I knew you'd come

I boarded the aircraft. The call had come two days before. He's died, the funeral will be on Wednesday. Such are the perfunctory actions that herald the end of a persons life, a person who had been as large as life its self but who had succumbed to alzheimer's two years before.  A big man in every sense of the word particularly in his environment, a person who carried some weight amongst his family and friends. A smoker and a man who enjoyed a beer in his own home we had come together by chance as I hitch hiked back in 1962. I was 22 and for what ever reason his family and I struck a cord and we became friends for 50 years.
Now his wife made the call to me and I caught a flight to Amsterdam to attend the funeral. Schiphol airport is not far from the crematorium where the service was due to be held and I caught a taxi. Arriving a little before the others one was struck by the conformity of these places, the crematorium through which we pass on our final journey. Neat and tidy they are functional like a station, the train now leaving from platform 7 is Kees Schlagheck hurry along we don't have time to dawdle since there is another function in three-quarters of an hour !
Lilly his wife looked tired, her grey hair accentuating her age as she arrived with their only child, their daughter a strong opinionated young woman who I had always liked and enjoyed her company. They saw me standing there and the emotions welled up as we hugged are hello's. "I knew you'd come", she said "I knew you'd come".
And so the service passed much as in England, the hymn, the eulogy and then it was done our friend now only a memory, was passed to another's care for a a function on which we would rather not dwell.  We climbed into cars to head off for the short journey to the house for food, drink and a conversation that was more about the future than the passing of a friend. The Dutch are a lovely straightforward people, able in a number of languages to make this tongue tide Englishman feel at home and then, after more farewells ensured I was back at the Schiphol in plenty of time for my flight home.        

A murky world

The murky world of Northern Island politics is revealed in an examination by a committee of Westminster and Irish politicians examining the amazing issue of letters, to people on the run from the police for serious crimes committed during the time of "the troubles", (as the virtual civil war which occurred between Sinn Fain and the British Government was termed). Letters were sent to these men, many of who were fugitives from the law giving them release from prosecution. There had been many victims (cold blooded murders) and the people who were responsible, largely from Sinn Fain who had negotiated their position both through the barrel of a gun/explosive devices/ blowing the knee caps off from people who were seen as the enemy and a reign of terror that shrunk Northern Island into a Kafkaesque state.
The rule of Law was bent to such an extent that violent criminals were let off from crimes because of the political need to find a solution to the "troubles" where Sinn Fain were to be an important member of any future government.
Of course initially the hand of Tony Blair and his government in Westminster were all over the issue, as has David Cameron since and one has to ask how many more instances to history, will Tony Blair be involved in underhand dealings which would, in normal circumstances be argued, outside normal parliamentary business, particularly the question of the ethics one suggests should attach to a Head of State. The Impeachment of 'Tricky Dicky', Richard Nixon for lying to Congress about the Watergate break in was pale in comparison to the misuse of power not only in the above Northern Island case but also, famously in our entry into the Iraq War and the false presentation of 'security information' to the British Parliament.
Much as he flaunted his duty as Prime Minister he flaunts his charisma all over the world, its measure of our collective inability to use our own judgement when people queue up to pay large donations to listen to more lies !!  

The Outsider

The sun is out again today, I should have left the home to go out and explore the highways and byways but, instead I still sit and stare out of the window, which explains how I came about the information.
The world outside used to be a place I wanted to be part of, particularly, to be amongst people to talk to and discuss whatever comes up between people. I was as far from being a recluse as was possible and even now when I force myself to get out I usually enjoy myself particularly in a conversation with like minded folk.
But there has been a sea change over the last few years. Perhaps its an ageing thing since people, as they get old have a propensity to begin to feel outside the ring, as it were, since we are no longer part of the economically active society with its active agenda and its sense of the importance of tomorrow. When one gets older and move outside the close circle of relatives and friends one becomes concious of the surroundings and the casual nature of ones conversational event which,  unlike the communication we were previously used to in the office and home is a somewhat lonely event. The moment is enjoyable but like a ride on the funfair it is soon over and requires more effort to reconstruct another high.
The backgrounds or the opinions of these casual interactions lead one to be fleet footed if not a little chameleon as one contends the discussion and banter that flows around the group. The effort is fun if you enjoy debate but one knows that your presence is inconsequential and one that has no substance.
Colin Wilson wrote a book about the 'Outsider' and examined a list of famous writers Kafka, Camus, Hemingway,Nietzsche, Dostoevsky all of whom were Outsiders, people who thrust themselves to the outside of the ring to look in to consider society and their position relative to the society they lived in.
To be introspective has its dangers of course, one can become lost in asking questions that are best left unanswered or at least confused about ones own personality but then for anything worth having, one has to put in the work to pose the question and find answers about ourselves that can be enriching and rewarding.
Sitting indoors and not bothering to engage in a social entertainment is a wholly different but equally rewarding 'passage of time' since that is what we do when we are no longer engaged in the engine of commerce.                 

http://twocents2012.blogspot.com.au/          

D day

The day was bright the cloudless sky brought out the sharp contrast between the rememberers and the remembered, the young and the old, the people who had benefited from 70 years of peace and the old solderers who had helped make that peace possible. Truly on their last legs these late 80 early 90 year old men were probably celebrating and commiserating their last rally with their comrades before their own personal last post is played.
Its hard for us who have never known the threat of war on our doorstep to imagine the emotions of that time. The German war machine was thought to be too powerful for any other European nation and it was only the devastating events on the Russian front and the incoming freshly equipped Americans that sealed the Germans fate.
The people on this island were in poor shape even leading up to the outbreak of the war and in this the leadership of Churchill, his rhetoric, broadcast to the nation, a nation of people who were more inclined to accept leadership and believe what their leaders said was important.
The bombing including thousands of V1 and V11 rocket powered missiles on targeted cities, brought death and destruction to ordinary men women and children, the equal of that experienced by the solderers and of course there were the terrible casualties amongst civilians on the Eastern Front running into many, many millions. Sadly we have no memorial to them.            

http://twocents2012.blogspot.com.au/          

'Untold Stories'

I'm often banging on about books and the rich incisive effect they can have on us.
It might be the subject matter, something or somewhere we have been, the writers style is important, not too flowery but sufficiently brisk  to keep the story flowing and, most of all, written in a way that is believable.
Fiction, as the name implies draws us in to a made up world of character development. We become engrossed in what happens next, the reality links such as where the action is taking place, being real and known, it enhances our belief in the plot.   
Autobiographical books lean on the subtle connections we make with the authors life of his/her revelations about events in their lives which in some way mirror ones own. I have been rereading Alan Bennett's 'Untold Stories'. The book is a delight. Coming from Yorkshire I love the droll way he uses colloquialisms that are engrained in my memory and which give so much grounding to his description of people and places. The CDs,  his soliloquy of characters and situations which ordinary people come up against in  life's journey are brilliant and for me are enhanced by the slow unfurling of the story told in the rather sad flat vowel accent which is his genuine way of speaking. The stories have a basis, the authors past and it is in this book 'Untold Stories' that we explore his childhood, his relationships and most of all the effect his family, his mother and father had on him. His parents shy and withdrawn when outside the comfort zone of their home lived a constrained existences unable to come to terms with society at large as it mutated away from the values they thought proper, his mother becomes fixated and paranoid suffering long bouts of depression taking turns in various mental hospitals in an attempt  to bring her back on an even keel. His father diligent to a fault in his duty, unable to make any headway with his wife but resolute in his love and affection. Bennett tells the story from the position of a son who has nurtured the same demons, of feeling out of kilter with society at large when a boy but had had great success in London's theatre land and was at a loss to cope in any meaningful way with the real life drama being played out by his Mom and Dad in Yorkshire.
Books are a mirror to our own lives and we see so much of ourselves in the writings of others !!                

http://twocents2012.blogspot.com.au/

A perilous enterprise

I was listening yesterday to some minor celebrity who had gained the wrath of the feminist church for reminding women that they should focus more on the bodies ability to bear children.  That the fertility clock was ticking against them if they left it too late because of postponing,  for a whole raft of reasons not least the woman's need to put in the years as she attempts to rise in the world of  business. In the subsequent panel discussions there were many women who were quite strident about the importance of their role as careerer people and their right to be respected for their decision. The question of maternal instincts was obviously argued and here somehow the men got a bit of a bashing for not supporting their women in this business of having children whilst at the same time enabling the women to follow their career path.
Of course they had a point and one often hears of of the house husband who takes on the job of looking after the children whilst mummy is out earning the bread. In the ghastly world of equality for equalities sake where structure is torn down on the alter of political correctness and nurture becomes little more than a function which can be carried out by a surrogate, we are asked to believe that there is no difference between the male and the female and either is suited.
The question of marriage and the roles men and women play in the contract has veered a long way from what it was 50 years ago. The confusion this brings to gender identification has been one of the damaging effects that modern society is now struggling with and it seems to me there are no winners in the present set up. Tradition still plays a huge part in our lives and we are largely what are culture teaches us. It is not to say that the traditional view is always right but tradition usually comes about through a process of trial and error where society forms rules of conduct based on the need to modify our actions for the good of the whole. Marriage was just one of these social developments that came into being to protect the participants, the husband as bread winner, the wife as a mother, and the child. The protection given to the mother was particularly important since in her primary role of giving birth and raising the next generation she was vulnerable.
It seems that this concept of motherhood as a gender specific function doesn't sit easily in today's 'have it all' brand of feminism and men whose own concept of gender positioning has been radically altered by the lack of the sort of work which the more powerful sex used to perform, the work in the factories for instance. The blurring of who is the bread winner has cast a shadow over many and we have yet to resolve the issue since civilised society won't accept the law of the jungle. 
Mentioning Law. There is of course a great deal of acrimony in the break up of marriage where tradition seems to take hold again and women are respected for their supposed frailty and, in need of societies protection.
If men were to consider their position when marrying the love of his life, (men marry for love, women for security) in that his home and the children he has come to love (in no less a way than his wife), are at the whim of his wife temper which is often bruised when a marriage comes to an end. He might think twice before engaging virtually the whole of his adult life in such a perilous enterprise.            

http://twocents2012.blogspot.com.au/          

New blood, new ideas

As Black Rod strides down the corridor of the House of Lords into the hall that separates the Lords from the Commons. He pauses at the door of the Commons which is slammed shut in his face as part of the ceremony to remind the crown that they have no regal right to enter the Commons. The style of the clothes that are worn by the officials date back over the centuries which on the one hand seem bright and exuberant, a display of old fashioned pomp to identify the establishment from the ordinary man in the street. As a sceptic of the tiered nature of our society I find it all some -what anachronistic and out of keeping with a modern country but accept that as theatre it has its place and has no equal anywhere else in the world.
From the Queen (88), for whom this ceremony is her 61st and the Duke in his 91st year they are a remarkable couple by any measure. From the moment the royal coach sets off from Buckingham Palace to trot slowly down the Mall to the Houses of Parliament the audience, us the people are held back to show our respect for an historic set up that was never elected by the people but fostered on us by force of arms and century's of intrigue. One has to ask the question is this pageantry with its links to the past appropriate or should we project a more modern image and shift our gaze from our past. Perhaps ditching all this pomp and circumstance would be the first stage to breaking the grip of the establishment on our way of life since the production line of opportunity that begins in the private schools and feeds the civil service and the boardrooms with a certain way of thinking, from an environment closed to new blood, new ideas and wider experience.