Survival

Up in our attic I found this booklet that was issued to all British households by our government in May 1980 - forty three years ago. It was meant to be a practical guide - telling us  what to do in the event of a nuclear attack.

We were advised how to build nuclear fall-0ut shelters in our homes using tables, doors and cushions or how to make them in our cellars or under the stairs. The importance of sanitation arrangements was stressed as well making sure we had plenty of water.

In those days there was  genuine fear in western Europe that the pesky and unpredictable Russians could launch a nuclear attack at any time and on the thinnest of pretexts. We were walking on a knife edge and didn't know for sure if there would even be a tomorrow.

Facing the prospect of a nuclear war seemed a bit like planning for a boy scouts' expedition:-

 

Having read and digested the booklet, we were meant to go through the check list, confirming in our minds  that we were ready for Armageddon:-

I don't know if anybody actually prepared fallout rooms with inner refuges back in the early eighties. We certainly didn't and I also have no idea whether or not Russian citizens were also preparing for the nuclear nightmare. Thoughts of such a scenario seem to have dissipated through the decades but even in the last twelve months  the idea of terrible  nuclear bombs has returned in connection with The Ukraine War and the crazy tyrant who is Russia's political leader.

Also in the attic I found my old autograph book. I haven't reopened it yet. I will do that in tomorrow's blogpost - assuming of course that the Russians have still not attacked.

Feather

 

The Duke of California Sussex attended his father's coronation yesterday before flying back to Sussex California. As the great telltale tit sat in his allocated seat in Westminster Abbey, his head was often obscured from view by the big red feather on Princess Anne's towering bicorn hat. I found this rather amusing - possibly because I have got a warped sense of humour.

As he sat there amidst the pageantry, I wonder if Harry was contemplating another lucrative tell-all account - about how he was blanked at the coronation....

 "Papa did not even look my way when the crown was plonked on his head and he didn't embrace me as he marched up the aisle. Once again, I felt rejected like the 'spare' that I am.

My aunt, Princess Anne, had been deliberately placed in front of me with a huge red feather upon her hat in order to make me a laughing stock around the world.  And nobody bothered to ask about my wife and my children - Archie and Lilibet. I could feel my mental health being badly impacted and I wished that I hadn't chosen to attend the coronation

As usual, my brother William tried to take centre stage as I looked on. I asked myself - Why isn't everybody looking at me? For I am also a prince of the realm. Instead, the cameras focused on bully boy William's brats. And I asked myself - why wasn't Archie invited to be a pageboy? But of course I knew the answer. Once again 'The Firm' were closing ranks on me - excluding me just as they excluded my blameless mother and ultimately assassinated her."

What a shame that the sun did not shine upon London to bring out the colours of the pageantry and the military uniforms. However, I was relieved to see the ceremonies run smoothly from beginning to end. No nutcases interrupted and no outrages were committed by wicked terrorists.

⦿

Meanwhile, up here in Sheffield we have got scaffolding around our house because we are having a new roof fitted in the week ahead. The current roof is almost a hundred years old so we decided it was time to bite the bullet like many of our neighbours.

Linked with this, I went up into our attic this afternoon for the first time in five or six years. I looked at some of the stuff we put up there and I thought: Why? What were we thinking about? It would have been more sensible to just get rid of that junk in the first place. Now I have set myself the task of reducing much of that detritus in the next forty eight hours.

By the way, the reason I haven't been up there in so long is because I try hard to look after my knees, avoiding long term knee pain. A bit of contortion is required to get through the hatch. I may share with you a couple of items I found in the attic. I will be up there again tomorrow using thick foam rubber cushions in an effort to protect my old knees.

Charles

I was born in the year that Queen Elizabeth II was crowned and tomorrow, seventy years later, it's the turn of her oldest son, Charles. He is now seventy four years old and it is as if he has been preparing for this moment all of his life.

Though I have never met him in person, I have  rather admired Charles from afar. Smiles and laughter come readily to him and he clearly enjoys meeting other people, listening to their stories with the same kindness and genuine interest that his mother showed throughout her reign. He never seems condescending.

Charles has always been interested in architecture and design and he was vocal about climate change and the environment long before that became fashionable. In the past, he was often  dismissed as being rather eccentric or wacky - someone who hugged trees and talked to the plants in his garden but this was arguably just further evidence of his deep affection for the natural world.

Yes. It is his coronation tomorrow and the London police force have never before prepared such a comprehensive security web involving thousands of officers from all over the country

It will be an enormous challenge because the world of 2023 is much different from 1953. No matter how much planning is done and how many police officers are involved, there is always the possibility of some sort of terrorist outrage so that the day will forever be remembered for that rather than the pageantry of this special moment in our nation's history. 

I sincerely hope that the day goes off without serious incident and that King Charles III is crowned in style. Though I don't believe in God and I don't much approve of monarchs either,  I will still wish him well and  say...

Vocabulary

Long before the Normans invaded Britain, the east coast of Yorkshire was subject to numerous invasions by Danes and other Scandinavians. No doubt they were seeking their fortunes, expanding their influence.

The legacy of those Vikings is still with us today - in our landscape, our place names and the very language we speak. My family name is of Viking origin like nearly all names that end with the suffix "-by" and given my family history I am pretty certain that if I had one of those genetic blood tests the result would confirm the strength of my Viking inheritance.

Long ago, I knew an old farming fellow called John. He was born and raised in the village of my childhood and later he died there. We would sometimes chat together in "The Hare and Hounds" and one night he talked about Viking words. He gave the example of the word "yitten" which means scared or frightened, claiming it was peculiar to East Yorkshire. I certainly used it in the school playground.

Decades later I am not certain that John got the source of that word right even though it's not really used in the south or west of England. However, what I do know is that words of undoubted Viking origin are certainly more prevalent on the east coast of Yorkshire than they are in other parts of the country.

They include:-

dale - valley

gawp - look or stare

Ey up! - a common form of greeting, like "hello!"

laik - to lark or play

siling - pouring down with rain

lug - to heave or carry

fell  - hill or mountain

I could possibly  boggle your mind with a much longer list of Norse words in English but I think this handful of examples will suffice just to illustrate my point. The Norse invaders may have first come here over 1300 years ago but they certainly left their mark. As I write it is Thursday or as those Vikings might have said - Thor's Day.

Leek

Choo! Choo! Chugga! Chugga! I could hear it coming before I saw it - a real live steam train on the Churnet Valley Railway. I realise my photo may look as though it is a shot of a model railway but I swear it is not. I was standing on the old railway bridge near Bradnop. The Churnet Valley Railway is of course run by rail enthusiasts

It was a good start to my long Staffordshire walk. It had taken Clint just one hour and ten minutes to transport me cross country to the town of Leek but I chose to begin my walk just outside it in the  strung out village of Bradnop. This is Lark Hall Farm just outside Bradnop:-

Later, after plodding along for a couple of hours I found myself in the centre of Leek itself. It has a population of some twenty thousand and a long history too. It even has its own building society. Here is the branch on Derby Street:-

Here's another view of Leek taken from near the old market place which received its charter from King John in 1207. The church is dedicated to St Edward the Confessor and also dates back to the thirteenth century:-

On the walking map I had printed off I had seen something marked called "Plague Stone" next to Cheddleton Road. I was keen to investigate and this is it....

This stump of a cross dates back to the fourteenth century. It is thought that provisions were left on or near the cross for the townspeople of Leek during the Bubonic Plague, and payment was left by the people in bowls of vinegar, to prevent spread of the disease.

It was after four o'clock when I jumped back into Clint's cosy cockpit ready for the drive back to Sheffield. Weatherwise, it had been a pretty perfect day and I was pleased that my circular walk had all been in "virgin territory" for I had never previously visited Leek. It was good.

Gordon

People die all the time. Usually, we sigh and nod. It's the same with the famous as with ordinary people. Yet another marker buoy along the river of life as we approach the open sea.

But some deaths knock us back on our heels and they register like wounds. That's how I felt about the death of Gordon Lightfoot just yesterday in Toronto. Two commenters in today's "Toronto Sun" proved that I was not alone:-

Gordon Lightfoot had a tuneful baritone singing voice and he inspired loyalty from the musicians who in turn supported him. He spent almost all of his life in music and was even performing at the end of last year. But the thing that I admired most about him was his craftsmanship - weaving words together to tell stories or to bare his soul in song. He had a rare gift for that kind of connection with other humans.

Here's one his most famous songs, performed for the BBC way back in 1969:-

Extremis

Yesterday I highlighted  Angle Inlet - the most northerly settlement in the forty eight contiguous states of America. Today I am heading further north - to Alaska in fact. That is where you will find the most northerly location in all of America. It is called Point Barrow and its co-ordinates are 71° 23′ 20″ N, 156° 28′ 45″ W.

Though it is a remote spot and pretty inhospitable in the depths of wintertime, the area had special significance to  indigenous Iñupiat  people for over a thousand years before Point Barrow was "discovered". It was named after Sir John Barrow, a senior figure in the British Admiralty. That was as recently as 1826.

Frederick Beechey named the headland on behalf of Sir John Barrow

At Point Barrow there are burial mounds and there have been other archaeological finds. Even today it remains a base for Inuit fishing and hunting trips. I am pleased to note that the nearby village of Barrow had its name changed back to Utqiagvik in 2016.

How audacious and disrespectful  it was for European newcomers to ignore indigenous place names in past times. Not just on the northern shores of Alaska but elsewhere in the world from New Zealand  to South Africa.

Finally - and this is totally unrelated - my Citroen 2CV picture came fourth in the picture of the week competition over at Geograph and my image of the old windmill in a sea of flowering rapeseed came second. So near and yet so far - just like Point Barrow.