The Syrian
crisis has legs of its own. For all the reasoned argument and debate
about the consequences of an attack on Syria. The questioning of who
authorised the chemical attacks, The spectre of Iraq and Afghanistan,
the claim that in similar instances chemicals have been used and the
West turned a blind eye, notably Iraq against the Kurds. Its hard not to
have to acknowledge that, as in personal violence, its the case, at the
end of the day, do you have the stomach for it.
Over here we have
just emerged from a marathon, all day debate in Parliament about the
rights and wrongs of the case and whether Parliament would authorise the
Prime Minister to follow the Americans and inflict specific targets
with missile strikes. It is a reflection of Tony Blair's mendacious
treatment of Parliament in the lead up to the Iraq War that has placed
the current Prime Minister in a position where he has had to ask for a
free vote in Parliament, which he lost last night.
Listening to the
debate one was struck by the continued referencing to past campaigns and
the uncomfortable truth that we went to war on a false premise and very
dodgy intelligence. The haste that the government wished to act, not
withstanding that the UN investigation had not finished its work of
proving that chemical weapons had been in fact used, was all too
reminiscent of the Bush/Blair debacle. As a nation we have lost some of
our self confidence and one could hear in the speeches a trace of fear
of the consequences.
The Americans on the other hand still feel
impervious. The cold war between themselves and Russia, with the
unimaginable consequences of an nuclear war are a long time ago and now,
indisputably the most powerful military force on the planet they have
the confidence not to feel threatened.
Europe has tied its energy to
Gazprom and the Russians could make our winter very uncomfortable if
they become peeved at efforts to punish Assad its one of the
consequences the Americans don't have to fear.
And so tonight Vice President Kerry has laid the ground for some sort of punitive exercise against the Syrians.
The
claim is that treaties, dating back to the First World War outlawing
chemical weapons have been broken and this is just cause for retaliation
and they will retaliate, sooner rather than later.
I wrote in a
recent blog about the early settlers in Australia and the hardships
they endured. I suggested that in this age of deriving experience
through our computers and smart phone communication that the tales woven
by Henry Lawson and Banjo Patterson should be on the prescribed reading
list of every youngster growing up in Australia. These people who
strove to open up the interior give a stark contrast to the values and
objectives that people had then, as a contrast to the relative ease with
which we live our life these days.
In England my generation grew up
and were encouraged to read about the story of Scotts expedition to the
South Pole. It is an epic in endurance, determination and strength of
character.Their equipment was very basic. Their boots nothing more then
tough mountain boots, their clothing simply extra layers of normal
outdoor clothing, the tent a canvas bell tent nothing more complicated
and more in tune with a winters weekend away in Scotland. Not the specialist
equipment which we see today with compartmental layers designed to
insulate and, available to anyone at the local sports shop.
The
five men who made the dash to the Pole (Scott, Wilson, Bowers, Evans and
Oates) are etched in my generations memory for their stoicism and
courage. Oates remembered especially for his courageous decision,
suffering from frostbitten feet and knowing he was slowing the rest of
the team down as they struggled back from the Pole. His famous statement
to the others in the tent as the wind and the snow was producing mayhem, "I think I will go outside, I maybe a while" was received
and understood by those in the tent as a suicide message as he opened
the tent flap and walked off into the white-out. The remaining men
struggled on to find their stores diminished eventually to nothing and
still 11 miles to go. And so they died, leaving behind messages and
diaries full of stiff upper lip expressions of fondness for those they
were leaving behind. Theirs was a time when doing the right thing, rode
above all else and the sacrifice of their own lives simply a price to
pay for doing something they thought important for King and Country.
The journey about to start was punctuated by a discussion. Could one buy a ticket on the other side of the track ?
I
don't think you can, I can, but what if you can't, I can well I think I
can, if you can't you will have to carry your bags around to the front,
if I must I will, but why chance it if you can go to the front first,
but I'm sure I can. Luckily there was plenty of time to digest the what
ifs and a text messages to say "she could", were a reminder not to argue
Plunking the gear down and casting around the carriage one
settles down for a short trip into London, a change of trains for
Swansea and a lengthy trip home. The trains, during the off peak period
are a really pleasant way to get around. There are many countries where
its a tour de force to compete with ones fellow passengers in cramped
compartments, without AC, the only ventilation through the open window
which, in the old days, used to bring in the grit from the smoke
trailing out of the steam engine.
The miles slide by, clickety clack the fields and hedgerows, the small holdings and towns clickety clack, clickety clack.
The
Severn Tunnel takes you into Wales and then by a twisting route to
Cardiff. Land of my fathers and the thrill of hearing them singing their
anthem on an international rugby day.
The diesel/electric lacks
the kudos of the steam train. The age of steam and these magnificent,
mechanically beautiful engines was something which went right to the
core of every lad who walked down the platform and gazed up at the
drivers platform. The driver with his wiping rag, leaning out of his
cab, the stoker bending down face glowing with the fire door open,
throwing coal into the boiler. Steam and a peculiar smell, a mixture of
hot vapour and oil poured out of the stuffing box and every other
orifice through polished copper pipes. The steam, raised in the boiler,
thrusts the pistons forward, which connected through push rods and
eccentric links to the wheels and made them turn.
The sound of a
high speed steam train rushing through a valley, in the evening with
sparks escaping out of the funnel the smoke trailing behind. If you
were lucky, the driver would toot the whistle and we would wave, a
momentary bond established which made us feel special as we cycled home.
As we teeter
on the brink of yet another war one is faced with the unpredictability
of how democracy throws up its leaders and how close we become to
placing people in power who should be unacceptable. John McCain has been
extremely bellicose in his challenge to President Obama's softly softly
approach to the trouble spots in the world.
If words were put into
action we would be scrapping all over the place, his mindset seems
predicated on teaching anyone not gifted with an American passport, a
lesson in American supremacy. Missile first, talk afterwards. He came
very close to having his finger on the button and there seems no way of
screening out this propensity for action in the system of democracy we
currently have.
Its no use saying we can vote him out after he has
annihilated the world !!
Autumn then
Winter then Spring, time flows, seasons come and go and we continue to
hope that our luck will turn or some excitement return into our lives.
The clock is ticking and we prevaricate as if there would always be
time, if not this time !!
So how do we become positive, how do we
make things happen when we have fallen into the terrible trap of
procrastination. I suppose one could compile a list of "to do" things
and pre-book ones time, tomorrow its Belgium sort of thing. That could
keep one busy but is it busy I am after. The sights and sounds are
always mixed up with events, unplanned, people you come across, tangents
to the plan as it were. When younger these couplings were attractive
and could lead you anywhere and everywhere, the only ingredient required
was stamina. Now that's one thing that is becoming scarce these days.
As the years roll by and a quiet cup of tea or an early night in bed is
much more attractive. Get the bicycle out and clear the airways, build
some muscle on that flab and join in with the more energetic chaps who
compensate for their early start with a pint or two at the local before
home and tomorrows train into town.
Stimulants are a short cut to
another sort of journey but induce a false impression that the journey
has a destination when in all honesty, its the end.
Perhaps with
Spotify playing my old favourites, transporting me back to when "I
could", with a fond recollection of how good it was, is all that ones
health and safety can guarantee.
The tent trailer was washed off in
readiness but never moved off the drive.
The appointment to look at a
boat to cruise the inland waterways was shelved by a heavy bout of "what
if" thinking and, lo and behold, another year has gone by !!
Who did they
believe they were ? Teenagers, out on the town,drunk and oblivious of
their responsibility towards the rest of society. Were they the "benefit
scroungers" or the "feral youth" from the inner cities, were they the
British holidaymaker unloved for their crass behaviour in Ibiza, no they
were the England Cricket Team !!
One wonders when one considers the
secure middle class backgrounds from which they were raised, where did all the
good parenting go. The hours of constant if mild discipline which is
directed at a child from its toddler stage of what is good acceptable
behaviour. Don't pull your sisters hair, don't hurt the cat, don't play
with matches, don't wee on the patio. We have all been groomed to
behave. Some of us do better than others but as individuals we sometimes
justify our bad behaviour with an excuse. There can be no excuse for
young men, wearing the countries official emblematic uniform to behave
as the celebrating cricket team did at the Oval. We have all been
"caught short" as the saying goes, without a toilet in miles and
we have to go !! Perhaps shrubs provide the privacy we
"instinctively" need, another throw back from our childhood training, a
training which goes towards obtaining the "civilised badge".
The toilets at
the Oval are not gated and locked. It takes what should be, inherent discipline, to
search for a toilet and fulfil the training your Mother thought she had instilled in you.
Perhaps the
conquering mindset sets its self on a higher plain from ordinary
mortals.
We often see it in the cult of celebrity, their outlandish
behaviour, where money insulates and isolates them from ordinary society
and the rules we all live by ?
These young men should understand that
when they were chosen to represent the country they become representative of
much more than the team. They represent all of us
and in doing so we should demand, in no uncertain way, that they
understand this !!
In "Wind in
the Willows", Badger was wise, he helped Ratty and Toad to overcome the
Weasels, the bad guys !! How has such a wise old fellow fallen foul of
humans that we wish to cull him into oblivion. Well of course the real
baddies are in fact the humans, it is they who will be obeyed,
irrespective of the cost. The bovine tuberculosis that is prevalent in
the Badger is spreading into the cow and infecting the herds. Its not
on behalf of the cow who is soon to be slaughtered anyway but on behalf
of the farmer and the income he gains in selling the milk and the beef.
Of course food is essential and the farming lobby has the backing of
the food industry which puts poor old badger in a tricky position, his
vote is much diminished by self interest. He could have entered the
immunisation program but of course the program was still born, too
expensive, too difficult and the badgers voice was drowned in the
convenience of a cull.
So we have the shotguns out at night looking
for wise old Badger, Ratty can't hide him and Toad is too self indulgent
to care, only the humans, well at least some of them have his interests
at heart. They our out roaming the fields attempting to disrupt the men
with the guns from their work. The media lampoon and deride these
lonely vigilantes, they are after all none conformists and that's the
last thing our masters need. To question the thoughts of the
establishment is inherently bad, not necessarily for us (in fact its
good to question virtually everything and form your own opinion) but for
the smooth running of the "greater good". Do you smell the pigs in
Orwells Animal Farm ?
