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ST CUTHBERT - THE STORY CONTINUES

In the last blogposting I bewailed (lovely word!) the fact that the truly saintly and gentle St Cuthbert had no statue in the north-east (without adding that the vicious Lord Londonderry has).  Well, if you’ve been keeping up to speed, you’ll know that Brenda added a comment to the blog that included a link to a statue on Holy Island that turned out to be of St Aidan.

Not to be outdone, the amazing Brenda has now posted a new link in the Comments box - and this time, it really is a statue of St Cuthbert.

To be honest, I’d forgotten about it, even though I’ve seen it several times.  Looking at the picture of it, I can see exactly why I’ve forgotten about it.

Let’s face it - it doesn’t do our patron saint many favours, does it?  Compared to the simple grace of the statue of St Aidan, it looks clumsy, contrived and almost pedestrian.  At least, it does to me.

I appreciate that beauty is in the eye of the beholder - but so is ungainliness and ugliness.  For me, Mr Lawson’s sculpture says little or nothing about Cuthbert’s life and humble spirituality; it doesn’t evoke the feelings of affection and pride in him that I want to feel.

I just don’t like it - which is a shame when it represents a person of whom I am very, very fond.  I would much rather, in this case, that ‘modern art’ gave way to a more traditional image of St Cuthbert.  I reckon I would be moved very deeply - and feel much more that he ‘belonged’ in his place - if he was portrayed with a donkey (a ‘cuddy’) and a duck.

This whole question of statues and sculptures has - thanks to Brenda - got me thinking, though.

My time on the Blue Bus showed me that there is a surprisingly large number of notables of one kind or another who do not seem to have been immortalised by statues in their native north-east.  Before I drafted this blog, I scribbled some names down…

* Robert Smith Surtees, from County Durham - the immensely popular author of the Jorrocks stories in the 1830s and 1840s.

* William Mills, from Sunderland - who invented the ‘Mills bomb’ (a type of hand grenade) in 1913.  I’m aware that memorialising a ‘man of war’ may not be to everyone’s taste - but Mr Mills’ invention certainly helped to win World War One; and Sunderland needs as many memorials as it can get.

* Emily Davidson, the suffragette killed by the King’s horse at the Derby in 1913, should also have a statue, preferably in her native Morpeth.

* William van Mildert, the last Prince Bishop of Durham, whose name and philanthropy is scandalously little-known.  It was through him that the palatinate of Durham was finally abolished in 1836 so that the University of Durham could be founded.  His statue in the Cathedral should be moved to the centre of Palace Green at once.  Or better - to the Market Place to replace the appalling Lord Londonderry.

* Tommy Armstrong, who wrote the words and music to some of the north-east’s best-loved songs:  Wor Nannie’s a Mazor, Durham Jail, Hedgehog Pie, Oakey’s Keeker, Trimdon Grange Explosion, Stanley Market, and many more.  It would be splendid to have a mighty statue of this humble man atop one of the heights around Tantobie, where he lived and died.

* Thomas Hepburn, the extraordinary social reformer from Pelton - yet another local man whose memory is shamefully neglected.

And that’s just for starters.  I’m sure you can think of others.  Any votes for Neil Tennant?  Jonathan Ive?

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LE BLOG À PÉPÈRE
You can see some photos of a visit Serge and I made to Tynemouth Market while he was here recently on his blogposting 192.

It was a great day; thanks to everyone who greeted us so warmly - and practised their atrocious French!

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CONTACT ME
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438

Serge has been staying with me here in Newcastle over the last ten days or so, which is why things have been so quiet on the blog front recently.  Sadly, he’s now back in  Beaujolais and I need a distraction from the slough of self-pity into which I drift at times like these.  A new posting should go some way to doing the trick, I reckon.

As a matter of fact, I’ve discovered that a couple of important dates have gone unremarked on the blog while my thoughts have been elsewhere.  One of them is St Cuthbert’s Day - of which more later - and the other is…

Carlin Sunday
...which falls two Sundays before Easter Day. 

I can remember my Nana making references to Carlin Sunday and it’s mentioned in a playground rhyme, which I can also  just about remember - Tid, Mid, Miseray, Carlin, Palm and Paste-Egg Day.  These are shortcut mnemonics to the six Sundays leading to Easter.  Tid, Mid and Miseray are named from the beginnings of psalms and hymns traditional in services on that day; the Te Deum, Mi Deus and Misereri mei.

'Carlin', though, has nothing to do with psalms - or even with Christianity.  As I’m sure everyone reading this blog knows perfectly well, carlins are small, nutty peas, sometimes called ‘black peas’ or ‘pigeon peas’ and steeping them, boiling them up, drenching them in vinegar and wolfing them down at roughly this time of year is a tradition, specially here in the north-east, that goes back many centuries and may well pre-date the onset of Christianity here.

Interestingly, they play a (perhaps apocryphal) part in local history, too.  It’s said that a Dutch shipload of carlins saved Newcastle from starvation when the city was besieged during the Civil War.  Which ought to have earned it a place on Newcastle’s coat of arms at the very least, if you ask me.

I doubt very much if anyone observes Carlin Sunday now, though.  In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever eaten them, on Carlin Sunday or on any other day.

You never know, though…

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The other important date I missed while my eye wasn’t on the ball - as Hildie pointed out in the Comments box of the last blog - was...
St Cuthbert’s Day
...which falls on March 20.

I’ve always liked this date as the feast day for our local patron saint.  It’s the last day of Winter - the Spring equinox.  Whatever the weather, the crocuses and snowdrops are out, daffodils are budding and, from St Cuthbert’s Day onwards, the days are finally longer than the nights.  Spring has arrived.

And, rather than being associated with dragons, fire, martyrdom and war, St Cuthbert is commemorated by his local descendants in the affectionate naming of donkeys and ponies (which were known as ‘cuddies’ when I was young) and eider ducks - still referred to as ‘cuddy ducks’ in these parts.

Above is a photo of his lovely tomb in Durham Cathedral - but why isn’t there a statue of him somewhere?

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CONTACT ME
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437
In this blogposting…
* AGM XL
* Keith and Linda:  Life’s Lessons
* Kev
Don’t say I didn’t warn you…


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AGM XL
The weather was insidiously treacherous on Thursday; it was much, much colder than it looked.  Nevertheless, and true to our spirit and our motto, I braved the idle winds and arrived at Thornton’s not really expecting to see anybody there.

This time round, I was graced with the company of Keith (of Keith and Linda fame), Neville and Hildie - although, intriguingly, not all at the same time.

First to arrive - even before me - was Keith.  It was good to see him and to know that, despite an extraordinarily difficult year, he’s kept going strong.  It’s impossible to imagine how hard the things he’s been through have been and I admire him very much indeed.

Keep it up, Keith.  And happy retirement come August!

And give the Company’s hugs to Linda, who had to work and couldn’t attend.

It’s always good to see Neville, too.  He’s already retired, of course, and looks far too happy for his own good.  The man’s feet never seem to touch the ground!  The embodiment, you might say, of truckshunterdom (being the only one of us who professionally deserves the name).

After Neville left, Hildie arrived - although I don’t think it was cause and effect.  Both Hildie and I have only ever missed one AGM - before Christmas, when we got snowed in - and now both of us are hypersensitive about missing another.  So the impeccable and indispensable Hildie attended, even though she’d already done a morning’s work.

A small but loyal AGM!

It’s a shame, of course, that more truckshunters can’t attend.  But the AGMs will continue - even if I end up by being the only one there.

But please keep in touch, one way or the other.  Leave a Comment on the blog or send me (or any other truckshunter) an email.  It’s always good to hear how you are.

And a very big Thankyou to Keith, Neville and Hildie for braving the deceptively cold weather last Thursday.

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KEITH AND LINDA:  LIFE’S LESSONS
Keith brought with him a whole wodge of aphorisms, axioms, sayings and proverbs for our delectation.  Here are some that caught my eye…

* Sex is like air - it’s not important unless you aren’t getting any.
* No-one is listening until you fart.
* Don’t worry - it’s only kinky the first time.
* We are born naked, wet and hungry and get our bums slapped - then things just get worse.
And some more….

* A mummy covered in chocolate and nuts has been discovered in Egypt.  Archaeologists think it may Pharaoh Roche…
* Two Indian junkies accidentally snorted curry powder instead of cocaine.  One’s in a korma, the other has a dodgy tikka….
And some awful puns…

* I thought I saw an eye-doctor on an Alaskan Island but it was only an optical Aleutian.
* No matter how much you push the envelope, it’ll still be stationery.
* Two hats were hanging on a hat-rack.  One says to the other ‘You stay here, I’ll go on ahead…’
* I wondered why the cricket ball kept getting bigger.  Then it hit me...
* A Buddhist refuses anaesthesia during a tooth extraction.  His aim?  Transcend dental medication…


If you have any more like these, please keep them to yourself…..

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KEV
Today - Sunday - is Kev’s birthday, which he shares with Tsar Alexander III, Chuck Norris, Sharon Stone, Prince Edward and Osama bin Laden.

So let’s hear it - all together now…

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KEV!!!!!

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CONTACT ME
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436
PLEASE don't forget - FEED THE BIRDS
(This is a bullfinch; isn't he handsome!)
In this blogposting…
* AGM XL
* Old Thoughts from an Old Person
* Brenda’s Jokes
You have been warned….


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AGM XL
Our next AGM will take place at 1100 this upcoming Thursday, 7 March.  I’ll be waiting in the inevitable sunshine outside Thornton’s at the monument end of Grainger Street.

This AGM’s a bit special.  Hildie won’t be able to join us until a little later so, if you want to arrive later too, nowt’s the bother.  I’ll be hanging around until she arrives, even if nobody else does!

So...see you at 1100 or thereabouts on Thursday.

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OLD THOUGHTS FROM AN OLD PERSON
There are quite a few viral emails doing the rounds about the hazards, pitfalls and ironies of growing old; to be honest, most of them are fairly predictable and almost not even worth ignoring.

This one caught my eye, though.  I’ve received it twice, which says a lot about what the people who email me think of me...

As I was lying in bed pondering the problems of the world, I rapidly realised that I don't really give a damn. It's the tortoise life for me.

After all
*  If walking is good for your health, the postman would be immortal.
*  A whale swims all day, eats only fish, drinks only water - and is very fat.
*  A rabbit runs and hops - and only lives for 15 years.
*  A tortoise doesn't run - or anything else, really - yet it lives for 450 years.
And you tell me to exercise??? I don't think so.
 

I'm retired. Go around me.

God grant me the senility to forget the people I never liked, the good fortune to run into the people I
do like - and the eyesight to tell the difference.

Now that I'm older here's what I've discovered:
*  I started out with nothing, and I still have most of it.
*  My wild oats have turned into prunes and all-bran.
*  Now that I’ve finally got my head together, my body is falling apart.
*  Funny, I don't remember being absent-minded.
*  Funny, I don't remember being absent-minded.
*  If all is not lost, where is it?
*  It is much easier to get older than it is to get wiser.
*  It's hard to make a comeback when you haven't been anywhere.
*  If God wanted me to touch my toes, he'd have put them on my knees.
*  These days, I spend a lot of time thinking about the hereafter. . .I go somewhere to get something, and then wonder what I'm hereafter.
*  Funny, I don't remember being absent-minded.

And remember...

The only difference between a rut and a grave is the depth.

That last thought could easily serve as one of our Honourable Company’s many mottoes.

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BRENDA’S JOKES
Here are a couple of jokes that Brenda sent me.  So - don’t blame me!

ONE
A lawyer boarded a flight in Perth with a box of frozen crabs and asked a blonde stewardess to take care of them for him.

She took the box and promised to put it in the crew's refrigerator.

He advised her that he was holding her personally responsible for them staying frozen, mentioning in a very haughty manner that he was a lawyer, and proceeded to rant at her about what would happen if she let them thaw out.

Needless to say, she was annoyed by his behaviour.

Shortly before landing in Sydney, she used the intercom to announce to the entire cabin ‘Would the lawyer who gave me the crabs in Perth, please raise your hand?’

Not one hand went up ..... so she took them home and ate them.

There are two lessons here:
1 - Lawyers aren't as smart as they think they are.
2 - Blondes aren't as dumb as most folk think.

TWO
The local news station was interviewing an 80-year-old lady because she had just got married for the fourth time. 

The interviewer asked her questions about her life, about what it felt like to be marrying again at 80, and then about her new husband's occupation.

‘He's a funeral director,’ she answered. 

‘Interesting,’ the newsman thought...

He then asked her if she wouldn't mind telling him a little about her first three husbands and what they did for a living. 

She paused for a few moments, needing time to reflect on all those years. 
 

After a short time, a smile came to her face and she answered proudly, explaining that she had first married a banker when she was in her 20's, then a circus ringmaster when in her 40's, and a preacher when in her 60's, and now - in her 80's - a funeral director.

The interviewer looked at her, quite astonished, and asked why she had married four men with such diverse careers.

(Wait for it)

She smiled and explained,

(Wait for it….)

‘I married one for the money, two for the show, three to get ready, and four to go.’


Like I said - don’t blame me….

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CONTACT ME
Post comments on this blog or email me:  truckshunters@googlemail.com
435
 Stephane Hessel
In this blogposting…
* AGM XL
* Daffodils and Leaks
* You Must Remember This…
* In Memoriam:  Stephane Hessel
Enter here…


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AGM XL
Our fortieth AGM - yes, I know; FORTIETH!!!! - will take place at 1100 this upcoming Thursday 7 March, when we will be mustered at Grey’s Monument. 

If you arrive and don’t see anyone, look outside the branch of Thornton’s - mmmmmmmmmm - at the top of Grainger Street, just a few yards away.

Better still, look inside Thornton’s….

See you next Thursday….

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DAFFODILS AND LEAKS
In the meantime, though, we’ve only got as far as March 1 - St David’s Day.  So, as usual, in his honour and that of the lovely country of which he is the patron saint (and which, as you can see, is lucky enough to have TWO of the most strikingly dramatic national flags in the world)…
                                                           DYDD DEWI SANT DA!
                                                         HAPPY ST DAVID’S DAY!

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YOU MUST REMEMBER THIS….
Despite the admittedly lofty average age of we truckshunters, I don’t often give in to the temptation of ‘good old days’ reminiscences.  We tend to live for the excitement of the here and the now.

But, once a while, it gives you a nice warm feeling to look at photos like the ones scattered here and let the memories come flooding back….
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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IN MEMORIAM:  STEPHANE HESSEL
This is what I wrote about Stephane Hessel two years ago, in blogposting 252 (February 2011)…

'Something very strange and unsettling is happening in France at the moment.  And it’s all because of a book.  Well, not a book, even.  A pamphlet.  It’s only about 6 pages long and France is getting very worked up about it.

It was written by a 93-year old man called Stephane Hessel and it’s called
Indignez-Vous!, which translates roughly as Get Angry!

Stephane is a national hero in France; a survivor of Nazi concentration camps and of the Resistance  - and a passionate believer in ‘peace and people’.  And
Get Angry! is an incitement to do exactly that.  To rescue the world of work and art and social responsibility and dignity from the claws of the venal, the corrupt and the avaricious.

It is inflaming many parts of French society.  Sarko himself (the 'Garden Gnome', as his millions of detractors call him there) is unsettled by it.  It has been translated into English and several other languages.  You may find some extracts from it on the internet.

M Hessel’s personality, his heroic history and his conclusions about the world we have created for ourselves and our children have combined to inspire me to read his treatise - in French (just in case anything gets lost in translation).  This means that I’m only up to page 2 - and I’m already primed to agitate, protest and complain as volubly as I can.

When I and my generation had a chance to change the world for the better, in the 60s, we failed catastrophically.  Instead, we produced the cesspit of money-grubbing corporate selfishness through which we’re all wading now.  Putting Number One first is now the expected norm and the ideals of selflessness that inspired post-war social welfare policies throughout western Europe are under attack.

I want to be living proof, though, that you’re never too old to Get Angry!' 


M Hessel died last Tuesday, aged 93.

You can read a lot more about this astonishing man on, for example, Wikipedia ( - at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St%C3%A9phane_Hessel; if the link doesn’t work, cut and paste it into the Search box of your internet browser).

He was, and remains, one of my heroes. 

Let’s get together on this one.  Every year, on February 26, let’s set aside some time to ‘get angry’ about the hateful, 'privatised' world of theft, greed and venality which we are now forced to endure - and which Stephane Hessel reviled so elegantly - and so much.

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CONTACT ME
Post comments on this blog or email me:  truckshunters@googlemail.com