When the moon was young and I was just a lad...

Shaw wood supporters are trying to save a small pond and a footpath. The council wanted feedback regarding the use of the path through Hagwood to Wheatley hills they got a small number of replies, thirty something I think. Enough to establish it as an official right of way. I was surprised that so few had responded. It was the route from the early sixties onwards to Wheatley Hills Boating lake, a favourite sunny Sunday promenade as I recall. I don't believe that many hard pressed mining families were not grateful for the short cut to the social security office when push came to shove. When cash was short the bus fare would have found better use.In those days cars were rare amongst the working population. A poor response to a call for support sez I. Fair play to those who care enough to make a righteous fuss.
Shaw Wood, Basil Wood as I fondly remember it, was my old playground. The gateway to unlimited adventure that took me miles across open fields to the banks of the River Don. There wasn't the fearful perception of potential risk not in my family household at any rate. You can't get run over by a car in hedgerows and fields. I preferred falling into mossy bank when I took a tumble , picking grit out of a grazed knee streetside is not my most favoured of childhood memory.
I searched for references to the wild life in the Shaw Wood and Three Fields pond area (not Sainsbury's pond, please...) Some reference to bird life in the wood but little sign that anyone had spent much time languishing round the pond. Calling it a site of "Special Scientific Interest" hardly endears the place to anyone but scientists hearts. There's many a site that has been trashed that bore the title.
It was my haven a sanctuary from the heat of long hot summers, I rarely saw other people there. If I did I would often hide in bushes or detour around in fantasy adventures till they were gone. The route to the pond was usually across the field. From my back yard in Basil Avenue through silver birch wood we were often pulled up in surprise by partridges scattering to distract from their nests being discovered. I often fancied to eat the eggs but was put of by the prospect of finding half formed chicks inside . We just looked. Sky larks, were the sound of my childhood summers languishing in meadow grass on my back after a long spell of chasing throwing arrows , flighted arrows we made in our little bowery den.Roasting scrumped apples in an old baked bean can. Talking the all important Kids stuff a law unto ourselves, when coal was King the parents the hard pressed subjects we at least were freemen in our natural domain. There were hawks ,owls and woodpeckers , linnets and jays. We were always coming across nests and then sussing out what they were. some kids were into collecting eggs for display at home, I never took to that. The Three Fields pond life was fantastic. Stickle backs, some littler fish that looked like catfish, tiny things they call "penbwla" in Wales, crested and smooth newts , frogs and toads. Water cress and angelica spearmint to my recall. Many's the peaceful afternoon spent lying on a fallen tree above the water observing the insects. Water boatmen, diving beetles cadis fly larvae. Several kinds of dragon fly , their larvae (eating machines) being the "Dragon root of their popular name. Fierce looking bugs.Little creatures called hydra.. Midges and gnats didn't seem to myther me when absorbed in the pond life. There were grass snakes slow worms and vipers. . The sphagnum was most abundant. a veritable ark to all the indigenous wild life that included me. I found little joy in the industrialized village life. They weren't happy times that side of the chainlink fence. A troubled marginalised poor single parent family, I was "the blacky's kid" to many. The natural haven was a place where I felt unconditionally at home. At peace. Learning to relate to the living environment developed into a life time love that till my dying day will not leave me.We live in the wake of an asset stripping juggernaut. In the wasteland discarded as no longer commercially exploitable. My little field of interest is in a foreign land, Brittany. I have often longed to return to my old stamping ground , I have much working experience I might share. Chancing to browse Google map I was dismayed by the change, so much more covered with concrete . More concessions by each passing year to industry and commerce. The word "ecology" was coined in the seventees. It has taken a long struggle for folk to get the point. We are a far cry from a state of grace with the surrounding environment. As I say, "fair play" to those few who try to make a difference. But bear in mind all that lovely caring green chatter isn't going to regrade many ditches or fix the drainage sluice. Surface water run off from the nearby fields since the hedges have been grubbed up (Grange Farm?) is not improved by talking the talk in committee meetings. If the water table isn't lowered the trees will inevitably die. Lesson learned in Big Radley, Oxford. Several acres of silver birch died in one hot summer. Nuff sed for now.

They 'aven't got an 'ope in 'ell...

Knife crime or fear of it has provoked a stern reaction.By the time a person gets one of their own here in France most kids have learned of what a lot else a body may do with a knife besides stabbing others.They never banned bovver boots, sez it all. Someone somewhere in the blighted Isle must surely have heard of lawful excuse.
My interest in woodwork started with an opinel knife. Useful in my garden, the kitchen, on picnics a multitude of other practical uses. Inexpensive working kit a boon in any tool bag.
Twice now I have visited U.K. they allowed me through without search. On the way out they confiscated my Opinel. "It is a crime to carry a knife". How on earth does one get them to the kitchen. Dumbed down Britain seems oblivious of the syntax glitch. Euro star then forced me under duress to sign a piece of paper which states that I waive all rights of property. I asked for a receipt, with a view to having my property sent on to France, I was then told to just sign the waiver or the police would be called. I would then not be able to use my ticket home. When checking through airport customs and immigration in the past my "sharps" were always handed in and wrapped with a security sticker. Always returned on reaching my destination. A knife is primarily a tool, not a weapon. Banning the carrying of knives will not reduce the amount of violent crime in Britain. I have been hospitalised on six occassions in U.K. in unprovoked attack against my rights and my person by bad policing. They weren't carrying knives and I was self disciplined enough to not retaliate in kind.
They laughed when I was in hospital with half my body paralysed from attack by a group of youths armed with an iron lantern hook picked off the road works in London. The police told me they would have done the job properly. Ah the good old days.
I have an opinel once more, serves me well it does. That is more than I may say of the semi literate "jobswoths" that attempt to maintain peace and public order in the land.
Happen someone will introduce kids to alternate uses for knives, like peeling potatoes for the family meal. Armthorpe has 38 takeaways, I still haven't got over it.
Mind you don't slip and cut yourself on the aluminium foil.
I live next door to a n artisan blacksmith. He makes his living making knives.I bet you are all scared now. Best you stay inside the quarantine moat until the media driven viral paranoia has been cured . It is a mental illness. Irrational fear. Get well soon.

Ordinary nooz from the Izdom of Iz...

A sprig of bergamot brightens up the door step. A form of citrus.Spiky plant reminiscent of the crown of thorns. the scent of the flowers and the little oranges is divine We will try to grow some of this from cuttings later in the year. All's well in iz garden.
How's yours?

We get a better idea of what we are looking at when the sun is at our back...

Just trying to make a bit of good of a life in ruins. This is the entrance to the garden. At present it may not be regarded as much more than tidy pile of rubble. There's nowt on this earth that wasn't made of summat else. Wait till it's finished, you'll not see much sense in it for staring intensely at the light. It is only a picture from my notebook. a past time allusion to the epic poetry contained within an ever changing landscape.
I am now resolved to incorporate a wheelchair access. I wont be doing it out of kindness, the way I'm feeling some days it's more than likely I'll be needing it myself.
This season's temporary facade is getting on my nerves already. We try hard to keep the yard looking as pretty as a building site may. I will be sticking some stone down this coming year much of the structure will remain hungry. The voids will eventually be filled with tonnes of good soil and compost.
Today is an uncomfortable one. Wanting to get to grips with the heavy is obstructed by a broken toe.If that was all I would have little to moan about. Me back is way beyond it's best , my knees keep me in the standing position only by a conscious effort of will somedays.Even when I am sitting down they nag me to do something else. My arthritis keeps reminding me of the many canings they received from a fat arsed insensitive deputy head, Marjoram by name,Added to that the work they have done over the years , stone isn't a laugh when your knuckles feel as though they are on fire.
This chapter of the journey looks like being a painful one.I'm still standing on my hind legs. Hoping that the proposed wheelchair access will be utilised by visiting guests only. I will blog stuff when there is nothing else I can do. A fat lot of good it has done me or anyone else so far. A man told me that a blogs allright if you have something to say. The printed word is not speech. Most of the time I am silent. That is the time I mean the most. Who'd get that?
I could have done without the news that the children of the former Beatles were proposing to dip their bread in some of their parents glory. I hope they stay well out of hearshot . I would be more impressed if they decided to get work on the shovel. One wonders how much more of the debt ridden nation's disposable income they rightly deserve.
I couldn't afford records back in the days of my youth when the Beatles were getting famous got sick of being force fed the racket they made and the news of their antics via the media. I am not nostalgic for those times. The real sixtees for me started in October . This is only the beginning. I have some tunes of my own that will need airing before I drop off the perch. At fourteen I resolved to learn to play my flute first. I reckon it is about time it came out of the closet. The two blog postings of musicon the side bar are early days recording mutated by inappropriate engineering. An experiment. Upload it from the Internet Archive if you want. There's no accounting for taste.

ARMTHORPE has 38 takeaways, there's summat wrong there...

It was hard times for me as a youth, back in the day in Basil avenue. We couldn't even afford chips. Ever grateful I am for learning to cook from my dad, at home.
The tomato and aubergine seedlings are looking really robust and we have a tray of lettuce seedlings rearing to go. They will go out once the risk of frost is passed. We still have spuds in store.Marie Terese and Emilesowed this seasons crop in their bottom field. We have planted a row of shallots and more Garlic. We got into the habit of sowing garlic from the supermarket to use as sets but I think we got some irradiated ones. they have been in the ground for ages but they just didn't budge. Got some more , I think they are allright.We'll see.
There is a good rake of blossom out now, peach, plum and pear. The kale is coming into flower. I will leave two plants, one purple and one green for seed.. I will eat the last of the good leaves, freeze some for later.Then feed. the ground. We still have plenty of leeks. They aren't threatening to flower yet. Time to freeze a bag or two for mid season also. The flush of spring green is stunning.I'd better leave this and do some more. I am beginning to feel deprived.

Not completely clueless...

There's few that get the point o' me. Sometimes it causes me to lose my temper.I am not about pressing other peoples buttons to see what I can get out of them . I was brought up to survive well beyond the strand line of the privileged officer's mess.
Some folk might think I need anger management counselling. I don't need it here.
They backed the wrong horse, sad to say. The popular favourite, the sure fire winnner fell at the first hurdle. "Never gamble with your luck." Sez I. Count your blessings . I could pour out platitudes all day, it would make little difference. I am not a gambler. Learned to draw with loser's pencil's picked up outside the bookies as a kid.Learned to steal potatoes and cabbage from the fields to feed my dad and my brothers. Sold some to neighbours to pay off a bit of the debt at the local shop. The hard won miner's wage squandered on booze and horses. I didn't blame my dad for the hardship and poverty our family endured in my youth. My childhood ended at seven years old. Previous tenants of the N.C.B. house had sold off the good topsoil in our garden. Me dad was a prisoner in Markham Main without a choice but to maintain a holding pattern to keep a roof over our heads. He was a damaged man. Even at seven years old I understood that well enough. I tried to talk to "grown ups " back in the day. They didn't get it then nether it would seem do they get it now. "The ignorati ", I call them. "Clever Monkey's" cultivated by patronage to regard themselves as the leaders of men.
I will be hammering the point home soon enough. perhaps they'll understand wassda matteaux wi' me in the fullness of time. First I'll need to re-temper.
I think my toe is broken, fractured at least. Serves me right. I kicked a chair when I ought to have kicked someone's arse. Folk teks a big risk that habitually press stranger's buttons just to see what happens . They can count themselves lucky that I am disciplined enough to keep my powder dry and hold my fire till I can properly see the target. It has been the habit of my adult lifetime to take the pains upon meself in order to avoid the unacceptable risk of collateral damage.
"Iz he angry?", the question posed the next day. Insensitive little wazzuck didn't have the balls to speak directly to me.
It is not as if he didn't speak English, when he did he spoke of trying to shift English girls, then comparing with Scottish then Irish girls. his wife was sitting next to him , I guess she doesn't speak English well enough herself.
On the plus side, it appears that during his two year adventure in,Britain the English girls managed to keep their Rizla packets clamped firmly between their knees.
To hell wi' crying, "God for Harry". The man had better do the headwork , he has been fairly warned. I am not well pleased.
I can speak and understand some French. I learn it the way a child would learn. I am grateful for that small gift. I have just answered the phone, the bhai understood me well enough. Active working intelligence is most times a non vocal mechanism. None academic.
Where was I? My broken toe.
I don't wear the trappings of material success by the common standard. Having been wholly cheated robbed and deceived throughout my former marriage,even if I had a want I couldn't. From the age of seven I knew there was a lot more to life than money and self indulgent shopping. I have seen what folk do with theirs long enough. An old Breton worker in his melancholy cups once told me "The young are not free, they only have money." With him I wholly concur.
Academic success may be a useful and desirable add-on.Life however is not academic.
I would rather remain an unqualified success by my own definition. The objective detached over view on the ground can turn the whole world upside down, and so it does. There's too many by half that underestimate the singular intelligence of the working man. Hard won experience is not something that can be licked off the pages of a book or inducted by screen side programming. We can't afford to up grade our hardware. Most people don't use the technology to compute, deluded fools don't even use the sense they were born with once they plug into the crenulated logic of the electronic P.C. world. I would be content enough if the plug was pulled on all of it.
One million 16-24 year olds in U.K.are not merely unemployed and unhappy. They are unemployable and toxic with undeserved self indulgence sponsored by the ignorance of neglectful parents. It is only the tip of the iceberg.The malaise is a world wide problem, no nearer being put to rights by the faceless button pressers.
What would I know? The imported labour force, post war is now becoming resented.
Unjust congenital jealousy, happen.
I left home at 14, I put myself in care, I wanted to complete my education. You can only do that when you are alive. Orphan Alley I called it. A lot of folk felt sorry for me.
I put up with it. Little treats were arranged to "enlighten" the savage from the pit village, "Blacky's Kid" as I'd often heard spoken whilst in Armthorpe. The introduction to the politically correct middle class and upper class houses was an eye opener.
I had long time learned to keep me big gob shut till I knew a bit o' summat worth speaking rightly about. Things iz sed. Well enough I heard as I crammed me face with petit fours. I was taught to be polite in "mixed company" well dressed patrons of the arts were attempting to "Cultivate" , "civilise" me. I never did take to liking the symbolic significance of Steinway grand pianos since those days . "you ought to be grateful". Half a dozen canapés chewed silently with my big mouth shut opened my ears to ideas mostly not to my best liking.
"Grown up" discussion of how to control the "new servant population" politely spoken educated privileged people. Indian people being regarded as the best was a most enlightening view. With so many lost in the war, and the mass exodus to what then was refered to in some quarters as the "White Commonwealth" the big houses were in crisis as to how to maintain a grip on the vestigal post Empire legacy, of power and influence. What with the famous, "Give us the tools, and we'll finish the job". "Tools" had a different meaning for those brought up to keeping their fingernails clean. I got them , they didn't get me. I'd sed nowt. Cottoned on right bloody Sharpe- ish. A right bunch of Burkes they seemed to my way of thinking, arrogant and patronising in the extreme.
I am nobody's fool and nobody's tool. As far from "User friendly" as it is possible to be.
My former life in Armthorpe wasn't all bad It was just hard. I still cherish the valuable lessons I absorbed there. Bill Godden being number one guru in his more lucid and mellow periods before he had been destroyed completely. Many others coached me in the real often unsung history of the working class struggle,world wide, whilst me dad was in the bookies,in conversation with his mates or doing a double in the mine, old boys spoke of the International Brigade, and much else besides. Benign indoctrination, LEST WE FORGET. There's no such thing as history, past or future.
The resurgence of the pre-war liberalism, "The Liberalism that dare not speak it's name" as it was unfondly called, had not up to then re-estabished as a popular mass movement. I was brought up to be ever vigilant.
I remain grateful for the extra curricula schooling and will be for my mortal lifetime. I am not likely to forget.
A recent survey of British children found that one in two people interviewed had never heard of the death camps in Nazi Germany. "About time they introduced modern politics into primary school education" sez I. They have been taught about condoms before they can tie their own shoe laces. "The Velcro Generation". I call it.
Self righteous old fart aren't I? Some 'd say so. They are welcome to their perceptions.
To get back: The bloke tried to impress me that as I was living in France I should forget about politics. He obviously had never been brought up to learn first time around. Came over as a sociopathic manipulator, Fruedian slips evacuating from his mouth like projectile vomit. I heard him, didn't over react. I kicked the chair when I got home. "Vive la Resistance" thinks I.
Somethings a man can't forget. those too timid to learn first hand had better learn by relating to the sensitivities of those who take the pains on their behalf. Perhaps he should try running the gauntlet I have had to endure. I doubt that he would have survived.
I was iron barred to paralysis by neo Nazi xenophobes in the good old days of your in London. I was a homeless youth . In Greece I was herded into the sea drowned then dragged out of the water and kicked back to consciousness by fascist junta supporters.. I'm still standing. by the blessing of the Great Divinity my recall and nominal physical repair was good. Damage is permanent but I compensate. Some scars I can show most are invisible to the eye.
The man couldn't get the point even when it was explained the next day in French over the phone. I will be coming back his way as I have business in the region. He had best keep his head down for now at least his mouth firmly closed till there is a formal reconciliation. He has in effect slapped me around the face in challenge. Knowingly or not. I feel rightly or wrongly that his intellectual arrogance must be stopped from virally spreading into the greater population. My Dharma. I have no choice.
The how of it is yet to be seen and heard. There is a rake more to this story han meets the eye.For the record I will dutifully recount all transparently. The complete tale will be relayed without prejudice though with little confidence that the man may ever understand.
I will assuredly act by every moral and constitutional means. Doesn't mean he wont get the larruping he deserves. I accept the challenge. The bloke is a Burke, I'd rather be a Paine. More later.
See the picture above... It's a clou. A big one.

Someone's nicked my Ooblee Dooblee...

So much for having faith in outside assistance. Ooblee Dooblee and a few other tunes have disappeared from My blog.I haven't got the time with the amount of other work to learn and master the technology. I had some Tunes on the archive that I was assured would stay there. Perhaps our definitions of sustainable differ. Conditional on what? is the question. As though all the words in the world will mean something else if you don't keep paying money. They were posted via someone else's server. I guess he didn't pay his bill. Then I heard his lap top was stolen. since he has a new one now and his current interests are not the same as the ones he had during his original computer he has possibly just not bothered to renew his past account. Who knows? My eyes couldn't take more than the irritation they endure at present. They are photo sensitive. It is as much as I want to bear to type without harming them anymore learning new tricks screenside. Is it just my perception that needs adjusting or is the percentage of children needing spectacles growing. Summats up thats for sure. Looks that way to me, In my youth all children were tested in school. I remember having it done several times. National health glasses were easily got through the National program. no child need be disadvantaged rich or poor. Hardly any of the kids in a poor mining area had glasses. It was a fairly rare sight. I see a lot more now. Presumably they aren't wearing them just to look cool. So Wassup???
In the bad old days of child exploitation in Europe children were used to do fine craft work Silk tatting for the lace industry being one that immediately comes to mind. Economic necessity forced families to compromise the care of their offspring in poor families every one that could contribute to keep bellies full at home did so. Now in the days of conspicuous consumerism and excessive waste we give children the means to scorch the optic nerves without control or adequate supervision. Super vision, what a laugh. Scary innit? They'd never allow that now would they. Anyway they can't prove it.
Ever hear of screen cleaners? Ever wonder why they are needed? Light can photo engrave a plate of glass. It is worth thinking about at any rate. I have little faith that many will. The optician told me recently that if I use my eyes for reading the screen , fixed focus, they would rapidly get worse. He wasn't wrong. Another problem caused by screenside light is it is radial light not parralel. This is tiring my head. I'll give it a rest. I doubt that there is as much as one person in a million who cares enough and is empowererd enough to do anything about it. Who Cares?
Earth day, I had to smile. One day a year. It hardly touches the surface. One blessed day to show that we give a minute part of a god forsaken damn. I am glad they did it though the result could be quite illuminating.Our village gdoesn't have street light and that is the way we like it. Wish you were here.