Enough

Yes. I am sorry to say that that is not a fake image. 5,500 children have been killed in Gaza  and it is believed that a further 1,800 lie under the rubble presumed dead. As one regular visitor to this blog wrote: 

"I know Israel felt justifiably wronged by the HAMAS attack on 7 October, but two wrongs don't make a right and what Israel are doing to innocent people in Gaza is beyond belief."

Enough is enough. Killing only begets more  killing and besides: Is it even possible to destroy HAMAS? How many more children must die? None of them were HAMAS terrorists. They were children with their whole lives ahead of them.

Messy

Today's Sunday dinner menu was:- 

Roasted chicken

Sage and onion stuffing

Cranberry sauce

Roasted potatoes

Roasted carrots

Roasted parsnips

Roasted squash

Brussels sprouts

Yorkshire puddings 

Homemade chicken gravy

For dessert Shirley had made Eve's pudding using fallen apples from our garden. We haven't had a glut of apples this year which I put down to the short window of opportunity that pollinating insects had with our apple blossom in the springtime. Too much wind, rain and cool temperatures happened just when we needed a warmer and more settled period.

Little Phoebe turned her nose up at the adult dessert and instead opted for an ice cream lolly. I noticed her messy chops and grabbed my camera, recognising that I had not snapped any pictures of her for a while. In the meantime her brand new sister Margot slept contentedly in her crib.

Here's our messy granddaughter at two years and ten months old. She met Father Christmas at Thornbridge Hall on Friday but did not quite know what to make of the beardie old  fellow in his famous red outfit.

Phoebe remains the most delightful child imaginable and it has been a rare privilege  to see her regularly and to observe her development at close quarters. For this I thank the COVID pandemic because if it hadn't happened, she would have grown up in London and her parents would still be working down there. And right now we would have only been playing a small, long distance part in her life.

Circling

I took the picture shown above before I even reached Norton Disney. I had just brought Clint to a  shuddering halt outside Norton Disney Lodge which is a mile west of the village. I am looking down Newark Road - Newark being the closest significant town - after which Newark in New Jersey was named.

After donning my boots in Norton Disney I set off to the neighbouring village of Stapleford with its interesting  and remote church some distance from the village and without proper road access. It is called All Saints and it has stood by The River Witham since the eleventh century.

I crossed the river and headed towards the next village called Carlton-le-Moorland. On the way my eye was drawn to the lonesome tree that you can see in the picture above. The land around it is like a prairie devoted to grain crops from which wild Nature has more or less been banished.

Above that's a photograph of  St Mary's Church in Carlton. It also dates from the eleventh century and building probably commenced soon after the Norman Conquest. The interior was well-maintained suggesting that the church is well loved by the local community. Below there's a section of one of the stained glass windows. It's not especially old, dating from 1901 and in memory of a local woman called Mary Jalland.

The next village I plodded to  was Bassingham. I had never heard of it before planning this walk but it boasts a population of some 1,500 and rising. It is only eight miles from the city of Lincoln. Below - that is Cobblers Cottage in Bassingham. It appears that the topiary to the right is meant to suggest a boot. Well, that's my theory anyway.

On my walk, I came across this old agricultural shed beneath an autumnal oak tree. The image probably appealed to me as I am a sucker for old sheds and tumbledown farm buildings. I took a dozen pictures of this shed which of course I would never have done if there had been a roll of film in my camera.

From Bassingham I plodded through one or two muddy fields heading towards the former site of RAF Swinderby - an air force base dating back to 1940.  It closed in 1993 when the domestic part of the base became a new village called Witham St Hughs.

It was about 3.30 by the time I got there and  the cloak of night was already beginning to envelop the landscape as you can tell from the image shown below. It was time to get marching like a soldier as I still had two miles to go to get back to Norton Disney and my faithful petrol-driven steed - Sir Clint.

Disney

I was up quite early today ready for a sixty mile drive to a village in south Nottinghamshire called Norton Disney. I planned to make it the starting point for a long walk but what drew me there in the first place was the village's association with the American film magnate Walt Disney. He visited Norton Disney with members of his family back in 1949.

The d'Isneys were a noble family of French origin who grew comfortable and wealthy in the parish which is still dominated by St Peter's Church where physical signs of the d'Isneys past influence remain. Walt Disney visited the church and saw the relevant tombs and engraved brass work for himself.

Walt Disney in Nottinghamshire in 1949

Below - the tower of St Peter's Church seen across fields...

In a corner of the church I spotted this faded Mothers Union banner which in past times would have been aired on church parades. Such banners are a familiar sight in English churches...

This medieval knight in his stone tomb is I believe Sir William Disney and it dates from the thirteenth century.

It was at this exact spot in the high street that I parked Clint before setting off on a four hour walk. The day was ending by the time I returned. More about that walk tomorrow.

Records

British people of my generation grew up on music. It nourished us. We followed the ups and downs of the weekly hit parades quite religiously, keeping a close eye on albums as well as singles. We were born after World War II and witnessed a society that was transitioning from old-fashioned austerity and propriety into a modern world that had colour, greater flexibility and also a world in which the young had some clout. We could dream of a better future, hopefully devoid of war.

We had money to buy singles and if we saved enough we might even buy albums. Most of us can remember the very first records we bought. My first single was "Return to Sender" by Elvis Presley (December 1962) and amongst the next few were  "Scarlet O'Hara" by Jet Harris and Tony Meehan (April 1963), "Hurdy Gurdy Man" by Donovan Leitch (May 1968)  "Both Sides Now" by Judy Collins (October 1968) and "Albatross" by Fleetwood Mac (November 1968). I know there were others from '63 to '68 but these were the first singles that sprang to my mind after all these years.

My first album, which was jointly owned with my three brothers was "With The Beatles" (November 1963). We played it over and over and I swear that even today I know nearly all of the lyrics from that record by heart:-

There were bells on a hill

But I never heard them ringing

No, I never heard them at all

'Til there was you

There were birds in the sky

But I never saw them winging

No, I never saw them at all

'Til there was you

Later I had an evening  paper round and sometimes worked on local farms to earn a few bob so I had more money to spend on albums. I bought the first four albums by Fairport Convention - an English band that zigzagged between traditional folk music and the growing transatlantic singer-songwriter movement . I also bought several of Bob Dylan's early albums but my favourites were "John Wesley Harding" and "Nashville Skyline" and of course there was Leonard Cohen and his genius compatriot - Joni Mitchell:-

Richard got married to a figure skater

And he bought her a dish washer and a coffee percolator

And he drinks at home now most nights with the TV on

And all the house lights left up bright

Since my teenage years, music has never been able to touch me as it did back then. I didn't just listen to music, I absorbed it entirely. Ultimately, it was the lyrics that fed and sometimes overwhelmed me. Every word mattered, every pause. It became a kind of life raft that I gripped on to in order to survive and make it through to adulthood. Never before nor since.

"Unhalfbricking" by Fairport Convention

Authenticity

This afternoon, I ventured into the city centre by bus - specially to see the latest Ken Loach film - "The Old Oak" and I must say that I am very glad that I bothered. It may well be Loach's last film for he will be 88 years old next year. As a lifelong socialist, he has never sold out in his film-making - picking unusual stories that faithfully portray the working class with dignity and compassion. His characters are never caricatures.

"The Old Oak" is set in a deprived former coal mining village in the north east of England. Tensions occur between longstanding residents and Syrian refugees who have come to live amongst them after fleeing from warfare and internal strife in their home country.

At the heart of the drama are two people played by actors who were plucked from obscurity by Ken Lcach himself. There's T.J. Ballantyne, the landlord of  the rundown "Old Oak" pub, played by a former fire fighter called Dave Turner and a young woman from the Syrian community called Yara played by middle school drama teacher Ebla Mari.

It is through them that the two groups come together and in spite of  mutual poverty and suspicion, hope and togetherness are born. Ultimately, there's a bright upbeat message to this emotionally genuine film which contains many moving moments that I freely admit brought tears to my eyes.

The great Ken Loach

Termination

As some of you will recall, in one of my other online lives I am a keen contributor to the Geograph photo-mapping project. I have taken photographs in 14,803 different squares - the British Isles being divided into over three hundred thousand of these squares which measure 1km by 1km.

On the Geograph home page, they declare that  the project has attracted 13,815 different contributors since its inception in December 2005. However, behind that figure there lurks another story.

I joined Geograph in 2009 which was the year I retired from full time teaching here in Sheffield. That connection is clearly not uncommon. As I read it, I would say that a substantial proportion of Geograph contributors are retired folk with time on their hands to roam about with their cameras. Of course, when someone retires the next big thing in their life will be death and when a Geograph contributor dies then he or she will cease contributing images. Crazy I know - but it's true!

What you find is this. A contributor will have been uploading new pictures on a weekly basis  for years and then all of a sudden their contributions stop. Okay they may have got bored with the whole thing or maybe they've had a debilitating stroke or maybe someone stole their camera or something like that but mostly the endings are down to death.

I wonder what my very last picture will be? Here I am sharing the last images of three previously busy Geograph contributors. This was the last picture of Dr Neil Clifton who submitted 16,509 photos between December 2005 and November 15th 2018. It was taken on Fleece Street in  Rochdale, Lancashire that same month:-

John Allan made many wonderful contributions - mostly of Scottish scenery between December 2005 and May 2021. This was his very last picture of the east beach at North Berwick:-

Kate Jewell contributed 7871 images to Geograph from its inception to May 7th 2020 though her last picture of a canal lock near Cotgrave, Nottinghamshire was in fact taken in the summer of 2006:-

And if you are wondering about the picture at the top of this blogpost. It is of Elliottholme Lodge near Bakewell, Derbyshire. I snapped it just last Friday. And if I fail to wake up in the morning, following the example of my brother Paul, it is this image that will be my last gift to Geograph and the world. My swan song.  Thank you and good night. (Sound of hooting, cheers and foot stomping)