Meat or Murder ?

Meat or murder ? It's a very stark emotive phrase. Firstly let me say that I am an omnivore. Because of a condition that I have, I thrive -nay, I require a high protein diet. That means protein of the highest caliber. Very good friends were vegetarians and now are vegan - that's fine by me: they don't judge me nor I they. I asked them what made them become vegetarians and they told me that they camped adjacent to a field of ewes and lambs - deciding then that meat was not for them . However I point out to you that if there were no demand for meat and meat products then we would not see that lovely scene in Spring, for there would be no need to breed livestock for meat, nor to replenish stock. Furthermore the lovely English Lakes deplete of grazing livestock would soon become overgrown and impassable. As would the New Forest and many areas of the Welsh and Scottish uplands. Grazing and foraging animals are a necessity to maintain nature's balance and we must now rely upon domestic animals to a great degree since there are no longer reindeer , bison, wild cattle, wild goats and the like to assist with this.
    My late husband was a hunter and fisherman....but give me a chance to explain. He fished as a lad, coarse fishing..where the fish are generally not really edible and are returned to the water. So when we moved to Scotland he took up other types of fishing..sea fishing, fly fishing, lure fishing, bubble float fishing...in fact many methods that he saw others use. As for the sea fishing, this was by rod and line and usually comprised catching the odd pollock, mackerel ...and one time a conger eel !! Just something to take home and eat...other smaller varieties were returned to the deep. Much more sustainable than the new process imposed upon commercial fishermen of discarding full nets of  " over the quota " dead fish back to the ocean ( for their swim bladders burst as they are taken from the depths ). He also helped a friend to lay creels and this meant the occasional crab-- again of the allowed size. Now to the shooting part ......well he shot rabbits, for the local golf courses who reported damages over £ 1000 / week, and for local farmers. But here I hasten to add - only for the pot ! There were customers glad to receive ( for free ) a rabbit or two, and he had a barter system with the local fishmonger in which he traded for fish. He was a good shot and would never never just injure an animal, he hated to see suffering, and should he see a rabbit with myxomatosis then he would quickly dispatch it. Also he abhorred the use of snares and always destroyed those laid by poachers ( so he wasn't always popular, for he had permission to be on the land ). Shooting game was not on his remit as a different licence was required plus he considered wholesale  " shoots " as somewhat barbaric. No, he was glad to have food for the pot and he enjoyed the outdoor life and the exercise.......sometimes he could go all day and not catch anything. Farmers troubled by rabbits complained that the rabbits lived a charmed life , eating the very best of arable crops, leading to tremendous losses. So it's really a balancing act..it's about maintaining our natural surroundings ( or at least how we've come to see them ) and maintaining a balance for the production of cereals and crops.
     Methods employed in abattoirs nowadays are strictly controlled in the UK , and seem to be more thoughtful than many years ago. Many farms are choosing to raise and slaughter their own stock on their premises thus avoiding any stress to the creatures by transporting them long distances.
     I know that this is a difficult subject for some to even consider, and it seems to be a necessary evil. But if we wish to continue to see a variety of livestock in the fields, and to marvel at the scenes then we have to accept farming, fishing and culling methods.
     My poem this week is about geese...my husband absolutely adored ducks and geese and would never consider shooting them !!

           Wild geese ( 25/1/72 )

Today I saw the geese fly north.
Wet day, dreary day.
Take me with you, fly you forth.
Cold day, weary day.
Let's glide over houses-over roofs.
Damp day, black day,
Wing beats sounding like horse's hoofs.
Dull day, bleak day.

Change position leading goose.
Glad day, happy day.
Shake your feathers, shake them loose.
New day, sunny day.
Today I fly with you far north.
Glorious day, smashing day.
We are free and we fly forth.
Oh happy, happy day.

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Labour

  My take on "Labour " - and not the political party ,which in my mind has no resemblance to the true meaning of the word.
  Anyway my Grandfather was a dockside labourer...a 'docker' who loaded and unloaded the boats that plied between Aberdeen and Orkney. A hard physical job after the war. No ' ro-ro ' ferry then. No,it was a job that relied on man power, pulleys, cranes, derricks - and the like. Goods, livestock, vehicles were manhandled to and from the boats. Labour meant labour ! Nowadays we refer to such as ' manual work' - but this was much more than that...it meant back troubles, toil, calloused hands...a weariness after work that gave little time for leisure !
   When at college we counted calories in reference to sedentary workers and labourers. So the latter required 3,500 Cals plus per day and the former 2,500 ! A man on a building site was referred to as a labourer, a man digging ditches, a person laboured in the fields, a millworker laboured at the loom. It meant demanding, lengthy , hard work for the body, toiling,  requiring also concentration as regards safety and wellbeing.
   A woman when she is about to give birth 'goes into labour'. That's exactly it ! For that is a physically demanding , exerting time for her . Another 'proper' use of the word !
    So today's" Labour Party" don't really deserve that name, and should be called upon to rename themselves once and for all time !
   Today's poem was written in August 2014 after a visit to Durham Cathedral.

Durham Cathedral

 Heavenward reaching columns

Searching for an unseen God.

Built on a foundation of faith,

By men of ardent beliefs.      

         Into perpetuity this edifice reaches,

       With arches that seem to support 

Heaven itself !

These faithful tradesmen in stone

Would never have known        

The impact of their labours .    

                 Other meeker structures may tumble in time

      But this glory in stone will withstand

Time itself !

Living on, seeking a higher being,

                   A further meaning to its longevity and strength.

                        Admired, awed - by men of all creeds and beliefs.

             For there is no one religion in this building,

But an admiration by mankind     

     Of the labour, the skill and the artistry

Of men long departed.                

Thank You for reading... Kath

     

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Oriental

    I want to tell you a story......
    We moved to Cleveleys in 2006, having left a very large cliff top house in the north of Scotland. This house had a ghost ( of course, don't they all ? ). but that's another story for another day....
     Well this new house required some TLC, so we set about doing DIY. When it came to the lounge we found two large ceramic figurines of Geishas taking tea. These looked very fragile so we moved them to a safe place: returning them to the fireside surround when the decorating was done. I was very aware that their very long, delicate fingers might get caught as I passed the fireplace and therefore placed the figures squarely into the wall. Next day my husband asked me if I'd moved the figure on the left, to which I replied "No". She was at an oblique angle facing out. Anyway we put it down to the cat..or the wind ? She was duly put back into the wall out of harms way. On return from shopping she was again facing out...and it hadn't been the cat, as she was out ! We tried three or four times to keep the figurine in a safe position, but each time this one geisha was moved. We discussed the matter with a friend ( who was a medium ) and he suggested that we just keep it at the angle it preferred. So it is that the two figures sit angle- on, either side of the shelf. Never having been accidentally touched. I later found a scribbled message on the base of the 'tea table' that sits between them. It read ," To Ken with all my love ".  Ken was the deceased occupant of the house.
      Anyway I'll cheer you up now with a poem I wrote in July 1968.

                                                Azalea Walk

I'll walk by your side beneath the overhanging blossom
and watch the sun filter flutteringly through the ever changing moods of the day.
Kaleidoscopic colours of petals drift across our faces and our minds.
A small bird rises from the dark and distant undergrowth
and whistles a tune to the air.
We smile, and the trees open up their leaves to let us enter -
Before us spreads a world where time has no meaning and we need no understanding :
a world where contentment rules and everything smiles.
Come ! Take a walk with me beneath the overhanging blossom.


   I wrote this after receiving a postcard entitled " Azalea Walk "...from somewhere in Surrey.
  Azaleas, of course, originated in SE Asia and Japan...hence the connection to today's topic.

Thank You for reading....and a Guid New Year to ane and a'.......Kath Curtiss

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Winter

Once you start talking about winter one's mind turns back to winters past. Yesterday evening Don and I were talking just thus and recalling many bad or memorable winter escapades. He was in charge of all the vehicles for Westmorland ( later to be Cumbria ) and was relating tales of passes blocked, snow ploughs sent out and long sessions of keeping the roads passable. He remembered the bad winter of 1947.....and told me how he and his family caught the bus from Preston to Bay Horse ( the old A6 was passable ) then literally walking over fields, fences , gates ( the snow covered them ) and going to the aid of some people they knew in a farm near Quernmore. I also recall my father telling me of that same winter and how he walked from the RAF camp to a local dance following the telegraph pole tops all the way. I thought how crazy to go out in such conditions...but it seems that they just got on with it !
    Of course my childhood in Aberdeen was peppered with such tales too. We lived in a suburb ( the last road in fact before the farmland) in a high position , so we copped it for all the bad weather. It wasn't unusual that buses couldn't make the Granite Hill road ; milk deliveries were taken round by the 'milk ladies' on pulled sledges, the local Co-op didn't get supplies and roads remained blocked as the snow ploughs couldn't get up to either ! Yet we never missed school ! The primary school was about one and half miles away and we all met up and happily trudged our way there ( or it seems that we were happy ! ) . Of course we spent the morning in wet boots, wet socks and gloves steaming round the stove, for my classroom was in a 'hut' hastily erected following the war and the influx of youngsters from the growing suburbs. The secondary school was three miles away ! So that was an early morning cold walk in duffle coat and overboots ( how I hated those! ) The teachers always seemed to make it too, although I recall that my teacher lived in a farm. Then there was the opportunity to skate outdoors on the Duthie Park model boat pond- - now that was great ! I'd take a sweeping brush and lots of warm clothing and we'd set off on the bus to the other side of Aberdeen for this once in a blue moon opportunity. Such fun, laughter and rosy cheeks ! The hiking club didn't meet weekly in the winter but we'd have an occasional trip out or weekend away, where winter mountain skills were honed, based in very chilly Youth hostels !!
      My first job was in Kingussie near the Cairngorms and initially I stayed in 'digs'. Winter nights the old A9 road would become quiet and I'd walk down to look both ways at a silent, white empty road....huge soft snowflakes slowly drifting down. The school was sometimes closed as the AA and shepherds, lairds and others would keep the school informed of conditions in far reaching places , so that their children could be brought home safely. I didn't drive then and relied on the school 'taxi ' to ferry me home with some farmer's children to the little cottage that I moved into when I married. Once a Land Rover recovery vehicle came for us and we squeezed in the cab....the snow up to the top of the wheel arches, the wipers frozen, no heater...just making it back. My husband being stranded in the village for 5 days and me in the cottage.
    I though when I moved to the outskirts of Oxford that winters would be kinder. In fact they weren't . We lived in a prefab at the foot of the Chilterns and the cold, frosty conditions were very nasty and we were often blocked in by snow. Ice on the inside of the windows ( of course ) fire built up with logs, paraffin heaters on in the hall and kitchen, icicles on the inside of the front door ......Things improved when I moved to Abingdon and then if the snow was bad I could at least walk to work.
      On my second marriage we thought it a good idea to move to the north of Scotland to a large clifftop house....wonderful views over the Moray Firth...but by jove the cold winds !! My husband experienced snow on his birthday (22nd Oct) for the first time in his life . We'd then do something crazy and drive up to the foot of Cairngorm, walk so far, and touch the snow ! Wearing two layers of trousers, and all the warm clothing we could find. My husband never came to terms with the winters up there and so it was that we found ourselves on the Fylde Coast. He said it was " the difference between an overcoat and a jacket ".
     I could go on and on about this season. I much prefer freezing conditions to the wet though and still get excited at crisp snowflakes falling from the sky, moonlit frosty nights and open fires.....
    The photo this week is the view from our house in Buckie, taken on the 2nd March 2006, just before we moved to the Fylde .

This poem is the first that I wrote -- or at least the first that I wrote down. Written in January 1965 !

View From My Window

When I look from my window I can see

The snow lying on every far away hill and tree;

But the grass peeps through the cold,

The sky blue and the sunset gold.

The wispy rain-laden clouds fly past

To make room for the night coming fast.

Soon Jack Frost will spread his chilly hand

Over the grass, trees - all over the land.

The men plod wearily homewards,

And the birds fly fleetingly downwards

To their nests in the loft.

The chimneys are still smoking -

But here's the rain ! It's soaking

Everything. And tomorrow, when I wake

The snow will all be gone.

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Serendipity

This week's title SERENDIPITY...a delightful word...even baby girls were named thus. The meaning being - a chance event or meeting with a pleasurable, interesting or valuable outcome. In fact some happening that occurs by chance and makes you feel good, does good, or gives you a " lift " Now that must be altogether a good thing, in a busy world. I guess it is often associated with LOVE... that chance meeting between two people, that blossoms into a meaningful and lasting relationship.
    Recently I had two serendipitous occurrences in one day in one spot...nothing at all to do with love..but two chance meetings ...one that made me think with pleasure on a past encounter and the other that gave me joy and rewarded me with a pleasant surprise. So let's get on with it...
    On holiday recently, we pulled into a lay-by near Kinlochleven. It was a beautiful, warm morning when a motorcycle drew in and the rider introduced himself as a retired local deer stalker. We got to chatting about the mountains etc and he started to tell me of his uncle, who had been badly injured by an exploding mine in the last war, how he had a tin leg and was blind. Immediately I interrupted him, " You're going to tell me about Syd Scroggie ! " He replied that yes indeed that was his late uncles name and asked how I knew of him. Well I'd met him in the Grampian Mountains when I was about 13 years of age, and that that encounter had so impressed me it was etched into my memory. So we chatted of this " link " that we'd established and it made me glad inside to share the memory. That same evening we dined in Kinlochleven and whilst eating overheard a very polite American young man ask about buses to Fort William. Well it was Sunday ! No buses that way, at that time of day. A taxi proved costly for him and he was quite 'lost'. Anyway we were going to the main road and I knew that long haul buses passed through going to Fort William and so we offered him a lift. On the journey he asked if we'd heard of CBS, and we said " Yes" an American News Station. He told us he worked for them and had come over to UK early to cover the Golf Open at St. Andrews. As he left the car he handed over two cards and told us that if were ever in New York to look him up. The card read his name and title...Production Manager CBS Sports !! Well you could have knocked me over with a feather ! Again another pleasant encounter---two in one day at one remote spot ! Now that's SERENDIPITY !!!
    So to today's poem...about love..written in February 1969.

     
  WHY YOU ?

Why you from all the rest,
I'll never know?
Why did we meet that day,
An act of fate or mere coincidence ?
Was it the hand of some unseen
Force that pulled us together ?
Was it the moment of truth for
Two people?
What was it ?
Why you from all the rest ?

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