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Piers Corbyn interview: Soviets in Shropshire, termite wars, and Jeremy Corbyn’s real EU views

The weather forecaster and climate change denier on life as the Labour leader’s controversial older brother.

Piers Corbyn is an hour late. But when he finally shambles into the placid garden of a café where we meet – in Islington, inevitably – he doesn’t disappoint. “GREETINGS, CITIZEN!” he bellows into his white Samsung brick, as he arrives. “I’m with the New Statesperson at the moment…”

Eventually, he hangs up.

“People keep ringing me, asking for more forecasts,” is his excuse for his lateness. “So I fobbed them off and came here.”

He folds his bandy frame into one of the garden chairs at our wooden cable spool table. He wears a grey and brown striped jumper and ink-stained suit trousers. A look topped off with his flyaway sweep of grey curls.

“Nutty professor” and “brother of Jeremy” are the main media characterisations of Piers these days, ever since his younger brother – who is two years his junior – became Labour leader.

But Piers has always attracted a level of fascination from the press, as an ardent climate change denier. The 69-year-old longrange weather forecaster – who doesn’t believe in man-made global warming and insists Earth is cooling – has long been described as a “controversial meteorologist”.


Piers Corbyn makes a prediction. Photo: YouTube screengrab

He makes solar activity-based calculations (using the mysterious “Solar Lunar Action Technique” – but he doesn’t reveal his methods) to predict weather events up to a year in advance, and climate forecasts up to two decades ahead. His forecasting business is called WeatherAction. He has occasionally made correct predictions, such as the UK’s coldest December in 100 years in 2010. Climate change sceptics love him. Boris Johnson has called him “my old chum” and “the world’s foremost meteorological soothsayer” in his Telegraph column.

Reaching out to hold a branch hanging down from an ash tree that shelters the garden, Piers claims: “CO2 now is at a very low level. And that’s because these things we see above us are so efficient. A carbon dioxide molecule comes here and gets gobbled up.

We should have a war on termites. But we haven’t seen any of that. There’s no war on termites.

“These people who want to make genetically-modified microbes which absorb more CO2 – well, that would be the end of life as we know it, because trees will die, everything would die, and we’d go with it,” he growls.

“This is Dr Strangelove insanity. They ought to be stopped, these people. In fact, they ought to be locked up. I would go as far as saying they should be locked up.” He pauses sheepishly, and wags his finger at my notebook. “I’d perhaps not say that…”

His fury at the scientific consensus that humans are destroying the planet is palpable. “If it’s true that carbon dioxide is a problem, then the powers-that-be ought to attack the main producers of carbon dioxide. Termites produce ten times more CO2 than mankind, so we should have a war on termites. But we haven’t seen any of that,” he concludes. “There’s no war on termites.”


Piers Corbyn with a map of the UK. Photo: YouTube screengrab

Piers’ unorthodox views are often used by the press to embarrass Jeremy, but he finds the association equally frustrating. “They want to portray me as a mad man on climate change, and the brother of my brother,” he says. “They find anything bad happening, if Piers Corbyn’s within a mile, they mention that he’s my brother.”

A recent example is his criticism of Louise Ellman MP’s condemnation of Jeremy Corbyn for failing to stamp out antisemitism in the party. “ABSURD!” he tweeted. “JC+All #Corbyns are committed #AntiNazi. #Zionists cant cope with anyone supporting rights for #Palestine”.

Jeremy defended his brother, saying, “We actually fundamentally agree – we are a family that were brought up fighting racism from the day we were born.”

Piers today stands by his comments: “As an object of fact, my grandfather was called Benjamin, my father’s second name was Benjamin, Jeremy’s eldest son is called Benjamin. My mother’s name was Naomi,” he says.

There’s no issue of me being anti-Jewish at all. We’re probably distantly related to some. I’ve been confused with Jews.

“So there’s all this Jewishness around – our names, anyway. We’re probably distantly related to some – I dunno. I’ve been confused with Jews, people have said ‘you look Jewish’, and I’ve said, ‘no, I’m not to my knowledge’. I’ve employed Jewish people, including ones who wear the…” he gestures with his hand hovering above his crown. “Kippahs. Quite devout ones. I had Jewish friends in Imperial College . . . and I’ve written scientific papers with Jewish people. So there’s no issue of me being anti-Jewish at all.”

Is there an antisemitism problem in the Labour party? “Not that I’ve witnessed myself,” says Piers. “All I can say is, in my experience in Bermondsey and around the country, I’ve never seen it.”


Piers Corbyn as a young campaigner. Photo: Getty

Piers is pro-Brexit, and reveals the extent to which his brother – now campaigning (if lukewarmly) to Remain – agreed with his stance. “In [the] 1975 [referendum], my father was for the EU and my mother was against. I voted for it, and I think Jeremy voted against. But I’m not sure,” he explains. “Then he became against the EU, and was in the Tony Benn view of things – that it’s a capitalist club. And I agreed with him about that completely.

“And I agree very much with what [Labour MP] Graham Stringer said in a recent interview – he said he’d been with Jeremy through every lobby, against Maastricht, against this and that. And he said he thought Jeremy was doing a party management operation on this.”

But the biggest question of all: does Jeremy agree with his brother on climate change? “The way I see it on climate change is that he’s got to manage what the party is saying,” Piers replies. “He can’t just jump around on views, whether or not he agrees with me. I’m not saying whether he does or he doesn’t. I’m doing an NCND – no confirmation, no denial,” he chuckles.

The left equate large-state spending on green policies with socialism. But Hitler had large-state spending, and he wasn’t socialist.

Piers feels the left has been led astray by the green movement. And somehow manages to compare this to Nazi Germany. “After the Berlin Wall came down, various people on the left got lost, and my former associates – or friends, even – in the International Marxist Group and related bodies developed this idea of red-green politics, eco-revolution,” he muses. “Where they seem to equate large-state spending with socialism. Well, I don’t think that’s a good argument, because, of course, Hitler had large-state spending, but he wasn’t socialist.”

Prior to WeatherAction, Piers was a housing and squatters’ right activist in London, and a Labour councillor in Southwark from 1986-90. But he left the Labour party in 2002, after 26 years as a member, over the selling off of the Aylesbury Estate in Southwark. He is now in the process of rejoining, mainly due to brotherly loyalty.

“I need to get in there, support what they’re doing,” he smiles, his thin square-framed spectacles flashing in the afternoon sunlight. “The good things they’re doing on housing.”

So exercised is he about housing inequality – and what he sees as the “theft” of properties by the super-rich in London – that he condemns Labour’s London mayoral candidate for his “pro-business” intentions. “Obviously, I will support Sadiq Khan over the Tory whathisnameis,” he says. “But both of them are hand-in-glove in bed with developers. And Sadiq Khan has been receiving handouts from them, you know . . .

“Which business [will he support]?” he asks of Khan, who nominated his brother for Labour leader. “If it’s the property business, then HELP! Breadmaking, maybe? Coffee parlours? I dunno. I don’t know what it means, and I don’t think he knows what it means.”


Piers Corbyn campaigning in the Seventies. Photo: Getty

Piers’ accent is speckled with the lingering vowels and dropped ts of a south Londoner, but he also echoes the faint crackle of West Country we occasionally hear in Jeremy. The brothers, with their two elder siblings, David and Andrew, spent their early childhood in a Wiltshire village, before moving to Shropshire when Piers was nine and Jeremy was seven. It was this Shropshire house, the idyllic Yew Tree Manor, which is often pictured in papers to illustrate the Corbyns’ affluence.

The boys did have a comfortable childhood, attending prep schools and then the local grammar, but Piers recalls helping his parents do up their Shropshire house, which he says was run-down when they bought it. He and Jeremy repointed the brickwork. The Corbyn boys did all manner of handiwork, and helped their father – who was an electrical engineer – with mechanical projects.

Piers began monitoring the weather at eight years old, when he dug out his own dew pond. He built an observation station, and made his own Stevenson screen to shelter his home-made weather instruments (which included an anemometer to measure wind speed, made out of copper sheets and pieces of an old bicycle wheel and curtain rod, and an oil drum dug into the ground to measure soil density).

Support the Soviet Union – shut your eyes when you see bad things there; that was my parents’ sort of background.

“My father and mother encouraged us to do our own thing,” Piers says. “I remember Jeremy made a sundial. And my elder brother, Andrew, made a forge. He had an anvil and he made tools.”

Jeremy’s team may try to distance the Labour leader from his brother’s views, but their similarities come from the same place – a political family. Both have a single-minded commitment to their principles, even when the winds of change are buffeting against them.

“We were all political,” Piers explains. “My parents were. They met during [an event supporting the anti-fascists in] the Spanish Civil War. They came from this sort of old school where Communism and science, or socialism and science, went together for progress.

“Science was objective, and you could see it worked. And there was a scientific analysis of society, as by Marx – and it was scientific, therefore it was true. So, you know, support the Soviet Union – shut your eyes when you see bad things there, you know, stuff like that,” he admits. “They were never in the Communist party; they were only in the Labour party. But obviously the Labour left then was quite sympathetic to the Soviet Union . . . So that was their sort of background, and I suppose we were brought up believing those things.”

Piers Corbyn is appearing at HowTheLightGetsIn, the philosophy and music festival at Hay 26 May – 5 June. Book your tickets and accommodation for debates and parties here.

Anoosh Chakelian is deputy web editor at the New Statesman.

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Inside Big Ben: why the world’s most famous clock will soon lose its bong

Every now and then, even the most famous of clocks need a bit of care.

London is soon going to lose one of its most familiar sounds when the world-famous Big Ben falls silent for repairs. The “bonging” chimes that have marked the passing of time for Londoners since 1859 will fall silent for months beginning in 2017 as part of a three-year £29m conservation project.

Of course, “Big Ben” is the nickname of the Great Bell and the bell itself is not in bad shape – even though it does have a huge crack in it.

The bell weighs nearly 14 tonnes and it cracked in 1859 when it was first bonged with a hammer that was way too heavy.

The crack was never repaired. Instead the bell was rotated one eighth of a turn and a lighter (200kg) hammer was installed. The cracked bell has a characteristic sound which we have all grown to love.

Big Ben strikes. UK Parliament.

Instead, it is the Elizabeth Tower (1859) and the clock mechanism (1854), designed by Denison and Airy, that need attention.

Any building or machine needs regular maintenance – we paint our doors and windows when they need it and we repair or replace our cars quite routinely. It is convenient to choose a day when we’re out of the house to paint the doors, or when we don’t need the car to repair the brakes. But a clock just doesn’t stop – especially not a clock as iconic as the Great Clock at the Palace of Westminster.

Repairs to the tower are long overdue. There is corrosion damage to the cast iron roof and to the belfry structure which keeps the bells in place. There is water damage to the masonry and condensation problems will be addressed, too. There are plumbing and electrical works to be done for a lift to be installed in one of the ventilation shafts, toilet facilities and the fitting of low-energy lighting.

Marvel of engineering

The clock mechanism itself is remarkable. In its 162-year history it has only had one major breakdown. In 1976 the speed regulator for the chimes broke and the mechanism sped up to destruction. The resulting damage took months to repair.

The weights that drive the clock are, like the bells and hammers, unimaginably huge. The “drive train” that keeps the pendulum swinging and that turns the hands is driven by a weight of about 100kg. Two other weights that ring the bells are each over a tonne. If any of these weights falls out of control (as in the 1976 incident), they could do a lot of damage.

The pendulum suspension spring is especially critical because it holds up the huge pendulum bob which weighs 321kg. The swinging pendulum releases the “escapement” every two seconds which then turns the hands on the clock’s four faces. If you look very closely, you will see that the minute hand doesn’t move smoothly but it sits still most of the time, only moving on each tick by 1.5cm.

The pendulum swings back and forth 21,600 times a day. That’s nearly 8m times a year, bending the pendulum spring. Like any metal, it has the potential to suffer from fatigue. The pendulum needs to be lifted out of the clock so that the spring can be closely inspected.

The clock derives its remarkable accuracy in part from the temperature compensation which is built into the construction of the pendulum. This was yet another of John Harrison’s genius ideas (you probably know him from longitude fame). He came up with the solution of using metals of differing temperature expansion coefficient so that the pendulum doesn’t change in length as the temperature changes with the seasons.

In the Westminster clock, the pendulum shaft is made of concentric tubes of steel and zinc. A similar construction is described for the clock in Trinity College Cambridge and near perfect temperature compensation can be achieved. But zinc is a ductile metal and the tube deforms with time under the heavy load of the 321kg pendulum bob. This “creeping” will cause the temperature compensation to jam up and become less effective.

So stopping the clock will also be a good opportunity to dismantle the pendulum completely and to check that the zinc tube is sliding freely. This in itself is a few days' work.

What makes it tick

But the truly clever bit of this clock is the escapement. All clocks have one - it’s what makes the clock tick, quite literally. Denison developed his new gravity escapement especially for the Westminster clock. It decouples the driving force of the falling weight from the periodic force that maintains the motion of the pendulum. To this day, the best tower clocks in England use the gravity escapement leading to remarkable accuracy – better even than that of your quartz crystal wrist watch.

In Denison’s gravity escapement, the “tick” is the impact of the “legs” of the escapement colliding with hardened steel seats. Each collision causes microscopic damage which, accumulated over millions of collisions per year, causes wear and tear affecting the accuracy of the clock. It is impossible to inspect the escapement without stopping the clock. Part of the maintenance proposed during this stoppage is a thorough overhaul of the escapement and the other workings of the clock.

The Westminster clock is a remarkable icon for London and for England. For more than 150 years it has reminded us of each hour, tirelessly. That’s what I love about clocks – they seem to carry on without a fuss. But every now and then even the most famous of clocks need a bit of care. After this period of pampering, “Big Ben” ought to be set for another 100 or so years of trouble-free running.

The Conversation

Hugh Hunt is a Reader in Engineering Dynamics and Vibration at the University of Cambridge.

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.