(His Dark Materials III)
. When I finished it I was moved to send more than the cost of the book to the Royal Marsden Cancer Charity.
There is an easy way to score points in a debate. It's lazy, almost corrupt, and easily contradicted, but in the emotion of the moment the argument will have got traction before the refutation has its trousers on. The particular gripe I have this afternoon is people arguing from the particular to the general. I was prompted to write this by the especially loathsome Robert Jenrick MP, who recently resigned as Immigration Minister because we aren't prosecuting our new laws on illegal immigration fast enough.
Now I don't think Jenrick is ignorant in what he is doing but let's start there. He argued that the presence of anti-semites on a peace-in-Palestine march demonstrated that the integration of immigrants and asylum seekers in this country had failed.
I will write this next bit slowly.
When violent crime is reducing people still get mugged.
When worldwide conflicts are at the lowest in modern history there are still wars.
Fatal road accidents are rare now but people still die in them.
It follows that, even though we had (it is currently massively under-resourced) a hugely successful system in the UK for welcoming and integrating immigrants and asylum seekers, some choose not to integrate. In extreme cases a very few dangerous people sneak through the system.
And what percentage of immigrants arrive in this country on small boats? To be a government priority it would have to be massive you'd have thought. But currently it is 22,000 out of a total of 1.2 million. Less than 2%.
If Jenrick doesn't know this he needs educating, fast.
If Jenrick does know this he is deliberately waving a blue rag at his ever-decreasing support.
Back in 2016, when we didn't think there would ever be a President Trump, I overheard a debate from Illinois which went something like this:
Republican: Of course people are very concerned about rising crime figures.
Democrat: Actually crime has been falling every year for the last eight during Obama's presidency.
Republican: Not in Chicago it isn't.
Democrat: (well briefed) Actually there has been a slight increase in violent crime recently in Chicago but the overall crime figures are still down.
Republican: People don't feel the figures are down.
And there you have it. The scandal of particularity incarnate. Some people don't feel those facts are true therefore they are false.
The great challenge of our time is that a political debate which used to be about hearts and minds is now almost entirely about hearts. It's not about what you know but how you feel. I hate that. I am not equipped to argue with people who need a change of heart but won't listen to reason. Robert Jenrick wants you to feel bad about immigration. I don't think he cares how he does it but I don't think he's ignorant. If you believe him you are having your heartstrings tugged in the wrong direction. Expect a twang sooner or later.
I wonder if you can get your imagination to a place where you feel so persecuted that you can imagine causing harm to the children of the persecutor?
I have been fortunate to have never come anywhere near this point but I have lived a very safe and sheltered life. I can disagree with the government without fear of arrest. My land borders are not disputed. The authorities take no interest in my clothes or sexual orientation. It has been my privilege not to be persecuted.
My formative teenage years had a backdrop of IRA atrocity. I was in Birmingham's Tavern in the Town the night before a bomb exploded there killing many. I've felt fortunate since then. The further away from it I get the closer it seems.
I found it hard to grasp a cause which dealt with the innocent like that.
Then, in 1988, I read, on an album sleeve of all places, this:
'On October 5 1968, a peaceful civil rights march in Derry (including parents and members of the band) was brutally attacked by the Royal Ulster Constabulary on the instructions of the Unionist-controlled Stormont Government. This was followed by the organised attack of a peaceful student march from Belfast to Derry by Unionist extremists setting a precedent of anti-nationalist violence in the subsequent months and culminating in the British Government's decision to draft in its troops to uphold 'law and order'.
'In the face of such belligerent intransigence, it was a small step from demanding civil rights to demanding a complete severance of ties from Britain and the establishment of a Socialist Irish State. The resurgence of the Irish Republican Army, largely dormant from the late '50s, heralded an age where constitutional politics went from sick-joke status to complete irrelevancy for the nationalist community.'
I make no claims about the factual accuracy of the piece. It simply became a personal tipping point. I understood the gut-led emotional reaction of anger of five young Catholic men utterly helpless in the face of aggression. Of course I am not defending the IRA. And the young men responded with music not violence
Psalm 137 was put on the lips of every young person of my generation in 1978 when Boney M charted with By the Rivers of Babylon. In fact the song was a cover, the original dating from 1970. Psalm 137 is a response to a taunt. People in exile in Babylon are asked by their captors to sing one of their Hebrew songs. They respond, I paraphrase, 'How can we sing the Lord's songs in a strange land?' Songs of the Temple won't work elsewhere.
At the end of Psalm 137 is a verse that Boney M chose not to sing. Again to paraphrase, 'Happy (is he) who takes your little ones and bashes their heads against the rocks.' Maybe, as Robert Alter says, it is a good job the captors did not understand the Hebrew in which the song-response to the taunt was delivered. Whether there was ever any intention of acting so, I doubt. But the song tells of a people angry enough to think it.
The religions of the Book have the highest possible care for the non-combatants during war-time. Hebrew Scriptures emphasise reasonable response (eye for eye, tooth for tooth). The New Testament suggests loving your enemy and praying for those who persecute you. The Quran specifically prohibits the killing of innocent people.
People often deride religions for causing wars. These days it is usually land-grabbing that causes wars and religion is sometimes enlisted for justification on either or both sides. The Hebrew Scriptures are a story of God-condoned land-grabbing and also, as Rabbi Jonathan Sacks said, 'a national literature of self-criticism.'
I lament for the innocent of Israel and Palestine. I don't understand how the national boundaries can be finalised without concessions. I do understand why a first reaction is to bang the heads of the enemy against the rocks. Trouble is, we've been having nothing but first reaction for two and a half thousand years. And the children get their heads smashed in.
I've lived in a village for a year now. I'm getting the hang of it. My sister and her husband were coming for coffee so I took a wander up to the Farm Shop to buy a better class of biscuit. Not quite as bad as my friend who cleans under the floorboards before his mother visits but you know, standards. I went on a circular ramble starting with the Inconvenience Store (it's not their chosen name but it is how they make customers feel if we interrupt their phone calls) to get a paper.
On the way I catch up with a guy I know who is taking his dog for a walk. They were going slowly so I had to work out how I was going to greet them as I overtook. This is the sort of thing that bothers people who have dreadful social skills.
I know where the dog walker lives and so we chatted about the weather (forecast rubbish; local knowledge good) for the fifty yards before his turn off. I then made my apologies and picked speed up again towards the shop. He didn't turn off.
At the shop I pulled the door which looks like a puller but you should push and getting it wrong makes a crash. I get it wrong about every third time. There is no helpful information written on the door. I said Good Morning to Mr Inconvenience, a man who seems to enjoy his customer's distress. I got my paper, spent twenty seconds working out how much washing liquid costs in a small village shop (extortionate, cheaper to drive to Waitrose) and then heard my dog-walking friend at the counter. I did what all social introverts would do and hid in the household products aisle until he had gone. Then I purchased my paper and asked:
Do you have any AA batteries?
(A pack of AA batteries is placed on the counter without word or gesture.)
I left the shop and adjusted my pace so as not to overtake dog-walker before he reached his road although I tried to get close enough to see what newspaper he had under his arm to aid future conversations. I always like saying 'You shouldn't believe everything you read in the Telegraph' to Telegraph readers who are invariably amazed I know what they read. Sadly, he had it rolled too tightly under his arm. It was broadsheet and not pink though. I think I know.
On to the Farm Shop for the biscuits. Also some mozzarella for tonight's supper dish. I quickly find the biscuits but the lovely K rescues me from running my eye down the cheese selection for a third time. She greets me by name and asks what I am looking for. This is how a convenience store should work.
I tell K that I haven't seen her for a while. Apparently she has changed her days to Tuesdays and Wednesdays so it must be Tuesday or Wednesday today. It's not something I need to know these days.
Turns out she had just taken all the mozzarella off the shelves because it was past its display by. I say I don't mind and she pops to get it. Turns out she, and the shop, would get in big trouble if a bolshy customer reported them for selling stock beyond its display by date so, even though she knows I am not bolshy (I'm not, don't listen to my friends), she insists on giving it to me for nothing. Maybe it makes up for all the times I have popped to the Farm Shop for some milk and come back with £20 worth of baked goods and cooked breakfast items. A man's gotta do.
I put some cash in the charity boxes to deal with my guilt. Also, I now see it is smoked mozzarella which is not what I want but by this time I cannot decline.
Later that evening I discover that smoked mozzarella risotto is delicious.
Village life. We have a system for reporting escaped livestock you know. You phone Tom.
Regulars will know that I am a huge fan of David McRaney's podcast called You Are Not So Smart. Each episode takes an area of life which many of us think we understand and then politely and gently explains why we are usually wrong. Sometimes it debunks, occasionally it demythologises and almost always it has a guest who knows what they are talking about. There have been 271 episodes so if you enjoy it I just cost you a lot of your future listening time. No apology. Find it, as they say, wherever you get your podcasts.
The latest episode is a rebroadcast of an episode called Survival of the Richest and the guest is Douglas Rushkoff. Rushkoff is a media scholar, cyberpunk journalist and professor of digital economics. You may not have heard of him but he gave us a number of much-used expressions such as viral media, digital native and social currency. His documentaries are on YouTube. His books are available.
A group of billionaires called him in and asked him to address them about the future. And, surprisingly for Rushkoff, the majority of the conversation was about their 'bunker mentality'. The question that bothered them was how they might maintain control of their security once their money no longer had value. They were preparing for the inevitability of an apocalypse over which they would have no control. And Rushkoff's answer did not cut it for them. It's a fairly obvious answer. If you are nice to your security team now they will find it harder to shoot you in the face when they take over.
But these guys (yes guys) were addicted to insulating themselves. Insulating themselves from the problems of the future created by the shit they had done to people by the way had earned their money today. The US slang for this sort of person is prepper. They treat life as a computer game in which there is a secret to survival to the next level but you gotta find it.
If you often find yourself asking how people can be so rich and so stupid you should listen.
In a bid to find quick relaxation from two busy jobs we have been to Malta/Gozo a lot over the last twenty years. It didn't have to be there but it became somewhere we knew. We didn't have to work too hard to chill, if you understand me. Since we retired, holiday is probably better described simply as time away.
Which also means that time away doesn't have to be relaxing any more. We both love reading books outdoors near water so that wasn't likely to be abandoned. And we like the warmth of the sun. But a little exploring might be OK, mightn't it?
Many people had spoken highly of Madeira over the years so we decided to check it out for ourselves and have just returned from a very pleasant visit.
Picture 1: tunnels and flyovers |
Some amazing engineering projects have made the journey from the airport to the major city, Funchal, just 30 minutes. See first image.
It's a tough job to find a bad meal in Madeira. The ones included as part of day trips are a bit ordinary but otherwise all was good. Most little restaurants do good things with fish, especially the scabbard fish (dorada) although they serve it with banana if you don't look out. A trip to the Funchal fish market (commended) early doors will show you how ugly the sea things that taste lovely are.
One little sea front restaurant was a decent walk along the coast for us but we did it twice. Doca do Cavacos at Sao Martinho was our favourite place. Grilled squid, sardines and tuna were delicious. Or you can risk grilled catch of the day on a skewer. Probably not worth asking for a dessert anywhere. They aren't good at them and are liberal with cheap chocolate sauce which devastated an almost pleasant tiramisu. Have a starter and you'll not need a pudding. Cheap café pizza and beer is easy and the local bread (bolo do caco) is good (watch out for garlic and spring onions you didn't order). If asked whether you want bread in a restaurant you are agreeing to pay for it when you say yes. It is rarely complimentary. Likewise water.
If you want a Michelin standard meal then book well before you set off. All were full. We didn't go to the famous old colonial establishments but the buzz was that they had lost their way a bit. Lá Ao Fundo in Funchal is a Mozambique/Portuguese fusion restaurant (we were told) which they achieved by offering some dishes from each country. Not that fused and a bit average, apart from the desserts which were actually great. My crème brûlée was blowtorched at the table, smoking out the neighbours.
Picture 2: maturing Madeira wine |
There are a couple of good wineries where you can be guided through the fortified process to produce Madeira. We went to Blandy's in Funchal where the smell of 700,000 litres of maturing wine was overwhelming (image 2). I'm out of picture in the corner, smelling the pillars soaked with wine vapour for 200 years. Blandy's Madeira is available at Waitrose.
Sugar cane juice rum is distilled on the island. I enjoyed a tasting very much and had a snooze on the journey back while my passengers screamed in terror (© Bob Monkhouse).
Picture 3: sculpture |
There are many nice gardens. The one at
Monte, accessed best by cable car from Funchal, is good. It currently includes an exhibition of Zimbabwean and Malawian sculpture (image 3). The Madeira National Botanical Gardens is better known but there are several better gardens in the UK, just not so far up a mountain. Best bits were the view points. We took a taxi up (Є12) and walked back down which made our calf muscles ready for lunch.
Maderia is hugely popular with walkers. Levadas are human-made water channels for irrigation. We did one short walk to a terrifying view/drop. The paths are alongside the water ditches. Farmers pay for the water by the hour and sluice gates are opened to release the mountain stream water. Vines, sugar, bananas and other crops are grown on flattened terraces
on the south facing hills.Picture 4: dockside art
At the top of one of the highest points, accessible by car, we were 'entertained' by Peruvian panpipers. The view was better than the vibe. Quiet would have been best.
A stroll round Funchal involves dodging the bar and café owners who want your custom. It is a buzzy cosmopolitan place. There is great street art on the doorways in east town but many of these become restaurants and the art vanishes behind the open doors. Visit early or late to enjoy. The dockside has a mural dedicated to every boat that has moored up (image 4).
Churches and cathedrals are ornate, colourful and often surrounded by beggars. The Jesuit church in Funchal is exceptionally fine. Nearby is a Museum of Sacred Art but we've seen a lot of that so we avoided. The next door café is cracking and does craft ale.
The Museum of Modern Art (MAMMA) to the west of Funchal has a massive 14 room installation on the theme of life's journey. 300 plus pieces are crammed together leaving the thought of whether we find life so over-stimulating we miss the big questions. Є10 for a provocative hour or so.
We were there a fortnight and had a great time. There were enough things we didn't do to want to revisit. I also read seven books.
I ask hesitantly but do you think we might be about to have a sensible conversation about immigration? The rhetoric about the subject has been appalling for a long time but I notice that today, with the figures for immigration just published and showing a record level, the Daily Mail led with a piece about 'attention-seeking eco-warriors' ruining the Chelsea Flower Show. I don't have any eco-warrior chums but if I did I'm sure they'd be grateful for the attention they sought.
In 2016 there were a couple of pro-Brexit arguments that turned my head. One was the economist Paul Mason arguing that Brexit would give an opportunity for a socialist, renationalising regime to rule unencumbered by EU economic pressure. See The Leftwing Case for Brexit (one day) in the Guardian, May 2016. We came close in 2017. Mason himself voted remain because he couldn't see this happening.
The other was Giles Fraser arguing that the EU made us more generous to refugees and asylum seekers from Europe than the rest of the world and this was unfair. He had further reasons for wanting to leave but he hoped that post-Brexit we would be generous with our borders over which we now had control. It seems as if this is now what has happened although the nature of our recent governments is that it has happened through their inadequately applying their own policies, not through welcome and hospitality to the alien and stranger. Which is, of course, why the immigration figures are not on page one of the Mail. We have '...a regime that neither displays compassion towards those seeking refuge nor gives voters confidence that the government has migration under control' (Andrew Rawnsley, The Observer 28/11/21).
And it is about this that I want to talk.
Surveys of the people of Britain end up with a clear majority for reducing immigration. Take the survey one issue at a time and we find people in favour of more immigration for NHS staff, fruit-pickers, genuine refugees and to buy the wonderful education product at our universities. The treasury keeps quiet because it loves increases in tax-paying immigrants at a time when there are more jobs than people. So our survey shows that people want to reduce immigration but few of the individual examples of it.
Incidentally this theory holds good for tax as well. People are in favour of reducing tax in general but increasing expenditure in particular (NHS, education, defence, pensions).
And so we have an interesting opportunity for a discussion. Neither of the major parties will currently sponsor it because they are both wooing the racist vote, without which they cannot form a majority. Racists don't want any immigration but if they have to have some they would rather it was coloured white. At the 'New Conservatives' conference last weekend Danny Kruger said the Prime Minister '...has the opportunity to win big if he leans into the realignment of politics that happened at the last election' (quoted in the iPaper 22/5/23). I think that's a call for policies to support white, working-class Brits, isn't it? If carried out there would be quite a risk that more reasonably-minded people would find someone else to vote for.
But good questions to be asking now are:
Virgin Records, Corporation Street, Birmingham was a very early branch of the chain. Hairy teenagers browsed racks of vinyl albums, occasionally being attracted by a sleeve and asking mates if anyone knew the music. There were four aircraft seats arranged back to back in the middle of the shop and thus four people could listen to music on headphones to sample it.
We once happened to find a set of headphones which had been deserted and enjoyed what was playing, so we enquired. It turned out to be Uriah Heap who were touring their latest album The Magician's Birthday. Coincidentally they were playing at Birmingham Town Hall that very night. We bought one copy of the record then went to the Town Hall and bought tickets. The gig was recorded and became part of a live album released later that year. I have a broken drumstick from the gig and me and my mates are part of the audience noise.
Walking back through the city centre with the distinctive black and white bag (and taking the same to school the following Monday) was a badge of honour. I love Shazam and Spotify but finding a copy of the unusual music you liked in those days had a much greater sense of hunting and killing.
Based on the audience last night I'd like to report that me and TCMT are in good nick for our age. For the most part bladders are weak, knees are knacked, hair is missing and weight has been added.
The gig, brilliantly written up from another venue on the tour by Peter Viney consisted of eight very talented musicians performing the album. Tubular Bells has indeed crossed over some line into the classical canon. As a largely instrumental work it can be performed and interpreted without the composer being present. I used to joke, to annoy classical snobs, that when they went to a performance they were going to see a Beethoven tribute band. I'll retire that now; its work is done. Anyway the unique difficulty of being a rock tribute act is that the vocal style of the lead singer is almost always distinctive in the best bands.
Part one of the show started with a segue of pieces of Oldfield's other works. Then two 'poppier' tunes for which he has writing credits. Moonlit Shadow, which we now associate with the Fast Show's Dave Angel and Family Man which I thought was a Hall and Oates song. Then a longer piece by keyboardist and musical director Robin Smith, which was delightful. Part two was Tubular Bells in full, the band demonstrating talent at more than one instrument and keyboard/samples filling in some gaps such as the introductions of the instruments to close what us oldies know as side 1.
I hadn't listened to the album in preparation and was amazed how I knew what was coming round every corner. Also, and this was unexpected, I found myself revisiting my life. This vinyl album, playing as I write, is now with me in its eighth home since I purchased it. It has raised kids, endured thirty seven years of ordained ministry and is now retired. It means something. A good night out.
This was a book I found in the wonderful Malvern Bookshop and, although I won't be reading it cover to cover, I will make a point of looking up every local place I visit. Why? Well a few examples will help but first let us see how it ended up in my house because it bears the evidence of having been a library book.
The proprietor told me that she often bought up collections so closed-down libraries were a key source. She was such a book buff that she kept behind the counter a book full of lovely sketch illustrations of dogs, 'I will only sell it to someone who promises not to remove the pictures and sell them separately', she told me. I don't know what the staining is on the inside cover page of my book and will not be finding out.
The copy I have is a 1950 reprint. I don't know if you can, offhand, think of anything that made a substantial difference to the appearance of Warwickshire towns and cities between 1936 and 1950 but the author could. Then chose to ignore it. Which, to be fair, is what makes the text zing. Every visit to a Luftwaffe drop-zone with this text reminds you of what the place used to look like.
Let us head to Coventry. Or maybe the wonders of the clean air and dust-free buildings turn your thoughts to the Med? Did I say buildings? What buildings? It wasn't desirable to note that they are now missing.But I am a child of Selly Oak. (My mother now pipes up from the grave reminding us, because she was a dreadful snob about this sort of thing, that I came from Selly Park, not Selly Oak.) Whatever, I have to say I failed to notice that I was in '...one of the wonderful intellectual centres of England.' I had to walk half a mile into Edgbaston to get to one of the best schools in the country. And Selly Oak library warrants an illustration, although it is not of the building I remember which was black (from coal dust, probably), austere and next to a railway bridge.
The discussion of Selly Oak Colleges goes on the suggest that there is a possibility of a drinking vessel used at the last Supper being there. This interesting argument is slightly skewered by the inscription of the words of Jesus at that event on the goblet. Indiana Jones not heading our way.My late Aunty Brenda was fond of saying 'I'm just going up the village' when she left the house to go to Selly Oak. It strikes me as a folk memory from a time before Birmingham came out and swallowed it, moving on in pursuit of Northfield, Rednal and Rubery
Although my favourite hard-to-visualise is the comparison of Sutton Coldfield's Parade with the famous Richmond in Surrey. Famous for being on-Thames I recall. Sutton what are you like? You misplaced the river.
I will be returning for further volumes.
But on our Sunday afternoon constitutional today we walked down to the river and the low vegetation at this time of year enabled us to get right down to the bank. And there we discovered (OK, noticed) that there is an underwater paved surface before the weir. You can see in the photo a track running down to it on the far bank by the blue car, which stopped helpfully. There is a corresponding track where I was standing. The ford is roughly defined by the area where the water ripples.
Once over it is another mile to the oldest part of the village where church, pub and houses named after former tradespeople are situated.
But yes, the story makes sense. Here be a place where an army could once have crossed a river. It is probably the case that the human-made ford created the weir rather than vice-versa. It is ironic that there now has to be a lock to enable craft to get past this point. It feels like a metaphor for water travel giving way to road travel. Since the Harvington by-pass has been by-passed (A46 Stratford to Evesham section) this story may well run and run.
Forgive me accessing my inner Tim Dowling but this happened.
We bought a sofa bed. Quick tip. If you want a sofa bed demonstration in a furniture department and there are no partners (oops, what a giveaway) around to help, try doing it yourself, badly, and pretty soon you will be surrounded by advice.
We managed to purchase a product that was in stock, so delivery was agreed for next Wednesday which meant today.
'They'll text you the day before to give you a two hour window.'
Yesterday that text arrived and the two hour window was 7.00 a.m. - 9.00 a.m. The text also said they would message again when half an hour away.
'What shall we do?' asked Mrs Dowling (see how it works).
Now I know what the answer to this question is. If it had happened that I had been home alone to receive the delivery I would have set an alarm for 6.45 a.m., popped on some clothes, made a coffee and had a look at my phone to see if they had been in touch yet.
However anticipating that, as ever, there are two ways to answer a question such as this, my wife's way and the wrong way, I provided this answer aloud:
'You set your alarm and then bring me a coffee in bed.'
She looked a little sad for no reason but no more was said.
This morning I heard Mrs D get out of bed (but not her alarm) and a short time later a cup of coffee was indeed placed at my bedside. I popped to the loo (noting that the heating had not yet come on), came back to bed, had a sip of coffee and checked the time. 6.16 a.m. This, we note, is 14 minutes earlier than the earliest possible half hour notice text. I went back to snoozing.
At (I calculate) 6.31 a.m. a voice on the landing disturbs my slumber to say the delivery will be at 7.00 a.m. I go back to snoozing.
At 6.45 a.m. I find myself fully awake so turn on the light and grab something to read while finishing my lukewarm coffee.
I am collecting outrageous quotes from HTSI (The Financial Times' weekly guide to spending lots of money) and find this, 'If you want to achieve your dreams you have to hustle.' Suppose your dream is to be nice to as many people as possible?
At 6.59 a.m. I hear a van arrive in our quiet cul-de-sac. I get out of bed and put on some joggers and a t-shirt, insert my teeth and smooth my hair over.
At 7.00 a.m. there is a knock on the door. I wander downstairs and answer it (there is no sign of Mrs D). A man with a large box asks where I want it?
'Would upstairs be OK?' I ask.
'Sure', he says, far too cheerily for 7.01 a.m.
Mrs D joins us during the second box (of three). She whispers that she was in the loo (at precisely, precisely mind, the time they said they would be here).
I am now writing an amusing anecdote having wished five friends a happy birthday, prepared and eaten my breakfast, sorted out the washing, and read HTSI, Feast and the Church Times. I've even had an internal dialogue about Oxford commas. Not happy with the result.
I have never heard the sound of a sofa bed being assembled upstairs but I'm taking a wild guess. I am pressing P for publish whilst still within the two hour delivery slot.
If you were creating four teams to play a game I wonder what you would be likely to call them. Maybe 1,2,3 and 4 or A,B,C and D.
Where I now live, the village of Harvington in Worcestershire, the church benefice consists of St James, Harvington and three others. It is called 'The Lenches Benefice'; because two of the other parishes have the word 'Lench' in their name and there are five Lench villages altogether. The fourth parish is Abbots Norton
Now you might expect that these Lench villages communities would consist of North, South, East and West Lench, or Upper and Lower Lench. Hold those expectations lightly. This part of the world thinks nothing of calling a village Slaughter or Piddle. So what are the Lenches called?
In no particular order they are Church Lench, Ab Lench, Rous Lench, Atch Lench and Sherrif's Lench. Let us visit this nomenclature and try to find sense.
Firstly the word lench itself. It is mainly agreed by historians that the word derives from an old English word (linch) for a ridge of high ground. We do indeed live in the Vale of Evesham where even relatively modest high ground appears prominent.
Church Lench was named because it was the first of the small settlements to have a church. Except there was a church at Rous Lench dating from roughly the same time. During some of the 13th century it was known as Lench Roculf after the manorial family (there is still a Manor House but it isn't that old). It is in the Domesday Book as Circelenz.
Ab Lench (for a while called Hob's Lench) was probably named after an individual, maybe an Aebba. In an effort to take the village upmarket it was renamed Abbots Lench in the 19th century and was thus named in the 1911 census. This didn't catch on with anyone except the Post Office who insist on its continued use even though they have changed their own name since and expect us to comply.
Atch Lench could refer to an individual called Aecci, or it might just mean 'east'. It is the most easterly of the settlements.
Rous Lench is named after a family who were Lords of that manor for 500 years. It had been called both Lench Randolph and Bishop's Lench. You will see other spellings such as Rouse and Rowse.
Sherrif's Lench was held by the Sherrif of Worcestershire.
So, if your four teams are called 1, B, East and Green the people of the Lenches will like your style and welcome you.
Now as to Harvington. I think we know that a ton is a farm or small settlement. The suggestion most commentators agree upon is that the Har bit is from 'here', an old word for army. And the Ving is a bastardised form of 'Ford'. So Herefordton became Harvington - a place where the army could cross the Avon (a word which means river so the river Avon is the river River). The Avon is not far from the south part of the village although walkers will need to find a safe place to cross the A46. Apparently the ford is still there but the river is now deeper, faster-flowing and has no road leading to or from. Not advised.
This has been fun so I'll do more as and when.
Hey, Christians,
How do you feel when someone urges you to be more passionate for your faith? Maybe you are already pretty much on fire and feel 'This is not about me'. Perhaps you are nowhere near passionate yet and need an intermediate step before your funeral will be full of eulogies describing you as such. Or possibly you (and this is me, OK?) don't particularly do passion in that way. You live your life with the passionometer slightly below central leaving you content in all things but rarely angry or enthusiastic. You don't tweet about your excitement before a gig or curtain up. You have never, knowingly, been stoked.
And how do you feel when someone tells you that the problem with men today is that we no longer know how to lead. They mean the family headship thing and 'they' is almost always a heterosexual man who goes to the gym but not to do CV, has at least five children and can hold his breath longer than you while his beautiful wife looks after the children.
And how do you feel when a leader describes their priorities in life as if they were on a things to do list? You know:
1. God
2. Family
3. Church
Having the word 'God' on that list confuses me. It is a category error. Why isn't 'breathing' on the list? Surely it's a priority, unless you're holding your breath for now.
This is stick preaching more than carrot. Or, if it is carrot it is from the Malcom Tucker playbook, who will use the stick to shove the carrot up his victim's arse.
I feel the 'this doesn't apply to me' thing so much in the face of evangelical preaching these days. Even in the midst of doubt I am not discontent. I am accepting of the fact that it is me who is doubting - dubitatio ergo sum - which proves my existence and would please Descartes if not the Alpha Course.
No. In the routine, grass roots of life and faith I am content. It is OK to stumble through the long grass finding occasional paths and much local beauty. Not everything is a competition on doctrinal precision. Not everything is divisible into man task and woman task. Quiet inner peace is not a passion fail.
Occasionally my church commitments have meant disappointing my family. They are nice people. They understand. They certainly do not want to be on any list that includes my work tasks.