity or for lack of something appropriate to say.  Occasionally, however, it attracts a passing comment like 'that's a nice cross', or a direct question, 'are you a Christian, then?' Sometimes it can introduce confusion when people assume - wrongly - that I wear it because I'm a priest.  Explanations can vary from complex, to embarrassing, to dismissive, according to the personalities involved.  In this case, it was a convenient means of personally identifying their preferred driver.

The second incident won't reach its conclusion until next Thursday, but already it is dominating the news bulletins to the point of exasperation.  I refer, of course, to the Referendum on Scottish Independence.  When it first arose, I think I considered the whole thing a bit of a nonsense; they've been part of the UK since 1707, why on earth should things change after over 300 years?  As 'R-Day' has drawn closer, however, and the debates have become more heated, I have found myself thinking more deeply about the matter. The 'magic' date of 1707 only marked the final union of the two parliaments; soon after his succession as King of England in 1603, James I (who as James VI had already been King of Scotland for over 35 years) was dreaming of the two kingdoms becoming one and declared himself to be King of Great Britain.   Against this, it is arguable that the countries themselves have never been one.  Scotland, for example, still has its own legal system which, though generally similar, is different in countless ways from that of England and Wales.

Listening to the most recent discussions on the radio - my constant companion on the road - I learn that the main thrust of the pro-independence argument is the claim that, despite once more having its own Parliament in Edinburgh, Scotland still finds itself fundamentally governed from Westminster by a Parliament which does not reflect the political balance of the votes cast in Scotland.  Whatever additional powers might be granted to the Scottish Parliament in the event of a 'No' vote, this basic situation would still prevail, keeping Scotland subject to English domination and whim, very much like a colony, with its own control only over those matters that the dominant power decides to allow.

I find myself in sympathy with the 'Yes' side, and experience the same kind of feelings that characterise my deep, though unexplained, interest in all things Irish, of which I have written before in this blog.  I have questioned why this should be, since - at least as my family history researches have shown up to now - I'm English through and through.  The only thought that seems to stand further scrutiny is some kind of post-devolution envy. Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland each has its own assembly to control essentially domestic matters, but control of the corresponding domestic affairs of England are inextricably inter-woven within the legislature that governs the whole Union.  This lop-sided situation is unfair to England, which has never had its own exclusive parliament since the Act of Union (with Wales) in 1536; at the same time, it is unfair to the other parts of the UK, since it underlines the thought expressed above - if nowhere else - that Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland are but colonies, allowed to run certain things for themselves, but within strict limits defined by the motherland.

Everything is personal, whether it's the reaction of other people to me or with me, or mine to them, or the thoughts that clutter my mind on the road. Sooner or later it all comes out here in the blog, so watch this space for more personal revelations!

It's a long way ...

Yesterday I went to Camborne.  I first knew of the trip was at about 5.0 the previous afternoon.  I had time only for some essential admin, a little research, a snack and about five hours' sleep before I was on the road.  During the journey I was very glad of the company of my mp3 player and radio.  The mp3 facility is a facet of my mobile phone, so I don't run it constantly to avoid running down the battery and denying myself the use of the phone. 

I tend to favour Radio 4, and the regular news updates through the day - beginning at 5.30am - told and retold of the conviction of Levi Bellfield for the murder of Milly Dowler, and the unfolding unrest caused by the treatment of the Dowlers in the witness box, and the subsequent dismissal of the case against Bellfield in respect of the attempted abduction of Rachel Cowles.  Only so much of this repetition can be endured, and it was soon time to hit the off-button.

In the silence I reflected on the views expressed and reported in this case.  Obviously I sympathised with the Dowlers that they'd had to undergo the pain and embarrassment of their home life being revealed to all and sundry amid their lingering bereavement over Milly's death.  My thoughts turned to what lay behind all this.  Naturally I realise my inability to imagine fully their situation but, subject to this, I marvelled that in the nine years since these events the family seemed not to have moved on emotionally from their initial grief and loss.

Then there was the disappointment of Miss Cowles, at not having received justice in respect of the case that had had to be dismissed because of certain matters that had been made public after Bellfield's conviction on the murder charge.  I could understand the legal nuances of this decision, but my main reaction was to this lady's quest for justice.  What is justice?  How does it relate to revenge?  If justice is more closely allied to the determination of blame and thence to punishment, then surely (I contend), in her mind at least, blame was already determined, so what about punishment?

And this led my wondering further, to a fundamental point not touched on by anyone else I've listened to.  It was reported that Bellfield is already serving a life sentence for other crimes.  Unlike many life sentences, which result in the criminal being released after ten, fifteen or twenty years, or whatever term the judge has recommended, this was said to be 'all of life', so he was already committed to spending the remainder of his life in prison.  Since death sentences were abandoned many years ago, what further punishment could possibly inflicted upon him ... torture?

Amazingly, I found myself on the brink of dismissing the whole concept of prisoners' rights.  Of course there was the need to draw these cases to a close, to ensure that 'it was Bellfield what dunnit!' and that there was no possibility of a real offender escaping unprosecuted.  But, I asked myself, - given the impossibility of imposing any further sentence upon him - could this closure not have been achieved in a manner a lot less flamboyant and costly, and the associated pain, indignity and frustration completely avoided?

With my thoughts totally unresolved, and the radio on once more, I headed for home ....