Trams

I was wondering how to approach the topic of Trams and at a bit of a loss (and I certainly wasn’t going to do Blackpool) when T pointed out that just down the road from me had been one of the largest manufactures of trams in the world so wouldn’t that do. She was right again.

a Dick Kerr & Co. tram (Crich Museum)

Dick Kerr & Co Works (a very brief review):
A site on the east side of Strand Road, Preston had been intermittently used for railway work since the 1840’s. In 1898 the Electric Railway and Tramway Carriage Works Ltd (ER&TCW) took over the site. This company had strong links with Dick Kerr & Co. The building of Preston Dock had involved the diversion of the river Ribble and associates of Dick Kerr & Co built the factory building which still stands on the west side of Strand Road in 1900. 

the Dick Kerr Factory, Preston

This site occupies the space between the road and the original river bank. The two sites became a major centre of tram building and electrical equipment manufacture. Dick Kerr & Co took over the West works in 1903 and ER&TCW became the United Electric Car Company in 1905.

By 1914, the company employed around 2,000 people. They produced electrical equipment for tramways and railways and built over 8,000 tramcars, for service in the UK and abroad, including to the Hong Kong Tramways and Buenos Aires tramways operated by the Anglo-Argentine Tramways Company.

1930 saw the transfer of the traction electrical work to Bradford and the closure of West works until the late 30’s. East works continued making buses and trams including a large order for Blackpool (I wasn’t going to mention the jewel of the north).

The Dick, Kerr Type tram was the classic British tram design. It was the most common tram seen on Britain's tramways until the 1950s. Many different types of the tram were designed.

Needless to say the market for trams declined and there followed a jigsaw of mergers and acquisitions before the Strand Road site was virtually closed by about 1995. Which co-incidentally was the year I moved to Preston.

It is fair to say that the Dick, Kerr & Company is now far more famous for its Ladies Football Club than for trams. The team remained in existence for over 48 years, from 1917 to 1965, playing 755 games, winning 682, drawing 39, and losing 34.

Dick Kerr women's football team

The women on the team had joined the company in 1914 to produce ammunition for the war. Although women had initially been discouraged from playing football, it was believed that such organised sporting activity would be good for morale in wartime factories.

During a period of low production at the factory in October 1917, women workers joined the apprentices in the factory yard for informal football matches during their tea and lunch breaks.

After beating the men of the factory in an informal game, the women of Dick, Kerr formed a team, under the management of an office worker. Players were paid 10 shillings a game by Dick, Kerr & Co. to cover their expenses.

During its early years, matches played for charity attracted anywhere from 4,000 to over 50,000 spectators per game. The team faced strong opposition by The Football Association (FA), who banned the women from using fields and stadiums controlled by FA-affiliated clubs for 50 years (the rule was repealed in 1971).

I seem to have wandered off to the football side of things but never mind trams have made a big comeback. Indeed I was on one this week in Birmingham and it’s fab.

a modern day Birmingham tram

I rather like this poem:

The Tram Journey

You got on the same tram
only to get off before me,
your steps were slow,
your hand shook slightly,
your gaze was lit by nostalgia…
Looking at your gentle face,
your boyish air – grey-haired! –
I saw myself there.
I wondered about your life,
I thought about our journey,
the road we were sharing
on this tram!
People got on,
People got off –
together on this same tram!
Our faces
masked our uncertainties,
only your eyes shone,
as you smiled tentatively
…then it was time,
you treated me to a last smile,
as you left your seat
and the tram continued
on its way.
                          Milena Ercolani

found at http://www.milenaercolani.blogspot.co.uk/ and translated by Pasquale Iannone and Robyn Marsack.

Thanks for reading, Terry Q.

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Trams - Puffer Train Tram

 

I’m currently enjoying a birthday break in Dumfries & Galloway, where so far, the snow has missed us out. The temperature is below freezing.  Blue skies, sunshine and hardly a breeze, but that may change in a day or two, according to the weather forecast, even in this micro climate pocket. It’s cosy in our favourite lodge. This is my happy place. While I’m relaxing I’m reminiscing about my childhood and my first encounter with trams.

That second relocation to Blackpool would have taken place in April, 1965. I was nine and a half.  My father got his wish, a pub on Blackpool promenade. Uprooted again, but I soon settled in to our home and my new school. All my pub homes were interesting, even quirky, looking back, but this one was the best. It might be to do with my father’s fulfilled ambition, but there was a calmness and happiness through the family that I was aware of. I hadn’t lived anywhere that offered such fascination through the front windows of our accommodation. South Pier, the beach, the sea in all its moody glory, the promenade that filled with people as spring turned to summer and summer ended with the Illuminations. Bay windows meant our view had a long stretch in both directions. Donkeys on the beach – I would hear their bells as they arrived and departed. Of course, those thundering trams trundling the length of the prom from Starr Gate to Fleetwood and they were loud. At least, loud is how I remember them and they seemed to be more noisy in the winter months when they had the promenade to themselves. During the Illuminations, there was, for me, the added joy of watching the illuminated trams go by, The Rocket, The Ship, The Boat and The Western Train which we always called the Puffer Train Tram, the one my sister looked out for.

Eventually I got to have a ride on one of the clanging monstrosities.  I think our housekeeper, Auntie Kathy, took us – that’s my sister and me – the first time. Other times we went with our mum and even Nanna was persuaded to come along on one of her visits.

As an adult, I have appreciated our Blackpool and Fylde coast line more than I ever did in childhood. When the new, smooth and quieter trams came on track I enjoyed taking the trip from Starr Gate to Fleetwood and back, just to look at the sea. The trams have been part of Blackpool since 1885, which makes them older than the Tower. They are an essential part of public transport for Blackpool and Fleetwood as well as a popular tourist attraction.

Moving pubs meant moving town, leaving behind the familiar comforts and friends to start again somewhere. It wasn’t always welcome but, looking back, I think I coped with the disruption. I have fond memories of people and places that were part of my childhood.

Back to the here and now, weather permitting, we’ll go out for lunch tomorrow to one of our favourite venues. If the weather is against us, we’ll stay cosy and make use of our food supply.

My Haiku poem,

Ride along the front
A new, smooth electric tram,
Starr Gate to Fleetwood.

How quiet they are!
Almost silent on the tracks
Where others thunder’d,

Rattled and trundled,
Those balloons of cream and green
Belonged to Blackpool.

Me, a nine year old,
Found so much fascination
Through our front windows.

And it got better,
Much to my delight, some trams,
Illuminated!

The ship, the rocket,
And the very best of all –
The Western train tram.

The new trams are good,
Accessible and comfy,
Have a seaside treat.

Choose a sunny day.
It’s an amazing journey
The best North West coast.

PMW 2024

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Injustice

If the theme is injustice, then I have to write once more about Palestine, because there is possibly no greater injustice being perpetrated in the world right now than that against the Palestinian people. It seems an ancient and intractable problem and yet somehow a solution has to be found. I hope you're in it for the long read.

Those of you who know me in person or via these blogs should understand that I have no prejudice when it comes to race or religion. I'm neither pro nor anti Jew or Arab, Judaism or Islam. However, I cannot abide it when people of whatever ethnicity or belief become fanatical, intolerant and inhumane. 

I am not antisemitic but I have a strong objection to Zionist imperialism, by which I mean the concerted attempts over more than 75 years by the Israelis to drive the Palestinian Arab people off the lands where they had lived and farmed for hundreds of years, leading up to the latest campaign of territorial acquisition and genocide in Gaza and on the Left Bank. In case you've lost the thread of this conflict or were genuinely unaware of the history of those 75 years, let me recap on a few facts.

Up until just after the end of the Second World War, the whole area was known as Palestine and was inhabited by 1.7 million Palestinians, of whom 1 million were Muslims, half a million were Jews and 200,000 were Christians, all co-existing under British jurisdiction as they had been since the end of the First World War when the Ottoman Empire had been defeated, and as they had been under Ottoman rule for four hundred years prior to that. 

   

olive grove near Bethlehem in Palestine, 1924

What changed was the growth of a Zionist movement in the late 19th century that had as its aim the acquisition of Palestine as the land on which to establish a Jewish State.

It is important to remember that what became the State of Israel when it finally and unilaterally declared independence in 1948 had started off as a terrorist organisation, fighting both the Arabs in Palestine and the British who governed the territory under international mandate. That terrorist organisation was funded by wealthy American Jews who believed in the Zionist dream (in much the same way as wealthy Irish Americans helped fund arms for the IRA to fight for a united Eire). 

American money enabled the Zionist terrorists to buy up military equipment that had fallen into the hands of arms dealers as Italy and Germany began to lose the war. That Jewish American lobby also ensured that the USA was the most powerful voice in advocating the concept of a Jewish 'homeland' in the Middle-East, a movement that gained wider support in the wake of the atrocities conducted against Jews in Europe in the 1930s and then during the Holocaust. 

It also effectively played into the hands of US foreign policy, for it promised an American ally on the doorstep of the Arab world. And in truth, it is American money, armaments and political power that both underpinned the creation of the State of Israel and has ensured its survival in the face of continuing opposition ever since.

For of course the Arabs in Palestine and the rest of the Arab world deplored the creation of the State of Israel. They thought that Palestine, like Jordan at the same time, should become an independent country in its own right when the British Mandate ended, with the 1.7 million Christians, Jews and Muslims continuing to co-exist just as they had in the area of Palestine for the previous four hundred years.

Instead, when that unilateral declaration of independence was made, with Hebrew the national language and Judaism the state religion, the Arab states (Egypt, Syria, Jordan and Iraq) invaded Palestine to try and avert what they foresaw happening, the progressive ethnic cleansing of Palestinian Arabs from the area. 

So began the Arab-Israeli War of 1948, with fighting lasting into 1949. As stated, Israel was abetted (unofficially) with funds, expertise and ordnance from the United States, along with other nations, notably Czechoslovakia and France. Israel won that war, established its 'green line' borders which encompassed 78% of the territory of Palestine and proceeded to expel 750,000 Arabs from their homes and land in a wave of ethnic cleansing. 

Those homes and lands were taken over by an influx of holocaust survivors and other European and American Jews. Netanyahu still lives in one such confiscated house today. 

The disenfranchised Palestinians called it the 'Nakba', the catastrophe. Within months, largely due to American pressure, the United Nations recognised Israel as a sovereign state and member of the UN despite opposition from all the Arab countries in the world. The 250,000 Arabs still living in Israel found themselves second class citizens in an apartheid state. As for the 750,000 displaced Palestinian Arabs, they settled in Gaza (under Egyptian control) and on the West Bank (controlled by Jordan). Palestine was suddenly a country no more, its indigenous people expelled and stateless. Even the British government was appalled by this turbulent turn of events.

But the striving by the displaced Palestinians for justice, reparation and international recognition continued in the wake of the Nakba. In 1964 the Palestine Liberation Organisation was formed with the aim of reclaiming Palestine for its displaced people, and nearly twenty years after the first Arab-Israeli war, Egypt, Jordan and Syria launched another attack on the country they continued to regard as an unconstitutional usurper of the land of Palestine. 

However, by the time of the Six-Day War in 1967 Israel had become a formidable military force, thanks to America of course. The Arab assault was repulsed and the war ended with Israel annexing both Gaza and the West Bank plus some land in the south of Syria (the Golan Heights), meaning that it now controlled a bigger footprint than the original Palestine. 350,000 more Palestinian Arabs were expelled from the West Bank and Israel began a decades long process of building Jewish settler communities in the newly occupied territories.

It did cede Gaza back and pulled its troops out as part of a deal to seal a lasting peace with its neighbours in the United Arab Emirates via the Oslo Accords of 1993, but it still controls those annexed lands to the north and west, plus part of southern Lebanon which it has occupied since that country also engaged in a war with Israel in 2006. And although under international law Israel has no right to the annexed territories within its expanded borders, as mentioned above it continues to build Jewish settlements in the occupied lands beyond its 'official' borders, engaging in systematic attempts to try force the remaining Palestinians out of their homes, farms and businesses by blatant acts of aggression such as arbitrary curfews, intimidation, occasional acts of murder and the setting of Palestinian olive groves on fire, all well-documented if you care to research as I have done.

Palestinian olive trees set on fire by Israeli settlers, 2024

The more this policy of displacement has been pushed, the more Palestinians have ended up living in the coastal territory of the Gaza Strip, corralled by the Israelis, their port blockaded by Israeli warships and their borders highly controlled by the Israeli military. Gazans have been largely dependent on international aid for more than a decade now. Hamas is the democratically elected government in Gaza, although it is regarded by Israel and many western governments as a terrorist organisation (ironically the same sort of terrorist organisation that founded the State of Israel). Since Iran has emerged over the last quarter-century as a formidable force in the region, it has been taking hits at Israel by proxy, providing the weapons to Hamas and Hezbollah. And while I didn't condone the Hamas raid into Israel in October 2023, if you ghettoise a people as the Israelis have ghettoised the Palestinians in Gaza, it shouldn't come as big surprise if the cornered party attempts to strike back.

It was reported at the time of the October attacks that the Egyptian intelligence service had warned Israeli intelligence that such an attack was imminent. I find it highly suspicious that the Israelis allowed the worst disaster to befall them in peacetime to unfold as it did. If I'm being cynical, I think they were prepared to let it happen so that they could go into Gaza exactly as they have done, looking to wipe out the opposition in an act of war under the guise of 'self-defence'. Some Israelis even advocate expelling all Palestinians from Gaza and incorporating the territory into the State of Israel. Whether that happens or not, it is genocide that the IDF has been indulging in, such has been the unrelenting assault, the proverbial sledgehammer cracking a nut, nearly 50,000 dead in retaliation for the 1,000 Israelis who died as a result of last year's Hamas incursion.

Rewind to the millennium, when at Camp David talks brokered by Bill Clinton between Yasser Arafat of the PLO and left-leaning Israeli prime minister Ehud Barak almost led to the PLO recognising Israel's right to exist in exchange for the establishing of an internationally recognised Palestinian State in Gaza and the West Bank. It was a prospect too preposterous for the powerful Jewish lobby in the USA or the right-wing opposition of Netanyahu in Israel to accept and when Bush and Netanyahu swept to power in their respective countries the plan for peaceful coexistence was dead in the water.  Thirty years on, we are seeing the continuing strife and suffering that stems from the hard line Zionists' refusal to compromise or accommodate the Palestinians' aspirations for a fair and lasting peace.

And it seems it will only get worse for the Palestinians now Trump has won the US election. Among the frightening appointments he looks set to make is Mike Huckabee as ambassador to Israel, the same Mike Huckabee who is on record as saying there's no such thing as Palestine. At a rally of right-wing Israelis in the West Bank in 2017 he elaborated with these words: "There is no such thing as a West Bank - it's Judea and Samaria. There's no such thing as a settlement. They're communities. They're neighbourhoods. They're cities. There's no such thing as an occupation." That sort of brazen attempt to rewrite the truth of what's going on is nearly as bad as Holocaust denial, and some of the actions of the Israelis are as shocking as those perpetrated upon their own forebears in the concentration camps of Europe.

the plight of millions

The UN estimates that two million Palestinians were living in the Gaza Strip before the latest Israeli offensive began a year ago, and of those over 80% have been made homeless by the incessant Israeli bombing. They are in makeshift camps living in appalling conditions, entirely dependent on the trickle of humanitarian aid being allowed in. Meanwhile on the West Bank, violence against Palestinians intensifies with each passing month. 

It is a second catastrophe for disenfranchised Palestinians, and a moral injustice which is felt by the thousands in countries across the world where pro-Palestine matches and protests have become a regular fact of life in the last twelve months. Many Jews and even some Israelis feel a repulsion at how the leadership of Israel has been acting in this regard, but it is not clear what the solution might be, if indeed there is one.

An internationally agreed cease-fire would be a start, to allow humanitarian aid into the region. Mutual recognition of the right of Israelis and Palestinians to live peaceably in the region would be another. The establishing of a contiguous Palestinian State comprising the Gaza Strip, the West Bank and some land in between, a country in its own right recognised by the UN, might be the minimum that is required to enable a permanent cessation of age old hostilities. Who knows if that might ever happen.

Who Torched The Olive Branch?

From the river to the sea,

Palestinians were forced to flee,

their homes, their farms, their villages

usurped by an influx from the west

complicit in catastrophe.

What an unholy land it has become,

the hawk has driven off the dove,

ideology displacing humanity,

rigid codes reinforcing 

millennia of antipathy and mistrust,

blood and hope spilled 

in the dust of stolen fortune,

olive groves in flames.

From the river to the sea

Palestinians dream of being free

from the oppressor's iron hand.

They long to live at peace once more

in their own land,

an accommodation out of reach 

for now, it seems.

Thanks for reading, S ;-)

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Injustice

T and I and her dogs (Annie and Billy) popped into the café in Avenham Park the other day. There was an event on so it had reduced capacity. The tables were crowded and I noticed that many of them had been occupied for ages, going by the empty cups and plates. T wasn’t bothered, the dogs were puzzled and I was seething at the unfairness of it.

But more importantly is the fact that we and everyone else were able to pop in. As some of you will know, I help to run Damson Poets in Preston and our natural home for years was Richard Lowthian’s Ham & Jam  Café next to the Guild Hall i.e. in the city centre. And that is the crucial point. Because apart from it being in the centre it was accessible to all.

Damson Poets at the Ham & Jam Café

Unfortunately the café had to close and we have had to move out to the Continental down by the river (and they have been brilliant for us) but it’s the down by the river that can be a problem. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been round the city centre looking for a venue that would suit one of our basic requirements which is that it should be accessible for all.

All the places in town that would open for us in the evening are up stairs on a first floor and thus cannot be reached for wheelchair users or those with other issues. The Harris was approached but quoted a ridiculous fee for a poetry group.

This is a total injustice and it doesn’t seem to be addressed in future plans for the development of the city.

If future café owners or the Council want to solve this problem they should take a note of the following from the ‘Able Amsterdam’ website:

The entrance
A wheelchair-friendly restaurant starts with an accessible entrance. Wheelchair users should be able to roll in and out of the restaurant without any obstacles or help from others. This means:

Wide doorways (min. 80 cm/ 32 inches, preferably as wide as two doors).

Automatic doors. If they’re not automatic, doors should at least be lightweight enough to allow someone to push or pull easily while moving in their wheelchair.

There should be no steps leading up or down to the restaurant.

The entrance floor should be smooth, i.e. no threshold.

Variety of tables and seating arrangements
Manual wheelchairs are usually lower to the ground, while electric wheelchairs are higher. To suit the needs and comfort of different wheelchair users, you’ll need to provide a variety of tables and seating arrangements. Keep in mind:

Include a mixture of lower and higher tables.

Tables with 4 legs are preferred to tables with 1 leg in the middle. Four-legged tables are easier to roll a wheelchair under; tables with one leg can make this difficult.

Avoid tables with an ‘apron’ or overhang underneath as this gets in the way of a wheelchair.

Tables and chairs should be moveable.

If you have a bar, make part of it lower so that manual wheelchair users can enjoy a drink there too.

Not all wheelchair users stay seated in their wheelchairs at a restaurant. Some people will choose to transfer to a chair. For this reason it’s also a good idea to have a variety of chairs (some with arm rests, some without, some hard seats, some soft) to allow customers to choose what is most suitable for them.

an accessible Amsterdam café-restaurant

Space

The restaurant should be spacious enough for wheelchair users. This means:

The pathway to the entrance, the seating area, the counter, and the toilets should be wide enough and clear of obstacles.

Furniture should not be placed too close together.

There should be a variety of wheelchair-friendly seating options, not just one specific corner or area of the restaurant.

Lifts or ramps where needed

If your restaurant has multiple floors or seating levels, include a lift or ramp where needed.

Ramps should be at a safe incline. If your ramp is too steep, it becomes dangerous or impossible to use.

Lifts should be wide enough for wheelchair users.

If your restaurant has a lift, get an evacuation mattress so that you can quickly and safely evacuate wheelchair users in an emergency.

An accessible toilet
A wheelchair-friendly toilet is a must. For more information about the features of an accessible toilet read a detailed checklist to designing a wheelchair-friendly loo.

I highly recommend hiring a professional to advise you on accessible toilet design.

Remember that the space in an accessible toilet is there for your customers, not for storage.

A mobile payment machine
Make sure your restaurant has a mobile payment terminal so that customers paying by card can do so at the table (rather than at a high, out-of-reach countertop).

Signposting
If you’ve got an accessible restaurant, flaunt it!

Consider including a wheelchair sticker at your restaurant’s entrance.

If your restaurant has an accessible route, make this clear by putting up signs.

Signposting the toilet door with a wheelchair icon is especially important so customers know it exists and where to find it.

Labelling the toilet door also makes it clear to other customers why e.g. a male wheelchair user needs to enter the women’s toilets to use the accessible facilities (or vice versa).

Go through your restaurant in a wheelchair yourself
To really understand your restaurant’s accessibility, experience it for yourself. Borrow or rent a wheelchair and navigate everything a customer would use. It’s not the same as using a wheelchair full-time, but it’ll give you an idea of the challenges and improvements that need to be made.

Most of the above is not that difficult is it?

I mentioned the Ham & Jam earlier and the following poem is a mash up of a few of the poems I wrote for staff who worked there and were leaving at the end of their contracts. Most of them were from abroad and enjoying their youth. The reason it is here is that when you get a venue that is accessible, central and very friendly then it works. It was a disgrace that it was forced to close through no fault of their own.

At the Ham & Jam Coffee Shop
(for all the staff and Richard)

was not a shop
it sold more than coffee
and the Ham & Jam bit
was not what it seemed

but more about that later
after reminding you
about the chats we had
as you bought me a mocha
when you’d learned to cope
with all our accents
even Geordie

and you’d show maps
of your own home towns
or news of your travels
of a trip to the Highlands
London or the Lakes
which you’d say are almost
as beautiful as Preston

but not as beautiful
as the applause
and the hugs from friends
after you read poems
on World Poetry Days
in a world wide language
that didn’t need learning

now I’ve no idea
if you’ll be reading this
in Queensland or Paris
or Sri Lanka or LA
but when you’re in a café
with light shining through
its plate glass windows
and someone serves your cappuccino
you can tell them the stories
of your time at the Ham & Jam Café.

Thanks for reading, Terry Q.

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Brown Study

We are going to a murder mystery evening in Blackpool shortly, and as a consequence I didn't travel down to London today to watch the team playing at Leyton Orient, couldn't have got back for 7.30 pm - but missed a horror show by all accounts. So here I am in the jewel of the north, killing time before playing detective. To paraphrase from that well-known board game: it's the Saturday Blogger, in the Brown Study, with the Abstraction.

brown study (i)

By the way, that's not me in the image above (although it could be), and it's certainly not my brown study. It more resembles the room in which my ex-father-in-law used to write his lectures, or my own father used to compose his sermons, and even that is being hugely generous in comparison. I suspect it's really the library of some Edwardian gentleman, though I'm not sure about the feet up on the desk. 

But I should get to the point, which is, as you've realised, brown study, more specifically being in one, in a metaphorical rather than the literal sense with which I teased you above. The phrase, whose roots can be traced back at least as far as the 16th century, has rather gone out of fashion these days, ousted by the equally colourful notion of having the blues. 

However, although brown study did and does have connotations of a gloomy or melancholic state of mind, with Doctor Watson famously describing himself as "falling into a brown study" in 'The Adventure of the Cardboard Box' (as who wouldn't?), and Conrad writing in 'Thrift and the Child' "He sat solemnly dejected, in a brown study", there is another sense to being in a brown study that goes over and beyond what having the blues means. 

That additional depth to the phrase carries an implication not so much of depression or sadness, but of the mind being in contemplative or reflective mode to such a degree of intensity that the person ceases to be aware of anything going on around them.

We sometimes fall into these states of abstraction quite by accident (or so it sems), when our senses momentarily disconnect themselves from the treadmill of life. Such moments can even be quite long, as in periods of day-dreaming (reverie), or when we're functioning on automatic pilot, and we generally don't know we've been in this type of brown study until something happens to make us snap out of it.

But we are also capable of inducing such a meditative state if we so wish, by practising techniques that empty the mind of conscious thought and allow us to enter a still and trance-like state.

brown study (ii)

I sometimes use a mandala like the one above to help me lose myself into abstraction. Maybe you've tried something similar yourself at some point? 

As for poems on theme, I did have a look. There are a couple of quite famous brown study ones, but somehow they didn't appeal, so I've used some of my time this afternoon to conjure up the following rather edgy composition. I nearly titled it 'Take Three Girls' (being beastly to each other). See what you think. It comes with the usual caveat, that I will probably look to refine it at a later date.

  

Abstraction

Because Sienna has the knack

of getting out of it 

without the aid of grass or tabs

or wine, the naughty girls

think her haughty,

both envy and despise her,

mostly the latter actually,

referring to her behind her back

as snake eyes.

It doesn't help matters that she's

building quite the cool rep 

with her abstract style. Her art

hangs on gallery walls,

merits exhibitions, sells well.

Ginger painted her in secret,

'portrait of the artist as a young bitch'

as if there might be voodoo

in gouache laid on thick

with menace.

And Rose steals 

both paints and brushes

from the studio they share

but Sienna

with her thousand yard stare

doesn't give a fuck.

After all, she has her secrets too -

knows that 'abstract # 18'

represents Ginger giving birth

to a piglet and 'abstract # 31'

is about Rose being mangled

by a truck.

 

Thanks for reading. Murder mystery beckons.  S ;-)

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A Brown Study

I was having a bit of difficulty on this topic of ‘Brown Study’. I’d tried being very involved in my own thoughts and not paying attention to anything, or anyone, else. But that’s normal. I’d tried rooms and colours, corduroy trousers and the seasons. I was scrolling through the internet pages for an idea when I came across a poem by Edith Nesbit and read about the author.

 

illustration of Edith Nesbit by Julie Benbassat

This time the poem gave rise to the article. It has always been the other way round so it seems fair to start with it:

A Brown Study

Let them sing of their primrose and cowslip,
Their daffodil-gold-coloured hair,
Their bluebells, blue eyes, and white violets,
All the pale dreamy things they find fair;
Give me stir of brown leaves in the sunshine,
The whir of brown wings through the wheat,
The rush of brown hares through the clover,
And the light in brown eyes of my sweet!

Gold hair? Well, I never could love it,
Yet gold, I suppose, has its worth;
The head that I love is as dusky
As the breast of our mother, the earth;
With a gleam like the shine of wet seaweed,
Round pools that the tide has left clear,
And warm like the breast of a linnet,
And as brown, is the hair of my dear.

From the edge of the cliff we look downwards
On the shore, and the bay, and the town,
And brown is the short turf we lean on,
The fishing-boats' sails are all brown:
The sky may be blue--that's the background,--
But the picture itself, to be fair,
However it's shaded and varied,
Should be brown as the dress that you wear.

A lark bursts to sudden sweet singing--
That tuft of brown grass is his home--
And now, a brown speck, he is rising
Against the clear windy sky-dome;
And he sings--how I know? Love instructs me
To know all his notes, what they mean--
That it isn't the colour I care for,
But yourself, oh, my gipsy, my queen!

Ah! the lark knows my heart--I his language;
It's my heart he sings out to the skies;
It is you that I love, and what matter
The colour of hair or of eyes?
No doubt I should love you as dearly
Were your hair like an apricot's down,
And your eyes like the grey of the morning;
But I'm glad, all the same, that they're brown.

                                                            Edith Nesbit

If anyone had asked me about Edith Nesbit before reading about her then I might have remembered the name as the author of The Railway Children. Probably living in somewhere like Hampshire and writing poems like the above before she prepared dinner. How wrong can you be?

Sarah Watling in The Guardian writes that:
‘She was in person at once quite awe-inspiring and a bit of a nightmare, able to weather tragedy and yet a queen of melodrama, a self-supporting writer who opposed women’s suffrage. Vibrantly attractive and adored by her many proteges and readers, she was what they called in those days “advanced” – a committed socialist (she and her husband Hubert Bland were among the earliest members of the Fabian Society) who wore free-flowing clothes, gave charitably and wrote ferociously against poverty, and let her children play barefoot in the garden. Her home at Well Hall, in Eltham, was a lively hub for young writers, artists and Fabians; a place, HG Wells recalled, “to which one rushed down from town at the week-end to snatch one’s bed before anyone else got it”. She was generous with her time, her money and her husband.

Nesbit’s childhood was largely happy but nomadic. Her father, a distinguished chemist and teacher, died in 1862 when Edith was three, and from then the family moved around in reduced circumstances, taking regular trips abroad to cope with the ill health of an older sister, Mary, who died young. In 1880, the 21-year-old Edith married Bland, then a bank clerk. He was tall and athletic, powerful seeming. Nesbit herself was seven months pregnant when they married, a scandal at the time; their son, Paul, was born that summer. Two more children, Iris and Fabian, followed. Bland was never good with money; Nesbit supported the family by writing and by decorating greetings cards.

Edith Nesbit

The household was apparently always embroiled in “scenes”. Shortly after Iris’s birth, Nesbit discovered that Bland’s relationship with his previous fiancee was still going on (she had no idea about Edith). On his nights away from home, Nesbit’s friend, Alice Hoatson, kept her company. When a devastated Nesbit suffered a stillbirth, it was Hoatson who had to prise the dead baby from her arms; before long she had moved in permanently. They told people she had joined them because she was seriously ill; in fact she was heavily pregnant. Nesbit agreed to raise the child, a girl named Rosamund, as her own.

One way of understanding the menage a trois between Bland, Nesbit and Hoatson (who would have a second child with Bland, a son they pretended was Nesbit’s) is as a fruitful and long lasting collaboration between the two women. Nesbit was already an acclaimed poet by the time her children’s stories, often serialised in the Strand magazine, began to improve the family’s fortunes. The first Bastable book, ‘The Story of the Treasure Seekers’, appeared in 1899. The still-precarious family finances depended on Bland and Nesbit (they sometimes collaborated) churning out articles, stories and novels. Hoatson’s management of the home and children freed Nesbit to create. She generally set the tone. Her moods could plunge the whole household into gloom just as she enlivened everything when she was happy. Most agreed that Nesbit and Bland thrived on all the drama. But in 1900, the family came to grief when 15-year-old Fabian died after an operation to remove his adenoids and it seems that the adults were responsible.’

I think that gives some idea of the nature of Nesbit’s life, and how ironic that her married name was ‘Bland’.

Her tales of fantasy or magic influenced J. K. Rowling, C.S Lewis, Michael Moorcock, and Jacqueline Wilson, who has written her own sequel to “5 Children and It.” Noel Coward wrote to Noel Streatfeild, one of her biographers, of Edith’s “unparalleled talent for evoking the hot summer days in the English countryside.”

some of Edith Nesbit's many titles

After Hubert’s death in 1917 she met and married Tommy Tucker, a marine engineer, who had been friends with both of them and who had helped Edith overcome some financial problems. They found two wooden bungalows in New Romney, Kent where she died in May 1924.

Apologies for going more than a bit off topic but I found her story fascinating and I hope you do as well.

Terry Q.

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Brown Study - Daydreaming

I hadn’t heard of ‘brown study’. When I looked it up and did a bit of online research, I quickly realised that I do it all the time. Deep in thought, away with the fairies, that’s me and seemingly more so at the moment. There is a lot going on to fill my head with worry and make me stressful. Of course, things will improve, but I’ve got to get through the here and now. I drift off into my thoughts, trying to reason things out or work out what to do. There is rarely a solution.

This morning I was enjoying the stroll in the cool air to a group I attend. I was wondering if I would have better staying at home because I was feeling upset and close to tears, but the short walk would do me good and I love to catch up with my friends there. I stopped to cross a road, turned to check for traffic and jumped out of my skin to see one of my friends next to me. She’d been saying my name. I hadn’t heard her. I was away in my own little world of oblivion. We walked the rest of the way together, chatting about the mild weather after I’d explained that I was fine, just lost in a daydream.

I’m struggling to concentrate when reading. I’m near to the end of what is a re-read of a good book and I keep losing it, literally. The paragraphs give way to me overthinking something, so I go over it again then often nod off. It isn’t a boring book, well, some might disagree, but I love the story and it is a real rediscovery now, as a mature adult. I think I was about eighteen when it was mandatory reading and, I confess, some of the content was lost on me. The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists, thank you, Robert Tressell.

My personal brown study isn’t always about what I might be fretting over at the moment. Sometimes I travel way back, reliving nice happenings, or being angry with myself over doing things I now consider stupid – we make mistakes, learn from them and move on – I don’t need to beat myself up fifty years later. Most of what haunts me from the past are things and events that I had absolutely no control over and remain in residence in a brain cell.

I found this poem meaningful. It’s written by C. Vergara, published on Poetry Soup.

Deep thoughts, without blinking
In a trance, deep thinking

Voices of yesteryear, instilling neurotic fear
Deeper and deeper, across my hemisphere.

Deep thoughts, within my soul
Bringing my running to a slow crawl

Trying to avoid it, but can’t control it
Like a ‘who done it’, I can’t outrun it

Deep thoughts, take over my mind
They begin to grind what’s left behind.

It’s a sign, rectifying
My essence in time.

                              C. Vergara 9/6/2010

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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A Brown Study Of Brown

A ‘Brown Study’ is a mood when one is involved in deep thought and not paying attention to anything else. I am very familiar with this, particularly when lost in the midst of creative endeavours or researching something of particular interest. Writing this article caught me in this frame of mind as I researched all things brown.

Ancient Cave Paintings of Hands at Cueva de Las Manos in Santa Cruz Province, Patagonia, Argentina ©R M Nunes/Adobe Stock

Etymology
The English word ‘brown’ has been in use for nearly a millennia. The word is derived from Middle English ‘broun’, Old English/French/Old High German ‘brun’, Norse ‘brún’ and/or Proto-Germanic ‘brunaz’ all meaning that earthy colour that falls between the yellow and red spectrum.

The Colour
Brown is one of the first colours that humans used to create imagery as evidenced in cave paintings with pigments made from clay or hematite (a heavy and relatively hard oxide mineral that produces reds, oranges, yellows and browns). Some of the brown pigments found in cave paintings were made from a clay pigment called ‘umber’ dating back to 40,000 BC. Raw umber, a dark brown clay mined in Umbria, Italy (also found in other parts of the world) produces the colour brown with a greenish grey tint whilst burnt umber (roasted umber) creates a warmer hue. The use of umber as under-painting became popular among painters in the Renaissance. It continues to be popular with artists today.

Mia, Burnt Umber Underpainting and Final Portrait, Oil on Canvas,© 2021 Julia Swarbrick

Artists use an array of different shades of brown that can be created in a variety of ways such as mixing red, yellow and blue together or adding a splash of black to orange paint. In the printing industry and those using image programmes on a computer there are two colour systems, CMYK and RGB. Using the CMYK colour system brown is created by mixing red, black and yellow.

The RGB system mixes red and green. Both of these systems were developed during the early
twentieth-century.

When identifying different variants of brown, many have been named after something i.e. coffee, chocolate, peanut, walnut, sand, fawn, saddle brown and wood. Wood brown can be defined further into types such as ash, chestnut, mahogany and hazel. All this identification is advantageous as visual imagery comes to mind when the word is spoken. One can conjure up an idea of what shade of brown something actually is without necessarily seeing it, thus improving communication between folk. Humans seem to be obsessed with description and labelling which brings us around to people named Brown.

The Surname
The practice of using surnames in England began after 1066 eventually spreading throughout Britain and beyond. It is believed that people were originally nicknamed ‘Brown’ because of the colour of their hair, eyes and/or complexion that eventually developed into a nickname or surname. In Scotland, Brown as a surname is very common. In this neck of the woods the origins could also be derived from the Gaelic ‘brehon’, meaning judge.

There are many famous people named Brown including fictional characters like Mr Henry Brown in Paddington, Emmett Brown in Back to the Future and the cartoon character Charlie Brown.

Wikipedia lists well over three hundred people of notoriety with this surname. Included in this list are several James Browns with possibly the most famous being the American singer, songwriter and dancer James Brown (1933-2006) who had hits like I Feel Good and Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag (this musical titbit is for you Steve R.).

Other lesser known James Browns in contemporary circles, who were top in their professions at the time include James Campbell Brown (1843-1910) a British chemist, Dundee architect James Maclellan Brown (c.1886-1967) and James Brown (1832-1904) a Scottish poet/essayist who signed his works J.B. Selkirk (James Brown of Selkirk).

Selection From The Last Epistle to Tammus by JB Selkirk

And as a final fun fact, ‘Brown Cow’ is not just a brown-coloured bovine that gives milk, but a previously used playful name for a beer barrel in Selkirk’s homeland.

All Things Brown

Brown study, study of brown.
Run around in a dressing gown.
Brown like a bear - brown, brown, brown,
grr, grr, grrring in a run around town.
In and out of town through woods,
the forest, nature’s neighbourhood
filled with brown dirt, plants, and trees,
chestnut, hazel - fawns and fleas.
All things brown, all things good,
like them, love them as one should.
Brown, brown, brown and just like that
my bare bear foot stepped in scat.

Thank you for reading.
Kate

J

Sources
Ancestry, 2024. Meaning of the first name Brown. https://www.ancestry.co.uk/first-name-meaning/brown?srsltid=AfmBOorbWn5AS7LM5WLIQzwW3Tqq10Pn9gVceCOkyD78j0uW-KTvU_o8 Accessed 20 October.
Britannica, 2024. Brown. https://www.britannica.com/science/brown-color Accessed 20 October.
Cambridge Dictionary, 2024. Brown Study.
https://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/brown-study Accessed 20 October.
Canva, 2024. Everything about the color brown. https://www.canva.com/colors/color-meanings/brown/ Accessed 24 October.
Hansen, T.A., 2017. Natural Earth Paint through the Ages: The Prehistoric Era-. https://www.naturalearthpaint.eu/en/blogs/blog/natural-earth-paint-through-the-ages-the-prehistor/ Accessed 25 October 2024.
Harrington, J., 2020. How now brown cow. https://www.anchornews.org/2020/01/23/how-now-brown-cow/ Accessed 31, 2024.
Nova Colour, 2022. Understanding the Color Brown and its Shades. https://novacolorpaint.com/blogs/nova-color/color-brown-and-its-shades Accessed 27 October 2024.
Oleson, J., 2024. 128 Shades of Brown: Color Names, Hex, RGB, CMYK Codes. https://www.color-meanings.com/shades-of-brown-color-names-html-hex-rgb-codes/ Accessed 20 October.
Selkirk, J.B., 1905. Poems. R & R Clark Ltd. Edinburgh. https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/83/Poems_%28IA_poemsselkirk00selkiala%29.pdf Accessed 25 October 2024.
Wikimedia, 2024. Poems by J.B. Selkirk.
https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/83/Poems_%28IA_poemsselkirk00selkiala%29.pdf Accessed 25 October.
Wikipedia, 2024. List of people with surname Brown. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_people_with_surname_Brown Accessed 31 October.

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David Riley: a retrospective

I feel I am among the least qualified to introduce this retrospective piece on David Riley, as I barely knew him. He was  Blackpool-born and I understand he was among the early participants in Lancashire Dead Good Poets' Society, but his involvement had pretty much ended by the time I joined in 2014. 

David Riley (extreme right) with early members of LDGPS

He was an historian, a tutor with the Open University, and  a writer of science-fiction, plays and poetry. I saw David read at a couple of open mic nights and prevailed upon him to write a trio of short pieces as a guest blogger but he always seemed to maintain a relatively low profile. The last time we met was at the funeral of fellow Dead Good Poet Christopher Heyworth in the summer of 2017, when David announced that he was relocating to Ireland to undertake an MA in Poetry at the Seamus Heaney Centre of Queen's Belfast. He passed away in September 2018 just after having completed his dissertation.

Divine Mystery

In Whitechapel, hell clings to brick and stone
Grim residue like smog that never lifts
Blue populace wades, ankle deep in death

Behind a window's bubble-spotted eyes
Bone-handled orphans rest in caskets lined
With velvet. Feathered pens and vessels, cracked.

A desk, marked deep and faded as the day
Is strewn with cups and wands, lovers and wheels
A form, ancient and present, points to change.

Her fingers at the deck, old woman smiles
Reeking of gin and smoke, wrapped tight in tweed
A body's surfaced and she knows the hand.

Emigrant

Alehouse drink was attracting attention

to the ending of things

preceding Skipool's frigate who'd blur all consequence.

"Carried away to Amerikay,"

the stillborn song no one could finish

among the fledgeling emigres.

Anyons, Bambers, Silcocks, Hulls

most busy telling absent Hornbys Stanleys

what they could do with their bulls.

Brave on their last night in Poulton

that gentry at a safe distance

they waited on high tide to follow the sun -

"aye, where it sleeps, just beyond there

they've men with faces for chests

and dogs' heads for their hair.

It's true as I'm standing here

they've got pictures down south somewhere."

The stories were getting as strong as the beer.

They wanted a world of adventure

lied for it, stole for it, lent wives for it

and tomorrow on the shore

they'd look where horizons should be

losing touch, moving on

into the sky and the sea.

Found Blackpool

3am argue blackpool blackpool's cash chair class come cost council day deckchair deckchairs emro end forward gazette go golden happen id including just mile modern move need new other place police process prom pub resort say seaside seem shame sight spent stock talk time town visitor vital working year

Thoughts For Christmas

Is poetry always religious?

Is religion always influenced by the politics of the day?
Therefore, is Christmas poetry always political?
Do you need to understand religion before you can understand most poetry, from Beowulf to the Canterbury Tales to Eliot?
Do you need to know the nativity story to understand Coleridge, Rossetti and Wordsworth?
How much Christmas themed poetry have you seen in the shops recently?
Are poets making Christmas commercial?
Is there extra exposure for poetry at this time of year?
Does it help poetry?
Are Christmas carols poetry?
Are some more Catholic than Protestant (and vice versa)?
Do they all have the same message?
Is Christmas relevant any more? Is Christmas poetry important?
Is it as saccharine as Christmas card verses?
Are these big questions?
Happy Christmas.

Customs Man

The child's wrapped to her

curves reserved for him now,

maybe husband too.

She does the dance of motherhood

soothes the boy

refuses to entangle eyes with me

but I know her secret name

and the one she shares

since she's been goodwife to him.

I add them

to Anyons, Bambers, Silcocks, Hulls

clerk them out of England

a last rite,

pull them up by the roots

throw them out to sea.

I look at the child's red fist

declining to go so easily

catching his mother's impatient hair.

I murmur small pleasantries

close my book

wish them God speed

watch them walk the plank.

I wave. No one turns back,

she doesn't look.

RIP David Riley, 1955-2018

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Ghosting

Who doesn't love a gerund?  And we all loved Baxter. His working life was spent  ghosting  books for famous people who couldn't write to save theirs, who had the nerve but not the talent or the time to set things down in words. I'm not going to bore you with a list of his (often uncredited) successes. They meant little more to him than they'd mean to you and I've never read a single one, but Baxter was fun.

We were saddened and shocked when he suddenly went to join the host of ghost writers in the sky, but were not surprised that he had left behind his own epitaph:

                 Per vitam inspiravit, in morte vivit. (He ghosted through life, he lives on in death.) 

With Halloween spookily receding and firework night fast approaching, this week-end felt like an appropriate occasion to remember Baxter's spirit again. 

for ghost writers in the sky

I do so in my latest poem below, a simple, seasonal piece fired in the imagination but based mostly on real events:

Fireworks for Baxter
We taped three huge rockets together
with conspiratorial smiles and gaffer
(for all men are boys under the skin)
and headed for the nearest open space,

a park nestled in a curve of  the river,
the perfect amphitheatre. A lucky find,
one hollow bollard in which to point
our tribute skyward at November stars.

We lit three touch-papers and waited
an agonising age before that monster
roared up and away, drowning out
our manic shouts of 'For you Baxter!'

The river sparkled, air crackled, dogs
howled, car alarms wailed in unison.
We legged it as police sirens closed in
to find who’d blown a hole in heaven.

                 

Because today's blog is almost criminally short, a shadow of my usual forays, I thought I should throw in a musical bonus for good measure. I leave you with Dennis Linde (who wrote hits for the likes of Elvis Presley) with this rendition of Ghost Riders In The Sky from his 1978 LP 'Under The Eye'.

Happy trails and thanks as ever for reading my stuff, S ;-)

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