The ghost that got lost

In my considerably younger days I ran a scout troop.  One of the things I most enjoyed was coming up with imaginative and novel ideas for wide games.

At this point it might be as well for me to explain that a wide game is one played out of doors over a larger area than your usual football pitch.  Indeed, the event could take the form of a hile and stretch out over several miles.  I and a couple of other local scouters became very well known as a team organising these events that for several years we were called on to run them for the county.  But to get back to this particular one.

I had found a great site for our summer camp that year.  It was in the middle of the Forest of Dean, right on the bank of the River Wye down on the border of England and Wales.  The boys were able to enjoy canoeing, rock climbing and hiking along with the usual in-camp activities. One evening, as we were sitting round the camp fire, I told the troop that I had found an old copy of The Times lining a drawer at work.  This dated from a century before and, coincidentally, mentioned the Ghost of Cinderford which was said to appear in the Forest of Dean once every hundred years.  Of course, that was the night on which the ghost was due to appear.  What was more, the ghost was said to appear in the Forest on the other side of the river not very far from our camp site.  I said no more and sent the boys to bed in the normal way.  BUT...

At about half past eleven I woke them up again and told them to get dressed.  They were going on a ghost hunt. I explained that the ghost would be laid to rest if a group of people formed a ring around it, holding hands.  I sent them downstream to cross the river by a footbridge about half a mile away while the three adult leaders stayed in camp in full view.

After the boys had gone, one of the other scouters took a sheet and crossed the river by canoe.  Unfortunately, neither the boys found the ghost nor the ghost found the boys, who eventually trooped back into camp rather dispirited.  They got back before the ghost and the evening was saved when he slipped and fell into the river while disembarking from the canoe, much to the amusement of the boys.

Fortunately, most of my wide games were more successful than that one - but that's the one that sticks in the memory!

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OK, so it's pushing it a bit to call this a picture of a bridge, but there is a bit of Westminster Bridge showing.  This was taken from the London Eye.

The beat of the drum

 One of the annual highlights of my younger adulthood and a very occasional, very special treat as a child was the Royal Tournament.  This was staged every year at Earls Court in London and was a magnificent entertainment put on by all arms of the services.  There would be the excitement of the musical drive of the King's Troop, Royal Horse Artillery, or of the White Helmets (I think that was what they called themselves) of the Royal Signals.  We would yell ourselves hoarse encouraging the field gun crews of the Royal Navy as they raced.  And the massed bands always provided a stirring finale.  Sadly, the tournament is no more, dropped for reasons I don't recall.

However, we do still have the Edinburgh Royal Military Tattoo.  This is staged in conjunction with the Edinburgh Festival, Britain's biggest arts festival, and while concentrating on themes Scottish (such as the pipes and drums) always has other "acts", many from overseas.  The Tattoo is televised each year, albeit in severely truncated form, and as we were unable to watch on the day of the broadcast, I recorded it.  We have only just got round to watching it and I, along with the live audience, was especially taken with one of the overseas acts, the Top Secret Drum Corps from Basel, Switzerland.  Some of their display has been uplaoded to YouTube so you can see what you think.

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We stay on the River Adur for today's picture but move downstream a little under a mile.  Here we see the footbridge linking Shoreham Beach with Shoreham-by-Sea.  The vehicular route from this spot to the opposite shore is well over a mile.  Not a beautiful bridge by any means, but very practical.

Tempus fugit

Doesn't it just?  To think that today is the 11th anniversary of those dreadful events in New York.  And back in July we had the 7th anniversary of the London bombings.  Next month it will be 38 years since the Provisional IRA blew up the Grand Hotel here in Brighton.

Why can't people just live and let live?

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I have failed to mention the numerous offers of help we have received over the last couple of months, help with transport, help with shopping.  But the palm d'or must surely go to Doug whose persistence eventually wore me down.  On Monday last week he turned up with his lawn mower.  First, he cleared the garden of all the dog's mess, I having not managed to get down to do it.  Then he mowed the lawns not once but twice on different settings.  What's more, he came back on Tuesday and mowed them again!  And he is insisting on doing the job again today.  That's what I describe as being above and beyond the call of duty - or even friendship.

David will be coming with Doug and the three of us will be trying to take further our plans for the Lions Christmas service activities.  We are well on the way with plans for 60 elderly people to have afternoon tea at a seafront hotel.  One hotel has offered us the exclusive use of their bar area for the afternoon along with tea at a very good price.  We have booked an entertainer but what we do need to finalise is the transport - and the guests!  Oh, and some small gifts for them to take away.

The other activity is to take place on Christmas morning when we plan to deliver small gifts to people who will otherwise see nobody that day.  We have managed to find a source of names and addresses but we do need commitment from Lions so that we can plan just how many people we can visit as each Lion will be able to cover only three or four.  And, of course, we need to think about the gifts.

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I have pretty well exhausted my supply of bridge pictures from the continent so we are now back in England.  Just a few miles along the coast the River Adur reaches the sea at Shoreham.  Until not so very many years ago, the main road along the south coast crossed the river on this rather rickety bridge, owned by the railway company which charged a small toll to cross.

So that was summer

"They" were right about the weather.  Yesterday lived up to its promise and the weather was glorious with temperatures here in Brighton as high as 27.  I had to go part-way into town to take the spare key to my daughter-in-law who had locked herself out and the traffic was horrendous - cars crawling nose-to-tail towards the beach.  Goodness knows where - or even if - they managed to park.  Some must have done as the late evening television news had a piece about the Trades Union Congress being held in Brighton and they showed shots of the beach.  It was so crowded you could not have squeezed another pebble between the sunbathers.  The sea looked a beautiful turquoise as well.  The crowds would have been further boosted by an enormous motorcycle and scooter rally from London to Brighton - thousands of bikes came streaming down the A23 and we could hear them from our lounge almost a mile away.

Then about four o'clock I noticed clouds building and the wind picking up.  Summer was over.  Today we have a stiffish breeze, clouds, there has been rain and there is continual dampness in the air.  Quite miserable.

But what a summer it has been.  First we - by which I mean almost everybody in the country - celebrated the Queen's Diamond Jubilee, then there were the most spectacular Olympics ever and just last night saw the closing ceremony of what are being called the greatest Paralympic Games.  We are told that these events have introduced a feel-good factor not often seen in this country.  Maybe I'm just an old curmudgeon but I have not noticed any difference in the way people have been behaving round these parts.  But it was all great while it lasted.

Which is pretty much what I said about ast night's dinner.  And I mean it: it was thoroughly enjoyable.  A delicious roast gammon cooked with a honey and mustard glaze and accompanied by roast potatoes (of course), carrots and runner beans donated by a fellow Lion, washed down by a glass and a half of Ventoux.  This is a fairly light red wine we discovered by chance and only costs about 3 euros a bottle.  Dessert was home-made profiteroles.

It always seems a little odd when I eat profiteroles in France that they are filled with ice cream instead of the cream which is used in England.  But then, the French don't use cream in quite the same way as we English.  Confectioner's cream in their patisserie but only Chantilly squirted from a bottle on desserts.  I have heard it said that the original French name for profiteroles was nuns' farts but I can't swear to the truth of that.  Anyway, on that high note we will move on to today's picture.

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The most famous bridge in Venice is, of course, the Rialto and today, our last in this city, we have a picture of the Rialto.  But not the standard shot taken from a boat in the middle of the Grand Canal.  Any fool can do that.  My picture shows a Venetian ambulance by the Rialto.

The last rose of summer

Well, maybe not the last rose but those nice people who tell us what the weather is to be have said that this will be the last weekend of summer weather this side of the New Year.  Time alone will tell if they have got it right this time but so far, so good.  Yesterday was a glorious day with wall-to-wall sun and temperatures up to 24 that I noticed.  Today is shaping up very well so far.  Mind you, on the last couple of days I have noticed when letting the dog out last thing at night that there has been a distinctly autumnal feeling/smell.

Talking of autumn, I started picking our raspberries on Thursday and picked more yesterday.  The result: a large bowl of fresh raspberries and cream for dessert yesterday.  (Perhaps I should explain that mine are autumn fruiting raspberries.)  And very nice they were, too.  I do need my food at present as I think I need to put on weight.  I noticed this week that I seem to have lost quite a lot: my trousers are very much looser round the waist - indeed, they now rest on my hip bones - and my hips have become quite scrawny.  The real give-away is my watch.  This used to sit snuggly on my wrist but now slides up and down my arm just like a bracelet.  Look:

I rather hope that the steroids I have been taking the last few days might help build me up again.  I saw the consultant on Thursday and he prescribed them.  I did wonder just a little at the start of the consultation.  He is a rheutologist and having watched me hobble along the corridor and into the consulting room ( and remember, he had a letter from my GP as well) he asked, "What seems to be the trouble?"

After I had explained the situation and he had taken copious notes, he asked me to strip and lie on the couch.to

"Hmm," he said.  "Your wrists are swollen, [I didn't think they were but my hands were.] so are your feet and your knees."

He listened to my chest and tested my reflexes before coming to a decision.

"You have rheumatoid arthritis," he told me.  I managed to refrain from replying that my GP had confirmed that and it had been diagnosed more than 25 years earlier.

Anyway, he hummed and hahed a bit more and asked more questions. He wanted some blood tests but then realised that they had been done recently and he was able to phone the hospital and get the results.

I came away with a prescription for steroids - what seems to me to be a fairly high dose - which I am to take for a month.  Another consultation in two weeks will decide if I can reduce the steroid dose and start on another drug to control the arthritis (and possibly damage my liver but I can live with that as I will still be allowed a glass of wine with my dinner).  Meanwhile, I have been taking the steroids for just three days and can already see and feel a staggering improvement (pun intended).

If I had  to choose a theme song for today, it would be:



Hey look me over, lend me an ear, Fresh out of clover, mortgaged up to here, Don't pass the plate folks, Don't pass the cup, I figure whenever you're down and out, The only way is up.. And I'll be up like a rose bud, High on the vine, Don't thumb your nose folks, Take a tip from mine, I'm a little bit short of the elbow room, But let me get me some, And look out world, here I come...

~~~~~

And so to our bridge pic. This is the amazing Accademia bridge over the Grand Canal in Venice.

Words to inspire (5)

There are two speeches that have been jostling for top spot in this short series.  In fact, they very nearly made numbers one and two but they are both by the same person and, even though some say he was the greatest orator of the 20th century, I didn't want to have more than one speech from any one person.  The person in question is Winston Churchill.  The speech of his which has not made the cut is the one he made immediately after being appointed Prime Minister in May 1940 - his "blood, toil, tears and sweat" speech.  However, the most inspiring speech ever made is, in my opinion, his address to Parliament in June that year, after the shambles of the retreat from Dunkirk.  Whenever I hear or read these words the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

The British Empire and the French Republic, linked together in their cause and in their need, will defend to the death their native soil, aiding each other like good comrades to the utmost of their strength. Even though large tracts of Europe and many old and famous States have fallen or may fall into the grip of the Gestapo and all the odious apparatus of Nazi rule, we shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end, we shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be.

We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender, and even if, which I do not for a moment believe, this island or a large part of it were subjugated and starving, then our Empire beyond the seas, armed and guarded by the British fleet, would carry on the struggle, until, in God's good time, the New World, with all its power and might, steps forth to the rescue and the liberation of the old.

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Still in Venice, and another of those back-street canal bridges.  I couldn't say what was going on, but the Venetians do seem to enjoy dressing up.

Words to inspire (4)

March 2003.  800 men of the 1st Batallion of the Royal Irish Regiment were preparing to advance into Iraq and their commanding officer, Colonel Tim Collins, decided he should say a few words.  The Daily Mail's Sarah Oliver reported:

"He delivered the speech completely off the cuff. He said to me, 'I'll have to say a few words to the men to explain to them why they should take their anthrax drugs and malaria pills, or they just won't bother'. It just grew and grew into something magnificent - it made you realise the true meaning of the term 'rallying cry'."

Fortunately, Oliver copied the speech in shorthand, otherwise there would be no record of Colonel Collins' words:

We go to liberate, not to conquer.  We will not fly our flags in their country.  We are entering Iraq to free a people and the only flag which will be flown in that ancient land is their own.
Show respect for them.

There are some who are alive at this moment who will not be alive shortly.  Those who do not wish to go on that journey, we will not send.  As for the others, I expect you to rock their world.  Wipe them out if that is what they choose.  But if you are ferocious in battle remember to be magnanimous in victory.

Iraq is steeped in history.  It is the site of the Garden of Eden, of the Great Flood and the birthplace of Abraham.  Tread lightly there.  You will see things that no man could pay to see -- and you will have to go a long way to find a more decent, generous and upright people than the Iraqis.  You will be embarrassed by their hospitality even though they have nothing.

Don't treat them as refugees for they are in their own country.  Their children will be poor, in years to come they will know that the light of liberation in their lives was brought by you.
If there are casualties of war then remember that when they woke up and got dressed in the morning they did not plan to die this day.  Allow them dignity in death.  Bury them properly and mark their graves.

It is my foremost intention to bring every single one of you out alive.  But there may be people among us who will not see the end of this campaign.  We will put them in their sleeping bags and send them back.  There will be no time for sorrow.

The enemy should be in no doubt that we are his nemesis and that we are bringing about his rightful destruction.  There are many regional commanders who have stains on their souls and they are stoking the fires of hell for Saddam.  He and his forces will be destroyed by this coalition for what they have done.  As they die they will know their deeds have brought them to this place. Show them no pity.

It is a big step to take another human life.  It is not to be done lightly.  I know of men who have taken life needlessly in other conflicts.  I can assure you they live with the mark of Cain upon them.

If someone surrenders to you then remember they have that right in international law and ensure that one day they go home to their family.  The ones who wish to fight, well, we aim to please.
If you harm the regiment or its history by over-enthusiasm in killing or in cowardice, know it is your family who will suffer.  You will be shunned unless your conduct is of the highest -- for your deeds will follow you down through history.  We will bring shame on neither our uniform or our nation.
(On Saddam's chemical and biological weapons.)
It is not a question of if, it's a question of when.  We know he has already devolved the decision to lower commanders, and that means he has already taken the decision himself.
If we survive the first strike we will survive the attack.

As for ourselves, let's bring everyone home and leave Iraq a better place for us having been there.

Our business now is north.

~~~~~

As I said, there are plenty of bridges in Venice, some grand, some less so.  This is definitely one of the "less so".  See the "No Entry" sign?  Somehow one doesn't expect road signs on canals!