#i live in a village in the south east of england and i hear church bells a lot

[scotianostra]

On March 17th 458, Mo Padraigh (Saint Patrick), Patron Saint of Ireland died.

There is a theory that St Patrick was born around the Dumbarton area in about the year 372, other sources put him further south in what is now Cumbria, the truth is nobody knows for certain. What is known that The Islands as we know them now were in the main occupied by The Romans.

It is said his father, whose name was Calpurnius, was in a respectable station in life, being municipal magistrate in the town in which he lived. What town this was, however, is not certainly known, whether Kilpatrick, a small village on the Clyde, five miles east of Dumbarton, Duntochar, another small village about a mile north of Kilpatrick, or Dumbarton itself. But as I said these are only the ares quoted in what is now Scotland I wont go into the ones saying England.

His father is supposed, (for nearly all that is recorded of the holy man is conjectural, or at best but inferential,) to have come to Scotland in a civil capacity with the Roman troops, under Theodosius. His mother, whose name was Cenevessa, was sister or niece of St Martin, bishop of Tours; and from this circumstance, it is presumed that his family were Christians.

He was captured as a teenager by Niall of the Nine Hostages who was to become a King of all Ireland.

He was sold into slavery in Ireland and put to work as a shepherd. He worked in terrible conditions for six years drawing comfort in the Christian faith that so many of his people had abandoned under Roman rule.

Patrick had a dream that encouraged him to flee his captivity and to head South where a ship was to be waiting for him. He travelled over 200 miles from his Northern captivity to Wexford town where, sure enough, a ship was waiting to enable his escape.

Patrick's devotion to Ireland started with a dream which he wrote about as.....

"I saw a man coming, as it were from Ireland. His name was Victoricus, and he carried many letters, and he gave me one of them. I read the heading: 'The Voice of the Irish.' As I began the letter, I imagined in that moment that I heard the voice of those very people who were near the wood of Foclut, which is beside the western sea-and they cried out, as with one voice: 'We appeal to you, holy servant boy, to come and walk among us.'"

The vision prompted his studies for the priesthood. He was ordained by St. Germanus, the Bishop of Auxerre, whom he had studied under for years, and was later ordained a bishop and sent to take the Gospel to Ireland.

Patrick arrived in Slane, Ireland on March 25, 433. There are several legends about what happened next, with the most prominent claiming he met the chieftan of one of the druid tribes, who tried to kill him. After an intervention from God, Patrick was able to convert the chieftain and preach the Gospel throughout Ireland. There, he converted many people -eventually thousands - and he began building churches across the country.

He often used shamrocks to explain the Holy Trinity and entire kingdoms were eventually converted to Christianity after hearing Patrick's message.

Patrick preached and converted all of Ireland for 40 years. He worked many miracles and wrote of his love for God in Confessions. After years of living in poverty, travelling and enduring much suffering he died March 17, 461.

He died at Saul, where he had built the first Irish church. He is believed to be buried in Down Cathedral, Downpatrick. His grave was marked in 1990 with a granite stone.

Saint Patrick's Day is observed on 17th March, the supposed date of his death. It is celebrated inside and outside Ireland as a religious and cultural holiday. In the dioceses of Ireland, it is both a solemnity and a holy day of obligation; it is also a celebration of Ireland itself, although recent events have meant it will be more subdued than normal. I once read many years ago that there is more alcohol in the world sold on St Patrick's Day than any other day of the year, and I quite believe that, but again am not getting into an argument.

A wee but more about the Scottish thing here...https://www.irishcentral.com/roots/history/saint-patrick-born-scotland

[wewererogue]

The Norwegian prison where inmates are treated like people

[by Erwin James / The Guardian, February 2013]

On Bastoy prison island in Norway, the prisoners, some of whom are murderers and rapists, live in conditions that critics brand ‘cushy’ and 'luxurious’. Yet it has by far the lowest reoffending rate in Europe.

An inmate sunbathes on the deck of his bungalow on Bastoy. Photograph: Marco Di Lauro

The first clue that things are done very differently on Bastoy prison island, which lies a couple of miles off the coast in the Oslo fjord, 46 miles south-east of Norway’s capital, comes shortly after I board the prison ferry. I’m taken aback slightly when the ferry operative who welcomed me aboard just minutes earlier, and with whom I’m exchanging small talk about the weather, suddenly reveals he is a serving prisoner – doing 14 years for drug smuggling. He notes my surprise, smiles, and takes off a thick glove before offering me his hand. “I’m Petter,” he says.

Before he transferred to Bastoy, Petter was in a high-security prison for nearly eight years. “Here, they give us trust and responsibility,” he says. “They treat us like grownups.” I haven’t come here particularly to draw comparisons, but it’s impossible not to consider how politicians and the popular media would react to a similar scenario in Britain.

There are big differences between the two countries, of course. Norway has a population of slightly less than five million, a 12th of the UK’s. It has fewer than 4,000 prisoners; there are around 84,000 in the UK. But what really sets us apart is the Norwegian attitude towards prisoners. Four years ago I was invited into Skien maximum security prison, 20 miles north of Oslo. I had heard stories about Norway’s liberal attitude. In fact, Skien is a concrete fortress as daunting as any prison I have ever experienced and houses some of the most serious law-breakers in the country. Recently it was the temporary residence of Anders Breivik, the man who massacred 77 people in July 2011.

Despite the seriousness of their crimes, however, I found that the loss of liberty was all the punishment they suffered. Cells had televisions, computers, integral showers and sanitation. Some prisoners were segregated for various reasons, but as the majority served their time – anything up to the 21-year maximum sentence (Norway has no death penalty or life sentence) – they were offered education, training and skill-building programmes. Instead of wings and landings they lived in small “pod” communities within the prison, limiting the spread of the corrosive criminal prison subculture that dominates traditionally designed prisons. The teacher explained that all prisons in Norway worked on the same principle, which he believed was the reason the country had, at less than 30%, the lowest reoffending figures in Europe and less than half the rate in the UK.

As the ferry powers through the freezing early-morning fog, Petter tells me he is appealing against his conviction. If it fails he will be on Bastoy until his release date in two years’ time. I ask him what life is like on the island. “You’ll see,” he says. “It’s like living in a village, a community. Everybody has to work. But we have free time so we can do some fishing, or in summer we can swim off the beach. We know we are prisoners but here we feel like people.”

I wasn’t sure what to expect on Bastoy. A number of wide-eyed commentators before me have variously described conditions under which the island’s 115 prisoners live as “cushy”, “luxurious” and, the old chestnut, “like a holiday camp”. I’m sceptical of such media reports.

An inmate repairs a bike. Photograph: Marco Di Lauro

As a life prisoner, I spent the first eight years of the 20 I served in a cell with a bed, a chair, a table and a bucket for my toilet. In that time I was caught up in a major riot, trapped in a siege and witnessed regular acts of serious violence. Across the prison estate, several hundred prisoners took their own lives, half a dozen of whom I knew personally – and a number were murdered. Yet the constant refrain from the popular press was that I, too, was living in a “holiday camp”. When in-cell toilets were installed, and a few years later we were given small televisions, the “luxury prison” headlines intensified and for the rest of the time I was in prison, it never really abated.

It always seemed to me while I was in jail that the real prison scandal was the horrendous rate of reoffending among released prisoners. In 2007, 14 prisons in England and Wales had reconvictions rates of more than 70%. At an average cost of £40,000 a year for each prisoner, this amounts to a huge investment in failure – and a total lack of consideration for potential future victims of released prisoners. That’s the reason I’m keen to have a look at what has been hailed as the world’s first “human ecological prison”.

Thorbjorn, a 58-year-old guard who has worked on Bastoy for 17 years, gives me a warm welcome as I step on to dry land. As we walk along the icy, snowbound track that leads to the admin block, he tells me how the prison operates. There are 70 members of staff on the 2.6 sq km island during the day, 35 of whom are uniformed guards. Their main job is to count the prisoners – first thing in the morning, twice during the day at their workplaces, once en masse at a specific assembly point at 5pm, and finally at 11pm, when they are confined to their respective houses. Only four guards remain on the island after 4pm. Thorbjorn points out the small, brightly painted wooden bungalows dotted around the wintry landscape. “These are the houses for the prisoners,” he says. They accommodate up to six people. Every man has his own room and they share kitchen and other facilities. “The idea is they get used to living as they will live when they are released.” Only one meal a day is provided in the dining hall. The men earn the equivalent of £6 a day and are given a food allowance each month of around £70 with which to buy provisions for their self-prepared breakfasts and evening meals from the island’s well-stocked mini-supermarket.

I can see why some people might think such conditions controversial. The common understanding of prison is that it is a place of deprivation and penance rather than domestic comfort.

Prisoners in Norway can apply for a transfer to Bastoy when they have up to five years left of their sentence to serve. Every type of offender, including men convicted of murder or rape, may be accepted, so long as they fit the criteria, the main one being a determination to live a crime-free life on release.

I ask Thorbjorn what work the prisoners do on the island. He tells me about the farm where prisoners tend sheep, cows and chickens, or grow fruit and vegetables. “They grow much of their own food,” he says.

Other jobs are available in the laundry; in the stables looking after the horses that pull the island’s cart transport; in the bicycle repair shop, (many of the prisoners have their own bikes, bought with their own money); on ground maintenance or in the timber workshop. The working day begins at 8.30am and already I can hear the buzz of chainsaws and heavy-duty strimmers. We walk past a group of red phone boxes from where prisoners can call family and friends. A large building to our left is where weekly visits take place, in private family rooms where conjugal relations are allowed.

After the security officer signs me in and takes my mobile, Thorbjorn delivers me to governor Arne Nilsen’s office. “Let me tell you something,” Thorbjorn says before leaving me. “You know, on this island I feel safer than when I walk on the streets in Oslo.”

Through Nilsen’s window I can see the church, the school and the library. Life for the prisoners is as normal as it is possible to be in a prison. It feels rather like a religious commune; there is a sense of peace about the place, although the absence of women (apart from some uniformed guards) and children is noticeable. Nilsen has coined a phrase for his prison: “an arena of developing responsibility.” He pours me a cup of tea.

“In closed prisons we keep them locked up for some years and then let them back out, not having had any real responsibility for working or cooking. In the law, being sent to prison is nothing to do with putting you in a terrible prison to make you suffer. The punishment is that you lose your freedom. If we treat people like animals when they are in prison they are likely to behave like animals. Here we pay attention to you as human beings.”

A clinical psychologist by profession, Nilsen shrugs off any notion that he is running a holiday camp. I sense his frustration. “You don’t change people by power,” he says. “For the victim, the offender is in prison. That is justice. I’m not stupid. I’m a realist. Here I give prisoners respect; this way we teach them to respect others. But we are watching them all the time. It is important that when they are released they are less likely to commit more crimes. That is justice for society.”

The reoffending rate for those released from Bastoy speaks for itself. At just 16%, it is the lowest in Europe. But who are the prisoners on Bastoy? Are they the goodie-goodies of the system?

Hessle is 23 years old and serving 11 years for murder. “It was a revenge killing,” he says. “I wish I had not done it, but now I must pay for my crime.” Slight and fair-haired, he says he has been in and out of penal institutions since he was 15. Drugs have blighted his life and driven his criminality. There are three golden rules on Bastoy: no violence, no alcohol and no drugs. Here, he works in the stables tending the horses and has nearly four years left to serve. How does he see the future? “Now I have no desire for drugs. When I get out I want to live and have a family. Here I am learning to be able to do that.”

A convict works on Bastoy prison farm. Photograph: Marco Di Lauro

Hessle plays the guitar and is rehearsing with other prisoners in the Bastoy Blues Band. Last year they were given permission to attend a music festival as a support act that ZZ Top headlined. Bjorn is the band’s teacher. Once a Bastoy prisoner who served five years for attacking his wife in a “moment of madness”, he now returns once a week to teach guitar. “I know the potential for people here to change,” he says.

Formerly a social researcher, he has formed links with construction companies he previously worked for that have promised to consider employing band members if they can demonstrate reliability and commitment. “This is not just about the music,” he says, “it’s about giving people a chance to prove their worth.”

Sven, another band member, was also convicted of murder, and sentenced to eight years. The 29-year-old was an unemployed labourer before his conviction. He works in the timber yard and is waiting to see if his application to be “house father” in his five-man bungalow is successful. “I like the responsibility,” he says. “Before coming here I never really cared for other people.”

The female guard who introduces me to the band is called Rutchie. “I’m very proud to be a guard here, and my family are very proud of me,” she says. It takes three years to train to be a prison guard in Norway. She looks at me with disbelief when I tell her that in the UK prison officer training is just six weeks. “There is so much to learn about the people who come to prison,” she says. “We need to try to understand how they became criminals, and then help them to change. I’m still learning.”

Finally, I’m introduced to Vidor, who at 72 is the oldest prisoner on the island. He works in the laundry and is the house father of his four-man bungalow. I haven’t asked any of the prisoners about their crimes. The information has been offered voluntarily. Vidor does the same. He tells me he is serving 15 years for double manslaughter. There is a deep sadness in his eyes, even when he smiles. “Killers like me have nowhere to hide,” he says. He tells me that in the aftermath of his crimes he was “on the floor”. He cried a lot at first. “If there was the death penalty I would have said, yes please, take me.” He says he was helped in prison. “They helped me to understand why I did what I did and helped me to live again.” Now he studies philosophy, in particular Nietzsche. “I’m glad they let me come here. It is a healthy place to be. I’ll be 74 when I get out,” he says. “I’ll be happy if I can get to 84, and then just say: 'Bye-bye.’”

On the ferry back to the mainland I think about what I have seen and heard. Bastoy is no holiday camp. In some ways I feel as if I’ve seen a vision of the future – a penal institution designed to heal rather than harm and to generate hope instead of despair. I believe all societies will always need high-security prisons. But there needs to be a robust filtering procedure along the lines of the Norwegian model, in order that the process is not more damaging than necessary. As Nilsen asserts, justice for society demands that people we release from prison should be less likely to cause further harm or distress to others, and better equipped to live as law-abiding citizens.

It would take much political courage and social confidence to spread the penal philosophy of Bastoy outside Norway, however. In the meantime, I hope the decision-makers of the world take note of the revolution in rehabilitation that is occurring on that tiny island. (94)

[paladin-andric]

11 Questions Tag Game

Tagged by @corishadowfang! Thank you!

Rules: Answer the 11 questions and then make 11 of your own, then tag some people.

1: Is there a real-life location you’d like to base a story off of/in?

Would I?! Well, there’s the Byzantine Empire, modern day Greece and Turkey. Just look up some pictures of Constantinople and you could see why I’d love to have that sort of setting. I already have a story idea for it. An alt-history fantasy where the empire never fell, and mythical beasts invade Europe...

As for places I’ve already based a story off of...the entire continent of Deaco is full of nations based on real life places. The central region, the human Kingdom of Geralthin, is based off of medieval England (with better weather though!) which can be seen with such names like Henry, Elizabeth, Albert and Edward, along with the English feudal system of Earls, Dukes and Barons, along with “Shire” and “Bury” being included in some town and province names.

The Koutu Kingdom is lightly based on  a blend of Gaelic cultures such as the Scottish and Irish, along with some Hellenic additions. Though their homeland is more plains than the Emerald Isle or the rough Highlands, their names reflect this. Domnall, Cuan, Conchobar...there’s also their pasttimes of the great Arena Marathon and other competitions of physical sport that draw on the Greek culture.

The Dacuni Tribes are heavily inspired by the Vikings. Their constant invasions to the south against every one of their neighbors, along with their constant use of battleaxe infantry should make that obvious. The wolfmen also share the similar “-nar”, “-vin”, “nir” at the end of a lot of their names. The tundra environment is similar as well, but I also just wanted an excuse for beautiful winter scenery and an aurora that lights up the sky.

The Pona Federation is a tribal republic that takes light inspiration from the Native Americans of North America. Light. I mostly just got the idea of their government from The Iroquois. The Pona are bipedal turtlefolk that live in a swampy marshland and mostly keep to themselves. I wanted some sort of republic among all the kingdoms of the world, so here they are! They develop into a modern, Constitutional Republic later down the timeline as well, one of the few places in the world that’s a bastion of freedom and liberty in a world full of autocrats and tyrants.

The Abinsil Kingdom is a subcontinent off the coast of Geralthin to the south that’s inspired by medieval Arabic kingdoms. The lizardfolk there are pious (for good reason), isolationist, and mystical. They have sects of holy warriors that guard the groves of saints, strange magic that bends reality around them, wardrakes instead of horses, and a minority of insectoids!

Finally there’s two places I haven’t really touched on, but are part of the world. The Qin Empire, a place based off medieval China (complete with eastern dragons that regularly patrol the skies), and the Republic of Salisca, based VERY heavily off of the United States (where humans have suffered at the hands of dragon-tyrants for millennia before gaining their independence).

2: What are some themes you haven’t used that you think would be fun to touch on?

I’ve touched on The Power of Friendship™ in Blackheart, but its strongest theme was that of determination and perseverance. Never give up! Fight the darkness! As long as you have a reason to believe, something to love, the corruption can never fully claim you!

Another theme I’d like to touch on is the blood of the covenant! The idea that bonds of friendship forged strong enough can be greater than even family! Themes of faith would be interesting too, a long and difficult journey where the hero questions their faith could have some really interesting and powerful results and messages.

3: What character have you created that’s the most like you? The least?

Gotta say Charles. While I’m not a winged, fire-breathing half-dragon wizard, our personalities are very similar. He’s shy, anxious, a bit of a nerd, but a good person and brave when he needs to be...really once you get past that whole dragon part we’re pretty much the same!

As for the least? Well...probably Razorwing. I mean, after what I just told you about Charles, Razorwing is a famous hero who’s always in the spotlight. He’s graceful, and skilled, and charismatic, and loved the world over...so you could see why I think he’s a far cry from me! He’s still a good person though, most characters in Blackheart are.

4: Are there any songs that really encompass what your WIP’s about?

Cold Rain and Snow

“What are we marching for?

What is this trial with our lives?

How will we win this war?

Who among will survive?”

5: Have you ever created unique races/monsters for a story? What are they?

There’s the stock dragons and kobolds, but aside from that I’ve strayed from typical fantasy, for the most part. No elves or dwarves for example. There’s the Koutu, a species of avian adventurers who revel in the unknown and make great company wherever they go.

There’s the wolfmen (Dacuni), though I’m sure there’s similar races in other media. They’re rough, gruff and prone to flying off the handle at the slightest provocation, but they’re ferociously loyal as well.

The Pona, the turtle-men of the East, were made from scratch. I wanted a calm, wise and otherworldly species that had the potential for interesting settings and circumstances (a tribal council sitting around a fire, surrounded by massive trees that go up hundreds of feet and block out the sky, anyone?)

The Ssalik of the Abinsil Kingdom are lizardmen, though not really based on any of other media. They’re friendly with humans and have their own things going on (the mystic magic, the drakes and dragons roaming their deserts...)

The half-dragons take that “dragonblood” thing and take it to the next level, the people taking on the forms of dragons because of it. They’re the size of humans and stand upright, but otherwise look just like dragons. Due to the transformation of body and mind, they have quick wits and an affinity for magic. As such, they make great sorcerers and paladins, and tend to be more accepted in academies and churches as a result.

Pseudodragons didn’t originally exist in the world. They were created, in universe, artificially by a powerful sorcerer. They’re tiny dragons the size of people that have natural urges to do good and help humanity. They love fruits and typically settle in human villages to help the villagers in their day-to-day jobs and activities. They’re near-universally selfless and kind.

The Qin...well, imagine the half-dragons, but use eastern dragons instead of european dragons as the base. They have long, flowing bodies, fins, whiskers, and no wings.

6: What’s your favorite book?

Probably The Outsiders. I can’t say I relate to the characters...but I feel for them, you know?

7: Traditional heroes or anti-heroes?

Traditional! I love classical heroes who always try to do the right thing! I think the edgy dark hero has gotten overused to the point that classical heroes are making a comeback in popularity, and I’m glad to see it. In Blackheart, most are traditional heroes. Paul or “Crux” is the closest to an anti-hero considering his background, but in the city of demons, there’s not much chance for anyone to be anything but heroic.

8: What is your favorite character from any piece of media?

Solid Snake from the Metal Gear series. A legendary hero of uncomparable skill that has somehow pulled through some of the most hopeless of situations, went rogue in an effort to save the world from Metal Gears, and has suffered and struggled against way more than he deserved to.

9: What is an AU of your WIP you think would be fun to explore?

Modern fantasy. There’s just something about fantasy races having guns and using cellphones...

10: Where do you get your inspiration from?

Demon’s Souls. The colorless fog and ruined Boletaria being so close to the black fog and ruined Palethorn are pretty obvious giveaways. Also D&D, as all the dragons, priests, holy magic and kobolds might make clear.

11: What is something you love about your WIP?

The ending. It, uh...kinda ruined me while I was writing it. I’m absolutely in love with the characters, too.

Now for my questions! (Mostly just an excuse to hear some worldbuilding!)

1: What’s your favorite genre and why?

2: Unusual themes or plot points that are important in your story? (Music or cooking, for example)

3: Which two characters are the most polar opposites? What is their relationship in the story?

4: Prophecy vs. Defying fate? Which do you think makes for a better story?

5: Which character are you most proud of, for any reason?

6: If your story could be told in any other sort of media, what would it be? How would you like it made?

7: Which part of your world is the most interesting, in your opinion? Location, lore, whatever really drew you into making it.

8: How much do your experiences color the world or characters of your story? Is it born of a worldview you either have or something you wish reality was closer to?

9: What government system does the setting follow? If it’s an international journey, how are the nations different from each other?

10: What role does culture play in the world? Where did you get the idea for such traditions and pasttimes?

11: How do you like your villains and heroes? How do they think and act most of the time?

Tagging @oceanwriter, @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword, @elliewritesfantasy, @caffienefuelsmywriting and @lady-redshield-writes!

[ebenvt]

Introduction to Bacon & the Art of Living

The quest to understand how great bacon is made takes me around the world and through epic adventures. I tell the story by changing the setting from the 2000s to the late 1800s when much of the technology behind bacon curing was unraveled. I weave into the mix beautiful stories of Cape Town and use mostly my family as the other characters besides me and Oscar and Uncle Jeppe from Denmark, a good friend and someone to whom I owe much gratitude! A man who knows bacon! Most other characters have a real basis in history and I describe actual events and personal experiences set in a different historical context.

The cast I use to mould the story into is letters I wrote home during my travels.

Kolbroek

Cape Town, April 1886

Falling asleep on Stillehoogte, the farm of Oupa Eben and Ouma Susan is one of my most cherished memories. I still smell the sheep in the kraal next to the house as if I was there this morning. Elmar and I slept in one room. It was Oom Uysie’s room before he moved out. My mom and dad slept in the spare bedroom.  Andre slept with my Grandparents in their room on a bed at the foot end of my grandparents’ bed.

In the morning we were woken by farm sounds and smells. Maids were cleaning the house, sweeping the carpers with a broom made from long local grass. Ouma was preparing breakfast on a coal stove. Oupa just came in from the felt to get his morning coffee. Oom Uysie, my mom’s younger brother who managed the farm with his dad and our grandfather stopped by for coffee.

Whenever he arrived there was no more sleeping. He would make sure that we were out of bed by the time he left by stealing our blankets or spraying us with cold water.  It was good humor which one does not appreciate when you are 7, but when you are a bit older, one misses it.  Thinking back, I understand how much his morning visits meant for him and Oupa!

After Oupa Eben passed away it was not the same on Stillehoogte.  At church on Sunday, whenever they sing a hymn, my mom would cry.  One morning Ouma Susan was very sad at the breakfast table.  She told my mom about a dream she had.  She was standing in the church foyer, looking at the photos of the elders and deacons.  Oupa Eben was a church elder when he passed away.  In the photos where Oupa Eben stood was a large black spot. Even in the photos, his life was blotted out!  My mom was not a very emotional person but she was washing the dishes and I could see the tears running down her cheek.  We all miss Oupe Eben very much.

Oupa Eben and Oom Uysie put up four pig pens.  They farmed with large Whites.  One day Oupa Eben got home with the most adorable little pigs that one could imagine.  He said they do not have to be housed in a pen.  These were very special pigs.  They are roaming farm pigs who take care of themselves feeding on the scraps from the farming activities.  They were South African Kolbroek pigs.

Oupa Eben asked if I know why they are called Kolbroek?  Of course, I did not.  Oupa knew that I loved a good story.  I would pester him to tell me a story.  With his words still fresh in my mind I would take any of the many footpaths on Stillehoogte and, hiking for hours, I would re-tell the story to an imaginary audience.  I am not sure why I loved it so much, but I did!  It was the greatest enjoyment imaginable!  I knew that he was actually asking if he can tell me the story of the Kolbroek.

Domestication and the Formation of Breeds

“The story of the Kolbroek begins many years ago in the middle of the 1700s in the south of England.  Pigs were fed on the mast of the forest which is the fruit of trees and shrubs such as acorns and nuts.  Europeans are very fond of fattening the pigs on what was called “hard mast.”  The hard acorns and nuts from oak, hickory, and beech trees are the hard mas.  The forests were either part of common lands or royal forests.  The practice of annually fattening the pigs in the forests for around 60 days was called pannage.”

“Pigs in England were big, long-legged with menacing facial expressions.  Animals who are not penned up face preditors.  When they run they must run fast.  For this reason, they are extremely skittish.  The slightest indication of danger and they have to move quickly!  Their bite must be ferocious as must be their build and facial expression.  They are dark in appearance with stripes that resembles their ancestors, the wild boar.”

“On the other hand, pigs in China did not have these pressures.  Instead, they had a very comfortable life for thousands of years.  They were kept in small and comfortable housing close to the farmer’s house.  Being penned up protect them from predators and where European pigs went to the forest for two months, weather depending, once a year where they had to eat hard actors and nuts, Chinese pigs were fed scraps from the farming activities.  An animal who does not have to run and be on the constant lookout for predators grow smaller, fatter, shorter legs with less menacing faces.  The stripes of their wild European counterparts changed into spots. They picked up weight faster than the European cousins just like people do when they don’t have to walk long distances or do manual labour.”  This last bit Oupa added with a grin.  He enjoyed comparing pigs with people and used to say that calling some of the people he had to deal with from the Cooperative pigs is an insult to perfectly decent animals.

“It was the English East Indian Company who brought these Chinese pigs to England in the 1700s.”  Oupa Eben was a “no-frills and no-fuss” man.  He said stuff in a way that one understood it easily.  This being the case, one must still remember that Oupa was a very clever man!  He knew that any inventions first happen in the mind, not in the physical world.  This is called the metaphysical.  The interaction between what we can feel and touch and that which is, initially, only in the mind.  This we call the metaphysical.

In the late 1600s and early 1700s, a metaphysical shift that took place in the English mind. They started to see “matter” not as the unavoidable experience of nature, but as masters who control the physical.  Just as the pigs responded to the pressure from nature by either becoming smaller and fatter as in China or remained big, fast and ferocious as in Europe, the English wool industry was pressured to produce clothing for the local market in bigger quantity than could be done by individual villagers, working in isolation.  Thus, the organization of labour changed

The English Empire was taking shape and the demand from the colonies added to the mother-land for clothing added up to a demand that completely outpaced the meager output of any individual person. Imaginative entrepreneurs stepped forward who discovered how to use the forces of nature for their personal end.  They invented better and faster ways to spin wool and make clothing.  They realised that work itself can be re-organised, even without machine power.  Where they combine human power with machine power, output went through the roof!  The results were spectacular!  The fertile imagination of the English dreamt up new machines that could do what 100 people could not.  The buzz words of the time were “bigger,” “better,” and “faster.”  They used nature in a way that was never thought possible before.  Energy to drive these machines, tapped from steam and water.

As people realised that they can manipulate and harness nature, as the sciences were being invented, we became masters of nature. The most important metaphysical realisation was to re-think how we organise labour but also how we manipulated nature.  In the world of farming, this was not a new phenomenon.  It has been happening for many thousands of years but a new momentum was added through the industrial revolution.

The earliest discovery was that animals that are penned up, change! The biggest reason was that we were able to manipulate their breeding.  Animals become used to us and we found that they were more useful to us.  We create animal enclosures where we could separate those with less desirable characters from those with qualities we want.  “A good example of this,” said Oupa Eben, “is aggressive animals. We do not like aggressive animals.  The menacing bull becomes biltong.  The horse that continually breaks out and bites other horses and handlers are served as pastissada.”  It takes many generations to change a completely wild animal into an animal that is less threatening to humans; more useful.  One that can work and supply milk or become food.  The larger farm animals were domesticated first and as the industrial revolution was taking hold of Europe, it was the turn of the village pig.

Oupa Eben lit his pipe, peered out from the farmhouse over his land.  It was late afternoon.  The farmwork was done and it was the best time to ask him to tell you a story.  I sat on the soft grass outside the back door, between the back porch and the brick cooler where all the perishables were kept.  It was a simple invention used around the world.  Two layers of bricks filled up with charcoal in the middle and regularly soaked with water. This cooled the inside of the square structure with wooden shelving where the butter, eggs, cheese, and milk were stored.  Oupa Eben was sitting on a garden chair he brought from the porch to have a better view of his lands.  “I guess you want to hear about the Kolbroek,” he said smiling.

He lit his pipe again.  “One can imagine that the pigs bought from the English East Indian Company were sold to wealthy aristocrats and landowners.  Chinese boars were used by villagers to breed with sows from the village.  It meant that in a particular village, the characteristics of the boar was transferred to the entire village pig population.  This resulted in regional characteristics and in the 1800s it formed the basis of breeds.”  “So,” Oupa Eben told me many times, “on the one hand the old farmers removed animals with less than desirable character traits by either slaughtering the animal or separating them from others and not allowing them to breed, and, on the other hand, by using males with characteristics which the farmer desired to breed with the sows one gets an animal with the right look and temperament.  In the case of the Chinese pigs, imported into England, it produced a smaller animal, rounder and fat pig that picked up weight fast but much bigger than the original Chinese pigs on account of the larger size of the English pigs they bred with.”

Oom Timo

Oupa Eben stopped with his story when his younger brother walked out of the back door and joined us.  He and his wife, Aunt Thelma were visiting.  Her maiden name was Berriman.  They immigrated from Cornwall. Her father was an immigrant gold miner on the Reef. Her brother was also a miner, mainly at Crown Mines. Tim moved into Thelma’s mother (Hilda’s ) home there just before or just after they were married. Later, they owned their own home in Parkview, Johannesburg.  (1)

“I am telling Eben the story of the Kolbroek pigs,” Oupa said when Oom Timo sat down next to Oupa on a chair which he brought from the porch.  I was very small and did not know that as Oupa knew everything about raising cattle, sheep, and pigs, Oom Timo knew about ships.  Oom Timo gestured Oupa to continue which Oupa did.

Once Upon a Time in Kent

“In Kent, an English East Indian ship preparing to sail to the East via the Cape of Good Hope.  The Colebrook was one of these impressive ships.   It weighed 739 tons and was 137 feet long, 35 feet wide and had 3 decks. She was built by the most famous shipbuilders of the time, Perryard and launched in 1770. The Captain was Arthur Morris and she was on her third voyage.”

“On 6 January 1778, she loaded lead bars called lead ingots or lead pigs and provisions at Blackwall in the East India Docks on the Thames.  On 3 February, she sailed to Gravesend. Here she loaded shot, copper, stores, gunpowder, wine, guns, corn, military recruits and, very importantly, livestock. The livestock included pigs which were procured from the local pig market.  The pigs were a cross between Chinese and English pigs and since they were all the result of mating with the local landowners’ boar, they had similar characteristics.”

“On 8 March 1778, she set sail from the Downs with 212 passengers, crew and soldiers on board in the company of three other vessels, the warship Asia, the other East Indiaman, the Gatton, and the Royal Admiral.  She stopped at Madeira to load 43 pipes of wine. On 26 May, she sailed from Madeira for Bombay and China passing the Cape of Good Hope.”

Kogel Bay

Oupa was sitting at the edge of his chair, telling the story.  I remember him leaning back when he got to this part and said to Oom Timo, “You know the story well and you know all the right shipping terms.  You take it from here!”  Oom Timo put his hand on my head who was still sitting on the grass.  “The Colebrook took three months to reach the Cape!”

“She did so on Tuesday, 24 August 1778.  It was winter and she was not allowed to enter Table Bay.  She had to sail around Cape Point and dock in Simon’s Bay in False Bay.  She rounded Cape Point and turned East for Simon’s Bay.  At 11h30 she struck Anvil Rock, lurking just beneath the waves.  Anvil rock was not indicated on the Dutch Maps that Arthur Morris used.”

“The Colebrooke almost immediately freed herself from the rock.  Water poured into the hull.  The crew put on the pumps within minutes but there were already three feet of water in the hold indicating serious damage.  After a hurried conference between Captain Arthur Morris and his officers, they realised that they will not be able to nurse the ship to Simon’s Bay.  The water pouring into the Colebrook made her unresponsive and difficult to steer.”

“Instead, they decided to take her all the way across False Bay and find a suitable spot to beach on the eastern side of the bay.  This would not require any difficult maneuvering.  Still, the plan was not without risk.  The far side of the bay was, as far as they were aware, largely uninhabited.  The coast is very rocky with steep mountains coming right down to the water.  They did not know if they will find a suitable stretch of beach.”

“The Gatton and Asia despatched boats with 8 people in each to assist the Colebrook’s crew with the pumping of water. These men raced to her aid while her company ensign was flying upside down, a signal of distress.  The men dropped a weighted sail off the bows when the hole in the hull became inaccessible due to the flooding.  It was hauled under the hull where it was secured over the hole, slowing the ingress of water down.  They attempted to push the guns overboard to lighten her load, but these were already submerged and the plan was abandoned.”

“Her companion ships followed her across the bay.  Captain Morris sent the second and third officer up the mast to look for a sandy beach to run the ship onto.  The water from False Bay continued to claim the Colebrook.  As she was approaching the beach there were already 14 feet of water in her hold.  Her bow was so low that she was sipping water through the hawse holes.  These were small cylindrical holes cut through the bows of a ship on each side of the stem.  It was used to pass cables through to be drawn into, or let out of the vessel.  The situation was desperate!”

“Water started bubbling through her front hatches, signaling that her sinking was imminent.  At 4pm on the afternoon of 24 August, she 200m off the beach at Kogel Bay, she grounded.  Her topsails were let go which had the effect of swinging her stern around to bring her bow into the wind and swell.  The mizzen mast was cut away to stabilise her after which the boats were launched.”

“The first boat was a pinnace.  It had sails and several oars.  Fifteen men were aboard.  The surf at Kogel Bay is treacherous at best of times with a very strong rip current.  On that particular day, the wind was very strong making the situation even more precarious.  The boat capsized in the surf.  When the ensuing madness dissipated a smashed boat and seven bodies were on the beach at Kogel Bay.  Survivors were hypothermic from the ice-cold False Bay water, in a desperate state on the beach.  All other attempts to get people onto the beach was abandoned.  The second boat was swept into the open sea and only recovered the next day.  The rest of the crew, soldiers, and passengers were transferred to the other ships.”

  Kogel Bay, 2019.  Minette, Luan, Tristan, Eben.  Photos by Eben

The Pigs of Kogel Bay

Oupa Eben interrupted Oom Timo.  “What we told you so far is conventional wisdom, written up in history books from the testimony of the men who were there.  What follows is from testimony Oom Timo heard first hand from the great-grandchildren of people who were on the beach that day.”  I blurted out.  “But, the beach was desolate.  Nobody around!”  “So we thought,” Oom Timo said and gestured Oupa to take over the storytelling again.

“There were two additional sets of characters on the beach that day which, for completely different reasons, people were reluctant to talk about.  Hangklip became, by that time, a refuge for runaway slaves.  One of the places they made their home was Dappa se Gat which is situated right on Kogel Bay!

Looking out onto Kogel Bay from Dappa se Gat

It is an enormous cave, unaccessible during high tide but deep enough to house a community of people.  They would be able to get far into the cave, out of reach of the water.  It is quite possible that they were witnessing the entire debacle from the safety of their cave-home.  I wonder if they thought it may have been a party sent to recapture them in which case the safest thing to do would have been to abandon the cave and hide in the thick bush between the mountain and the beach.  “If they did this, as I suspect,” Oupa continue, “they would have seen that something managed to swim from the Colebrook to the beach.

“That “something” was a sounder of swine.  This was not something unusual.  The English Navy and the English East Indian Company both had it as a standard procedure that the pigs must be let out of their pens if it seems imminent that a ship will sink so that they can swim ashore to provide food for the shipwreck survivors.  This is presumably what happened to the pigs from Kent.”

“When they got to the beach, the slaves took them.  The slaves had a long history with pigs.  Pig-keeping was not very popular at the Cape.  The Dutch farmers who farmed pigs let them roam free in the valleys and gorges and when they wanted to slaughter one, they had to capture one.  The job of looking after them was mostly reserved for slaves.  At the Slaves Lodge in Cape Town where the Dutch East Indian Company’s slaves were kept, they were allowed to keep pigs to provide extra income for the lodge.”

“Not only did the slaves have a long history with pigs and pig husbandry, but they knew that they had to keep domesticated animals to survive.  There are accounts of this time where they kept cattle inside Dappa se Gat.  There are in the Cape Hanglip area several such caves where the slaves kept livestock. It is not known if the pigs were kept at Dadda de Gat or somewhere else.  What is known is that a local magistrate complained to the Governor about the slaves and local farmers who looted the remains of the Colebrook.”

“A farmer would not have dared to take the pigs in due to heavy penalties that were exacted for anyone found with looted goods in his or her possession. The fact that the pigs were kept by the slaves and farmed is the reason why they survived as a more or less uniform type of pig which later became known as a breed.”

This does not prove the veracity of Oupa Eben and Uncle Timo’s account of the Kolbroek pigs but I later found an interesting account from World War II which reminds me of the story of the Kolbroek.  It comes from the memoirs of a Latvian woman, Agate Nesaule.  When she was a child, she was an inmate of a British-run refugee camp in occupies Germany. As was often the case in these camps, inmates had to get by on very meager rations.  A local German farmer gave the inmates some piglets.  This was illegally done and the piglets were kept in various spaces in the barracks.  They were fed on food that spoiled or whatever else could be scavenged.  Agate commented that they “also enjoyed watching the little pigs – a hopeful sign of the future – thriving for their own sake.” (Nesaule, 1995)  As was the case with Agate, I suspect that this kind of human-animal interaction between the slaves and animals they kept served a greater need than simply for the slaves to look forward to a pork roast or beef steak.  There must have been a tremendous psychological benefit for the slaves to keep the animals in such close proximity.

“The sinking of the Colebrook captured people’s imagination.  For a short while, the Kogel Bay was even called Colebrook Bay.  This was changed back to Kogel Bay.  The pigs were called Kolbroek pigs, a perversion of the ship’s name.  This was never changed as a colloquial name for the pigs which was not easy to change and it stuck.”  “And that,” Oupa Eben concluded, “is how an English pig, crossed with a Chinese ended up at the Cape of Good Hope!”

Oupa Eben and Oom Timo started talking about politics.  I lost interest and left to join my brothers and cousins who started walking to the stables to help milk the cows.

I miss Oupa Eben.  I wish I asked oom Timo to tell me some of his stories.  It is why I write to you kids.  I want you to know my story.  I have been riding transport from Cape Town to Johannesburg for some time now.  Whenever I get to Johannesburg I stay at the same hotel.  I hear the merrymaking at the bar and have no desire to join them.  I much rather write to you!  Even if you are still very young, one day you will read this and understand what I am talking about.

Oupa bought a few Kolbroek pigs from a trader in Cape Town and since that day, we slaughtered and cured a Kolbroek every year.  It is not a bacon pig as the large White and the Berkshire.  These pigs have straight backs and long loins for bacon.  The Kolbroek is a lard pig, ideal for making hams, lard and, as you will see, not bad at all for bacon.  Apart from this, they have the most delicious meat.  One can taste the difference.  While I enjoyed the most delicious hams on earth, at least I also knew where the Kolbroek came from!

So it happened that bacon and farming with pigs have been in my blood from a very early age.  This is the month in which I turned 17 and still, I could not comprehend how these matters would consume the rest of my life.  It started with my dad’s secret bacon recipe and the Kolbork pigs that Oupa Eben brought home one autumn afternoon in April!

Further Reading

Read with Chapter 09.15 The English Pig where I deal with the source of pigs for Gravesend where live pigs were loaded onto ships.

Also refer Chapter 10.02: C & T Harris in New Zealand and other amazing tales where I take up the similarities between the Kolbroek and the Kune Kune.

   (c) eben van tonder

“Bacon & the art of living” in bookform

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References

The account of the Colebrook is mainly from the account by John Gribble and Gabriel Athiros from Tales of Shipwrecks at the Cape of Storms.  (Tales-of-Shipwrecks-at-the-Cape-of-Storms-Colebrook)

The theory about the slaves taking the pigs in is my own.  Read In Search of the Origins of the Kolbroek and Kolbroek – Chinese, New Zealand, and English Connections

Nesaule, A.. 1995.  A Woman in Amber: Healing the Trauma of War and Exile.  Soho Press, Inc.

Note 1

Information about Oom Timo was given to me by Leon Kok.  His mail to me reads:

“There is quite a bit about Tim, not least his SAAF war years in Somaliland, Abyssinia and the Western Desert generally. For example, he was among several young Air Force chaps from the Union that destroyed 101 enemy planes, countless lorries and other transport within three months in the most trying conditions. He also accompanied Prime Minister (General) Jan Smuts on a reconnaissance flight in the Desert on one occasion.  He escaped being taken a prisoner by Rommel and was involved in what came to be known as ‘The Graveyard of Italian Hopes’.  His maverick return from the Desert to SA in late 1945 almost constitutes a book in itself.

Tim and I spent tens of hours over about 30 years chatting about his memories of the war. Yes, he was an air mechanic and indeed a lot more. He would like to have been a pilot but was deemed too short.

Tim didn’t serve in Korea. He became an auto-electrician in Johannesburg shortly after disembarking from the UDF and had his own auto-electrical business in Bethlehem OFS for several years. He then sold out and moved to Durban and joined an auto-electrical business there. He rode a motorbike until well into his seventies, which included a fairly serious accident. He survived it and carried on with business as usual.

Thelma’s maiden name was BERRIMAN and her folk, I suspect, immigrated from either Cornwall or England. Her father was an immigrant gold miner on the Reef. Her brother was also a miner, mainly at Crown Mines. Tim moved into Thelma’s mother (Hilda’s ) home there just before or just after they were married in the late 1940s. Later, they owned their own home in Parkview, Johannesburg. Hilda, when widowed, moved in with them until her death in Durban in approximately the 1980s. Tim and Thelma never had children.

Not sure whether you ever saw the TV Series ‘The Villagers’, produced in the 1970s by Gray Hofmeyr (he and I were at school together). That typified the Berriman home.”

Timo Kok during WWII

“Oupa en Ouma het 4 kinders gehad,

Johan (Leon se pa) gebore 02 Mei 1908. Hy was die enigste een van die kinders wat op Universiteit was – Wits, as ek reg onthou

Gustaf. Gebore 12 Mei 1910 en oorlede 10 Julie 1910

Oupa Eben. Gebore 18 Junie 1911

Miempie (Bosman. Ma van Mariet en Ronnie en Jantjie) Gebore 23 November 1913

Timo is soos al die ander kinders op heilbron gebore waar my oupa jan ‘n sendeling was. Sy vrou was Engels en het NOOIT geleer om Afrikaans te praat nie. Sy het beweer Timo het eendag vir haar gelag toe sy probeer Afrikaans praat het en het toe nooit weer probeer nie

Uncle Timo and his dad before he left on a campain in North-Africa during WWII.  Photo sent to me by Oom Jan who got it from Oom Sybrand.

So ver my kennis strek was Timo ‘n vlug-ingeneur in die oorlog en het eers in Noor-Afrika  en Later in Italië geveg.

Ek dink nie hy was ooit in Korea nie. Ek dink Leon sal vir jou meer inligting kan gee. Die foto wat ek aanheg kom uit een van jou ma se albums.

Mag die feestyd vir julle wonderlik wees. Vir die eerste keer sedert Joretha-hulle in Engeland is, gaan ons op Kersdag ALMAL om een Kersmaal aansit. Marinus bring vir cathy saam en ons het opdrag gekry dat ons op Kersdag GEEN Afrikaans mag praat nie, want ons moet Cathy laat tuis voel.

Ek wens so ek kan julle klomp neefs en Niggies met al julle aanhangsels bymekaar kry om een tafel.”

Photo Credits:

Four small pigs are Kunekune, courtesy of the Empire Kunekune Pig Association of New York (https://www.ekpa.org/)  They are a close family of the Kolbroek.

Anvil Rock and Kogel Bay Map:  John Gribble & Gabriel Athiros.

Chapter 03: Kolbroek Introduction to Bacon & the Art of Living The quest to understand how great bacon is made takes me around the world and through epic adventures.

[marcos008-blog]

Warmley & Siston Chronicles 1940 – 1959

Warmley & Siston – One Hundred years of history – Part 4 of 7 – 1940 – 1959

1940

The Phoney War was now over and the real war was raging in earnest. With more and more local government controls, the Union Offices in Stanley Road were abandoned for more spacious accommodation in Warmley House. Power and fuel rationing were organised from the home of Ernest Williams at 10 Station Road, but food rationing still came from Stanley Road.

All the scrap metal was collected, old vehicles, metal fences and even the First World War field gun was taken away for the war effort, saucepans were turned into Spitfires!

The second year of the War saw the heaviest bombing in the area. The Magnal Works drew special attention from the Germans, although only incendiary bombs were dropped. During one raid Ernest Williams had gone down to see the damage to Magnals. He later explained, ‘I couldnt miss that, it was just like fairy land with all the incendiaries blazing away.’

Kingswood was also targeted that night, one young lad exclaimed, ‘Its terrible, the whole of Kingswood is on fire!’ On the 6th December the worst civilian casualties in the area occurred when a German paramine made a direct hit on an air raid shelter to the rear of the Ambassador Cinema killing three and maiming many others.

Had the bomb been forty yards to the west it would have hit the crowded cinema perhaps killing hundreds. Warmley and Siston were directly under the flight path of the Luftwaffe on its horrific raids on Filtons airplane factories.

In September the people of this area were treated to the spectacle of one of the fiercest dog fights over Bristol as nine Hawker Hurricanes of 504 Squadron, RAF., fought off what seemed like hundreds of bombers, forcing them to return the way they came.

As the retreating pilots passed overhead for the second time that day the area was lucky not to have the remaining contents of the bomb bays emptied here so that the fleeing planes could make better progress on their way back home.

1941

If the death and destruction of the war were not enough, everyday tragedies were still occurring. In June of this year Ernest Stone, aged only 10, was swimming in the quarry pools near the brickyard on London Road. The day had been hot and the water looked inviting but the sides of the quarry were steep and just below the surface the water was icy cold. Ernest soon found himself in great difficulty and in no time was sucked under and drowned.

Queen Mary had moved out of London, and was staying with the Duke of Beaufort at his estate at Badminton for the duration of the war. The Queen made several good-will tours of Carsons Factory and to Douglas Works in Kingswood, to boost the moral of the local workforce.

During the Blitz of Bristol in 1940 and 1941, every single fire fighter was called out to assist. Captain Knee and the rest of the Warmley A.F.S. often found themselves in the centre of Bristol helping the Bristol brigades to put out the furnace that was burning the heart of the City Centre.

1942

After the bombing of Pearl Harbour, the Americans were dragged into the War. Just over the Siston border, opposite Fisher Road, the Americans set up a military camp. This was the first time many local people from this area had seen a real Yankee rather than the actor on the silver screen.

When the Americans ventured out for an evenings entertainment it was a great novelty, especially for the girls, to see them in the local public houses.

The camp was set up by a black labour unit and these dark skinned G.I.s were then a cause of great curiosity. A little later, the U.S. 1st Army Medical Corps took over and stayed for about two years while they prepared for the big push. In 1944 this unit was involved in the D Day landings and a large number of the men lost their lives.

Meanwhile, the Home Guard, part of the 6th Gloucestershire Battalion, were becoming a co-ordinated fighting unit. The most dangerous period had passed. Had the Germans landed in force in 1939 or 1940 the Home Guard would have had little chance to repulse them as they were lacking good weapons and training.

With the leadership of Fred Brain and Old Contemptibles like Sergeant Gibbs and Corporal Bill Johnson, the men quickly began to shape up. Weekend manoeuvres and night exercises all helped and on many evenings, the Warmley Home Guard would find themselves attacking units from the surrounding villages, training for the real thing.

1943

On 15th December, the Vicar of St. Barnabas, the Reverend Hen John Say, passed away aged 71. Just prior to his death, and as a mark of appreciation for his long and faithful service to the Diocese of Bristol, The Reverend Say was made an Honorary Canon of Bristol Cathedral.

In his memory, his sister and fellow parishioners placed a beautiful stained glass window in the south east nave of the St. Barnabas Church where he had served for seventeen years.

In his Will, Canon Say had left 500 pounds toward the construction of a Church Hall for the Church and its parishioners. Another five years passed before the hall was built, which gave an enormous boost to the social life of the Church and proved to be a tremendous asset to the School as an assembly hall and home to the local Scouts.

1944

The role of the Vicar of St. Barnabas was filled with the arrival of The Reverend R. Down. During his incumbency the Church, which by now was nearly a hundred years old, was in need of many expensive repairs to its roof and other structures. Large sums were raised to fulfill these needs as well as completing other projects.

In the summer of 1944, strange accents and foreign languages were heard in the locality. An Italian P.O.W. camp was set up in Wraxall Road with about seventy prisoners brought in to help on the nearby farms.

The Italians were given non-political status and as such were considered harmless. Only a handful of guards were needed and during the evening after a hard days work, the P.O.W.s were allowed out of the camp. It was not an uncommon sight to see several men in their chocolate coloured uniforms strolling the nearby lanes or hear them singing at the tops of their voices in perfect harmony.

1945

The end of the war was now inevitable, it was only a matter of time. On 9th May, Hitler was dead and Germany had capitulated.

There was great excitement and many street parties were organised to celebrate the end of the war in Europe. But the war in the far east was still raging and it wasnt until Victory over Japan (V.J.) Day that the people really let their hair down.

The lights were finally turned back on, illuminating the shops and houses surrounding the Memorial Park. There was dancing in the streets and everyone was singing and laughing. An impromptu party began with the musical accompaniment of the ‘Warmley Wonders’ Clive and Terry Whittock.

Soon after, trestle tables and chairs were arranged in the Park in several rows and all the children of the district were given a picnic and party, the like of which had never been seen before. All the stops were pulled out to give the kids a day they would never forget.

It was not all joy in this year, there was a price to pay for victory, another eight names had to be added to the list of heroes from our district who made the supreme sacrifice.

Only one or two people in each century stand out in local memory. At the tail end of the 19th century, and for nearly half of the 20th century, John Lloyd Vaughan Seymour-Williams could be described as the man who put Warmley firmly on the map.

Born in 1868 and educated in Bath, he later joined the firm of solicitors under Mr. W.E. Lawrence, eventually becoming sole partner in the firm of Lawrence, Williams & Co. He was a very energetic and enterprising man, involving himself in many forward looking ventures which were to benefit the area.

In recognition for the excellent work he performed, John Seymour-Williams was made a Knight of the British Empire and T.D ,For six years he was on the Gloucestershire County Council and had been on many committees including the Royal Commission on Local Government and the Council for the Preservation of Rural England.

He was also on the Council of the Coroners Society and he represented this area as the Coroner of the Lower Division of Gloucestershire. Sir John Seymour-Williams became Clerk to Warmley R.D.C. and Warmley Guardians Committee in 1897. He was responsible for guiding these bodies for forty-eight years.

When the estate of Louisa Haskins, widow of Joseph, was sold in 1918, Sir Seymour-Williams was in a position to purchase the Pottery and became Chairman of Haskins Ltd. Warmley Pottery. Sir John lived for many years in the Old Lodge opposite Warmley House and after his death on the 24th January 1945, his widow, Lady Williams, then of the Old Rectory, Siston, made the gift of a splendid pair of gates for St. Barnabas Church, in his memory.

1946

In the post war years, there was an air of optimism, which been kindled by the solidarity shown through the darkest days of the Second World War.

A decision was made to form an Old Boys Association of the Warmley National School.

Its first President was the headmaster of the school from 1913 to 1936, Mr. William Moore. Its aims were to promote and maintain cultural, social and recreational activities amongst the members of the association.

In the early days, the organisation flourished and the first year ended with a carnival on Siston Common. Money was raised, some of which went to a special prize to be presented at the School Prize-giving for the child with the best character. The early days were the high days and this organisation, that had such potential, eventually faded away and was disbanded in 1953.

1947

To commemorate the fallen of the Great War, the people of the district marked the occasion with the erection of the stone column and the laying out of Warmley Green as a Memorial Park. A suitable tribute to the men lost in the Second World War was needed and even before that war was concluded plans were afoot to establish a hall in the community in remembrance of these men.

After three years of planning and fund raising, the Warmley War Memorial Hall and Community Centre was eventually opened.

Since that time, the centre has played a predominant role in the social life of the whole community. In the early years organisations like the Townswomens Guild and the Womens Institute would meet at the centre. There were whist drives and beetle drives and childrens Christmas parties. The centre also held baby shows and carnivals on the adjoining field as well as sports days and bonfires.

Theatre groups, Christmas pantomimes and flower shows have all enlightened and enlivened the community. All of these activities have made the building alive. It wasnt just a centre for activities but a centre for the whole community The Community Centre.

From the very beginning, the committee with its first Chairman, Bill Bowler, has striven to enrich the lives of the community and this great work has been built upon by later committees and chairmen, namely Alan Chubb, R. Minns, Ron Wakeford, Ernie Hall, Keith Williams, Brian Phillips and its present Chairman, Ron Pyle. It must be with much pride that these first far-sighted and community minded men look back to see that after nearly fifty years something very positive was formed from an event that for many was so tragic.

Warmley Community Centre Chairmen

Bill Brown 1947-50 Ernie hall 1978-87 Alan Chubb 1950-60 Keith Williams 1987-91 R. Minns 1960-63 Brian Phillips 1991-93 Ron Wakeford 1963-78 Ron Pyle 1993-

1948

Following the the much deserved retirement of P.C. Charlie Gowing his well worn boots were filled by a succession of P.C.s including P.C. Wheeler. As time went by the old police house in Tower Road was proving unsuitable and by the Late 1960s, when money became available, a purpose built police station with accommodation was built.

This was on the corner of Crown Gardens. It was from here that P.C. Stan Wheeler and his family continued to serve the community until his retirement in 1967 when he, in turn, was succeeded by Doug Hardiman.

On the 14th October, Warmley C.of E. School had received the news that it had been granted controlled status by the Ministry of Education. This led the way to great reorganisation and improvements at the school. By 1951 the senior boys were transferred to a new Secondary Modern School at High Street, Oldland, with Mr. R. Evans a Welshman appointed as its first headmaster.

1949

On the 19th August, the news came of the death of Fred Brain. Frederick William Brain was born in 1885 and was the son of Walter Brain, a corn mill owner of Wick. Walter Brain built a massive flour mill, conveniently situated next to the railway sidings in Chapel Lane, Warmley, employing his sons to run the business. In 1921 Walter went into partnership with Coffins, the Bath Mill owner, and in time the firm became known as James Collins, Sons and Brain.

The trademark was the Camden sign and the product was used in making extra fine quality bread as well as cattle, pig and poultry rations. Later the firm was controlled by the brothers. Alex Brain was the travelling representative and Fred Brain took control at the mill.

In 1918, Fred moved into Warmley House, after purchasing it from the Estate of Louisa Haskins. From the front of the House he could look across the valley to the red bricked mill standing high against the skyline. Throughout his life Fred Brain was a prominent patron of St. Barnabas Church and continued to use the grounds and grottoes of Warmley House as a venue for garden parties and other events to raise funds for the Church.

Fred served as choirmaster at the Church but his great love was playing the organ which he did with passion for 28 years. When the instrument was due for an expensive overhaul, it was Fred who contributed a great deal to the cost.

1950

Another stalwart of the community, who should not be forgotten, was Mr. Joe Clark. Joseph Daniel Clark died on the 18th January 1950 and throughout his life worked hard to improve the lot of others.

Joe was elected to the Siston Parish Council in its sixteenth year (1910), the following year achieving the position of Vice-Chairman. In 1920, the Warmley and District Allotments Ltd., was formed with Joe Clark as its first Chairman.

The aim of the organisation was to provide seed and agricultural implements for the surrounding farmers and other land users. Shares were issued with the added advantage of a 10% discount for shareholders when they made a purchase.

In 1930, Joe became the Chairman of Siston Parish Council, a position he held for a further sixteen years and then, after a short break, he returned to the Chair from 1947 until his death in 1950. Joseph Clark will perhaps be best remembered for his contribution and efforts as a leading member of the team who set up the War Memorial Hall and Community Centre.

1951

This year marked the Festival of Britain and will always be remembered for the return of the famous poet, Minnie Haskins, to Warmley House, her childhood home.

Minnie Louisa Haskins was born in May 1875, the eldest of four daughters of Louisa and Joseph Haskins. At this date Joseph Haskins was still trading as a grocer and living in Warmley Hill. By the 1880s the family had moved to Warmley House where Joseph also owned the Warmley Tower Pottery Manufactory.

Minnie was a very energetic member of the Warmley Congregational Chapel and by the end of the century was a Sunday School teacher, leader of the Womens Bible Class and also a founder of the Christian Endeavour Group.

In 1908 she published a number of her own poems in a small booklet entitled ‘The Desert’. This was to raise funds for missionary work in India. Amongst the many poems was one entitled ‘God Knows’, which was written in the Balcony Room of Warmley House and inspired by a gloomy vision she had one cold and misty night whilst looking down the drive of the house.

For the next thirty years, the poem remained almost unknown but in 1938 the words were printed as a private Christmas card, a copy of which was sent to King George VI. The following Christmas the Empire was at war and in its darkest hour, the King found these words comforting.

It was with this verse that he ended his Christmas broadcast. But who wrote this work? No one seemed to know. After much searching it was eventually revealed that the author was none other than Miss Minnie Haskins, by then a retired lecturer living in Sussex.

In 1951, at the age of 75, Minnie returned once more, at the invitation of Warmley R.D.C., to Warmley House. She unveiled a plaque on the entrance porch to commemorate the visit and recalled her long lost youth in the house and grounds where she loved to think and play.

In 1953, when the King was buried in the Royal Mausoleum at Windsor, a stained-glass window was installed in memory of him. At the foot of it were the words of Miss Haskins that he had quoted in 1939.

The message written at Warmley that went all around the world and began:

‘ I said to the Man who stood at the gate of the year,

Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown

And He replied, ‘Go out into the darkness

And put your hand into the hand of God

That shall be to you better than light

And safer than the known way…’

1952

In January 1951. Warmley School re-opened after its Christmas break as a primary school catering for 158 infants and juniors.

This was a period of great hope and enterprise for the old Victorian school and by September 1952, with a need to strengthen links between the school and home, the Warmley Parent-Teacher Association was formed. Like all P.TA. groups, the principal aim was to create a better educational institute for the pupils, which this one at Warmley did with great success.

In 1960 Warmley was one of the first Primary Schools in the country to have its own television set and many other items were to be presented to the school, courtesy of the P.T.A. It was not all work though, as social activities were also arranged with educational trips to the theatre, coach outings to places of interest, (usually using the services of John Sparkes Coaches of Warmley) and often returning via an historic inn!

The high-lights of the school year, besides the Christmas concert, sports day and prize giving, were the social evenings and the summer fair, as these were the main source of revenue. The fairs, a cross between a carnival and a car boot sale, were held on the tennis court if dry or in the church hail if wet and were enjoyed by the stall holders and public alike.

The first P.T.A, was chaired by the Headmaster, Mr. R. B. Wintle, and presided over by the Prebendary, C.W. Francis. It would be difficult to name teachers who have influenced the children of the parish the most, however, three names come up over and over again.

The first is Mr. William Moore, who was head from 1913 to 1936 whose legacy was the wonderful copper plate handwriting that a generation left school with. The next is Mrs. G.W. Myers, known affectionately as ‘Mini-Myers’; although she seemed to be very stern, underneath she was very loving and cared for her little flock.

The third of this selection has to be Mr. Arthur Deavin. Arthur had probably worked with more head teachers than any other master. He had many opportunities for promotion but passed them over for the love he had for the school and its pupils. The only way to obtained a headship was to move to another school and that was not for Mr. Deavin.

1953

King George VI died on 6th February 1952 and the young Princess Elizabeth was thrown into the role she has performed so well now for over forty years.

The 2nd June 1953 was the beginning of the new Elizabethan era for the country and everyone joined in the celebrations. Food rationing was by now almost phased out and Coronation parties were being organised everywhere.

At the party all the children were presented with their own coronation mug full of sweets. This was a treat indeed! A grand party was held in the canteen of Kingswood Grammar School, to the delight of all who attended. Siston had its own Coronation Queen when Rachel Willmott was crowned. She was the daughter of Lloyd and Winifred Willmott, the newsagents at the corner of High Street and Stanley Road.

There was a huge increase in the sale of television sets this year and for many this was the first opportunity to see ‘the magic box’. That wet June day was spent with most of the neighbours watching the flickering black and white images of the Coronation followed in the evening by more celebrations.

1954

Mervyn and Bertha Whittock and their sons Clive and Terry have entertained the local community for over forty years. During the second world war the family, who were then living in Stanley Road, were often called upon to entertain both British and American troops.

In one year they performed two hundred shows as well as dinner hour concerts at factories. It was therefore not surprising that they were better known by their stage name of the ‘Warmley Wonders’. Clive was the star of the show and had appeared on the same bill as Bing Crosby. He also made broadcasts for the B.B.C., on ‘Workers Playtime’.

Although the family moved from Stanley Road in the early 50s they still found time to serve on the Entertainment Committee at the Community Centre and to produce concerts like the ‘Black & White Minstrel Show’. Even in her 90s Bertha has kept a strong link with the Community and has been Vice Chairlady of Warmley Golden Hour for many years.

1955

Crown Farm has stood for several hundred years on the east side of Tower Road North, Warmley, adjacent to the junction with Station Road. A 1610 map of Kingswood Forest shows a building called Jeffrayes House, this was possibly Crown Farm. The Jeffrayes in the area greatly upset a Siston parish priest, for in a memorandum of the parish registers for 1625 he wrote, ‘Ye Jeffrayes and Tukers of Warmley are rogues, whores and thieves and WT not YT is wicked.’

Records show members of the Jefferies family were living in Crown Farm into the 19th century. In the early part of that century the property was purchased by George M. Davidson of Warmley House and subsequently was owned by the Haskins family.

At one time Crown Farm was divided into several dwellings. In the late 19th century Crown Farm became the venue for the local Council meetings. This continued until 1900 when the new council offices in Stanley Road were built.

At the beginning of the 20th century, Luther Hamblin lived at Crown Farm. He was a haulier and would take leather from Avonmouth to the Kingswood boot factories then return with boots for export.

When Mr. Hamblin moved out, Cyril Turner became the tenant of Crown Farm. Farmer Fred Bryant was the last occupier of Crown Farm and after he moved away on Michelmas Day 1955 the buildings rapidly deteriorated and became the target of vandalism. The farm was knocked down in 1956 and the site left for many years. Factories now cover the fields and the site is owned by Mardon Son and Hall.

The land around Crown Farm which for so many years was used for grazing now produced a very different product. The head office and factory of the Lawson Mardon Group, Wincanton, Mothers Pride Bakery, Motorway Tyres, Ian Williams Limited, decorators, and Dinky Heel Ltd., fill the site.

1956

After the reorganisation in the education system in 1948 secondary schools were required for children of eleven years and above.

The boys were transferred to High Street, Oldland but it would be several years more before the girls school would be completed. The girls eventually went to a separate establishment in North Street, Oldland, which was to be known as Oldland Secondary Modern School for Girls. This was officially opened in September 1956 with Miss Nicholls as headmistress.

1957

early part of the century, the area was supplied with bread from a few small bakers, two of which were in Chapel Lane.

The older belonged to George Lacey, built around 1905, and was opposite the flour mill. The second bakery was owned by Percy White and his home and ovens were opposite the Congregational Chapel.

For over half a century these two men produced most of the loaves needed for Warmley and Siston, and all around the district. At the top of Hill Street, Kingswood, Henry Attwell also had a high-class bakery and bread shop which stood opposite Woodstock Road. However, the days of the small baker were coming to an end.

In 1957, Christopher Bell Ltd., a member of the Hovis McDougall Group, opened a massive bakery at the far end of Crown Road. There was nothing like it this side of Bristol.

Bread, cakes and many other kinds of confectionery were produced and were sold in shops all around the region. At this time the customer could have bread delivered daily to his door and scores of the familiar red and white vans could be seen passing to and fro from the factory. The little Chipmunk on top of the vans became the Christopher Bell trade mark.

In the 1960s Rank took control of the bakery and Mothers Pride bread became the main product. Bread is no longer baked at Warmley and the factory serves only as a warehouse for the container loads of bread brought in from the Midlands.

Bit by bit all the fields that were once part of Crown Farm have been covered with warehousing or factories. This year saw the opening of another distribution depot for the confectionery trade.

United Biscuits, whose products include Jacobs Biscuits, moved to the lower section of Crown Road, bringing much needed work to the area. The company has had a number of structural changes since the 1950s and the depot at Warmley is now the regional distribution point for the Jacobs Biscuits Group of Companies. Before the decade was over Motorway Tyres and Kraft Products were to set up business here.

1959

Many things in life we take for granted and some institutions seem always to have been around. Yet a basic service like the Library has had a relatively short history.

Warmley Community Centre was set up about fifty years earlier as a Reading Room for the people of the area. Books were in short supply and in great demand. About the same time a lending library was in existence in a shop opposite the Kings Arms in Kingswood run by the two daughters of Isaac Green of Stanley Road.

Siston and Warmley has never had its own official library but with the growing population in the Warmley district of Parkwall, a purpose built library was planned.

On 4th July 1959, Cadbury Heath Library in School Road, was opened, the first of the new libraries in the area. Prior to this, boxes of books were allocated and distributed, mainly to schools, from Shire Hall in Gloucester. As our parish was almost at the southern-most end of the County and Bristol dealt within its own boundary, the selection was extremely limited compared to the wide range of books and activities offered today.

A Woman Inspired by Joyce Gale 2004 Warmley.

And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year,

Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown

And he replied:. Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand

Of God. That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way

So I went forth, and finding the Hand of God, trod gladly into the night.

Many of us will have heard the above words at some time in our life, written by Minnie Louise Haskins in 1908. Much later to become famous by King George VI reading it as part of his first Christmas message to the nation at the start of the second World War.

Minnie was born on 12th May 1875 to Louisa and Joseph Haskins the eldest of four daughters. Her father was then trading as a grocer. By 1880 the family moved to Warmley House and Joseph by now owned the Warmley Tower Pottery Company. Minnie attended Warmley Congregational Chapel becoming a Sunday School Teacher and leader of the Womans bible class and Founder of the Christian Endeavour Group.

It was whilst at Warmley House where standing at the upstairs balcony window and looking down the illuminated driveway to the gate that Minnie was inspired to write the words of God Knows which for a while was put away and forgotten.

From 1918-1920 Minnie studied at the London School of Economics. Gaining a Social Science certificate and distinction, also a diploma in Sociology with distinction in Philosophy in 1920. She joined the staff of LSE in Social Science Department becoming a tutor in 1934 retiring in 1939 reappointed and continued until 1944.

In 1933 she was described as a woman of unusual capacity and character with a rare understanding and sympathy with great love and interest in people Privately Minnie printed her poems and verses The Desert later Through Bed of Stone (1928) A Few People (1932) her other articles and pieces were mainly on industry.

King George VI was introduced to God Knows by the Queen mother which was sent to her in a Christmas Card. Minnie was astounded to know her poem was broadcast, although she never heard it herself. The subsequent royalties Minnie donated to charity and by then was living in Sussex.

In 1951 aged seventy five Minnie returned to Warmley House, (which was then owned by Warmley Rural District Council who had purchased it in 1940) to unveil a commemorative plaque during the Festival of Britain. This plaque still remains to this day.

In 1952 King George VI died and was buried at Windsor Castle and at the foot of a stained glass window in his memory are Minnies words the King had quoted in 1939.

Minnie never married and is thought to have died in Crowborough, Sussex in 1957

In 1967 the poem was set to music by American Classical Composer Elinor Remick Warren, called The Gate of the Year

I said to the man, who stood

at the gate of the year

Give me a light that I may

tread safely into the unknown

And he replied Go out into the

darkness and put your hand into

the hand of God. That shall be to

you better than light and safer than a known

Way So I went forth, and finding the

Hand of God, trod gladly into the night.*

And He led me towards the hills

and the breaking of day in the lone East.

So heart be still

What need our little life

Our human life to know,

If God hath comprehension?

In all the dizzy strife

Of things both high and low,

God hideth his intention.

God Knows. His will

Is best. The stretch of years

Which wind ahead, so dim

To our imperfect vision,

Are clear to God, Our fears

Are premature; In Him

All time hath full provision.

Then rest; until

God moves to lift the veil

From our impatient eyes,

When, as the sweeter features

Of lifes stern face we hail,

Fair beyond all surmise

Gods thought around His creatures

Our minds shall fill.

Joyce Gale 2004 Warmley.

Source of Research (Memories of Warmley)

Daily Telegraph 2002.

Pastor Ken Van Schelven USA.who got me on to the research.

Posted by brizzle born and bred on 2009-10-17 16:12:25

Tagged: , chronicles , timeline , 1940 , 1959 , Phoney War , Stanley Road , Ernest Williams , Spitfires , Magnal Works , air raid , Ambassador Cinema , Hawker Hurricane , 504 Squadron , Ernest Stone , Carsons Factory , Douglas Works , Captain Knee , A.F.S. , Fisher Road , American Camp , U.S. 1st Army Medical Corps , 6th Gloucestershire Battalion , Home Guard , Fred Brain , Bill Johnson , John Say , Italian P.O.W. camp , Memorial Park , Whittock , Warmley Wonders , John Seymour-Williams , Warmley Guardians Committee , Old Rectory , William Moore , Bill Bowler , Alan Chubb , Minns , Ron Wakeford , Ernie Hall , Keith Williams , Brian Phillips , Ron Pyle , Warmley Community Centre , P.C. Charlie , P.C. Wheeler , Crown Gardens , Doug Hardiman , Evans , headmaster , Frederick William Brain , Brain , corn mill , flour mill , Coffins , James Collins , Joseph Daniel Clark , Festival of Britain , John Sparkes , Wintle , Francis , Myers , Deavin , Rachel Willmott , American troops , Louisa Haskins , Cadbury-Heath , Kingswood , Filton , Siston , Wick , Warmley , BS30 , WW2

The post Warmley & Siston Chronicles 1940 – 1959 appeared first on Good Info.

[tripstations]

One goes mad in Dorset: camping on Scout island | Travel

The first time I hear a peacock scream it scares the bejesus out of me. I’m sussing out my tree tent – cleverly strung between four sweet chestnuts a few feet off the ground – and the sound stops me in my tracks. The bird struts past, glorious tail ablaze, in pursuit of the less colourful (and seemingly unimpressed) peahen before embarking on an elaborate twerking ritual.

Close encounters with nature are part of any experience on Brownsea Island, the largest isle in Dorset’s Poole harbour and the second biggest natural harbour in the world after Sydney. As I sit back and soak up the view across to the Purbeck Hills, I spy white bunny tails disappear into bushes; oystercatchers flap above the sea and I lock eyes with a sika deer grazing nearby before she darts gracefully away.

Ten minutes by ferry from the mainland, National Trust-owned Brownsea is an Enid Blyton hideaway – it inspired the Famous Five’s adventures on Whispering Island. But it’s perhaps best known as the birthplace of the Scout movement: in 1907, Lord (then plain Major) Baden-Powell brought a group of 20 boys here to take part in an experimental camp, living close to nature and practising practical skills he had learned in the army during the Boer War. It launched a global movement, and now groups from 75 countries visit the island each year.

Until recently only Scouts, Guides and other private groups could camp here – but a new “eco-camping” option now welcomes the general public on certain dates, with numbers capped at 30 mid-week or 150 at weekends. There are tents or hammocks for hire (including three tree tents, hung by the organisers), or visitors can bring their own, while gas cooking stations and all utensils are provided. Hot water for showers is heated by biomass, using wood from the island, and there’s a sheltered communal dining area.

Brownsea is home to one of England’s last colonies of red squirrels. Photograph: Alamy

I arrive on the last ferry from Sandbanks. As the daytrippers head home, I can’t help feeling a little smug. The campsite’s on the south shore, a 20-minute walk from the dock, and in late May I’m the only person staying.

I wander into the forest and it’s not long until I spot a red squirrel, and then another – Brownsea is home to one of England’s last colonies. I’ve been given a star chart and as darkness falls I study the constellations before climbing into my tent. It’s a bit like sleeping on a trampoline, but there are no issues with hard ground or deflating mattresses and I wake around dawn to the sound of a woodpecker tapping overhead.

Despite its size – just one and a half miles long and three-quarters of a mile wide – Brownsea has wide-ranging habitat, from heathland to sheltered lagoons and woodland with more than 100 tree species. For kids, it’s an adventure playground: there are nature trails, crayon rubbings and tree climbing routes, and a natural play area. Regular ranger-led safaris hunt for wildlife and, over the summer, special family adventure weekends run too, with campfires and activities from archery to canoeing.

Custom House and Agent’s House, two National Trust properties on Brownsea Island. Photograph: Chris Lacey/National Trust Images

I’m not always a fan of organised tours, but there are two free introductory guided walks daily, and volunteer Clive brings the island’s history to life so vividly I’m soon wondering why there hasn’t been a BBC drama about this place.

So many colourful characters have shaped the island. Henry VIII built the castle in the east (now leased by the John Lewis partnership as a hotel for its staff). I love the tale of Colonel William Petrie Waugh and his wife Mary, who bought the island in the 1850s thinking they’d found a source of high-quality clay and built a pottery, village and church, but fled to Spain bankrupt when the material proved substandard. There was bon vivant tobacco baron Charles van Raalte, who used it for holidays and insisted all employees played an instrument, and whose widow turned the whole place into a daffodil farm. In the 1920s came reclusive Mary Bonham-Christie, who banished all inhabitants and let nature take over. During the second world war the island served as a decoy for Poole, with pyrotechnics tricking Nazi bombers into targeting Brownsea instead.

Tree tents and hammocks are available for campers. Photograph: Jane Dunford

The north of the island, run by the Dorset Wildlife Trust, is a very different landscape again with lagoons and lakes. There are five hides for watching the prolific birdlife, and I sit for ages spotting common and sandwich terns, listening to their cries, before heading to the island’s one cafe for a cup of tea.

It’s late afternoon when I walk back to camp, again passing daytrippers on their way home. In the height of summer 1,500 people visit, but with so many different areas to explore the island can swallow them up, so it rarely feels crowded.

My wildlife spotting isn’t done yet. Those on adventure weekends can hire bat detectors and, as dusk falls, I take one and creep quietly through the woods. Beeps warn me that I’m getting close and I look up to see tiny, perfect bat-shaped silhouettes whizzing and swirling in the sky.

The island is ringed by beaches. Photograph: Susie Kearley/Alamy

The next morning on a seashore ramble, led by ranger and marine biologist Miranda, we lift rocks and seaweed to find bugs, anemones and crabs. We learn about the sealife in Poole harbour, and how the deer can swim to other islands. Indeed, the water looks clear and clean and there are several beaches giving easy access to it – but it’s still chilly so I stay shore-bound.

You don’t have to camp to stay overnight on Brownsea. The National Trust has two cottages on the east coast near the castle while South Shore Lodge, a lovely Victorian gamekeeper’s house with a private garden leading to the sea and dormitory accommodation for 24, has just opened for public bookings for the first time. But camping feels like the best way to enjoy the island in its rawest form – and now you don’t need to know your “dyb dyb dyb” from your “dob dob dob” to do so. • Camping was provided by the National Trust (nationaltrust.org.uk). The campsite is open from 1 April-30 Sept. Camping costs £22 a night adult, £11 child (5-17), under-5s free including communal cooking facilities; see website for available dates. Three-person pre-pitched tree tents (which come with an additional tent for kit storage) are £30 extra

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[scotianostra]

Happy St Patrick’s Day.

St Patrick is the patron saint of Ireland, and always will be, however a long standing theory is that he was born in what is now Scotland. It makes sense, several of our saints, most notably Columba, are said to have been from Ireland, so why not?  A 2018 delves into the matter in depth, but the theory is by no means new.

It is said his father, whose name was Calpurnius, was in a respectable station in life, being municipal magistrate in the town in which he lived. What town this was, however, is not certainly known, whether Kilpatrick, a small village on the Clyde, five miles east of Dumbarton, Duntochar, another small village about a mile north of Kilpatrick, or Dumbarton itself. But these are only the areas quoted in what is now Scotland I wont go into the ones saying England.

His father is supposed, (for nearly all that is recorded of the holy man is conjectural, or at best but inferential,) to have come to Scotland in a civil capacity with the Roman troops, under Theodosius. His mother, whose name was Cenevessa, was sister or niece of St Martin, bishop of Tours; and from this circumstance, it is presumed that his family were Christians.

He was captured as a teenager by Niall of the Nine Hostages who was to become a King of all Ireland.

He was sold into slavery in Ireland and put to work as a shepherd. He worked in terrible conditions for six years drawing comfort in the Christian faith that so many of his people had abandoned under Roman rule.

Patrick had a dream that encouraged him to flee his captivity and to head South where a ship was to be waiting for him. He travelled over 200 miles from his Northern captivity to Wexford town where, sure enough, a ship was waiting to enable his escape.

Patrick’s devotion to Ireland started with a dream which he wrote about as…..

“I saw a man coming, as it were from Ireland. His name was Victoricus, and he carried many letters, and he gave me one of them. I read the heading: ‘The Voice of the Irish.’ As I began the letter, I imagined in that moment that I heard the voice of those very people who were near the wood of Foclut, which is beside the western sea-and they cried out, as with one voice: 'We appeal to you, holy servant boy, to come and walk among us.’”

The vision prompted his studies for the priesthood. He was ordained by St. Germanus, the Bishop of Auxerre, whom he had studied under for years, and was later ordained a bishop and sent to take the Gospel to Ireland.

Patrick arrived in Slane, Ireland on March 25, 433. There are several legends about what happened next, with the most prominent claiming he met the chieftan of one of the druid tribes, who tried to kill him. After an intervention from God, Patrick was able to convert the chieftain and preach the Gospel throughout Ireland. There, he converted many people -eventually thousands - and he began building churches across the country.

He often used shamrocks to explain the Holy Trinity and entire kingdoms were eventually converted to Christianity after hearing Patrick’s message.

Patrick preached and converted all of Ireland for 40 years. He worked many miracles and wrote of his love for God in Confessions. After years of living in poverty, travelling and enduring much suffering he died March 17, 461.

He died at Saul, where he had built the first Irish church. He is believed to be buried in Down Cathedral, Downpatrick. His grave was marked in 1990 with a granite stone.

Saint Patrick’s Day is observed on 17 March, the supposed date of his death. It is celebrated inside and outside Ireland as a religious and cultural holiday. In the dioceses of Ireland, it is both a solemnity and a holy day of obligation; it is also a celebration of Ireland itself, although recent events have meant it will be more subdued than normal. I once read many years ago that there is more alcohol in the world sold on St Patrick’s Day than any other day of the year, and I quite believe that, but again am not getting into an argument.

Find out more about the paper from the link below https://www.irishcentral.com/roots/history/saint-patrick-born-scotland

The second pic is St Patrick's Rock or St Patrick's Stone located in the River Clyde close to the Erskine Bridge. It is reputedly the location from which the 16 year old Saint Patrick was kidnapped by Irish pirates whilst he was fishing.

[scotianostra]

On August 31st 651 AD, St. Aidan of Lindisfarne, among the greatest missionaries of the early medieval period, died while on one of his frequent preaching missions in Northern England.

I better explain a couple of things first, Aidan may have been most associated with Lindisfarne, and yes I said Northern England, but, not only was the border less aligned in the seventh century, there was no England or Scotland as they exist now. If you know you’re geography Lindisfarne is only about 12 miles from Berwick upon Tweed, as you will know from a recent post, the town was part of Scotland for many years. 

As well as the geography, St Aidan  began his life of service on the Isle of Iona and is thought to have been born in Ireland.  The monastery at Iona was established by Irish monks under St. Columba, another great Celtic missionary during the so-called “dark ages.” About a century later, in St. Aidan’s time, the monastery had become a major centre of Gaelic Christianity and was receiving and sending monks across Europe.

By this time, Christianity in what is now Norhumerland, was largely replaced by the paganism of both native Britons and the Anglo-Saxon conquerors. The Kingdom of Northumbria compromised of northern England and south-east Scotland, had just been reconquered by King St. Oswald of Northumbria. Oswald took back his father’s throne at the Battle of Heavenfield, where he prepared by praying before a wooden cross, said be a relic of the cross Jesus died on. Next, Oswald beheld a vision of St. Columba who promised victory if his generals would be baptized. At council, all agreed to be baptized the night before and victory came to Oswald. After his victory, and the vison of St Columba  the victorious king asked the monks of Iona to send him a missionary to be an Apostle to Northumbria. 

Aidan wasn’t the first Monk to be sent, a previous one was disliked by the population for being ”harsh”, and had some trouble with the languages, he found that the people refused to listen to him. e made no progress in converting people and returned to Iona, reporting that the people of Iona were too barbarous and stubborn to be reached. Aidan on hearing the report is said to have chastised the man and volunteered to venture south himself.

St Aidan would walk from village to village speaking to people he saw and slowly interesting them in Christianity. He would engage with the people on their own level by taking an interest in their lives and their communities. Through this approach he slowly restored Christianity to the Northumbrian countryside.

He founded a monastery on the island of Lindisfarne known as Lindisfarne Priory and served as its first bishop.

In his years as bishop St Aidan was responsible for the construction of numerous churches, monasteries and schools throughout the north east. He also earned a reputation for all of his tireless charity efforts and dedication to the poor.

After his death in 651 St Aidan was buried at Lindisfarne, beneath the monastery that he helped found and his feast day is celebrated on the anniversary of his death every year on 31st August.

Pics are of a modern statue of St. Aidan beside the ruins of the medieval priory on Lindisfarne, which I think is very impressive. 

[scotianostra]

On March 17th 458, Mo Padraigh (Saint Patrick), Patron Saint of Ireland died.

I'm not going o get into debates about this, but there is a theory that St Patrick was born around the Dumbarton area in about the year 372, other sources put him further south in what is now Cumbria, the truth is nobody knows for certain. What is known that The Islands as we know them now were in the main occupied by The Romans.

It is said his father, whose name was Calpurnius, was in a respectable station in life, being municipal magistrate in the town in which he lived. What town this was, however, is not certainly known, whether Kilpatrick, a small village on the Clyde, five miles east of Dumbarton, Duntochar, another small village about a mile north of Kilpatrick, or Dumbarton itself. But as I said these are only the ares quoted in what is now Scotland I wont go into the ones saying England.

His father is supposed, (for nearly all that is recorded of the holy man is conjectural, or at best but inferential,) to have come to Scotland in a civil capacity with the Roman troops, under Theodosius. His mother, whose name was Cenevessa, was sister or niece of St Martin, bishop of Tours; and from this circumstance, it is presumed that his family were Christians.

He was captured as a teenager by Niall of the Nine Hostages who was to become a King of all Ireland.

He was sold into slavery in Ireland and put to work as a shepherd. He worked in terrible conditions for six years drawing comfort in the Christian faith that so many of his people had abandoned under Roman rule.

Patrick had a dream that encouraged him to flee his captivity and to head South where a ship was to be waiting for him. He travelled over 200 miles from his Northern captivity to Wexford town where, sure enough, a ship was waiting to enable his escape.

Patrick's devotion to Ireland started with a dream which he wrote about as.....

"I saw a man coming, as it were from Ireland. His name was Victoricus, and he carried many letters, and he gave me one of them. I read the heading: 'The Voice of the Irish.' As I began the letter, I imagined in that moment that I heard the voice of those very people who were near the wood of Foclut, which is beside the western sea-and they cried out, as with one voice: 'We appeal to you, holy servant boy, to come and walk among us.'"

The vision prompted his studies for the priesthood. He was ordained by St. Germanus, the Bishop of Auxerre, whom he had studied under for years, and was later ordained a bishop and sent to take the Gospel to Ireland.

Patrick arrived in Slane, Ireland on March 25, 433. There are several legends about what happened next, with the most prominent claiming he met the chieftan of one of the druid tribes, who tried to kill him. After an intervention from God, Patrick was able to convert the chieftain and preach the Gospel throughout Ireland. There, he converted many people -eventually thousands - and he began building churches across the country.

He often used shamrocks to explain the Holy Trinity and entire kingdoms were eventually converted to Christianity after hearing Patrick's message.

Patrick preached and converted all of Ireland for 40 years. He worked many miracles and wrote of his love for God in Confessions. After years of living in poverty, travelling and enduring much suffering he died March 17, 461.

He died at Saul, where he had built the first Irish church. He is believed to be buried in Down Cathedral, Downpatrick. His grave was marked in 1990 with a granite stone.

Saint Patrick's Day is observed on 17 March, the supposed date of his death. It is celebrated inside and outside Ireland as a religious and cultural holiday. In the dioceses of Ireland, it is both a solemnity and a holy day of obligation; it is also a celebration of Ireland itself, although recent events have meant it will be more subdued than normal. I once read many years ago that there is more alcohol in the world sold on St Patrick's Day than any other day of the year, and I quite believe that, but again am not getting into an argument.

Second pic is where he is supposedly buried, third a statue of him in Saul, Ireland and finally part of a Celtic cross discovered near St Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin in the 19th century now in the Cathedral.