The Fragile Progress of Democracies and Bad Bedfellows

It’s now almost a year since the Labour Party won the last election and the context in which it was won is in itself interesting: my view is rather than “Labour Sweeping to Victory,” it was the Conservatives that “Crashed to Defeat.” Either way, it felt pretty good at the time!

“If you want to make the gods laugh, show them your plans” (or similar), this sober reflection on the unpredictability of life came to horrific fruition when the brutal murders and assaults of Southport and the ensuing Civil Unrest, brought into sharp and stark focus, the dangerous currents that move beneath the surface of society; ones that are strong enough to pull us all out to an unforgivingly dangerous seas. And for every action, there is a reaction: the Government's response? Swift, decisive and divisive one it could be argued, that it contributed to further pressurising the fault lines and cracks in a series of already stressed society.

What's The Direction of Travel?

There’s an old line from Ireland: a traveller asks, “How do I get to Dublin?” and the reply is “Well, I wouldn’t start from here!”

But, we seldom have a choice do we? Lame as it sounds, the line “We are where we are,” has deep and important significance as we try hard to work out why the present is so difficult to understand, that the future is uncertain and it seems, determined to thwart our journey; you know, “It just shouldn’t be like this!”

So, why? Well, I’m not going back too far here, (honestly, I have a life!), but here we go. Since 2020, we’ve had: the Pandemic and Lockdown, and these combined, I feel, to expose some cruel social and economic fault lines that have (in some cases) been developing since the end of WW2. The Russian invasion of Ukraine together with its impacts on economies, supply chains and our general sense of safety and well-being, the increased impacts of Brexit, Liz Truss, strains on the NHS and Care Gazza. Add to this a toxic narrative that thrives and grows and multiplies in the petri-dish of informal immigration that contributes to to pre-existing cultural and religious hostilities and we have an increased potential to become more open to accepting of a narrative formed around this idea...

“The reason you’re doing so badly, is because they are doing so well”

Bad news is amplified, good news and fine intentions are mocked, the Nation is persuaded to see itself as weak and at the mercy of dangerous international conspirators and we are encouraged, by default, to be less kind to “all but our own.” I wonder where this has happened before?

And then there’s Donald Trump: I’m not sure what happened to the collective American psyche, however his presence on the world stage is truly Shakespearian, and in a not-good way. I’ll leave it there...for now at any rate

There was in 1987, the release of a six series sitcom called “Big Jim and The Figaro Club.” Set in the 1950’s, it revolves around the “relationship” between a group of builders and their foreman: a strong social metaphor in itself! The builders talk of,

 .'when we was going to build the new Jerusalem - you know, before the world turned lax and sour'. “

 and the series was in my view, a delightful gift of high comedy combined with sharp social commentary and its voice is more important now then it was then, as our individual and collective worlds appear to have  turned “lax and sour.” Mistrust and cynicism appear, for now, to have won. Our world has indeed appeared to have turned "lax and sour!"

I follow a few “The Way We Were” type groups on Facebook. You might know this sort of thing, photos of towns and cities from not so long ago. Safe enough eh? Well, not really: nostalgia is manipulated through comments that refer to

 “Safer and happier times, when Britain was Britain”

And the explicit and implicit messages therein are a concern to me, mainly because this approach works and feeds not, “nostalgia” as we understand it, but rather a “toxic nostalgia,” one that leaves us open to misinformation and manipulation.

So, where to now?

We need to talk with each other, not at each other, and these conversations need to happen at a highly localised level. They need to create both tangible and “feel good” outcomes and will need to take place in venues other than formal structures within which there is an explicit or implicit political (or Political ) agenda. My emergent vision is one where political institutions, organisations and organisers are known for their ability to facilitate that which is good and needed at local, almost street levels. Given that I’ve cast some shade (getting down with the kids here-yeah, right!) on nostalgia, I want to take you back to the earlier days of the pandemic. It was at this point that people went out of their way to help each other: small acts of great significance made life better at a challenging time, the spirit of which was eventually diluted by greedy,corrupt liars, ones for whom the only standard was a double one: they were and still are the worst of bedfellows to fragile democracy. But we mustn’t forget what we can be, especially when we talk to each other a little more, care for each other a little more and in so doing, reinforce the ties that bind us together, much more.

A Nice Cup of Tea and Other Brexit Benefits

 

The above image? Well it was grabbed from an article promoting the health benefits of a cup of tea, or as it turns out, pesticide left overs. Since Brexit, the allowable amount of  insecticide residue has increased, in some foodstuffs, massively so.

The important abbreviation here is MRL (Maximum Residue Level) and for tea, there are two (two for tea?), there are two important pesticides, mainly because the MRL has been increased by 4,000 times. They are

1. Chorantraniliprole 
2. Boscalid

I'm absolutely convinced that without pesticides and fungicides, we would experience severe interruptions to the food supply. I'm also absolutely convinced that we should know what we're eating and drinking and have a working understanding of the residual effects of pesticides and fungicides on the ecosystems.

Lets take a brief look at the weed killer Glyphosate. This is classed as a probable human carcinogen by the World Health Organisation and its use in protecting bean crops from weed infestation has been allowed to increase by 7.5 times.

Pesticide Action Network UK (PAN UK) have identified 49 different pesticides for which the MRL has been reduced: 15 of which are listed as "highly hazardous". The data was drawn from national and international sources, and the analysis from the Health and Safety Executive (HSE).

The weaker Maximum Residue Levels applied by the UK are drawn from the Codex Alimentarius and it's notable that changes to UK standards have been applied only where Codes standards appeared to offer less protection to the consumer. It has been suggested that the Codex has been subject to pressure an influence from US Corporate Lobbying, (as if!).

What of it? Well, we're pretty much beset by health problems and whereas I'm uncertain regarding the full scope of the possible associations/effects between what we eat and drink and our overall well being, it's not beyond the realms of possibility to suggest that there may be causal relationships between what we ingest and long term, debilitating health conditions.

Shall I Just Stop Drinking Tea?

No. That's not the point of this piece, it's more to signal that in an age where there is increased pressure on resources to care for chronic conditions, we should be doing all that is possible to strike a healthy balance between intervention in biosystems and their unwanted impacts on our health and other ecosystems. Drinking Tea? if only it were so simple: follow this link to find out more!

We should remember too, that as a result of globalised food supply and demand, those who farm the products we consume and enjoy, experience high levels of risk and low levels of reward. The multi national companies seem to be doing okay though. Now, ain't that a thing?

My Name Is Pat Dooner

Transcript.

My name is Pat Dooner, I was born and raised in O’Brien Street. I was born in 1914. I will try to tell you my life’s story.

I remember when I went to school, I went to the Nuns’ School and my mother used to give me a bowl of porridge going to school. And then, when I got to the school, the nuns would give me a cup of hot milk and a round of bread, I wasn’t the only one, there was quite a few of us.

Then when that was finished we went to the classroom and had this (indistinct) , we used to do prayers, these were the first things we used to do and then, when this was done, we used to have a little tray with sand in it and we used to do all our drawing, writing our names and making all sorts of things and that went on for quite a long time and then the nuns used to tell us little stories out of a book and one thing and another and I remember them very well.

And we were introduced to a slate with a wooden surrounding and a piece of chalk. And that went on for quite a long time and we was doing that and we thought it was great and anyway then we had a piece of paper and a pencil, we done some work with the pencil, probably we were doing that for quite some time and then it was time for us to move on into the Masters’ School

When we Clapped In the Street.

When in the first days of C-19 Lockdown we clapped on the street, it seemed so innocent and  unconditional. But that was around 9 months ago. Time for a child to be conceived, born and begin to thrive.
We're not right now, where we thought we should be and it feels like a deal has been broken. 
I put this together on the 29th of May 2020. The day we were informed by someone that we might stop.
I've heard today a suggestion that we should do it again. A lot has changed since the Spring of our seasons and in this Winter-it really is a "Winter of discontent,"- I wonder if that time of hopeful innocence has slipped...
We're not right now, where we thought we should be and it feels like a deal has been broken. 
I put this together on the 29th of May 2020. It was the day we were informed by someone that we might stop.
I've heard today a suggestion that we should do it again. A lot has changed since the Spring of our seasons and in this Winter-it really is a "Winter of discontent,"- I wonder if that time of hopeful innocence has slipped...

When We Clapped In The Street

The early days were frightening and the truth?
These days still are!

This "thing"
It seems it starts when you feel below par

A sore throat
An aching head

Hard to breath

Coma

Dead.

It seemed then and still does

That not much can be done

An invisible "thing" 
Had won.
And in the face of defeat

Someone suggested that we  clap in the street.

The kid down the road 

Again and again

Proved that trumpet lessons 

Are sometimes in vain!

Then, after we'd clapped there

Were those who'd say
How can you clap 
When they're on such low pay?
Why are you cheering?
How can you do it?

The whole thing is a mess
Can't you see through it?

And the answer is "yes,"
It's a mess.
So why clap?
What meme?
What trope?

We clap for ourselves,
For others,
For hope.

Gwendoline Looks at The Skies

A person who lives quite close to me has deteriorated of late. Her behaviour is consistent with some of the features of dementia. I've known this person in excess of 30 years and there's a difference between "neighbourliness" and friendships-and it's okay.

I've put some words together

Gwendoline Looks at The Skies

Detached. Her house is detached

and lonely

She still lives there and only, 
Gwendoline looks at the skies.

Detached. He is detached

 and lonely

So many plans but the thing is only,

Gwendoline looks at the skies

Detached. It's what she

has become

It's what he has become.

And as he watches their 
Plans fracture
He hopes that something might distract her
and help her once more to be

It's arrived!
So has she!

Then gone...

and he can see in her face 

that she looks for that

Place

Feeling

And time
The connection, just one
But one that connects to cruel seconds then gone.
Gone.

He slumps in a garden chair

Carefully placed strategically where

He can keep her safe in his eyes.

And cups his forehead 
In grief beyond disguise.

And Gwendoline?
Gwendoline looks at the skies

Their Daughter's First Day & A Long Farewell In Perry Barr

 When We Say "Farewell" But In Our Heart, We Know It's "Goodbye"

Here's part of what once was Birmingham City University's "City North" campus in Perry Barr. As I write, it has been leveled and a new housing scheme is part of the developments that are in progress right now. The original intention was for an "Athlete's Village" for the 2022 Commonwealth Games. Spiraling costs and other challenges meant that Athlete's Village proposal was abandoned and that the area will be part of the Perry Barr Regeneration Scheme. 

Places hold memories  

This is Perry Barr from the 1930's and I lived there in the late 50's early 60's. We lived in the house in the right foreground. It was the Caretaker's House for a Primary and Secondary Modern schools campus. They, together with everything else in view, have gone

So let's fast forward-it's September 2016 and I'm working at the BCU City North site. It's Welcome Week at the University for first year students. At the bottom of this building there was a cafe with some outdoor seating and I am watching the parents of student hang on to every minute they could before saying goodbye to their daughter. It is a hard watch: they are in deep pain.

Perhaps having lived there and my first school was on the same site (Birchfield Road Primary School), I felt keenly the longing for being in a place where change didn't have to happen and all the good things stayed visible, reachable and could be savoured in a second.

Would my dad come around the corner and catch me playing on the flat-roof of a building adjacent to the science block on the old secondary school site? Could I climb down the drainpipe that was hidden from view, would someone tell him that they'd seen me up there? Even now, some 58 years later, I am confident that I can describe the layout of our house, the school buildings and playgrounds: emotions and memories; they're powerful companions.

So back to that day in September 2016-I wrote a couple of notes that grew into this-it was re-discovered yesterday-19/12/2020 and I've rephrased a couple of lines today.

The Deferred Farewell

They talked,

Well, she talked

He heard and didn't listen

Or listened and didn't hear

Whichever it was

Deferred responses holding a Silence

That was holding an Ache

That was holding a pain that was

Heart and Soul deep

And still, she talked.

They stayed to make sure that her room

Their child's new home for....?

It seems like forever.

Hey! It's just three years

That's what we said,
In the empty one back home

Both spaces in which soon

Together or apart

Each newly, lonely heart will break.

When I was looking for some images of Perry Barr, this came up. It's the Blazer Badge of the 

Secondary Modern School that once shared the site and provided me with an adventure playground. The power of the motto the context of the poem and all it means to me isn't lost!

jd. 20.12.2020

My Dad and A Monument Made In Wood and Painted Blue

When My Dad Retired (1979)

He left the UK to return to Ireland and my mother went with him, even though she didn't much want to go. The whole experience didn't work out well and they were back in the UK in around 18 months.

He'd been a school-caretaker since the late 1940's/early 1950's and he began what turned out to be his final caretaking job in 1962, the first caretaker at one of Birmingham's flagship comprehensive schools, Perry Common Comprehensive. So, when he left in 1979 an appropriate and respectful series of celebrations and presentations took place. He'd been asked what he wanted as a retirement gift and had replied that he wanted some DIY tools, including a two-speed, hammer action Black & Decker drill. They'd bought a house in the countryside between Mullingar and Athlone and it needed work doing on it.

When they returned to the UK, they brought back everything they took with them, some shattered dreams and determination to be independent of anyone. I'll discuss this in another post at some future point.

Dad's childhood had been a "waste not want not" creative approach to the crushing poverty that had stalked Ireland for too many people for too many years. It grew in him an approach to making use of materials that in our  throw away society, would have been scrapped. He was also a permanently busy man. A lot of energy, driven (I think) by the determination to make the best of every situation with the resources to hand

Dad died in 1999 and my mom , broken hearted, carried on for four more lonely, sad years. "Broken Heart" doesn't figure on Death Certificates and whatever was written as the cause was in my view, an effect.

Clearing out your parents' house is awful. If you have, you'll know what I mean and if you haven't, I don't envy you. They die again. But you touch on stuff and keep it and then, out of the blue (literally and you'll find out why soon enough), its significance hits you in the core of your being and so it was with the two-speed, hammer action Black & Decker drill.

It was in a box!

and I can tell you for a fact that my dad would have made that box from "scrap" wood and the handle has been repurposed from a piece of leather. He had the means to buy a new and shiny one but his choice was I believe, driven by the "joy of making," thrift had developed into creativity and without knowing it, re-cycling!

...and on the inside...

As you can see-there's a box within the box

And look how well the drill fits around it-it effectively locates the drill and holds it steady when carried

and when you open the inner box-

there are the drill bits-

it's a dual-purpose piece of "making"

And so here we have it. Some spare timber, hinges and paint, all of it assembled around a well measured framework and the use of the inner space is a great piece of design.

My dad went to secondary school only when it rained, the rest of the time he worked, often labouring alongside his father. He never had a formal carpentry lesson in his life!

Born in 1914, he left Ireland in his early 20's, having made and sold a couple of pieces of furniture to finance his journey to England, He arrived at New St Station with 2/6 pence (12.5 pence) and started work soon after, working every day until his retirement (Holidays and illness notwithstanding!)

And so back to the box. It is a memory, a metaphor and a monument and when I open it, a drill comes out and love flows in. It's a good box, he was a good man.