BANKS, RENAISSANCE CITIES AND CASTLES UP NORTH
In the past four weeks I have ridden virgin's rail from north to south west to east and back again, frequently an hour late, due to floods, track upgrades and water running out in the buffet car. They were packed with Brits, on the way home from various airports after holidays in far away places. They speak in a babble of dialects some of which would surely qualify as a distinct language. Whilst I can listen for hours to the lyrical lilt of an elderly Northumbrian woman gossiping with her friends, the sound of a Crewe station barmaid in full flight impacts me like finger nails scraping across a blackboard. The various raiders and invaders settled but still have not assimilated.As ever, despite our scaremongering Aussie Journalists and politicians, warning us that the eyes of the world are on us-when their cause is under threat or sensibly being ignored-the only news of Australian origin in the British media, has been the Falconio murder pre-trial hearing, resignation of the Governor of Tasmania, Mark Viduka's transfer to Middlesborough as the Premier league opens and of course, those fish people, Thorpe and Thomas denying some of the yanks their accustomed cleansweep of medals in the Olympic pool.English TV reporters were ecstatic about a swimmer from Liverpool actually winning bronze ( despite constantly complaining that the team's Aussie coach drove them too hard-he even stops them talking to the media would you believe??). The English cricket team has trashed a very sad Windies and dreams of beating Australia next year-but they seem oblivious to the implication of more than 20 top Aussies currently playing county cricket (including captain Ponting)-apart from the very handy money guess why they are here? Jonny Wikinson played his first game yesterday after shoulder surgery and came through unscathed-let's hope we see him out with the Lions next year. Manchester United ( perhaps destined to be American owned) lost their opening game to Chelsea whose owner is alleged to be implicated in a $12m aid money scandal in Russia. Beckam and his sychophantic fans invaded Newcastle last night,as I left for Hadrian's wall, to triumph over an irrelevant and very lack lustre Ukraine. At least it kept the England manager's sexual pecadillos out of the news. After seeing a theatre revival of the first world war tear jerker-Journey's end ( how good it is to be a senior citizen when it comes to west end theatre, art gallery and train concessions) I contemplated the real tragedy by visiting the new Australian war memorial at Marble Arch-its dark greenish stone suits bright sunlight and London's rainy gloom. The scope of Australia's involvement in past conflicts and where its soldiers came from ( even Manchester) is breathtaking. The fact that several panels are blank implying future use is sobering. I visited the Manchester regiment museum and confirmed details of my paternal grandfathers burial at Cape Helles-at Gallipolli and was surprised to see that soldiers of the regiment did escort duty on convict ships to Sydney-trust Mancunians to always be in the thick of things..The greatly increased standard of living of many Brits is evidenced by the quality and abundance of cars parked at supermarkets, the price of even the smallest house,rampant consumerism in the shops and on (digital)TV and their capacity to pay $6 for dishwater masquerading as cafe latte, $30 for very ordinary Aussie wines and $60 for a filet steak. No wonder they tolerate Tony Blair's Conservatism ( i.e.Thatcherism) disguised in Labour clothes, whilst increasing numbers of school leavers either can't read or write adequately for decent employment or attain suspiciously growing excellence at dumbed-down A levels-according to employers and my teacher /school inspector friends- ( unlike sport the English don't like to admit failure in learning) meanwhile, many graduates, from strange sounding universities, are unemployable in graduate level careers whilst, plumbers are as rare as hen's teeth (sound familiar) The A level results are just out-even more triumphs for students and teachers-pity about the great universities and employers who can't be sure the sheep are not goats ( excuse my smug satisfaction on hearing that passing A levels in the 60s was much harder than today.)It has been a delight and privilege to work with young British managers, and some of their managers of my own vintage, in banking and house building companies. It's an interesting experience to see what I might have been like had I not left over thirty years ago. Sadly for them, good for my business, the problems of managing and coping in essentially political and power driven organizations, doesn't change much with time and generations. It was good to find my experience and advice so well received (and paid for in pounds!!) especially by bright up and comers. London was much quieter and fresher in the centre due to the charge on cars entering the inner zone. Much is made of Paris and now Berlin for their architecture but London is undersold in this regard. Early morning walks through the streets, squares and parks and looking up, reveals a grace and style that is lost behind the tourist focus on the tower and changing of the guard. Tate modern for once displayed real art-an Edward Hopper exhibition- and at the national gallery there was a super showing of Russian landscape in the time of Tolstoy. To think these beautiful renditions of forests, the Dnieper by moonlight and the vast steppe were hidden behind the veneer of Soviet so called 'realism' . The death of Bernard Levin, after struggling with that insidious disease, Alzheimers stole away an increasingly rare artist of the English language and reminded me of the days when the Guardian bore the prefix Manchester and was a truly great,quality liberal paper.The travel between and working in virtually a city a day for the first three weeks took its toll on my waistline and stamina reserves so for the final week I have resorted to a little known part of England-the coast and mountains of Northumbria. The beaches are every bit as lovely and unspoilt as those in Gippsland (because the weather doesn't encourage too many visitors) and they have the bonus of fabulous castles intended to swing the balance against marauding Scots or Wars of the roses combatants. The mountains brood under lowering skies-I walked for 8 miles across them and my only living companions were the very clean (it rains so much) and curious sheep. The battle of Otterburn ( a rare Scots win, although the Douglas was slain) was mournful and every hamlet has fortified farm towers ( Peles and Bastles) to which people repaired when border Rievers (cattle duffers) came calling intent on rustling, kidnap and rape. They bore presidential names such as kennedy, Nixon and Johnson and even that of my soccer hero-Charlton. On rainy days and under heavy black clouds one can still feel the threat and menace of riders suddenly looming up out of the boggy wastes of the debatable lands, to which until the 16th century, neither England nor Scotland laid claim.Finally the great northern cities are a real surprise-Manchester, Leeds and Newcastle have undergone a veritable renaissance and building goes on apace ( however there will be a shortfall of 4000 building workers in a few years if education and industry policies undervalue trades training) it was wonderful to see that foul, sooty, vaporous slum I grew up in transformed into a civic jewel that the giants of the industrial revolution would have been proud of. Also I renewed my acquaintance with the suburb of Clifton in Bristol, where I lived all too briefly upon my return from Aus in 1971. It's preserved Georgian splendour was even more seductive and apart from flat prices, I felt I could readily live there again. Bristol too is being transformed with all the dock area, from which john Cabot first sailed for Canada and slave and sherry dealers plied their trades, is a wonderland of key side restaurants and pubs selling ale that should make those chemical engineers of coldness at Carlton, weep for their comparative inability to create such wonderfully varietal tastes and what a kick! (write the name Adnams Bombardier on your to do or die for list)But now for a final walk along some of Hadrian's wall to connect with those earlier would be civilisers and conquerors of the Brits and to reflect on what hardship and how much blood was shed to give us the freedom that the evil, so called martyrs of Islam, would vainly think they can take away. Communism's 70 years was but a blip on the 2000 year history I have connected with this past few weeks. Scratch the people of Northumberland and a Viking raider emerges from behind that smiling veneer of twinkling blue eyes and blond hair. Australians live on the land but here the people are of the land and Osama has no hope.British Airways strikers allowing I take wing for the great south land again on Sunday night to reacquaint myself with good coffee in Richmond and restock my battered bank account, courtesy of the managers of Smorgonsteel, who like their UK counterparts learn most from getting into and reflecting on their real world actions.It's pouring. Boscastle in Cornwall is inundated without loss of life ( where will we Aussies get our pies from now?) and 50 people have been rescued by helicopters from a road cut by landslides in Scotland!! The gods are angry. Time to get out!See you soonBarry Smith
BOOK REFERENCE:-The Steel Bonnets by George MacDonald Fraser-Common Reader Edition
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