Wittering

 Radio Caroline, I bet that takes you back!  Pirate Radio, illegal music no less, how far we have come from those days.  Glastonbury rules the big concerts of music today, and even manages to squash in some oldies  as well.

I remember a book I bought my young son 'The Way Things Work' and was fascinated by the mechanical action of machinery. 

Well onboard Radio Caroline they had a generator to make things happen in the 1960s.  So old fashioned. Apparently there are still plenty of illegal radio shows around.

When the young descend on this household, this time Matilda and Lucien, the talk revolves around music, films and celebrities they meet in the clubs.  Lucien is intrigued by the 'olden days'. My one and only clash with the famous 'Rolling Stones (before they were famous) on Eel Pie Island is all I can offer up.

But how the ship Radio Caroline worked is discussed and that old method of radio waves, they are still around, worked.  Now we have satellites cluttering the space around Earth, a digital paradise of knowledge.  Always up for expansion but draining our world of precious water.  And, I think our brain power.

I see Burnham has taken the 5% VAT tax of electricity whilst allowing the Rosebank (field of oil?) and another oil source free run.  Apparently they do not pay tax on the enormous amount of money they profit from the oil.  It was always thus. But I am getting political - yikes.

So I shall write of something else.  Which is 'wokeness', apparently it follows on from socialism and not empathy.  We had got round to discussing words not allowed now.  I had been mulling over mental asylum.  Now I can use it in a 19th century context with no fear of being leapt on.  For instance, the famous nature poet John Clare ended up in a mental asylum.  

But there is stigma attached to the words which makes it offensive today.

So phones were addressed to see how we would call a medical centre for people with problems.  So I mentioned Wakefield Hospital, I had read a book on someone from Hebden Bridge ending up there and he had given a perfectly normal report of it.  So asking Wikipedia about it, and it came up with this answer.

A psychiatric hospital, also known as a mental health hospital, a behavioral health hospital, or an asylum is a specialized medical facility that focuses on the treatment of severe mental disorders. 

I am rather worried about the restriction of words by today's measures but it is also fascinating to see how words are replaced by modern thinking.  We have all railed against the misogyny and racist appeal of old comedians and their jokes in the past and it seems to have fallen by the wayside thank goodness.  But it has taken me a long time to use the word 'they' for him or her.  

Family history

 

 A random photo.  It was taken 50 odd years ago.  Myself and my daughter by the pool at Es Planches in Blonay.   At the time I am  happily married to Nick before the terrible crash that took his life a couple of years later.  Our daughter Karen in the photo is still a baby.

The car crash robbed me of a much loved husband, a father for Karen and the youngest son of Con and Lotta Opper.   Of course such things happen to many people but it has a profound effect individually.  

It is something I never talk about, the grief at the time was unbearable.  Nick had called in at Oxford to meet an old friend, David Double and was driving back home, which was Woking in Surrey at that time.

After the car crash. Down to a foolish women pulling out without looking to see if there was any one coming, Nick was taken to a Nottingham hospital.  Con and Lotta came over immediately and for a fortnight till his death, he was unconscious, the prognosis was that he would have probably been confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life.  I remember Lotta saying that perhaps his death was the best outcome for him, for me that was impossible, but death settled the matter.

His death hung over the family for years, his three siblings, all older were also traumatised as well.  Annabel his sister would  have often take on a mothering role and visited him when he was at  school or later at Oxford, taking him out for a meal.  For, like most families that worked overseas all the children were educated in England at boarding schools.

The Swiss connection for my family has always been strong, each year my daughter, Karen and I  would spend  a summer month in Switzerland, Con always good with both Karen and Marc, Annabel's boy, would keep us all entertained whilst Lotta would keep the peace with two youngsters rushing around.

A rundown of those people in the photo.  From the left, a lady from one of those minor Eastern European countries (it will come to me).  Next Lotta, then Florine Katz (Karen's godmother) from America.  Sylvia in the centre.  Then Florine's husband Eugene.  Next Annabel with Marc's friend.  The three below are Marc, Karen and me.

There is a fourth sibling but as Michael lived in Canada we did not see much of him.  He had become a boxer at one stage than a lumberjack working in the forest.  He had married Sharon, daughter of a newspaper owner, and sad to say addicted somewhat to drugs.  She was to go off to India to follow one of the gurus that were in fashion at the time.  It also happened in our family as well,  this time my cousin.  The Beatles had a lot to answer for....

What funny photos we take of ourselves, the one above is surely taken by Marc and he is messing around making us cross!

Marc had been brought up in Iran on an oil camp in the desert, so he was a bit rough with his younger cousin Karen.  With his farming friend they would wander around with a knife and air gun.  I cannot but look at a picture of him now, overweight and a successful business behind him and giggle at the transformation.

Marc had an impetuous nature as a boy.  Once while sitting at a Swiss restaurant he put his hand on the hot plate in the centre of the table and burnt his hand badly.  He would push through crowds without thinking and there would be a lot of crossness at his behaviour and us apologising as  we followed him behind.

This is for my grandchildren, especially Lillie, who bought me a book to record my history with the Opper family.  Mostly I think photos tell a better story than words.

At Gruyere, a family annual photo capture. at the same spot See below

Canadian side of the family in snowy Switzerland rather than Canada

Sunday 19th July 2026

 It is Sunday. a quiet and peaceful day.  I have been round the blogs, seen Going Gently's long photo album of happy people being together in the Rectory Garden.  I went out yesterday to the Folklore cafe there was a 'maker's market' though hardly many stalls.  But as I opened the cafe door, the sound of children's excited voices hit me.  Families were gathered together in little clusters on the sofas playing games, and I realised this was also a happening.

The Folklore Centre has been closed mostly over winter and up to now.  One reason is because the pavement has been closed for the Hippodrome works.  Also because more money was needed.  But it has been slowly opening with different small venues happening.  A certain emphasis on feminist speakers, which is not my kind of thing.  Just feel we should have moved forward on that issue.

Anyway Holly was there and we chatted and I  bought three pieces of fabric from her.  It is sad because such a warm and friendly place where people gather is hamstrung by the need for money.  The building is I believe owned by a baker from Hebden Bridge, and he is happy to run the cafe and the bakery behind but with a certain emphasis on Vegan fare, which I would think  is only enjoyed by vegans.  His bread is lovely by the way - real organic.

Holly by the way is the leading force behind the Folklore Centre, with the big library of books upstairs in the cafe she has led the way and worked very hard to keep the Centre going.  And, I believe it has taken its toll on her health. 

A photo of several stones piled together at Stanton Drew stone circle, which is behind.  The circle with two smaller ones inside is I think the third largest stone circle in Britain.  The ones piled together by some farmer in the past, were probably a small avenue that led down to the river.  The relationship of the church which you can see in the background, is once more the need for the religious faith of the church to dominate the pagan stones.

Edit: One of the smaller stone circles was outside. I had written a lot about this circle, because it also influenced the John Woods, builders of Bath Georgian houses and the thinking which influenced them.

So two links.

Stanton Drew

Druidical Bath

Ness of Brodgar  Which just happened yesterday.

Gathering the News

The Binman:  Okay, collective failure of British people to take life seriously.  We welcome you alien garbage bin from outer space.  Government will even make it legal to enter  into the hallowed space of Parliament for strangely dressed creatures.

Nigel, poor lamb chop,  you shot yourself in the foot this time, let us hope it is the end of your despotic, despairing, disgusting play for power.  Being ripped apart by the country is so unfair!!  Well the link is playing up so I will just give its link to You tube.   link

As for the Binman he seems quite lucid, maybe he will make a better MP for Clacton,  but does he live in Clacton?  I forgot, you can be an MP in any part of the country according to your party.  Some of us see that as wrong, especially since Nigel tends to be in America a lot of the time.  Which reminds me of the Marsh Family, who have been growing up before my eyes the last couple of years.  Their naive songs appeal, and it is a nice historic memory to gather.

Saturday, I have finished my morning coffee, the house is empty.  Andrew has taken the train to Mytholmroyd to walk back over the moors to Tod.  Karen off to Manchester to work.  Lillie off to scouts camp with three large backpacks of stuff, knocking stuff off the shelves as she went.  Matilda is down tomorrow for a few days. 

 

16th July 2026

I start with a meme, on the folly of redecorating the mansions of No.10 and  No.11 Downing Street, it is definitely not a permanent residency.  But Starmer went out of office in true British style.  Laughter, jokes and tears and a stiff upper lip as we saw him cheered out of the House of Commons.  Everyone wishing him well even  Kemi Badenoch, leader of the opposition, was gentle in her farewell to him.

I hope there are a few more firm upper lips around as England once again lost their game for the football World Cup.  But think strong, we were pretty near to the final game!

So what else.  Well I have been frightening myself with watching videos from the 'Dark side of the Moor'.  Mostly murders committed in Todmorden, but I have been having nightmares of monsters in the night, so I shall leave the 'Murder in the Vicarage' to another time.  And just dwell on the fact that for a year Harold Shipman, serial killer, of apparently 250ish older people, once practised in Tod for a year between 1974-1975.

It has been calculated that he probably caused the death of 30 elderly patients here during that time.  He was sacked from the local clinic because he was found to have been stealing drugs, pethidine I think  for himself .  I am not going to put his nasty bearded photo up (go find it yourself) as his mad eyes surely would have warned people, but no.  He went on to kill the rest of his victims in Hyde in Manchester by poisoning with diamorphine. 

His crimes were difficult to find as he always recommended that his victims be cremated.  He was convicted of 15 murders and sentenced to a lifetime in prison.  He hung himself in prison the day before his 58th birthday.  I suppose he got away with it because we trust doctors so much, though there were suspicious people along the way.  He never said why he did it.  Did he set himself up as some sort of god, helping his victims towards an untimely end. 

 

Sometimes it is scary to come upon what 'normal' people are capable of.

 

14th July 2026

 Thumbing through news on the rest of the world and I came upon the above, bison being released into Cumbria.  These great European bison once roamed this land 6000 years ago.  Great as it is to see this and the heartfelt pleasure of the man who bought this happening into being, I do wonder how our overcrowded island can fit in bison and humans together.  Especially as I also caught in the news a bison tossing a grandfather in the air in America.  The bison wasn't out to kill him though - I think it was the mating season for bison over there.

Rewilding is the name of the game.  We all know of the wild boars of the Forest of Dean.  An accidental release for them, but they seem to have settled down and do not attack humans, though perhaps dogs might be a different kettle of fish.

Isabella Tree (apt name) is also in the process with her husband of rewilding their estate.  This includes bringing cattle to graze and the killing and butchering of animals not exactly a pleasant picture.  She lives with her husband at Knepp Castle in West Sussex. Her title is Lady Burrell and they have certain schemes to keep this failing estate alive, apparently you can even stay at the castle.  Good work on their part.

  

You will note a slight skepticism in my thoughts on this but in truth I really hope it works for the beavers who are also being released carefully into our rivers to bring out good ecosystems within the river systems.  There will be some upset and of course the killing of wild animals from those who do not approve.  We have eagles moving down further South and we should welcome all these creatures and even the problems they may cause.  It is not just 'our land'  we should be able to share equably. But then how do we all fare under Climate Change?

"If recent heatwaves are the symptom, then climate change is the illness, and net zero is the medicine. When public understanding of this link is so low, it’s vital that the dots are joined between these three concepts to help make us all better."  

An attractive argument in support of rewilding.  Randal Plunkett at Dansay in Ireland.  Link to video

Sunday nonsense

 It is getting cooler, with the window open a refreshing breeze blows through the house.  Outside noises also become clearer.  This morning the crows and probably a chirring blackbird chasing off a robber magpie from their nests.

I listen to children playing out on the road,  'Elizabeth Bott' (I'll scream and scream again) is alive somewhere out there.  Deep Yorkshire voices, tittle-tattling or gossiping if you prefer under my window.  Families walk by push chairs in hand and of course the legion of dogs on their way to that green path for the dogs to relieve themselves.  Little yappy dogs adding their barks to the air.  Yes people are enjoying the warmth of this summer heatwave.

Our kitchen bakes somewhat, the Aga is still on, because it is expensive to turn back on, once turned off, and as we cook on it we just have to put up with the heat. The fridge/freezer is of course playing up and the old one in the basement has given up the ghost but resuscitation is planned for the kitchen fridge/freezer.

I featured a photo of Green Eyes the kitten yesterday.  Him feral instincts was to join on as family to my two bantams and he lived in the garden quite happily coming in for food.  But when I left Normanby I had to find a home for him  He went off quite happily to a smallholding, though it was a devilish job in catching him.  Happy ending.

Yesterday the internet disappeared, I turned the router off a few times but nothing happened.  When Lillie came back she fixed it with a 'hot spot' on her phone!! I will never get there as a competent computer person, how do you fix hot spots on your phone??  At least this morning I was able to distinguish AI fake photos of people from real people.  It was that glint in the AI eyes, just didn't look natural ;)

Photo of the day.  This is Whitby when the swing bridge is open to let boat traffic through.  It is always crowded with holidaymakers and is the only crossing place between the two sides of Whitby.  The next bridge is a good mile further inland.  The bridge has been closed this week because of repairs and all those wishing to cross from one side to another have to walk a long way to the other bridge.

Another edit:  A good obituary by one of my gurus Professor Tim Wilson who I listen to.  Ann Widdicombe

11th July 2026

 The murder of Anne Widdecombe, former Conservative MP is a shock to everyone.  You may disagree with many of her views but she did her job thoroughly.  I sense that to use the word murder is tentative but given that she was found with serious injuries that must be the conclusion.  So I hope she rests in peace after such an unfortunate end.

-------------------------------- 

Back to Richard Jeffries. 1848 to 1887.  I listened to a lecture about him and his background and the lecturer mentioned that Jeffries was seen as a mystic, folding himself into the world around him with a certain ecstatic feeling of being part of the Universe.  He had a rather complex upbringing.  His mother found it hard to be a mother to him and he lived a lot of the time with an aunt and uncle.  His mother had lost a daughter at five years old and could not face looking after another child.

Apparently Edward Thomas wrote his biography and I see that Abebooks has plenty of choice at a reasonable price of this book.  You can almost see where Thomas's writing sprang from, especially his 'Lob' poem.  This was an England, now lost to time and those terrible two wars, that was graced by a verdant landscape.  Full of wild flowers, birds and insects.  A world which we have lost.  If you have watched the video on 'Pilgrimage' by Story Crow, you will see the landscape that Jeffries grew up in.  The chalk downs rolling into the distance.  Tiny villages at the foot of the downs.  Rich farming land.

More photos found whilst reading about Jeffries.  Question can you miss flowers more than people?  Pink cupped roses, slightly dishevelled but loving that old church brick wall.

leaves of every shape and size goodness knows what that little yellow flower was.

Luscious red peonies 

A beautiful unusual coloured mallow

I love mallows, pink, white the beautiful luminous blue wild ones.

White buddleia with half a dozen butterflies. Buddleia equals butterflies 

Green Eyes a feral kitten who also loved butterflies!

"The Sparrow has my voice"

 

I found that photo.  This was at Coate Waters, our beginning so to speak.  Paul had dressed up for me, not sure about the black shirt but as he introduced me to this part of the world he had grown up in I began to know the person he was.  He had moved here when young, to a place just outside Swindon Old Town.  We went to the Richard Jeffries museum which is near Coate Water and though I had never read any of Jeffries books, I now own three.  He is my first nature writer I would go to for his extraordinary descriptions of nature at that time.  His ability to bring in  his childhood into the magic of being a child is a powerful message.  I would almost say that Jeffries is a lost author who needs discovering again.  Bevis

The following video charters the creative element that a museum can bring to children and grown up people alike.

This morning someone had put a poem on F/B addressing the sad death of Anne Widecombe, a political figure who had strong views.  The poem is for us and is another rendition of 'My England' as seen through different eyes.

You Do Not Speak For Me - Harry Gallagher

You do not speak for me.

The sparrow has my voice,

busying between hedgerows,

English as a cloudy day,

no matter what you

or your henchmen say. .

That oldman and his dog,

out at dawn beachcombing,

letting the morning tickle

his mouth up at the edges,

his gait carries my weight

as he lightens the day.

The wildflowers on verges,

reaching for something

they can never quite touch,

but stretching all the same,

smudging their glories

allover the mundane.

These Saturday kids,

smiling through braces,

serving ice creams on days

when ‘hot’ doesn’t cut it,

learning that patience is

waiting for sainted grandmas

to choose between

sprinkles or flake.

The policeman, the plumber,

the teacher, roadsweeper,

prampushing mums,

gleaming proud dads,

the Sunday funrunners

replenishing the sweat

with a pint of English best

after winning their bet.

That lifesaver doctor,

last hour of her shift

who hasn’t slept since

God only knows when;

as kindas kiss it betters

to the latest in a line

of confused oldladies

who all ask the same thing:

"But where were you born dear?"

and "Ooh what a lovely smile,

what lovely skin"

as she holds their hands,

asks them where it hurts.

This is my England.

Its voice is not scabrous,

it is soft.

Its fingers reach down

to pick up the fallen,

brushing them down,

to hold them aloft.

Your tone is shrill,

a study in antipathy.

You are not my England

and you do not speak for me.

Interesting times

 I have a large green arrow to use on my computer and it is not easy to use.  This because I kept losing my very small white arrow off the sides of  this large screen.  Theoretically the large arrow works but it is ugly.

This is to record by the way, the second coming of Nigel Farage.(Note, he has come back before though) After his speech this afternoon.  As a piece of political news it will be interesting to see where his resignation as an MP and  then to stand in a byelection again  leads him. IT is his hope  that the people of Clacton will re-elect him.  Farage gave a speech full of hurt anger and also fury that he has been targeted by the press in a particularly horrible way.  Well for someone who has courted publicity and has  dominated the news forever that is a little over the top!

Weirdly it was the Sunday Times article that brought Farage down and to the podium, Andrew said it is because Murdoch had pulled the support off of the heavyweights behind Farage........I bet there will be a bit of suing there'  As Trump's regime falters in America so Farage's bright star is also falling.  Thank the heavens for that.

Below is my list I am keeping for posterity sake this week.  Jonathon Freedland, Tom Harris, Simon Tisdall and also Simon Jenkins are the four journalists I turn to every week.  I expect they will write articles even more interesting next weekend ;) 

Recent Prints - Colin Blanchard 

The immorality of world leaders is contagious. Thank heavens for the pope | Simon Tisdall | The Guardian

I’ve seen what the death of major industry did to Britain. Without a good revival plan, Burnham cannot succeed | John Harris | The Guardian

I used to revere the great experiment that is the United States. After Trump, I’m not so sure | Jonathan Freedland | The Guardian

Prints by Colin Blanchard.  Why? I have two of his hare prints, could it be I was looking for a poem he had sent with the prints.  Paul's son has just produced another fine painting as well.

4th July 2025

Family matters.  They have all gone their separate ways by 8.30 this morning.  Andrew to walk 20ish (there and back) miles  up to Haworth, Bronte landscape.  Lillie to go and count in the walkers in and out on the Boundary Walk.  And then my daughter who is rejoicing that there will be no replacement buses into Manchester from Rochdale when she goes to work this morning. The trains are once more working that stretch.

At 7-o-clock Lillie came into my bedroom to show off her new shoes, a belated birthday present from her father. Adidas bought at Liberty's no less,  they are pretty with the pattern on the front.  She was already dressed for scouts. Yesterday afternoon she had baked cakes and biscuits to be sold for the scouts.  She is a teller? recording the walkers going and coming back.  Obviously there is going to be a discrepancy in the number as there will be dropouts and people who couldn't make it but I am sure the mountain rescue people will be around to stretcher anyone down.

As an aside, a bit of news yesterday, was the mountain rescue people who had had to bring down a Saint Bernard dog from a walk, who just lay down and refused to walk down with his people.

Boundary walks are an old custom where you walk round the parish of the town.  The Todmorden walk, 22 miles, goes round Calderdale Way and the  Pennine Way, the walk traces an ancient or earlier boundary.  Sometimes you can Beat the Boundary which entails touching along the walk in different places with a branch, or beating them.

I have already told Andrew to take plenty of food and water, and he has also arranged for pizzas tonight, so we shouldn't starve if he doesn't get back.  He is very good at getting out of his day to cook but always produces a takeaway ;)

Pilgrimage - June 2024

This is my England.  I don't expect you to watch this two and a half hours video, it is recorded on my blog for myself.  A delicious reminder of what I have lost by getting old, and no I am not sad for I have so many memories to look back on.

This is the chalk downs of Berkshire and Wiltshire, along which runs The Ridgeway track, a white path because it followed the dry chalk ground.  Littered with prehistoric barrows, hillforts and megaliths.  I know these people that now lovingly and foolishly go to worship in their own pagan ways the solstices at Avebury, they are my tribe.

I am not a pagan by the way, sensibility makes me scorn religion, but I love the involvement that is given to our far away ancestors.  If you were to attend the solstice festival at the stones of Avebury, you would find a fire with light flicking dancers, young and old as well for the stones remember us all.

Along this trackway you will meet old grey men convinced that ley lines run through England like veins, read The Old Straight Track by Alfred Watkins, he started this. Than there is this discipline, the study of the stars, moon and sun, Archeoastronomy the study of ancient sky cultures,  Also quite intensively written about, and at the Red Lion* at Avebury, the meeting place of all good megalithic people you will hear discussions about it.  It is a difficult subject to grasp;), especially as the Earth seems to have moved a bit and the stars are  a bit out of alignment today.

The Ridgeway takes you through beautiful farmed landscapes, little villages all along the way and then you reach Liddington Castle (it is not a castle but an I/A hill fort) and then Swindon town smacks you in the face, reality is crossing motorways.

Romans, Anglo-Saxons, Viking, and Danes have walked along this trackway, their bones part of the soil as they fought their way into this country.  It is a place full of myths and barrows that if you enter, you come to a beautiful place  and will be able to wine and dance in meadows. BUT when you are released by the fairies you will find everyone you knew has grown old, though you thought you had only spent a day in this fairy land.

Or stop at Wayland Smithy, the most evocative of long barrows surrounded by the trees and capture the magic. And maybe if you are riding a horse, well tie him up there leave a coin and when you come back next morning Wayland the smithy - a Norse smithy god, will have shod him for you and taken the coin in payment.

Wayland Smithy in Autumn

This article in the Guardian  asks the question 'What does it mean to be English' The short video covers football, I know some will  be interested in that.

Can the truth told by a cat be true?

 Well can things also sometimes get better?  The following video of the redemption of  a Scottish 'dead' valley would give some encouragement.   Quietly taking it in hand a group of volunteers raised £400,000 pounds and bought the land.  Firstly they had to evict the sheep and feral goats and a fence was built round the perimeter as a discouragement to deer.  Carrifarn Valley had one tree growing, a Rowan tree.  It grew because the seed, probably dropped by a bird, had lodged in a big rock.

It is funny how people love trees and will fight for their preservation, I think it is because, firstly they can be beautiful and grand, but that also we feel grief for the way the landscape is torn apart by humans.  They are part of our everyday vision, destroying something familiar shocks the soul into action.

What was funny though I took this video off my tablet and right next to it was a video with the picture of Rees-Mogg, saying in his pompous voice, 'Well do you want rainforests or destroyers'  I know what most people would have replied to him, we still love the land more than defence, but thinking about that and you see a conundrum, do you need defence to protect the rainforests?

Note the Scottish flag displayed prominently, another small country of what was once called Great Britain is trying to escape Westminster.  Funnily enough I don't see the Yorkshire flag in this part of the county, it was far more visible in North Yorkshire.  Not that I am a fan of flags having seen the St. George's flag so horribly abused by aggression.

and one more video for those who like the foolishness of life - Larry the cat, and we all know where he lives.  It is a good factual account of No.10's door. It is steel for a start and something I didn't notice, but know now, it has no handle and obviously no cat flap for Larry who expects his lackeys to let him in and out.