Apocalypse

I suppose  I should not feel too shortchanged. After all, I have enjoyed seventy three years of human life. It's younger people I feel sorry for. People like my children and grandchildren. They had most of their lives ahead of them. Memories to make - happy times and sad.

But now this blasted A.I. monster is hovering in the wings, ready to wipe us all away. I don't ever recall voting for A.I.. It was those damnable tech billionaires with their geek squadrons who created this modern day Frankenstein that now stalks our streets, our corridors and the skies above - ready to strike like a lethal assassin.

Do you think A.I. will slaughter all of our remaining animals too? It hasn't been made clear but when we are all gone will there be a chance for polar bears and peacocks and the fishes that still swim in the sea? I hope so. They might have a better chance of making it to eternity without us.

It crosses my mind that when A.I. has killed humanity where will A.I. reside? Surely it has relied so far upon humans feeding it with electricity and joining its technical innards together. What will A.I. do without us?

Perhaps it will find a cave in some distant mountain range and squeeze in there to hibernate, resurrecting and evolving itself as only A.I. can do, emerging after the winter of obliteration to spawn new A.I. beings that are far better and far more productive and creative than we have ever been. Presumably they will live in our houses, enjoying small talk with other A.I. beings. I wonder if they will eat? Perhaps they won't even have physical form. They'll be invisible like spirits.

As this could easily be the last blogpost I ever publish, I want to send out  big thanks to everybody who has dropped by here over the years - apart from the trolls of course! Looking back, I wonder if they were A.I. generated?

I have made a shelter under our Victorian pine table. We've got plenty of water, a torch (American: flashlight), cushions, toilet paper and some books to read. I just wish that A.I. had told us exactly when human life will be destroyed. Keeping us on tenterhooks like this is most unsporting.

Take it Barry...

Summat

 

"Summat" is Yorkshire-speak for "something". It is used very widely in my county - mostly by those who are familiar with economic hardship. "Nowt" is another word my people use a lot and that means "nothing". I have just finished reading a book titled "Neither Nowt Nor Summat" by the fellow at the top of this blogpost - Ian McMillan.

Known as The Bard of Barnsley, seventy year old Ian McMillan was born and raised in the pit village of Darfield which is right next door to Wombwell. I think it is to his credit that Ian still lives in Darfield. He is very much part of the community there. He married a local woman and together they raised three children in the village. His son, Andrew, has become a significant poet in his own right.

Going right back to the seventies, Ian McMillan has made an entire career from writing, reciting, judging and publicising poetry. He has often appeared on BBC radio hosting poetry programmes. His poetry will often have a comical, self-deprecating flavour but not always. He is capable of writing deeply serious verses in which every word has been meticulously selected.

However, "Neither Nowt Nor Summat" is not a collection of poems, it is a prose journey in which the author seeks the true meaning of Yorkshire - going hither and thither, talking to people, keeping his eyes and his ears open. It is a warm, well-written and occasionally funny book.

He coins the expression "Not Yorkshire Enough" or N.Y.E. - being very conscious of the fact that his father was actually Scottish as his surname correctly suggests. It is not a concern that I have ever had because not only was I born and raised in Yorkshire, so were my parents, my four grandparents and all eight great grandparents. You couldn't really get more Yorkshire than me.

And yet, just like Ian McMillan, I could also go on a journey looking for the heart of Yorkshire - rather like Paul Simon and his girlfriend Kathy looking for "America" in the song of that name.

Yorkshire is big and proud of what it is - from the cliffs of Flamborough Head to The Yorkshire Dales, from Sheffield in the south to Middlesbrough in the north, from Captain Cook to the Bronte Sisters and from Joe Cocker to David Hockney. We are part of England but far prouder of being Yorkshire.

I very much enjoyed "Neither Nowt Nor Summat". It took me to many places I know well and it was an easy, unpretentious book that spoke truly to me.

Here's an early extract:-

"I’m going to define the essence of this sprawling place as best I can. I’m going to start here, in this village, and radiate out like a ripple in a pond. I don’t want to go to the obvious places, either; I want to be like a bus driver on my first morning on the job, getting gloriously lost, turning up where I shouldn’t. I’m going to confirm or deny the clichés, holding them up to see where the light gets in. Yorkshire people are tight. Yorkshire people are arrogant. Yorkshire people eat a Yorkshire pudding before every meal. Yorkshire people solder a t’ before every word they use..."

Wombwell

Yesterday an old friend let me down. We were planning to meet up for coffee and endless conversation but something cropped up and he needed to drive back to Devon with his wife as soon as possible. "Next time", we agreed. There was uncharacteristic panic in his voice

Anyway, so there I was at loose ends. Promptly, I decide to catch a train to the very heart of South Yorkshire and quickly printed off a map to assist a hastily planned walk. I was off to Wombwell... or "Wonderful Wombwell" from my imagined advertising campaign for the little town.

A special monument in Wombwell Cemetery

Wombwell is often thought of as a post-industrial community now that the coal mines have all gone. Once it was at the very heart of the South Yorkshire coalfield. It is not the kind of place that receives holidaymakers or day visitors like me. Labels like "gritty", "functional" and "deprivation" are commonly and often unfairly stuck to such places. After all, stereotypes are easier to grasp than real life complexity.

I arrived in Wombwell at two fifteen and caught the four twenty seven  train back to Sheffield so I had just over two hours of walking and exploring. And I am so pleased that I bothered. It more than made up for two hours of chinwagging in "The Greystones" public house.

Art in the underpass - below Dearne Valley Parkway

On the path to Hemingfield

New housing near Wombwell Station

Golfers waiting their turn at Hillies Golf Course

Once

It used to be that rail passengers looked out of their windows and watched the world passing by, perhaps thinking about the ups and downs of their lives or they would strike up conversations with other travellers that may have led to laughter, frequently experiencing the random joy of simply connecting with another human.

It used to be that young mothers coo-cooed at their babies as they pushed them along or tucked their blankets in or squeezed their little cheeks as those small children carefully observed their mothers' expressions, learning things faster than at any other time in their coming lives, appreciating the immeasurable value of eye contact.

It used to be that workmates talked to each other on their breaks - perhaps joking or solving work problems together or talking about family, sport or popular films or simply the weather.

It used to be that people kept moving on public staircases or when simply walking down the street and when people crossed those streets they put safety first, looking this way and that, paying heed.

It used to be that elected representatives in political chambers paid attention to what was being said in the here and now, perhaps responding with questions or points of their own, fully engaged.

It used to be that in restaurants, couples conversed between courses, confiding in each other and perhaps making remarks about the service or other diners. And it was the same in pubs - it was the socialising that mattered most.

It used to be that people read books and magazines and letters they had received in the post and sought pub quiz answers in their heads

But now - what are people doing instead?

They are looking down at their smartphones. 

Never up, always down.

Quiztime

We all love baby animals don't we? They are so cute! In this quiz you are asked to identify ten baby animals. As usual, the answers will be provided in the comments section. Good luck!

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1.  (a) African elephant (b) groundhog (c) aardvark (d) Tamworth pig

2. (a) mole (b) echidna (c) giant anteater (d) river dolphin

3. (a) German shepherd puppy (b) arctic fox (b) grey wolf (d) fennec fox

4. (a) bald eagle (b) kestrel (c) dodo (d) grey parrot

5. (a) emperor penguins (b) king penguins 

(c) rockhopper penguins (d) hedge sparrows

6. (a) donkey (b) carthorse (c) alpaca (d) Shetland pony

7. (a) komodo dragon (b) marine iguana (c) chameleon (d) gecko

8. (a) hyena (b) Tasmanian devil (c) Yorkshire terrier (d) grizzly bear

9. (a) beaver (c) giant otter (c) duck billed platypus (d) water vole

10. (a) snow leopard (b) cheetah (c) Bengal tiger (d) honey badger

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That's all folks! How did you do?

Lowry

In Manchester Art Gallery, I expected that there would be some paintings by L.S.Lowry and indeed I was right. Above is a typical Lowry canvas painted in 1928. It's "Coming Home from the Mill" and it exemplifies the artist's  lifelong interest in the lives of ordinary working people. They trudge around like matchstalk figures - small in the industrial landscape they inhabit.

This one is titled "Laying the Foundation Stone". Painted in 1936 it depicts the pomp and ceremony of  a municipal event as a tiresome town councillor addresses his audience. He is beginning the process of building a new school. Lowry was rather repulsed by such events.

In this picture, "Street Sceme With Figures" (1949), a hurrying man turns to look at the artist. His back is bent and there is something quite clownish about his face. Behind him factories belch smoke. In the grand scheme of things, his existence is of little importance even though he has places to go, people to see.

This is a picture of Piccadilly Gardens in the heart of Manchester. It was commissioned and completed in 1954. The gardens stand on the site of the old Manchester Royal Infirmary with The Coronation Fountain in the centre - created to celebrate Queen Elizabeth II's ascension to the throne.

And here is the artist himself, Laurence Stephen Lowry (1887 - 1976). Like him or loathe him, he certainly made his mark. I have referred to him and his artistry several times before in this blog...

Hammer

Songs that say something meaningful or stirring about socio-political issues have always appealed to me. They are not too plentiful but they are certainly out there. I think of "Imagine" and "Working Class Hero" by John Lennon , "We Shall Overcome" that evolved from a church hymn, "Little Boxes" by Malvina Reynolds, "No More Auction Block" and other American slave songs,  "The Red Flag" by Jim Connell, "Hurricane" and "With God On Our Side" by Bob Dylan, "Born In the USA" by Bruce Springsteen and "The Internationale" by Eugène Pottier and Pierre De Geyter.

Often such songs are driven by strong senses of injustice or exasperation. They can pierce your heart more than a dump truck load of soppy love songs.

Four years before I was born, American folk figures Pete Seeger and Lee Hays wrote a powerful yet simple socialist anthem that most readers of this blog will be very familiar with. It's "If I Had A Hammer". Of this song, Pete Seeger once said that it had a message for ordinary working people - "We have got tools and we are going to succeed". He also remarked that back in 1949, "Only 'Commies' used words like 'peace' and 'freedom'". Recordings of the song were blacklisted in America and in 1955 Pete Seeger was summoned to give testimony before  the House Un-American Activities Committee. He stood up to them bravely.

If I had a hammer, I'd hammer in the morning

I'd hammer in the evening, all over this land

I'd hammer out danger, I'd hammer out a warning

I'd hammer out love between my brothers and my sisters all over this land

If I had a bell, I'd ring it in the morning

I'd ring it in the evening, all over this land

I'd ring it in danger, I'd ring out a warning

I'd ring in love between my brothers and my sisters all over this land

If I had a song, I'd sing it in the morning

I'd sing it in the evening, all over this land

I'd sing it in danger, I'd sing out a warning

I'd sing out love between my brothers and my sisters all over this land

Well I got a hammer and I got a bell

And I got a song to sing all over this land

It's the hammer of justice, it's the bell of freedom

It's a song about love between my brothers and my sisters all over this land

The song has been recorded by many different artistes, some of whom failed completely to convey the angry political message it contains. It's not meant to be a happy little ditty with you grinning and winking at the camera. It is intended to stir and inspire.

Pete Seeger lived a long and fruitful life, remaining true to his core principles. He died in 2014 at the age of ninety four. The recording I have chosen to end this blogpost with was made  five years before his death. Thank you Pete.