Identity Politics

The Western world seems to be going to hell in a handcart.

The Left Wing Establishment (actually the middle class ‘intelligentsia’.. the so called ‘chattering classes’ in Days of Yore.) appears to be ignoring the aspirations and needs of the working classes and to be actively sponsoring cultural anarchy.

One of the areas that are being used as a battlefield is that of gender/sex.

This elite are doing this by campaigning for the acceptance of Diversity in all aspects of daily life (except in Thought). If anyone should hold and dare to express an opinion different from that that meets the approval of these Left Wingers then woe betide them as the full wrath and ire of this clique will be vented upon the opinion maker. It is very similiar in attitude to that of Fundamentalists of all religious beliefs and the Puritans of the 17th century. “I am right, so you are wrong; you are evil and must be punished for not agreeing with me.”

Now, if a man wishes to wear a dress and call himself Deidre then good luck to him I say but if he then claims that he is a woman and always has been one with all the rights and privileges of being a member of the female sex then there is a problem as he is not, and could never be, female. To give that same ‘opportunity’ of changing their sex to 16 year old children is ludicrous. A young person/adolescent can change their self-identity at the drop of a hat and change it back again just as quickly. these children are not allowed to vote, to drive a motor car, to buy a drink in a pub, to get married without parental permission or to leave school (in the UK) yet it is okay for that child to ‘change’ their sex. It is tantamount to child abuse to encourage them to do so.

To prey on the psychological and emotional insecurities of a teenager and lead them into a lifestyle that will cause them trauma, physical pain and discomfort for the rest of their life is a great failing of the ‘adult’ having and exhibiting responsibility for the welfare of the child.

Think about it.

Hidden Life of Trees

I have just received the illustrated version of this book. It is fantastic with some glorious images, visual and verbal, in it. I got the book to help me with the plot of my own novel partly set in a forest.

it could be argued that the bloke who wrote this book anthropomorphoses (is that actually a word!) trees and forests in his description of how they interact with each other, however there is a lot of evidence both inside and outside of this book to explain the networking that goes on with trees and other plants.

I do so recommend this book to everyone…

Meeting an Old Friend

Usually at this time of year I read Charles Dickens’ ‘A Christmas Carol’ although sometimes I cheat by watching ‘Scrooge’ with Alistair Sim, a great film and a great actor.

Have you seeen the 1935 film ‘A Christmas Carol’ with Seymor Hicks playing Scrooge? A truly evil and nasty Scrooge, ell worth the watch!

But this year I have just got hold of and started to reread ‘Cat’s Cradle’ by Kurt Vonnegut a book that I last read some 30 or more years ago. What a wonderful book it is to be sure. I will tell you more about it when I have finished it.

CHRISTMAS CARD

When I were nobbut a lad in Essex me, me mam and me da would go and visit my dad’s brother and his wife, Uncle Dick and Aunt Sally. The visits we made were infrequent and boring to me, as a child, and to my parents as adults too.

Aunt Sally and Uncle Dick were a straight laced couple who, it seemed, had drained every ounce of jollity from their house. Aunt Sally was a strict Methodist and she boasted that Uncle Dick never touched alcohol either because he had promised her on their wedding day that he would become  tee total . The words he had actually used were ‘I promise that you will never see me drink spirits or beer. And she never did.  Hhe made sure of that…  Aunt Sally noted that Uncle Dick’s only indulgence was that of eating and chewing mints which he did all day and every day especially when he was out on one of his nature rambles in Epping Forest of a Sunday lunchtime.

On the rare occasions when we would visit them on a Sunday afternoon when they weren’t at a chapel meeting mum,dad, Uncle Dick and Aunt Sally would sit in the parlour and talk about the decline in morals of today’s generation. Well, Aunt Sally would do the talking while the others did the listening, or a good impression thereof and I would be on the floor playing with the toy Noah’s Ark that was the only plaything permitted on the Sabaath. In one game I played the animals would go in 2 by 2 led by the lions and tigers who would ambush the others, kill and eat them as they got on  the ship and away from the prying eyes of Noah (and Aunt Sally). The other game I played was when the lions and tigers were the last to get on the ship and would have a big fight as to who was the strongest and would end up eating each other.  

I once asked Aunt Sally, out of devilment, if there were Unicorns on the Ark and she told me that as Noah was loading the Ark the Unicorns played and dozed in the fields and so missed getting on the Ark. They chased after the ship but could not get on; when you see white water spraying out behind a ship that, my aunt said, were the manes of the Unicorns perpetually chasing the Ark.

The only time Uncle Dick and Aunt Sally were any different was at Christmas. Aunt Sally would allow herself a glass of Harvey’s Bristol Cream  ‘in keeping with the season’ but only after watching the Queen’s Speech on TV. If she drank it earlier in the day she was afraid that it would be direspectful to  Her Majesty to watch her broadcast whilst ‘under the influence’ of spiritous liquours.

Meanwhile Uncle Dick would be in the dining room with us kids playing with our toys, laughing with us and telling us all the jokes he knew that were too good to go in the crackers…they weren’t, they were awful, but we laughed at them anyway because we were all  happy and loved him and he was our best CHRISTMAS CARD.

Tater Dhu Lighthouse Cornwall

I’m not sure if I have told you this before. If I haven’t here it is, if I have here it is again.

In the 1980s just up the road from Tater Dhu  Lighthouse lived the author Derek Tangye, ten miles down the coast from Tater Dhu lived me. I lived and worked on the Lizard Lighthouse.

Del boy hated the Tater Dhu lighthouse because its foghorn would sound  at odd times and occasions, even when it wasn’t foggy, disrupting his peace and sleep.

Del boy loved me and my fellow lighthousekeepers on the Lizard Lighthouse, he could see our Light shining bright at night to warn mariners from the cliffs and rocks of south Cornwall and because he couldn’t hear our foghorns booming across the misty waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

What Derek did not know was that the unmanned  Tater Dhu Lighthouse was partly controlled by us on the Lizard Lighthouse. It was our job to switch on the foghorn of Tater Dhu when necessary. Now, trying to work out the visibility around Tater Dhu from ten miles away was a bit tricky so we tended to switch on the fog horn when we could not see the Tower or because of fog around us.  The visibility around Tater Dhu could be fine but we would turn on the horn anyway.  I for one would lap up the praise Derek heaped on us whilst thinking of him hating the fog horn blighting his life that we had switched on.

I liked reading his books like ‘The Cat in the Window’ ‘A Gull on the Roof’ etc but I missed the one he probably didn’t write about how that fog horn drove him mad ‘Bats in the Belfry’

The Ghosts of Godolphin

Here is the first draft of a short story I just penned about Godolphin House.

The Red Dress

Behind the main entrance door of godolphin house,the vestibule, even on the coldest winter day, was never chilly, the large fire at one end of the room kept that part warm but even the area near the draughty doors was never really cold.  But neither was it a ‘happy warm’ if you know what I mean. You know how on miserable wet days some Vestibules can be welcoming and warm, enticing you to linger in a chair by the fire, stare into the burning coals and dream delightful dreams or have pleasant thoughts of summer or love or sleep as you dry off from the rain outside before being invited into the house proper. But not the hallway of godolphin house, the warmth was awkward, you could almost say it was angry and hateful as if it did not want to welcome you into the house and it only led  you to think about those  who were outside in the cold wind and snow with a strange feeling almost of envy.  Standing next to the fire wouldn’t make you feel any warmer than standing by the  door did. No, it was not a happy or a comfortable place to spend any length of time in was that Hallway. There were some visitors that said that if they were kept waiting  there for too long before being invited into the main house they felt that they wanted to run outside and wash themselves and to actually burn their clothes.

Lord Godolphin’s second wife of two years Lady Honoria was not happy in the house; she did not like the Hallway at all and would, for preference get into the house through a side door  that led from the formal gardens into the Dining Chamber or even via the  servant’s door into the scullery. She would spend most of her time at Lord Godolphin’s house in London and would only visit his country estate when she felt she had to or if she was ordered to by her husband.

The gardens and grand avenue and  the house were said to be haunted.  A strange lady dressed all in white could sometimes be seen walking across the lawns or up the avenue towards the house and there would hang in the air as she did so  a sense of joy, happiness and anticipation.  If you were keen of eye enough to follow the movements of the apparition you could see it approach the front doors of the house and rap loudly on the huge door knocker to gain admittance. Then a howl like that of a wolf or a bereaved mother would rend the air and a ghostly woman in a red dress would rush screaming out of the door and push the lady in white away from the house who would then be seen walking back down the avenue cradling a child in her arms and a great sadness and despair would fill the air. The apparition  would make her way to the chapel in the woods where the first Lady Godolphin had been buried in the family vault with her stillborn  baby. Both of them had died some months after the Lady had married the Lord in London but before they were able to visit and live in godolphin house, a place she had come to know  and love from Lord Godolphin’s effulgent descriptions of it to her.

The spirit in the red dress at the front door was the the reason that Lady Honoria did not like using the front door, she felt that it was pushing her away, trying to stop her entering the house.

In the entrance hall in one of the chairs by the fire, the chair that nobody could bear to sit in could be seen a figure in a red dress, a  farmer’s daughter that Lord Godolphin had deceived and betrayed before he married lady margerate telling the girl that he would marry her and that she would be Lady Godolphin. The girl had poisoned herself and her unborn child when she found out about Lord Godolphin’s treachery. She now spent eternity defending from interlopers the house that had been promised to her.

The end