Pills (A Brief History)

Oh those pills! Those small round or oblong solid masses of medicine that come in an array of colours. These are indeed medical miracles that are meant to be swallowed. They have the ability to ease pain, control diseases and cure many ailments. Such little wonders that have developed over millennia.

modern mass-produced pills

Evidence suggests the first pills were created around 1,500 BC in Egypt. At that time, ingredients would have been mixed, then formed into little balls with nimble fingers using excipients such as clay, bread, honey, grease and/or tree resins to bind everything together.

A thousand years later, some pills began to be indented with trademarks as exemplified by Terra Sigillata (Sealed Earth) that originated from the Greek Island of Lemnos. At that time, once each year small governmental and religious dignitaries bore witness to a particular clay being dug and removed from a pit on a Lemnian hillside. This clay was then rolled into small pastilles, impressed with a seal by a priestess, sun-dried and finally distributed on a commercial basis to the wider community. This practice has evolved into the unique imprinted codes on pills today that identify the type of medication, its ingredients and also the manufacturer.

The innovative Romans had pill-making equipment as evidenced by an object at the British Museum, a stone with long flat grooves. The pill-maker would press the medicinal mixture into the grooves, make long wormy snake-like strings, then evenly cut them to make the pills.

At the beginning of the Industrial Age (1700s) the first pill-making machine was developed and soon became a must have for any chemist in the 18th, 19th and into the early 20th centuries. This machine would allow the chemist to make it possible to produce a higher quantity of pills quickly.

top half of a Victorian pill making machine
Lancaster Medical Heritage Museum (photo: Peter Dyer)

At the time pill making was a laboursome process even with the machine. Instructed by the doctor, the chemist would have to weigh out and grind up the ingredients with a mortar and pestle, then add a binder which in the Victorian times was typically soap, milk powder or glucose syrup.

mortar and pestle
Lancaster Medical Heritage Museum (photo: Peter Dyer)

In 1843, Englishman William Brockedon invented and was granted a patent for a device that would become the first tablet press leading to the modern day press and mass production that one would see in the twentieth century. Much experimenting was going on during this time. In the later part of the 1800s Silas Burroughs explored disintegration properties between conventionally manufactured, partly coated pills and compressed powders.

Nowadays, according to Thomas Processing, ‘the most common tablet manufacturing process techniques are wet granulation, dry granulation, and direct compression” requiring granulators, mixing equipment, drying machinery, and coating systems to achieve production of tablets.

How far the world has come from hand mixing and rolling a tiny medicinal sphere between the fingers.

With ‘pills’ being food for thought, I was inspired to have another go at some blackout poetry. I really enjoy the challenge.

This first one is extracted from Antique Medical Instruments by E. Bennion.

Pill Box

rare one
in time art
unique

hold many
a globular shape

made by
eighteenth century
pharmacists

expired makers

This piece came from an article by Elsevier published in International Journal of Pharmaceutics Volume 581.

act

process

develop
act

mix
connect
integrate

interact
evaluate
process

blend
experiment
analyze

the eccentric
raw drug
us

And finally, here’s one using the beginning of Gaikwad and Kshirsagar’s Review on Tablet in Tablet techniques.

feel       taste
art and literature
focus on form
review techniques

release

Thank you for reading.
Kate J

Sources:

* Elsevier, B.V., 2020. End to end continuous manufacturing of conventional compressed tablets: From flow synthesis to tableting through integrated crystallization and filtration. International Journal of Pharmeceutics Volume 581. https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0378517320302817 (Accessed 30 July 2023).
*Gaikwadd S.S. and Kshirsagar S.J., 2020. Review on Tablet in Tablet techniques, Beni-Suef University Journal of Basic and Applied Sciences 9, Article Number 1. https://bjbas.springeropen.com/articles/10.1186/s43088-019-0027-7 (Accessed 1 August 2023).
*Gallway City Museum, 2023. Collections Spotlight – Victorian Pill Making Machine. https://galwaycitymuseum.ie/blog/collections-spotlight-victorian-pill-making-machine/?locale=en (Accessed 30 July 2023).
*LeDoux, M., 2016. The history of compounds, extraction and tablet compression. https://www.naturalproductsinsider.com/contract-manufacturing/history-compounds-extraction-and-tablet-compression (Accessed 30 July 2023).
*Mestel, R., 2002. The Colorful History of Pills Can Fill Many a Tablet. https://www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-2002-mar-25-he-booster25-story.html (Accessed 30 July 2023).
*Museum of Healthcare at Kingston, 2023. From the Collection Pill Machine. https://artefact.museumofhealthcare.ca/?p=380 (Accessed 30 July 2023).
*Thomas Processing, 2022. How Tablets Are Manufactured. https://thomasprocessing.com/how-tablets-are-manufactured/ (Accessed 30 July 2023).
*Thom, R. 2014. Terra Sigillata, An Early “Trademarked” Drug. https://hannemanarchive.com/2014/12/12/history-of-pharmacy/ (Accessed 30 July 2023).

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Gutta-percha - Fill Your Roots

 

Gutta-percha is a natural latex material obtained from Palaquium trees native to South East Asia. The sap is collected from trees which have been felled and left to coagulate. It has thermoplastic properties making it suitable for many uses including underwater cables and household electrics. It is used in dentistry as a permanent root filling.

Dental gutta-percha was first used over 170 years ago by American dentist and firearms inventor, Edwin Maynard. I was surprised to learn that he would practice in endodontics at a time in history when it was more usual to remove a troublesome tooth. It’s good that he did, as his legacy lives on. Gutta-percha is one of the most successful and widely used options in endodontics. It can completely seal a root canal which prevents bacteria entering the area and reduces the chance of complications.

If you’ve had dental treatment involving root canal therapy, you’ve probably got gutta-percha in there.

I was a trainee dental nurse when everything was old-fashioned by today’s standards. Modern surgeries look easier to clean and sanitise than the creaky contraption of a dental chair that I had to look after. We had sterilisers in the surgeries that had to be kept boiling all day long. Some instruments were sterilised by flaming with methylated spirits in a kidney dish – not so much that the flames reach the ceiling – such instruments included those used in root canal surgery which had to be thoroughly scrubbed first. To the best of my knowledge, these items are now single-use and disposed of immediately. My colleague, Helen, taught me very well, with lots of patience. We were the same age, but she’d left school before me. I could soon mix Kalzinol on a marble tile without too much mess and make amalgam filling to perfection. Dealing with root canal stuff and gutta-percha took longer to learn as it wasn’t an everyday thing. We shared joy, laughter and grievances about our boss. We did our Dental Surgery Assistant night-school course together and, upon completion, we were proud to wear our yellow belts. This was in the days before dental nurses were required to be qualified. Our careers took different paths. Helen stayed in dentistry, I moved away. We were good friends and kept in touch until Helen passed away a few years ago.

My Haiku, about those times,

It was my old days
When surgeries were basic,
Smelled of Kalzinol.

Trainee Dental Nurse
Eager to learn and succeed,
Finding my way round.

The knowledge of teeth
And all that makes their unique
Physiology.

I mixed a filling
With a small, flat spatula
On a marble tile.

What’s this pink stuff for?
I’ve not seen root canal yet.
Lethal looking files.

It’s gutta-percha
For completing root fillings.
We don’t see many.

Appointment for what?
What’s an apicectomy?
Ah! Fascinating.

PMW 2023

 Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Class - Upstairs or Downstairs?

I’ve spent the last month or so re-reading my collection of ‘Upstairs, Downstairs’ books. These slim paper-backs tell the story of the popular TV series about the ‘upstairs’ Bellamy family of 165, Eaton Place, Belgravia, and their ‘downstairs’ servants. The drama series began in 1971 and taught me more about social class and modern history than any amount of school lessons. The books followed the TV programmes series by series and each chapter is an episode, written by the same screen-writer.  They work quite well as novels. Fading, falling apart and with tiny print that made me wonder how I was managing without my hands-free magnifying glass, these are part of my ‘most treasured possessions’. For back up, I have the complete set of DVDs.

History was, and still is, a big interest to me. Unfortunately, the history master at school failed to ignite any passion in the subject, standing at the front of the class non-stop talking about one of the wars like he was presenting All Our Yesterdays. The boys drew Spitfires, us girls yawned. Instead, I learned social, economic and political history from the events going on in Upstairs, Downstairs. At the time, 1971 onwards, class distinction was mostly lost on me. I loved the servants, Mr Hudson the butler, all his staff and everything they got up to and I equally loved the members of the well-to-do Bellamy family. There was just one thing that grated on me and opened my eyes to class differences of the time. In an episode where Lord Bellamy’s brother is briefly staying at Eaton Place, Hudson’s brother and family are also visiting from abroad, staying in London, and unintentionally, they are all lunching in the same restaurant. This is a regular place for Richard Bellamy to be eating out, but Hudson has had to borrow money from cook, Mrs Bridges, to fund the outing. Bellamy and Hudson seeing each other in the restaurant causes embarrassment for Hudson, who, in an attempt to big himself up a bit for the benefit of his brother  now feels that he is aping his betters. Later, he offers his immediate resignation. Bellamy won’t hear of it and tells Hudson he was pleased to meet his family and that sadly, he, Bellamy, will not be seeing his own brother again. I was glad of the happy outcome, but it made me wonder why being in the same place should be a problem. Surely the butler could go wherever he likes on his time off, and how he funds it is his own business?

I have followed Downton Abbey, Belgravia and others, but nothing captured the essence of the time period quite like Upstairs, Downstairs. I couldn’t decide where I belong, up or down, or somewhere else entirely.

Re-reading it reminded me of a time at work, not where I am now. We had coffee mugs for ourselves, but there were cups and saucers for visiting senior staff and directors. When I brewed up, I gave everyone mugs and no one said anything. Sometimes, we used cups and saucers in our office. No reason not to.

Growing up in pubs, we had domestic staff. I called them ‘Auntie’ or ‘Mr’ and they were very much part of the family from my point of view, particularly our housekeeper ‘Auntie Kathy’ who I adored and was close to, and ‘Mr Joe’ who came with the pub and was like another grandad. I was brought up to treat everyone with respect and kindness. We are all the same.

Is that the time? I’d better ring for tea – or go and make it.

Here's John Betjeman:

How to Get On in Society

Phone for the fish-knives, Norman

As cook is a little unnerved;

You kiddies have crumpled the serviettes

And I must have things daintily served.

Are the requistites all in the toilet?

The frills round the cutlets can wait

'Till the girl has replenished the cruets

And switched on the logs in the grate.

It's ever so close in the lounge, dear,

But the vestibule's comfy for tea

And Howard is out riding on horseback

So do come and take some with me.

Now here is a fork for your pastries

And do use the couch for your feet;

I know what I wanted to ask you -

Is trifle sufficient for sweet?

Milk and then just as it comes dear?

I'm afraid the preserve's full of stones;

Beg pardon, I'm soiling the doilies

With afternoon tea-cakes and scones.

John Betjeman  (1906 - 1984)
 

             
Frost Report Social Class sketch: click here to play

Thanks for reading, keep well, Pam x

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Enslavement - History

When I was young and starting out in my working life, I was amused by a cartoon poster on the staff room wall depicting a group of disgruntled workers, with one of them shouting, “They can’t sack us, slaves have to be sold!” It was harmless and was meant in good humour at the time, but it wouldn’t be acceptable now.
 

Recently, a statue of merchant Edward Colston was toppled and pushed into Bristol Harbour during the George Floyd protests related to the Black Lives Matter movement. Colston was a figure of controversy for a number of years, concerning his involvement in the Atlantic slave trade. He is one of many British merchant / slave traders and there are things to learn about all of them, good and bad. Colston’s statue was removed from the harbour and will take a place in a Bristol museum with his full details. Perhaps that would be the way forward with other controversial figures.  Every city and town in the United Kingdom has area names and street names that can be traced back to a potential slave trade origin. It would be wrong to rename them. Morally, history cannot be changed, rewritten or hidden, as in Orwell’s ‘1984’. We learn from history and move on.

Across Morecambe Bay, on Sunderland Point, lies Sambo’s Grave, a place I have visited many times.
Sunderland Point was an 18^th century port serving Lancaster and surrounding areas with cotton, sugar and slave ships from the Caribbean. Sambo is thought to be a young slave belonging to a ship’s captain.  He took ill and died at Sunderland Point, and as a non-Christian, was buried in unconsecrated ground.
 

From Wikipedia – ‘Some sixty years after the death, a retired head master from Lancaster Boys’ Grammar School, Mr James Watson, heard the story and raised money from summer visitors to the area for a memorial to be placed on the unmarked grave. Watson, who was the brother of prominent Lancaster slave trader, William Watson, also wrote the epitaph that now marks the grave,

 Slavery is still out there, hard to spot, but it exists in different forms, some of it close to home. County line drug runners, under-age prostitution, sweat shop factory workers. Vulnerable people from here and abroad promised a better life. Modern slavery.

Sonnet to William Wilberforce

 Thy country, Wilberforce, with just disdain,

     Hears thee, by cruel men and impious, call'd

     Fanatic, for thy zeal to loose th' enthrall'd

     From exile, public sale, and slav'ry's chain.

     Friend of the poor, the wrong'd, the fetter-gall'd,

     Fear not lest labour such as thine be vain!

     Thou hast achiev'd a part; hast gain'd the ear

     Of Britain's senate to thy glorious cause;

     Hope smiles, joy springs, and tho' cold caution pause

     And weave delay, the better hour is near,

     That shall remunerate thy toils severe

     By peace for Afric, fenc'd with British laws.

     Enjoy what thou hast won, esteem and love

     From all the just on earth, and all the blest above!

                                                  By William Cowper

   Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Family - Ties That Bind Us

I am fortunate to have been born into a medium-sized, close-knit family. My early childhood was filled with love and joy. For seven years I was the only grandchild to two sets of doting grandparents and my great-grandmother. I wasn’t spoilt in a materialistic way but I knew I was wanted, always welcome everywhere and people had time for me. By seven or eight, I had been taught how to knit, how to sew on buttons and sew a line of neat, tiny stitches. I wasn’t allowed near the dangers of a hot, steamy kitchen but I could prick my fingers to death with a sharp needle – not too many times before I got the hang of it. I gave everyone’s coal fire a wide berth, too. It is basic, the security of a loving family. I hope I’ve provided the same for my children and grandchildren.

I would like to nurture the same close relationship with my grandchildren as I had with my grandparents and I hope I’m doing it right. I have been home-schooling my eldest grandson a couple of afternoons a week since lockdown rules eased enough for me to see him. Home-schooling sounds very grand, but he only started school last September, just getting into the swing of it, which he loves, then along came ‘the germs’ and shut down. We play games, do lots of painting, drawing, colouring – this includes chalk, wax crayon, pencils, felt tips and anything else I can lay my hands on. I’ve recently introduced him to ‘The Cat in the Hat’ and ‘Green Eggs and Ham’, excellent for practising phonics. He’s quite happy doing number work, he doesn’t like writing much but we do a little bit. He enjoys being here, having me and Grandad all to himself with no distractions from his siblings. It helps my daughter out, as well. Families help each other, as it always was with our lot.

Now and again I dip into my family history. I’ve been doing my ‘tree’ for years. It can be hard work sometimes, going round in circles or literally barking up the wrong tree. So many generations with the same first name passed down. Children named after a dead older sibling. I’d never do that, but it was quite common in the mid-eighteen hundreds. People had lots of children, but so many of them died in infancy. Such losses in my ancestry have saddened me. My grandparents were made of strong stuff. They lost a child at three years old, before my mother was born. I was full of my own heartache when they lost another daughter, my mother. Our family clung to each other and tried to weather the storm.

It was hard when my mother died so young. It got harder still when my father remarried to the point of being impossible, but I had a close relationship with my maternal grandmother until she passed away, and my god-mother, who is my rock to this day.

I lost a lot of people over a period of about ten years. It is said that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I’ve made it, so far. I suppose I'm the matriarch of my family now, with hidden strength and non-judgemental advice when required.

                                                                           My babes

My poem,  Family

There's cooking and cleaning and

The sound of children at play.

Infants having a squabble,

It's an ordinary day.

The strength of our family

Continues here, in our home,

A warm hub of love and care

Where everyone is welcome.

Everyone is important,

All are equal in our throng.

We look after each other,

Fam'ly is where we belong.

Somewhere to share a problem,

Always a listening ear

And a few words of wisdom

Help the worries disappear.

Family ties that bind us

Are stronger than any twine.

United in trust we stand,

I'm proud this fam'ly is mine.

PMW 2020

Thanks for reading, stay safe, Pam x

                                              

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History

My bookshelves groan with the evidence of a full and varied education in History and English Literature coupled with a love of reading.  Much of my free time lately has been spent delving into my fat, well-used volume of The Complete Works of Shakespeare.  This has been for research purposes and to help find inspiration for my guest blog. I thumbed my way through Othello, trying to make sense of the notes I’d pencilled in the margins.  Neat, perfectly formed tiny writing from years, nay, decades ago, using a sharp, probably 3H pencil,  page after page.  And my underlining of some text, that must have been significant at the time.  It is lost on me now and the only thing I remember is sniggering inwardly at Shakespeare’s use of the words ‘tupping’ and ‘tupped’. These farmyard words and their meanings are the ones that stick in my childish mind.

I confess, with head bowed in shame that I haven’t always got on with the work of Mr Shakespeare.  I struggled with Hamlet, couldn’t get to grips with Henry V and I’ll never believe that Richard III was the tyrant that Shakespeare made him out to be. This might sound like blasphemy to fans of The Bard and I apologise, for what do I know? I tried my best, backed up with a fair amount of ‘fudging’ and help from caring classmates.  Many years later, something came into my possession which made a world of difference … a boxed set of DVDs with Laurence Olivier playing the lead character in six Shakespeare plays.  His ‘Heathcliff’ had taken my breath away when I was eleven and ever since, I’d had a soft spot for him.

“Now is the winter of our discontent, made glorious summer by this sun of York…” There was Olivier as Richard III, spitting out the words with venomous, clipped delivery. He looked menacing as he stooped and limped, dark eyes glaring from a twisted face. The make-up department had excelled. I was smitten.I wanted to know the truth about Richard III. I didn’t want to believe he was a cruel, vindictive king who ordered the murder of his young nephews and had an incestuous relationship with his niece. Apart from genealogy facts and succession to the throne, his life seems shrouded in a mystery of contradictions. Written accounts by others bearing truth or fiction. Perhaps Shakespeare had it right all along and, was he given information from Elizabeth I or is that another rumour?Laurence Olivier’s acting brought Richard III and other difficult characters to life and helped me to find an acceptable level of understanding in the history plays. It won’t improve my grades, but it’s never too late to learn or improve. I think a visit to Leicester Cathedral is in order, to pay respect to an English king who set me on a knowledge seeking journey that hasn’t ended.

A short poem:

Warwickshire gentleman known as Will

Looking thoughtful with parchment and quill.

Filling the hours of endless days

Composing sonnets and writing plays.

Clever and witty, word after word

But what was his spin on Richard III?

Thank you for reading, Pamela Winning.

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A very lost Blackpool

With the demolition of many of the town's architectural gems from years gone by, in the name of "Progress" (which is laughably also the town's motto), there is much of Blackpool that its ever transient population know little, if anything about.

I have posted in the past, a poem written about Blackpool in its heyday, when the Wakes Weeks would turn out the whole population of mill towns for their yearly holiday break. Thousands upon thousands of people would descend on our seaside resort, to let their hair down, fill their boots and relax as best they could. In that poem, I compared then with now, and what this place has become.

I wanted to go back further though and write something which told of the origins of our "Black pull". In the following poem, there is equal measure of fact and fable (or artistic license as some might say), and I would like for YOU to discover where those lines are drawn. Blackpool's history is fascinating! I urge you ... go and find out more for yourself!


Origin:

I want to take you on a journey to Centuries past,
Picture it in your mind!
Close your eyes and come with me
As time begins to unwind ...

A coastal moor so very bleak,
windswept with bog and dune grass.
No inhabitants except for local wildlife,
birds wheeling and screeching en-mass.

The odd twisted tree bent from the Gale,
stands like an old man hunched with age.
Isolated, with its branches reaching out,
pointing the way like an ancient Sage.

Further inland, a line of deepest green
marked the start of a Forest so dark,
providing shelter of sorts from the elements,
away from the mire and landscape so stark.

There were settlements scattered here and there
throughout this densely wooded land ...
Gypsy encampments, this was their home,
Earth and Human living hand in hand.

Hunting and fishing just to survive,
it was a quiet and peaceful life.
Disturbed by none, they flourished here,
even through harshest winters and through strife.

Legally, the land belonged to the King,
to do with just as he chose.
But though the folk who lived here did no harm,
they soon found of it he wanted to dispose.

We come forward through time, just a little bit,
to find a Lord has been awarded this land.
Along he came and built a Lodge,
Vaux (Fox) Hall, his place to hunt and relax by the sand.

It became a popular place for his friends,
to come and enjoy the air by the sea.
Then he started driving out the local Gypsy’s
by burning the Forest, forcing them to flee.

It was the start of development along this coastline.
One by one, more houses appeared.
Mostly Fishermen just earning their keep,
on the land of the Lord they so feared.

As the Forest receded and disappeared,
a town slowly grew over the sand and peat.
With a reputation for curing all that ails,
To come to the “Black Pull” was a real treat!

But spare a thought for those Gypsy’s ...
They lost their home without real reason or rhyme.
This is a story of the origin of our town,
I hope you enjoyed our journey through time.

Thanks for reading! ;-) x

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Stardate: -716000

Would it make too much mess if I picked apart a sentence?  The theme this week is 'space' and I can't think the word without it being pestered by its fellows, ':' and 'the final frontier'. 

It's quite economic, as sentences go.  And it's a metaphor.  It reminds me of the way Sir David Attenborough describes locations in his voiceovers: The Sahara: a vast swathe of scorching earth.  Or Antarctica: the planet's ice box.  Something like that.  But the Star Trek quote is more evocative than that.

Being an American TV series which started in 1966, Star Trek was riding on the tailcoats of the great Westerns.  Bonanza was the top rating TV series that year, and had been for the two years before.  It was also the year that The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly was released in US cinemas. 

The American Frontier, that push westwards, since the 17th century, of Americans as they spread across the continent, was still fresh in the imagination.  New territories, ie farmland as yet unclaimed, became almost impossible to find after the 1890s.  By the 1960s the Americans were reminiscing fondly about the days of outlaws, goldrushes and, before the truth of the Trail of Tears was widely known, their dominance over the American Indians.

In 1966, the US space programme was also at the forefront of imaginations.  They had yet to walk on the moon, but the Project Gemini took astronauts into space for longer and longer periods and Project Apollo was costing the modern equivalent of $205billion with the aim of putting the first men on the moon.  Three years later, it would succeed.

Roddenberry's intentions behind the TV series are crystal clear in those first four words.  He saw space as the new Wild West and Americans as THE human race.  In the future, he imagined, John Wayne would ride through the stars, an outlaw captain writing the rules and disobeying authority, finding love on every planet and outsmarting every menace. 

This concludes my examination of that short metaphor.  And it goes to show just how much cultural punch you can pack into a few carefully chosen words.  Poetry: cultured concentrated.

Captain James T Kirk

John Wayne

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A Characterful Town

Blackpool.  A town that creates imagery when its name is spoken.  In a positive way?  Hmmmmmm.

As someone who has an interest in Blackpool's local history, especially the Revoe area, I have enjoyed reading countless books on the town's past.  I am far from being an "expert", but do find it fascinating. Ask yourself, how much do you know about the town in which we live?  If it isn't necessarily very much, I encourage you wholeheartedly, to go to your local library and take out some of the fantastic array of books on Blackpool.  It would appear that this town is as much about the Characters who lived here, as it is about the place itself. A symbiotic relationship of sorts. Its very identity has been sculpted by not only the Forefathers who put in place the essentials, or the artists/acts who have visited and entertained millions over the years, but the day to day people who came here to make a living. That's right, came here.  This town was developed by "Incomers" for the most part.  Going right back, there were very few residents on this barren and windswept promontory which stretched much further out seaward than our current coastline.  Along with the weather over the years, it is clear that there have been many Characters who have sculpted Blackpool into what it has become today.

I have two poems about our interesting town, and was torn between which to use.  One is entitled "Origins" and is about the area from the year dot. Whilst the following one, which I decided to use in the end, is from more "recent" times, when the Tourism Industry had taken a hold in Blackpool's heyday.  It is also the poem which marked the start of my relationship with the Lancashire Dead Good Poets' Society.  A edited version of this was featured in the Chapbook entitled "A Poets' Guide To Blackpool".  This book contains some excellent poetry about the Town by a number of members of The Lancashire Dead Good Poets'.


BLACKPOOL

Crowds of people, so many to see, 
disembark from their trains, amid clouds of steam. 
Thousand would come for the "Wakes" week, 
Ready for enjoyment and lodgings to seek. 
An older era, more innocent it seems, 
such simple pleasures, to stay by the sea. 
A walk along the Promenade, or to sit upon the piers, 
music from bands, a delight to their ears. 
Exhilaration at the Pleasure Beach, or a stroll around the park, 
A ride on a tram car, memories to hold on to and mark. 
Pick up a postcard to send greetings back home, 
Special messages and pictures in the form of a tome. 
Stalls as far as the eye can see, 
stretch out for miles with money to reap. 
Come rain or shine, these people would come, 
Saving pennies each week, to bring a princely sum. 
But all too soon the tide must turn, 
Receding to their platforms, the crowds must return. 
Embarking upon their train, again amidst clouds of steam, 
Holding on to souvenirs of their time by the sea. 

Fast forward through time, and what do we see? 
Hundreds of people, come and stay by the sea. 
Not in numbers of old, those days are gone, 
In favour of trips abroad, Blackpool is shunned. 
The town has changed, too many Stag and Hen Do's, 
music pumping from bars and clubs with the promise of booze. 
So many empty shops, because businesses have closed, 
Late breakfasts in lodgings, people can't be roused. 
They stay out late and party all night, 
Early in the morning's out streets look a fright. 
Litter as far as the eye can see, 
a dirty little town, known for it's sleaze. 

However, one thing has not changed, through that time and this, 
Standing tall and proud, too hard to miss. 
Blackpool Tower, the symbol of our town, 
it's head in the clouds, looking gracefully down. 
Majestic in stance, it endures the test of time, 
Through wind and rain and of course the sea brine. 
What would it think of how Blackpool has become? 
Too speechless for words, completely stunned? 
The town has changed along with the times, 
not necessarily for the better, it no longer shines. 
Sure, we have the illuminations which beam through the night sky, 
But this is not natural light, it glares on the eye. 
We need to take a stand and tell our officials, 
"that's part of the problem, Blackpool's too artificial!" 
No thought for the people who keep this town going, 
normal folk, you and I, who keep the cash flowing. 
Stand shoulder to shoulder, believe in the cause, 
Blackpool IS a town to be so proud of! 
Against all the odds, Blackpool will survive! 
As long as the RESIDENTS keep the spirit alive! 
Return to the days when families came to stay, 
We should try to attract them, not drive them away. 
So once again, Blackpool must change, 
Alter our attractions, and widen our range. 
No more cheap looking gimmick's, that won't draw in the crowds, 
or continental looking plaza's that make pedestrians frown. 
Stand up to it's motto, we must not regress, 
purely for the better, Blackpool must PROGRESS!

The people who have lived and worked here over the years are the Foundation Stones on which our Town has been built into the Characterful place it has become.  Each of those people had their own identity and story to tell.  Many our our streets bear their names for posterity.  Let's not forget them.  Go and dig out their story.  We owe them that at least.  Perhaps we'll be able to see where the current leaders are going wrong.

On a further note, a special event to celebrate the rich history of the Revoe Community, one of the oldest in town, will be held next month at the Ibbison Court Day Centre.  It will feature historic photo's of the very Characters who helped to build this town alongside images of past and present buildings.  The display will take place on Tuesday 4th February between 12.30pm and 2pm.  A donation of £2 will go towards funds for the Centre, off Central Drive (next to The George Pub), with a buffet served for everyone involved.

Thanks for reading. :-)

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Unseeing Eyes.

Hands up if you've seen 2 girls 1 cup... Saddam Hussein's execution footage... the SuBo audition? If you haven't got your hand up for at least one of those, I suggest you could better use your time online- where have you been. The honest amongst you, put your hands down now, you've done nothing to be proud of. All three of those videos have one thing in common- they can't ever be unseen. They are the kind of footage that once witnessed, have a special place burnt onto the minds of all that have viewed- a kind of permanent trace.

In a world where we can't forget, we find a similarity with our machines. That clip you watched of a cat chasing a stick is lurking there somewhere, poised to reveal your secret fetish to anyone in government that happens to want to discover it. So too is that 'accidentally opened' German porno from when you were nineteen.

It may not worry you that your information is available through international governments monitoring and sharing it amongst themselves. You have nothing to hide, right. What if Tesco just cut the middle man out and sold the governments your clubcard records- that would be equally innocuous wouldn't it. Innocuous until one day you're denied NHS care due to the amount of fatty food consumed by your family every week. Until the day smokers who've bought fuel and cigs in one transaction are rounded up and fined for lighting up at the wheel.

Both of these extreme examples highlight what could happen with a little bit of harmful information in the wrong hands. Morally, I detest most of the things this government is doing- from their attacks on the poorest right through to their inability to persecute the tax dodgers and fat-cats that put us all in this mess. Unsurprisingly, they're the last people I want on my hard drive, given my mistrust of them. Is that in itself reason enough to be annoyed at their snooping?

As a result of my anger, I haven't, as a 'just in case' measure, attempted to hack their system, bug their lines or trace their calls. No, as a regular member of the public I have to go about my day hoping that they and all the other people I will come into contact with haven't descended to madness and still subscribe to a similar set of morals to my own. Isn't it about time that level of trust we hold in society everyday was reflected by the lucky few with the power to make decisions for us.

Come Friendly Bombs

Come friendly bombs, take a good look around
Would you like me to show you the view from the ground
I can post it to facebook, I can share it on skype
I'm worried you might not have been tracking me right. 
Come and browse through my bookshelves, view my history offline
You'll see I'm quite boring for most of the time
Ask permission, ask some questions I'm sure I can help you
Pop in for your answers, I can make us a brew.
Come and check my text messages, read through my phonebook
Run a personal check through the women I've fucked
Cross reference my photos, credit score me it's fine
Find a character witness, check locations with times
Send a drone past, GPS me, even bug my landline
You'll find I've no plans to go out planting mines
But to trust this to you, all that knowledge of me
Seems profound when we live in a world we call free
When you can't as a government write clear reports
When you're hiding the facts and holding secret courts
Leave us be, we're no more dangerous now than before
These are not our shortcomings, don't put them at our door.

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Ecky Thump

Eigh up.  There's nowt quite like a theme to set yer sailin' on them waves o' knowin'.  Fer as yer may 'ave spotted, we're harpin' on abaht t'past reet neaw.  Task'd wi cunjurin' up pomes fer t'gala at Poulton in June, us Lanky bards 'ave bin gawpin' inter t'lugs o' hist'ry 'n' wundrin' wot it's all abaht. 

Wi fettlin' in mind, here's sum new-fangled links ter portals o' knowin:

elks
clogs

pomes
words

It's wi grand expectashuns that ah'll be waitin' a't'lib'ry on Saturday, ter mek sum verses wi sum bardish folks.  Theer's nowt as gud as pomes.

The Skippool Lass

"Thas bin t'untherside o'th'ward 

'n' cram'd yer brig wi' booze fer brass 

Yer jiggered, spittin' feathers,

Cup o' tae 'n' parkin's all yer ask

Sum pepper'd leaves o' scurvy grass

'll ease yer warch 'n'calm yer chops

Ah tek 'em ev'ry day mi'sel

Ah've nowt thas ailin', swear ti God.

Don't mind th'alarm from yonder marsh

'Tis just yer godwit's chunner heawr

Thum pirate teal's 'ave shook 'em oop

Gone traipsin' all abaht thur heause

Wi' Sun descendin' mighty quick

Led's mizzle fer yon ale heause 

Yer kindred's took ter purring leawd

So's best yer not traipsin' abaht."

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