We've had a very pleasant couple from Worksop staying on "Hazel" for a week and they booked a trip up the Peak Forest. We went up to Marple on Friday, a glorious summers day, winded and returned as far as Chadkirk. The crew were me, Aaron, Liz and Darren. We all wore masks whenever we had to come close to each other, maintained strict separation from our guests and sanitised the tiller etc when we changed steerers.
Aaron, Liz and Darren cycled home once we had tied for the night. I stayed aboard "Forget me Not". The crew returned for a 2pm departure on Saturday to bring the pair back to Portland Basin. Liz's husband Pete came too.The weather wasn't quite as good but still an enjoyable trip.
Well! That was a strange morning!
Yesterday as I tried to tidy up the boatyard every movement was a major effort. I struggled to lift things that I normally find easy and I ached in every muscle like I'd been trampolined by elephants. The day before I'd had a bit of a cough, and M had been coughing too.
I began to wonder if we had the virus.
This morning I woke up and reluctantly started to get ready for the day. I was supposed to be meeting a couple of young lads who have volunteered for online selling.
I really didn't feel well and normal simple tasks seemed a huge effort. I found climbing the stairs a little daunting, and it left me puffing slightly. That's not me!
M woke up, coughing. "It's the cold air" she said "Close the window". I closed the window but she was feeling rough and already thinking of postponing her day's tasks.
"Perhaps we should have a test" I suggested. I wasn't really that keen about it, and M was quite fearful. We started to discuss the pros and cons as we sat in bed drinking coffee.
Back in March we had felt much the same. We considered going for a test then but it seemed pointless. We were locked down and not seeing anyone so there wasn't much chance of spreading it.
M has M E (or Chronic Fatigue Syndrome) and I am coming off hormone treatment for prostate cancer. These things could explain how we felt. Another possibility is that we did have it back in March (or earlier, we felt ill around Christmas and they're finding evidence of cases back to December now). Many people suffer post Covid fatigue, perhaps it was that.
We discussed the implications of a positive test. Troublesome to say the least. However, though ignorance may be blissful, it doesn't stop you infecting other people, some of whom may be even more vulnerable than us. The clincher was the fact that yesterday I had been with someone who told me he was going to visit his mother next week for her 90th birthday. I really don't want the responsibility of causing an old lady's death. Some may say 'well, she's had a good innings', but it's only 23 years until I'm 90 and I'm pretty sure that if I get there I'll be hoping for another 23+ years. Let's look after our older folk, none of us is getting any younger.
M went online to find testing centres. The nearest one was Oldham. It had a 'phone number, but it didn't work! The other ones said you had to book, but had no contact details. I fired up my laptop and went a different route via Tameside Council. This led me to a long long online form, which I filled in for myself, then had to do it all again for M. They sent us a QR code to our phones and email addresses. My 'phone is a brick and doesn't do this clever stuff but I got a long series of numbers from the email and wrote them in a notebook.
We had elected to get tested at the Etihad. For foreigners who do not follow football this is the Manchester City stadium. Our choice of venue does not imply any allegiance to this particular team. Our appointment was at 10AM, so we had nearly an hour to get up, get dressed and drive 4 miles.
We arrived at the appropriate car park spot on 10. I had anticipated a queue of vehicles, but we were the only one. Signs told us to keep our windows closed. At the first checkpoint a man held up a notice asking for a QR code. I showed him the numbers in my notebook. He laughed and waved us on.
We followed a lane marked out with masses of traffic cones to another checkpoint. Not sure what the point of that one was as they just stopped us then waved us through. The lane of cones continued. Every now and then we passed someone in a yellow vest who waved us by and gave us a thumbs up. The lane curved into the main car park. A line of big tents was set up across the middle of it with lots of people in hi viz clothing standing about. I saw one other car driving into one of the tents. M remarked on the post apocalyptic nature of the scene.
The cones snaked around the edge of the car park and led to another tented checkpoint. Here our identities were checked, though we didn't need the passports we'd been told to bring, and we were asked if we'd like to take the swabs ourselves or have them taken for us. I wasn't bothered but M wanted them to do the swabbing. Her rationale was that if they did it it was more likely to be done properly.
Driving on, we came to another tent, on its own and separate from the line of tents in the middle of the car park. Here we were asked to wind down our windows. A cheerful nurse called Chris stuck a swab into the back of my throat, twice, then another to the back of my nose, which made me sneeze. His colleague then did the same for M. She didn't mind the nose swab but struggled with the throat one.
That was it. We each had a card bearing a barcode as a souvenir. We drove home to await the results.
I'm quite amazed that the testing facility is seeing so little use. It's not like the virus has gone away. Liberal though I am most of the time, if I ruled the world I'd have compusory testing for as many people as possible. The only way to tackle this virus is to stamp it out. If a single person remains infected then it can flare up again, like a single match lodged in a haystack.
The test wasn't traumatic (and our presence relieved the boredom a little for all those yellow jacketed attendants. If you're not sure, go and get a test.
I woke up late this morning and, as I lay in bed enjoying my first coffee, the radio started broadcasting the Sunday Service. If I’m still listening at this point I normally switch off. This morning I was a bit slow to move so I caught the vicar’s opening words which, unusually, resonated with me.
She said “God wants us to bless the communities in which we live and work”.
I switched off part way through “Bread of Heaven”.
Nothing Earth shattering about what the vicar said, but it got me thinking. As it happened, I was thinking about the oak trees that I’ve planted over the years at the time. That is a way of blessing the community that I live in. Of course, I derive some personal pleasure from it. The trees I planted 30 years ago are now grown up and, with the help of the Jays, spreading their acorns each autumn to begin more trees. I love to see this, and I love to check on the younger trees and imagine the beautiful woodland that they will form.
They will provide homes for countless creatures and spiritual uplift for people who walk amongst them. They will also sequester carbon from the atmosphere, much needed on our overheating planet and, perhaps, eventually, provide timber for a future generation of wooden boatbuilders.
Of course, I won’t see most of this. The best I can hope for is to view the adolescent oaks in 30 years time from my wheelchair. This is my way of blessing the community where I live and work.
A few days ago one of my friends posted on Facebook “What’s the point”? A more complicated question than it appears. The ruling idea in Western culture is that the only point is personal gratification. Liberals have an idea of enlightened self interest, where pusuing your own personal gratification has the happy spin off of benefitting others. Sometimes it does, but, often, the pure pursuit of personal gratification really benefits no-one, including oneself. I think of the Simon & Garfunkel song “Richard Cory” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=euuCiSY0qYs
Interestingly, when the self interest of a political leader, normally backed by that of the owners of the military industrial complex of whatever nation or political bloc, require us to go to war, then the self interest of ordinary people is thrown out of the window. Young men (and women nowadays) have to sacrifice themselves for the ‘greater good’ and their parents, spouses and lovers have to grin and bear their losses whilst working all hours to keep the production lines running to supply more military hardware.
So, where does religion come into this. As a child I rejected the Christianity that I was born into because, despite including the commandment “Thou shalt not kill” it’s leaders clearly condoned warfare. It was also, in my mind, associated with a hypocritical establishment and seemed to be offering a promise of everlasting life that was a claim that could not be substantiated.
re hypocrisy- Malcolm Muggeridge, for all his holier than thou ness was a serial philanderer, Bishop Mervyn Stockwood was a closet gay.
Despite this, I’ve always had a sense of there being something more than the here and now. The idea that we are more than mere mechanical creatures and contain a spirit that lives on when our bodies die. That does not necessarily mean that our consciousness lives on.
In trying to understand this I’ve worked my way through paganism and pantheism, finally (perhaps) arriving at Panentheism. This is the idea that there is a deity that is within every atom of the cosmos, including each of us, and beyond. That includes before the big bang and after whatever finally happens to the universe. It is what I call The Great Spirit, but others may call God, Allah, Rama or whatever. I have a spirit, you have a spirit, everyone has a spirit. They are sparks that have come from the great spirit and will ultimately return to it, only to be sparked off it again to inhabit another being.
We can choose to grow our spirits by living in a way that brings joy and growth to others, or we can choose to diminish our spirits by living selfishly, concerned only with our own short term gratification. If you’re looking for enlightened self interest it lies in the true joy that this brings, so much greater than the brief enjoyment of owning things or experiencing physical sensations.
My way of communing (for want of a better word, the English language is reaching its limits here) with the Great Spirit is through the Latihan, a spiritual exercise organised by an organisation called Subud. Each Latihan is a unique 30 minute session of a spiritual experience that I cannot describe, words fail me. While I call myself a Panentheist, others, beside me in the Latihan, may call themselves Muslim, Jew, Christian, Buddhist etc etc. It really doesn’t matter.
It’s a great shame that so few people know (or care?) about this.
I decided to cycle over to the Heritage Boatyard today. There are a lot of cats that occupy the boatyard. They're not feral, they all have homes to go to and servants to look after them. They just like to hang out in the boatyard. I don't mind as they help to keep the vermin at bay, and they seem to have learned not to crap all over the walkways.
I opened the door to the boatyard to be met by one of them retching among my potato plants. In front of the engineering container I found a clue as to what had upset pussy's stomach.
This particular ex rodent was pretty much undamaged, except for being dead, but I suspect my feline friend had consumed one of its relatives. They must have been brave rats, or just infected with the Toxoplasma gondii parasite. This nasty little organism lodges in the animal's brain and makes it seek out rather than avoid it's predator.
After disposing of the corpse I wandered over to the canal side. I noticed that the water was moving, indicating that the locks were in use. Sure enough, after about 15 minutes a boat appeared heading towards Ashton.
It was called "Goliath" and was the first boat I'd seen moving since the lockdown. The steerer said he was going to Yorkshire via the Rochdale as Standedge tunnel is still closed due to social distancing difficlties. I wished him luck.
I was unaware of the dire implications of being photographed with a parrot and a monkey at the time.
Another day out in the car with Merv in 1962. We went to Bromsgrove to see the Lickey Bank. This is the steepest incline on any British mainline railway at 1 in 37. Originally trains were hauled up it by ropes attached to a stationary engine at the top. Later, banking engines were employed, including for many years a massive engine nicknamed "Big Bertha".
By the time of our visit some of the expresses had been taken over by the "Peak" class diesel locos, though many were still hauled by Jubilee class steam engines. The first picture shows Peak number D105 heading South out of Bromsgrove. On the left you can see a queue of tank engines at the coaling stage where they waited for their next turn at banking a train up the incline. By this time Big Bertha had been replaced by a modified 9F.
The gradient rises northward from Bromsgrove up about 2 miles into the Lickey hills at Blackwell. About halfway a minor road dives under the railway, but originally there was a level crossing here. The old crossing site was a handy point from which to view trains labouring up the bank. This was 9F number 92118 on a long goods train. In the distance you can see a plume of smoke from the banking engine.
In the opposite direction, drifting downhill on another goods, is 9F number 92151.
Nowadays the passenger trains in use are so powerful that they hardly notice the gradient, but bankers are still needed to assist the heavy freight trains. The line is now electrified from Birmingham to Bromsgrove for outer suburban trains that whirr up the incline with no trouble.
Nearby the Worcester & Birmingham Canal climbs into the Lickey hills by the Tardebigge flight of 36 locks. The longest lock flight in the country.
I
wasn't sure if I could get anything out of this awful photo. I think I took it with a fairly useless plastic camera that came with a bag of sweets but had the advantage of taking twice as many pictures on a roll of film. As film was expensive this would have been good, if the pictures were.
This is a 9F passing Charwelton station on the Great Central main line with a Northbound train of coal empties. In those days the economy ran on coal. Not only was it burned in power stations but it fueled a lot of industrial boilers as well as domestic hearths. As there was little coal available in Southern England a constant parade of trains transported it from pit to furnace
The Great Central was the last major railway route built in Britain (pre Eurostar and HS2). Completed in 1897 it linked Sheffield with London Marylebone, connecting with a pre-existing link over the Pennines to Manchester. Originally the plan was to link to the South Eastern & chatham Railway via the London underground and thence via a channel tunnel to France.
By the time I found the railway it had lost it's express trains but was still an important freight route. In particular, frequent coal trains ran from Annesley in Nottinghamshire to Woodford Halse in Northamptonshire. Here they were re-organised and despatched to various destinations in the South.
I think this must have been 1962. I was 9 and big brother Merv was 17 and had just passed his driving test. Sometimes he would borrow the car when Dad wasn't using it and we would go off chasing trains. I'm not sure whether on this occasion we still had the old Austin A30
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Austin_A30
or whether, by then, we had our new Morris 1100 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/BMC_ADO16 I think that may have come in 1963. As it was our first new car it indicated that Dad was going up in the world.
I remember that I was obsessed with the song Duke of Earl and probably drove Merv mad constantly singing Doo Doo Doo Dook of Earl Dook Dook Dook of Earl Dook Dook
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QQnfooEED8Y
I was dismayed to be told by him that Charwelton station, just about visible silhouetted in the background, was slated for closure. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charwelton_railway_station . The ironstone quarry railway that left the goods yard, on the right of the photo, had recently closed. In general it was a dismal time for anyone obsessed with trains, but I had no idea of the destruction that was to come.
The 9Fs were the last of British Railways steam locomotives, built between 1954 and 1960. They were clearly the best of the British Railways standard classes and were the most powerful engines in Britain, being intended for heavy freight work. In spite of having the small wheels of a goods engine they had quite a turn of speed. On one occasion the engine for the crack Red Dragon express from South Wales to London failed and the only spare engine to take over was a 9F. Not only did this humble coal hauler make up the time lost in changing engines. It was recorded at a top speed of of 92mph and used less coal and water on the trip than the express engine would.
The standard engines were a set of steam designs built during the 1950s as a stopgap pending the intended electrification of the railways. The capital for universal electrification was never forthcoming from an increasingly road obsessed government. In 1956 a change of tack brought in a headlong rush to dieselisation. This resulted in the standard engines, especially the 9Fs, having ridiculously short working lives. Many of the early diesels made premature trips to the scrapyard too as over hasty procurement resulted in some troublesome or inappropriate designs being constructed.
