Ramist

 

Pierre Ramus  1515-1572

Q. What is a RAMIST? 

A.  A follower of Pierre Ram, better known as Ramus, a celebrated French scholar, who was professor of rhetoric and philosophy at Paris in the reign of Henry II. Ramus famously  opposed the Aristotelians.

So now you know but which side are you on? For my own part I am firmly on the side of the Aristotelians for reasons that will become clear before this blogpost finishes.

⦿

Alrighty, so there I am on Saville Street north of the city centre having just taken Butch, my Nissan Juke, for his first service at the Nissan dealership. And down on the pavement I see the reverse  side of a badge. Following the urban beach-combing example of Mr S.Reed of West London, I stoop to pick up said badge having absolutely no idea what I might see on the face side.

Perhaps it would be advertising some product or other or maybe there'd just be an image but no - this is what I saw...

"TRUMP IS A RA_IST"

Mmm... What could the missing letter be? At first I had no idea until I remembered  one of the great figures of French scholarship - Pierre Ram or Ramus. And then in a moment of illumination I realised that President Trump must be a Ramist. Frankly, I was surprised because previously I noted that the 47th US President habitually shows enormous lack of intellect and indeed historical knowledge. Clearly, I was wrong about that. Only well-read scholars like Haggerty and Marcellous truly appreciate Ramus's philosophical legacy so D.J. Trump must be one of them.

It just goes to show that you should never judge a book by its cover but I am still slightly puzzled, wondering why the badge makers chose to miss out the vital letter "M". Very confusing,

Pontificating

St Stephen's Church in Aldwark

Yorkshire is England's Texas. Now I would like to share a joke I once heard. A Texan meets a Yorkshireman in a pub one day. The Texan boasts, "Texas is so big it takes two days to travel across our state by train!" The Yorkshireman pauses before replying, "Aye. We've got slow trains in Yorkshire too!"

Yorkshire contains a variety of areas, different people with different accents. There is no  single Yorkshire way of speaking - but many.

Some southerners think of Yorkshire as a place of industry and hardship where old men in flat caps lead whippets to old slag heaps and women in curlers hang washing on rope lines between grim terraced houses.

But the Yorkshire we were in from Sunday morning to Wednesday was very different from that. Take the village of Alne for example. So many big and characterful houses with gravel driveways, neatly trimmed hedgerows and roses climbing round doorways. Girls in hard hats riding horses. Range Rovers splashing through puddles. There in the middle of The Vale of York where the soil is deep and rich and you wake to mellifluous birdsong.

St Mary's Church in Alne

Life is comfortable there. In Easingwold - which is really a small self-sufficient town thirteen miles north of York, I counted five thriving pubs adjacent to the wide Georgian central area. Once this comfortable settlement was the first stopping places for horse drawn coaches heading north from York. "Easingwold" seemed like a very appropriate name - for life appeared easy there just west of  the Yorkshire Wolds that rise and fall on their way to Flamborough Head.

I went on two long walks with Tony and Shirley joined us on our second route. Because Pauline has had two hip replacements and a knee replacement in the last eighteen months, she ducked out - quite understandably. On Tuesday afternoon we joined her at the immaculate Aldwark Manor Hotel - for hot drinks and bowls of triple-fried chips with hummus and tomato ketchup.

Straight Lane near Aldwark

For me, one of the true joys of life is to walk in previously unknown countryside. I call it "virgin territory". Though the weather forecast was discouraging, we managed both walks in good weather, plodding along in the early summer on quiet lanes and paths that were for the most part little trodden.

The old market hall in Easingwold

You don't know how long the times ahead will be but there in the Alne area, putting one foot in front of the other and breathing in early summer air in the middle of Yorkshire, it felt simply good to be alive. And it's surely good that I recognise the preciousness of that feeling.

View from stately Beningbrough Hall

Back

The tombola stall at Alne Street Fayre with the village hall behind

Back from Alne - pronounced Arn. It was a splendid break in a part of Yorkshire I hardly knew - thirteen miles north of York in rich agricultural land. In the distance, where The Yorkshire Moors rise up above The Vale of York you could make out The White Horse of Kilburn on Sutton Bank.

The 2026 Alne Street Fayre was a big deal and the money seemed to be pouring in. There were over five hundred cars in the big fields beyond Home Farm and thankfully for the community, the weather played ball all day. It was only at 5pm that I was able  to bring our car to Celidih Cottage because until then the streets had been shut off. The entire village was a pedestrianised zone for the day.

I don't know about you but I love a good tombola with tickets ending in "0" or "5" earning prizes. I won an IKEA picture frame, two diffusers, a notebook and pen and a brand new  blanket throw that still had its price tag on it. It was a great haul for an outlay of £10 - all for a good village cause.

Green man carving on the twelfth century font in Alne Church

It was great to spend time with Tony and Pauline. She had some wonderful news to share which I will relate to you in another blogpost. Like us, they don't eat out very often but together we ate out on Sunday, Monday and Tuesday evenings.

Each meal was wonderful and magically, in all three establishments, we were led to the best window tables. I can be quite particular about where I get to sit in a restaurant and in each eatery we got the places I would have picked if left to my own devices.

The Sunday roast in "The George" in Easingwold had been put together with what I  often refer to as "love". We all had beef layered on mounds of tasty vegetables and then topped with light and golden Yorkshire puddings the size of side plates. The cauliflower cheese came in separate tureens with extra gravy boats. No morsels were left but I swear we did not lick the plates clean.

On Monday evening we visited the Jaipur Spice curry house  by the road to Easingwold from Alne. We all agreed it was an excellent, authentic curry. I ordered onion bhajis before my  "Jaipur Special Beef Bhuna" with vegetable rice and  one chapati. All quite heavenly and again the conversation flowed like a mountain spring that never dries up.

Tuesday night we went to the only pub in Alne - "The Bluebell Inn" - which is essentially just a restaurant these days. I ordered Italian lasagne with side vegetables. The main dish was gooey and cheesy with a nicely seared top. And I washed it down with a pint of "Theakstons" ale - a famous Yorkshire brew.

Well I could say much more about our Alne trip  but I think I will leave it there for tonight. I want to get back to the television to watch England's friendly match with Costa Rica. Our last game before The World Cup tournament begins.

At the swing music stage

Away

Forgive me for playing tricks on you. Yesterday's blogpost "Praise" was  "scheduled" and so is this one. You see, we are not back home in Sheffield. Instead, we are staying in a cottage in the village of Alne - a few miles north of York.

The reason we chose Alne was because our friends Tony and Pauline have been staying there quite regularly. They have a large touring caravan (American: trailer) and it has been sited at the village's caravan park since the start of spring. Pauline is recovering from her second hip replacement operation. Having a bolthole in Alne seemed like a good means of getting away from home without travelling far.

Our end terrace cottage in Alne

Shirley and I have never been to Alne before. Co-incidentally, yesterday was the village's annual "Street Fayre" to raise money for play and recreational facilities. It is pretty much the highlight of Alne's social calendar with  the streets being closed off and various events - including two musical stages.

I sincerely hope that we had a good time!

I will let you know more about our sojourn in Alne when I blog again on Wednesday night - assuming we make it home safely of course!

Praise

In Praise of The Real Food Company - Doing The Right Thing

1.

Dear Real Food Company,

My order was delivered today by a member of The Royal Mail team. He did not force the package through our letterbox but instead placed it in my hand. I opened the package only to find this:-

All of the contents of the tub were now in the plastic bag. Somehow the tub had been squashed open. Whether this happened at your end or in transit, I have no idea.

I took the little tub out of the plastic bag and tried to rescue the contents after reshaping the container but no matter what I did, I could not repair the crushed cardboard base in a way that made the tub leak-free again. Of course, I could use sellotape or sticky labels but that is not the point. Naturally, I expected to receive the tub in tip-top condition.

I have no idea what your policy is when you receive legitimate complaints like this one but I trust that you will do the right thing.

I am very disappointed. Spending a total of £9.24 inclusive of P&P was a large outlay for this product and I was not expecting such a problem.

Yours truly,

Yorkshire Pudding

2.

Dear Yorkshire Pudding,

Your order has been refunded

Total amount refunded: £9.24 GBP. It may take up to 10 days for this refund to appear in your account.

We apologise most sincerely for this issue and for the inconvenience it has caused you but we hope that you will shop with us again in the future.

The Real Food Company

Parklife

 We have some lovely parks here in Sheffield - which is officially the greenest city in Great Britain. More trees per head of population here than any other place.

A ten minute walk down the valley from our house brings you to our much-loved Endcliffe Park. Every June, a travelling fair sets up in the park with rides and colours and lights and stalls. I guess it's about two things - bringing fun to local residents and bringing money to the fairground people. A week from now, they'll be gone - off to some other northern city.

Today, Frances and Stew took our darling granddaughters down to the fair. At two years old, it was the first proper fair that wee Margot had ever attended. See her at the top with her big sister in a red aeroplane (American: airplane) and below she's driving a bus which is apparently heading to Manchester. Her favourite children's song is "The Wheels on the Bus" so to be actually driving a bus must have been close to ecstasy for the girl.

Last Sunday afternoon, I made a point of visiting another local park - Whirlowbrook Park. For the last three summers, regular "folk" concerts have been held there to raise money for the volunteers who created a community group called "The Friends of Whirlowbrook Park". These good people have done a lot of great work to maintain and improve the park. I guess that if I were a "joining" kind of guy, I might have signed up  as a new "Friend".

As it happens I was there to see a real friend - my quizzing mate Mike who was performing under the gazebo with his two accomplices - Kiri the fiddle player and Jan the lead singer. They called themselves "Reclaimed" for the purposes of this concert. The circumstances made it difficult to snap a really good picture of Mike and this was the best that I could do:-

Fortunately, he really likes that image.

Naughty

My mother was a great one for singing snatches of songs when she was in a light and happy mood. It is a trait that I confess I have inherited.

The songs that Mum tended to reference were from her pre-war youth here in South Yorkshire and also from World War II itself. How many times did I hear her launch into "The White Cliffs of Dover" in the kitchen? It's a song that we had played over the crematorium sound system at her funeral in 2007. She would have approved of that.

In her prime, she had a strong and tuneful voice. When you have a voice like hers, it is as if you are in possession of a special musical instrument that might crack or wither if you forgot to practise playing it every few days.

This week I found myself singing one of Mum's favourite songs. I had not thought about it in years. It was a music hall song and a little mischievous. It first saw the light of day in 1913, eight years before Mum was even born. I believe it speaks of more innocent times. It is unlikely that Kendrick Lamar or Stormzy would or could ever record a similar song in this current decade.

It's "Hold Your Hand Out You Naughty Boy!"by the Manchester songwriter Charles William Murphy. This is the first verse with the chorus, followed by a rendition I found on YouTube...

At the club one evening Jones was telling all his pals

How much he hated girls, despised their golden curls

"You wouldn't catch me with a girl, you bet your life!" said he

"Girls possess no charm for me!"

Then one chap there at Jones began to leer

Picked up his cane and said to him "Come here..."

[Chorus]

"...hold your hand out naughty boy

Hold your hand out naughty boy

Last night in the pale moonlight

I saw you

With a nice girl in the park you were strolling full of joy

And you told her you'd never kissed a girl before

Hold your hand out naughty boy!"

So yes, for the past few days this song has become my latest earworm. Charles William Murphy wrote several other popular songs before dying at the tender age of forty three. His repertoire included, "My Girl's A Yorkshire Girl" and "She's a Lassie from Lancashire". A lot of his songs formed the soundtrack to World War One - sung in the trenches in the mud and blood and raining missiles.