Stamford in the Spring

Stamford Spring Sunday

Arrived Heathrow at 7am on Saturday and having finally crashed by 8PM,
I was woken on Sunday at 4am, not as a result of my jet-lagged time clock, but rather at the insistence of the wonderful dawn chorus. Spring has sprung earlier than usual and over the next few weeks the football and rugby seasons come to their “finals” ends. Even one involving a US team called United and some team called “Chelsramovic” or something like that ( give or take a Ruble or two) will feature at Wembley, now that the “Well-built Australian” has finally finished the rebuilding of the stadium.

Such is the disproportionate influence of money in sport that footballers are donating some of their match fees to a fund for distressed nurses, which says something about the way these two professions are valued and paid in the society that the departing Blair has bequeathed. When video replays showed glaring errors in refereeing that cost the Bradford Bulls a close match, the injured club threatened to sue the Rugby League if it did not reverse the decisions and award them the game. I recall, fondly, the strong northern tones of Eddy Waring’s commentating of past Rugby League Matches but now the accents of most of the players interviewed speak more of Sydney and Auckland than Bradford and Wigan. Clearly the pound’s northward pull is greater than the Dollar’s allure.

An early start led to my first viewing of the Sunday breakfast shows. Guess what-number one news item was the Australian Government’s move to ban the Cricket tour of Zimbabwe and just when I thought I had fled the John and Kevin show, there was the PM, his Aussie accent seeming more marked at this remove, referring to Mugabe as a Nazi. At the same time, Zimbabwe has been elected to chair a UN environmental committee??? Good on yer John!

Managed a short walk to reacquaint myself with Stamford,in bright sunshine, before the rain set in. The same ladies, of a certain age, were walking dogs that seem to match their owners. Fortunately the spirited Scottish terrier that challenges me and tries to nip my ankles was enjoying his Sunday lie in. Across the meadow, where the new season’s ducklings and cygnets were strongly represented and along a path beside the river Welland, the scenery was so much softer and greener than that I encounter on my Yarra bank walks, from Richmond through Collingwood and on to Ivanhoe and beyond. But then, coming upon a memorial stone that commemorates the crossing point of the survivors of the Roman ninth legion with a vengeful queen Boudicea on their trail, I was reminded how different Stamford is.



Whilst Gordon Brown and his minions sport May Day red tries to confirm their class solidarity, now that he needs the votes of a credulous following of the Northern faithful to succeed to Tony’s throne, the people of Stamford still celebrate May day as the harbinger of spring, new life and love and the only red you are likely to see is that of the uniforms of the volunteer militia(as featured in a scene of the Pride and Prejudice film) as they participate in all the fun of the meadow’s fair.