Monthly Archives: September 2024

From the Ashes of Disaster

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So, I hear you ask, how was it? As if the title didn’t give enough of a clue.

The slide show was good. I spent a lot of time on it. Part of this was the time I spent relearning the system because I only use it once every two years, and forget how it works. Another portion of time was spent in the script, because it took me months to sort out what I wanted to say. After that, the text and photography was, as always, tedious and seemed to take forever.

However, at about 4pm on Monday (a couple of hours before the talk), I was 90% ready. I’m never 100% ready, and I bet most people aren’t. I had a well-crafted slideshow, the commentary was running round in my head (I don’t use notes, just have a lot of information and use the slides as prompts to bring it out at the right time).

The first presentations I ever did were about the Sealed Knot. Sometimes I would use an old-fashioned show, the sort that actually used photographic slides. They were expensive to produce, there was a delay between taking the pictures and seeing the results, you could load projector magazines back to front or wrong way round, bulbs blew, I even saw a slide melt once (fortunately not one of mine) . . .

Miniature Distinguished Conduct Medal (DCM)group to L H Childs – a member of the Northamptonshire Regiment in WW2. The recommendation for his DCM shows that he waded across a canal and tackled two German machine gun nests. Then did it a second time. A newspaper report shows that he was wounded after the war whilst disarming German troops in Italy.

I did talks for history societies, schools, the WI and Scouts. They had varying levels of equipment so i gradually developed what is essentially my current style – I’d take enough items to fill a table, I’d pick something up and talk about it, pass it round or make someone try it on. Whatever I say about modern technology, I do love digital photography, and am quite keen on PowerPoint (or the free ODF equivalent in my case). You can do so much more.

Anyway, back to Monday afternoon.

By the wonders of modern delivery technology, Amazon had delivered a box of USB drives to my door in under 24 hours. I didn’t want his masterpiece of numismatic storytelling to go to waste on my cluttered old drive. I even loaded a second one as I am very much a belt and braces type of presenter, and only the best is good enough for my gem of presentation.

Are you following me? Or have you already deduced the full horror of the precipice I am about to fall off?

Oh yes, despite the care and attention I had taken, the hours of blood, toil, sweat and tears that had gone into my presentation, it wouldn’t show up on the screen in the meeting room. It wouldn’t show up on the screen next door either. But someone else had a USB drive with him and it did show his. It just wouldn’t read mine. Mine, once I got home, functioned perfectly well on my computer. Investigations are ongoing.

There was some muttered discussion about whether any of the others had an old presentation with them as a replacement . . .

Miniature DCM group to Frederick Cowham, once a member of the Royal Artillery, later a prison governor. He won it for mending telephone lines under fire – we didn’t hav e much radio communication in 1914-18 so many medals were given out for telephone-related incidents.

However, cometh the hour, as they say, cometh the man. And that man, after arranging his display cases in the amended order necessary and stood up to deliver the talk. There were no slides, no photos and no prompts, just a man and an audience. And that man, having lived and breathed this presentation for the last panic-stricken week, saw no reason to worry. I missed some things out and didn’t deliver it with the polish I would have liked, but an hour later (it rambled a bit more than the slideshow), it was all done.

Despite everything, people seemed to enjoy it. I was able to pass exhibits round in my new display cases so people all had a look, and I was congratulated several times on the content of the talk, and my ability to stand up and give it without a script or visual prompts.

So, all in all, despite the technological disaster, it went quite well and I was able to carry it off despite everything. If anything, I am now, if anything, a bit too pleased with myself for having kept calm and carried on.

Miniature Medals of Pte Charles Winch, Leicestershire Regiment, with related school attendende medal and picture of his full size medals, which were sold in the same sale. After fighting in the battle of Talana and defending Ladysmith, he was recalled for service in WW1, but did not go overseas. Note the presence of the extra bar “Natal” on the miniatures – this sort of thing, though the fact that the medals have swapped sides is a wild deviation from the main group, even by the standards of strange things that miniature medals get up to.

For a good read, follow this link to the lady in question.

 

 

 

 

Julia the Explorer

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Mute Swan at Orton Mere

By the time I’d been to work and hacked away at the keyboard constructing my slideshow for Monday, I was so tired I went to bed instead of blogging. This morning when I got up I had a cooked breakfast provided by Julia and managed to fritter a good deal of the day away watching Murder She Wrote and talking about Julia’s trip to Peterborough yesterday.

Starting from the end of the road we will be living in, she and my sister walked round all the local amenities – chip shop, Chinese takeaway, library, lakes, shops, gyms and bus routes. That is my order, she has a slightly different view of what is important.  They walked over 11 miles. She did tell me what it was in steps, but it was a big number and I forgot it. She has a watch that tells her this sort of stuff. I have a watch that tells me approximately what time it is, but I only wear it if I have an appointment.

Orton Mere – Dramatic filter

I always have to issue a warning with Julia and the number of steps she takes, because my sister and Number One Son, when walking with her, always do fewer steps. It’s because she has tiny little legs, and she has to take a lot more steps.  When walking with the kids she has been known to break into a trot to keep up.

The facilities. she says, are fine and she is now  lot more relaxed about moving.

Meanwhile, after reading the blog back to myself I am worried about my family. Where did all this reliance on watches come from? And why do you need a watch to tell you how far you have walked or whether you slept well the previous night? Admittedly, I measure  my walking in very small numbers these days, but I tell the time by how hungry I am and if I don’t yawn I know I slept well. Eventually, I’m convinced, the human race will die out because solar flares knock out the internet and nobody knows what to do without their gadgets.

Edward VII pillar box – Orton Longueville. From the days when we were happy to write a letter and wait, rather than email and then stare at the screen.

Almost Done!

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These two pictures are the miniature medals of Major J L Partington MBE, MC and his Brazilian ID card from a trip he made in 1952. Miniature medals are worn for events like formal dinners I will do a longer write up on them in a later post.

Major Partington was an engineer by profession and went to work in Argentina before the Great War. He returned to fight, joined the Royal Engineers and was decorated for spending all day under shell fire rescuing trains and equipment. He then went back to Argentina, married and had two sons, who were both killed in the RAF, one one in 1941 and one in 1942. I often think, when people are talking about how hard life is, we don’t really have a clue these days compared to the generations that lived through the wars.

Today was the day I hit Peak Panic with the presentation. I only have until Monday, and as I’m working tomorrow, I’m short of time. I’m also short on research and have no chance of preparing all the materials I was going to put together.

On the other hand, I have now learned most of what I need to know about putting a presentation together (I forget how to make a slide show after each time I do one) and by late afternoon I had the majority of it in place, It’s nothing like as good as I wanted. On the other hand (leaving false modesty apart) it’s far from the worst one we’re going to have this winter.

I have plenty of slides, plenty of stories, know my material and have a relaxed manner of delivery. I’ve enjoyed doing it and I’m going to enjoy it. I’ve also bought some great display stands off the internet and the collection is going to look good.

I also bought some bookstands. One of the medal recipients wrote a book about his wartime experiences and another features in a chapter of  book by someone else, so I will have two books on display – I always find myself being impressed by that sort of thing,and hope other people are too.

The header picture is the book by the medal recipient – Night Fighter by Lewis Brandon. I first read it when i was about twelve and it made a big impression on me. It was fifty years later that I was able to buy the miniatures, and it’s very unusual to be able to put this much detail with a group of medals.

He was an actor before the war, a pioneering radar operator during the war and a publican and hotelier after the war (amongst other things) and the book, which only covers his life until 1945) makes a good read.

Anyway, whatever happens, I won’t be telling people that it’s fallen short of my intentions, so they need never know. That’s something I was taught in sales – the customer doesn’t actually know how badly prepared or nervous you are, so hide it and get on with the job in hand.

Miniature Medals of Lt Col Wall

Lt Colonel Wall was decorated by the British and Dutch Governments. He was a pre-war railway manager and used his expertise by supplying troops with food and equipment in three campaigns.

In the winter of 1944-45 the Germans cut off supplies of food and fuel to a substantial portion of the Netherlands as a reprisal for actions of the Dutch Resistance. It was a bad winter and at least 30,000 people died of cold and hunger. Many of the survivors, including a child called Edda van Heemstra, had to eat tulip bulbs to survive and suffered from bad health all their lives.

She became a UN ambassador and worked to relieve famine out of gratitude for the international given to her country at the end of the war. Wall’s part in the relief effort was recognised by the award of the Order of Orange-Nassau (the impressive medal on the end of the group).

By the time van Heemstra worked for the UN, she had resumed the use of her English name,  which had been a problem during the occupation. That is why she is better known as Audrey Hepburn.

Of Keys and Cans and Walking Sticks and Cabbages and Kings

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Fishermen on the beach at Huttoft

This morning I thought of a good title for today’s post. In the afternoon, I thought of an even better one. Of course, by the time I thought about writing, both of them had faded away.

It has been a day when I have had to face up to my age. I hadn’t realised I was going to be doing that in my 60s, it seemed more like an activity for my 70s and 80s. It just goes to show how much I didn’t realise about my future.

Looking back, it started yesterday. Julia remarked that I looked down, and I asked her what I had to be happy about. Then something else happened. I can remember that something else happened, I just can’t remember what it was. it may come back to me.

Fishing in the Trent

Then today I had a knock on the door. It was one of the neighbours telling me someone had run into my car and knocked the door mirror  off. It wasn’t as bad as it sounded – it’s the shroud and repeater that have been knocked off. The rest of it is still OK. I know this because it’s exactly the same damage that was done when a bus clipped me in traffic. It comes under the value of the Policy Excess for the insurance and, last time, cost £90. It will be more this time, I’m sure.

Fortunately, they had stopped and left details with the neighbour and, as they only live down the street I was able to walk down and agree what was going to happen.

\then I walked back. Whilst doing so, I met the man who lives on the corner. He was out with his walker. It is one of those contraptions with a frame, four wheels, a seat and brakes. Difficult to describe, but you have probably seen them around. He used to have sticks.  Time, as we agreed, has not been kind to us.

Fishing opposite the County Council offices

When I got home I found the mortice lock was jammed and I couldn’t unlock it. I tried all sorts of things, pushing and pulling the door, turning the key both ways – nothing worked. So I ran through a list fo options in my head.

Suddenly the clouds parted, a sunbeam shone forth and I had an idea. (the aforementioned clouds and sunbeams are metaphorical, by the way, there was no actual divine intervention). When I had left I had been in a hurry. So I unlocked the Yale, and the door opened. The reason I couldn’t unlock the mortice lock was because it was not locked. Another one for the growing list of senior moments.

I just stopped to put the evening meal in the oven. Sausages, in case you were wondering – we’re having an unimaginative, low quality cooking regime cookery regime at the moment – I’m just not enthused by the idea of cooking.

Haddock Special at the Fishpan, Scarborough

While I was doing that, my brain was clearly catching up. The “something else” that happened was making Julia’s sandwiches. I decided on tuna mayonnaise, which includes, black pepper, chopped green tops of spring onions (scallions) and lemon juice. Unfortunately I’d dropped a stack of tuna tins a few weeks ago (I buy them in the wrapped columns of four) and the weight of the falling stack had bent the top tin. The can opener won’t work on bent rims. It’s a poor opener, but it has outlasted all the supposedly better ones, which seem to fall apart. So I used a knife. But my grip is not what it used to be and the can resisted. So I employed a screwdriver. Eventually, in a process which owed nothing to common sense, I managed to get half the top folded back and spooned the tuna out.

It is very depressing when a tin can appears to be more intelligent, and stronger, than I am. Is it any wonder I am depressed?

Then I remembered the good title for the post. It wasn’t that good second time round. I still can’t remember the better one. I’m going to try to think of another one.

Ah, I have an idea.

Tin Kingfisher

Some thoughts on Rammle

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I just had to edit a post from a few days ago. I’d written 2012 instead of 2021. I know I leave typos in, but I now wonder if I’ve put some wrong dates in. If I have, nobody has mentioned it.

A couple of months ago, I had a move round in the dining room. In looking for some things I disturbed a neat pile of boxes on my table (and a few others that were carefully stacked next to my typing table. They were tidy, I promise you. I churned things round, as I was in a hurry, and made a promise to myself I would tidy it next day. I didn’t get round to it. But I have noticed that the mess has grown and spread. It now looks like a subterranean volcano of rammle has built up under the house before venting itself in my dining room. It’s like Narnia in reverse.

I had to look rammle up. I use it in speech but you rarely see it in writing as it’s a dialect word and not much used by the university educated prats who write most of our news. Look up rammel and you get a German page followed by a British politician, then Erwin Rommel. Look up rammle and it asks you if you meant ramble. I didn’t.

Working on the knife sharpening theory I am now going to work on the rubbish pile and sort it out over the rest of the week (interspersing it with my similarly paced writing of my presentation for next Monday).

Service records show that the recipient of these medals (known as a 1914-15 trio and Italian Bronze Medal of Military Valour didn’t go to Italy during the war, just France. This wasn’t uncommon, as the alllies used to send batches of medals to each other for award to troops, almost as a superior sort of souvenir. I’m not sure what he did to merit a medal, but his records also show that he was admitted to hospital with  VD just days after reaching France. I suspect his embarkation leave had been spent in the traditional way and had come home to roost.

The medals in the header photo belonged to Superintendent Tacey of the City of Nottingham police. His service records indicate rapid promotion and a mention in despatches for his hard work during the war. He did go to Italy for a while. They will both be featured in my presentation on Monday. Not long now . . .

At Last! Plus Some Thoughts on Sport

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I note that WP now has a speech bubble when i open it up. It points out that the reader has moved and is now denoted by eyeglasses. You can see why companies like this pay their CEOs such big money. Customer care, efficiency, planning – it takes a lot of money to hire someone who is prepared to stamp that out of an organisation. Sometimes I wonder how this sort of ineptitude can take hold and flourish.

Then there’s the Paralympics – the french were awarded the  games seven years ago and they cost €9 billion, but the triathletes and open water swimmers still have to swim in an open sewer. One of our athletes said, in the defence of Paris, that she wouldn’t want to swim in the Thames, which is a fair point, as we recently had a situation where the University Boat Race crews were told not to put their Cox in the river. However, when we hosted the Olympics we, sensibly, didn’t use the Thames.

Ram’s head at Southwell

I see Hannah Cockcroft has said that Paralympians should have the same amount of prize money as able-bodied athletes. World Athletics pays athletes £38,000 if they win gold. The rowers, swimmers, cyclists, divers, gymnasts and all the rest of our team get nothing for winning, apart from satisfaction and glory. And lottery funding, jobs and personal sponsorship. And in some cases, gold pillar boxes.

They used to do Olympic competitions in art, literature, music and architecture. It’s something they should do again, and include poetry.  It would be nice if I could be selected for the national team and have my living and coaching paid by Lottery funding. But then I’d be in quandary if I won – £38.000 or a gold pillar box?

One of the Lions outside the Council House.  They say the Right Lion roars when an honest politician walks past.  Enough said.

 

An Answer to a Haibun Question

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For Paol Soren, who asked, and for anyone else who wants to know.

This is an explanation of Haibun.

This is someone else’s explanation of a Haibun.

And this is an example.

Pigs and cornflowers

The Thoughtful Pig

When I tell the pig that my latest scan is clear, it grunts and stretches out a bit more neck
for me to scratch.

My wife, when I gave her the same news, said: “What does that mean?”

How do I know? I’m not medically qualified. I assume it means they can’t find anything of
concern, and apart from regular monitoring, don’t intend doing anything else. When I point
this out, she tells me that being sarcastic, alongside being passive-aggressive, is one of my
major faults. When I point out that this is two faults, she adds pedantry to the list.

It isn’t difficult to kill someone, particularly when you have access to the internet, though
the advice you get is often qualified with reference to the trickiness of modern forensics,
and they all agree that a major difficulty is disposing of the body. Fortunately, I have pigs
and they will eat almost anything.

“One day,” I say, scratching dried flakes of mud from behind the listening ear, “one day . . .”

cornflower
blowing in the breeze
clouds gather overhead

That one was published in drifting sands last month.

This one is a tanka prose. It doesn’t have a Japanese name. It’s a tanka (five line poem) added to a prose section instead of a haiku. This one was published in Contemporary Haibun Online earlier in the year.

Angel with Spear, 1860s. By N H J Westlake or J M Allen. St Michael’s and All Angels, Derby

The Next Funeral

Amazon reviews indicate I am not the only person to have searched for a black tie with next day delivery. I could have sworn it was in the car’s glove compartment, neatly folded from the last time I wore it. My one white shirt hangs, ghostlike, from the bedroom picture rail and my timeless drab tweed jacket hangs next to it. The tie, I suddenly remember, is in my jacket pocket.

Tomorrow, as I nod to cousins, we will remark that we really must try to meet without someone dying. My uncle, who has just turned ninety, tells his brother in law to wrap up warm or he’ll be next. One day, I suppose, I will realise there is no obvious candidate to be next . . .

in church the sun
shines through an angel’s robe
bubbles trapped in blue glass
I wonder whose breath is
captured forever

St Joseph and the Angel c 1920 by Wilhelmina Geddes.

Nudge Theory and the Sharpening of Knives

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Autumn Beech leaves – Clumber Park

When I switched on, I noticed that I had 85 Drafts. They aren’t actually drafts, which I always think of as versions of a completed article, they are actually false starts. Like I said when talking about poetry recently – I tend to save false starts and use bits of them for other things. However, it seems like a lot so I thought I’d investigate.

I now have 62 drafts. Twenty three have been trashed, varying in length from 900 words to zero words. I’m not sure how or why I saved that one. Several only have one or two paragraphs in them, but using 200 as a rough average I have just deleted 4,600 words. That’s 1/10th of a novel. It seems like a lot when you add it up, but some of my other posts involve editing out more words than I eventually end up with. Others, I admit, are just thrown onto the page and published without a second thought. You can always tell them They are the ones full of typos. Or the ones about having ten minutes to write my 250 words.

Before you go away with the idea that I have been through 85 drafts and kept 62, I haven’t. I have been through 26 drafts and thrown 23 out. In a few days i will go through another slice of them with similar results.

It’s like nudge theory and a small reminder making a big difference. If you read the article it tends to suggest that there is little effect, the British Government seems to think nudging does some good and despite what I often say about governments, they don’t pay to do things unless they are getting something back.

In my version of nudge theory I tell myself, and keep telling myself something needs doing. Eventually, little by little, it will (mostly) get done.

Autumn leaves – Rufford Abbey

I decided to do more housework, so I started by washing up almost every day. Last week I started washing up on the day the plates were used. It’s a small but important improvement. Hoovering, dusting and polishing are next on the list, though it may be a while. I’m looking for improvement, not perfection.

My version of nudge theory is really knife theory. Julia, as I may have mentioned, has a knife-blunting super power. I gave up the struggle to keep knives sharp some years ago. And that was how it stayed – every cooking session was a reproach to me as I struggled with blunt knives. Eventually, as I started to sort things out, I started to resharpen them.  I can’t find my whetstone so I use one of those sharpeners where you draw the knife through a slot with concealed sharpeners. I didn’t do much, just a couple of strokes every few days. After a week they were improved. After three weeks they are  sharp and kitchen work is easier.

And that’s why, ithin a week I intend to reduce my Drafts folder to less than a dozen drafts. If I’d tried to do it all in one night, it wouldn’t have happened.

Oak leaves and frost