Green Woodpecker ~ Charles F Tunnicliffe

Familiar to anyone fortunate enough to own vintage Ladybird books or to those old enough to have read the originals, Charles Tunnicliffe illustrations brought each subject to life.

He was much more than the illustrator of children's stories, as wonderful and inspiring as those little books were. Born in Macclesfield, England in 1901 he studied at the school of art there before winning a scholarship to the Royal College of Art in London. He later moved to Anglesey, Wales.

Known best for his naturalistic scenes, he worked in several media - including watercolour, woodcut and oil. As well as the Ladybird books, he illustrated many RSPB magazine covers and was a recipient of the RSPB Gold Medal.

After his death in 1979, his personal collection of work was bequeathed to Anglesey council as long as they were kept together and made available for public viewing.

They can be seen at Oriel Ynys Môn gallery.

Of all the things to come across during a browse on YouTube but one which features a very brief glimpse of little me. It's very strange to see but I remember my mother (who took the photo) talking of local historian and film-maker, Eddie Smith, wanting a copy of the photograph which graced the wall of our living room and now is probably tucked up somewhere in my attic.

We lived in the little cottage next to the large white building, which had been a subscription school but was a community hall the entire time I knew it. Sadly, I think it's privately owned now. Our house had been built in 1806, weird that I know the history of each building in my little row.

Lots of familiar faces in this video and I'm sure my dad and mum are in a couple of frames but too far away for me to be sure. It looks like it was always raining, I promise, it wasn't, but what a great name for a blog...

(I'm the wee girl at 4:13 in my natty white jacket and orange bag.)

And Today I Feel Like Listening To...

Ella Fitzgerald - Bei Mir Bist Du Schoen

Oh, Would You Look At That

...midnight has slipped by again, pulling the bed covers with it.

Time fleeting, flighting, fernickity. So time shall be the prompt.

My sons way back when they were still known as the Hobbits, discovering Bronze Age Scottish 'things' in the land around Cairnpapple, or maybe just rabbit shits. Yeah, probably just rabbit shits or chocolate raisins as they used to call it. No I don't eat chocolate raisins any more, funny that.

Two hits on the time machine there - reminiscing of when my sons were little squishables and one of our visits to the Bronze Age site not far from home, Cairnpapple.

Brain Not Work Today. Photo Only

You all know where it is.

Hiroshima Nagasaki - 70 Years On

I'm beginning to realise that most of my politics and beliefs stem from time spent in my Modern Studies class during high school.  One of the textbooks I distinctly remember, to the point where I could probably quite accurately reproduce some of the graphics, was about the nuclear holocaust and described what happened on those fateful days at the end of WWII.

Growing up the Cold War was an ever present threat; nuclear arsenals reaching ridiculously catastrophic proportions with weapons so powerful they made Little Boy just that.  Yet twenty years since the supposed end of the posturing and Scotland still has obscene amounts of these monsters buried deep into the Clydeside hills.

We need them as a deterrent the Establishment and their supporters cry.  The thing is with a deterrent, it only works if you have the capacity to actually use it if needed.  There's a thought to chew on for a while for those who think there is still a place in civilisation for nuclear weapons.

That textbook, the stories and images within, chilled me to the bone.  It still has that power thinking back on it now.  I had hoped that my own children would never know the horror of how depraved humanity can be against the world and all within.

Seventy years on and those in charge still think this an acceptable, we will all be reduced to shadows on the pavement.

Then The Day Came

For the first time ever voting came with a little thrill as I marked my X against the Yes box today.  A strangely emotional experience knowing that tomorrow we will be independent or have to take the consequences of staying in the UK.

I'm tired, so emotionally tired that I can no longer give reasons why I'm for yes.

Tomorrow I shall sleep and hopefully it will be restful.

D-Day + 1

Yesterday the Western world took pause to reflect on the 70th anniversary of D-day.  It was, considering the way of the world now, a respectful event.  In particular the memorial held in France.

I particularly loved the report than an 89-year-old man, told by his care home staff he couldn't go, snuck out and went anyway.  Good on you mate and shame on the care home staff forgetting they are dealing with adults who would rather risk an all important journey like this than sit vegetating.

Read today that the actor who played the original Scotty in Star Trek was shot six times, losing part of a finger in the process.  He was part of the Canadian forces.  There have been so many humbling yet amazing stories from heroes who never thought of themselves as anything other than ordinary young men doing their duty.

My own thoughts yesterday - the men known cruelly as the D-Day Dodgers.  Fighting an equally brutal battle in Italy.  I think my dad must have been stationed in Bari with the RAF at the time.  He had plenty of tales of his own, rarely recounted but devastating when he did, therefore I know the places he went (Burma, North Africa, Italy) but the only one I could possibly put a date on was that he was in North Africa when the Italians capitulated. 

He recalled lying in a ditch with some of the crew while a large part of the Italian army stationed there marched past.  They didn't know the Italians were going to surrender so spent the whole time thinking that if they were found that would be it.  To experience such things as a teenager and then a young man - he was only five years older than my sons are now when he signed up.

History

We have some...

I should explain, Queen Margaret's Bower, the highest part of Linlithgow Palace, is where she waited for news of her husband, King James, who was off fighting the Battle of Flodden.  It was not to end well.  For some reason I like the small room, though how anyone with all those skirts and underskirts managed those stairs...

Photo taken 500 years to the day (near enough) of the battle, 9th September 1513.  If that doesn't send a shiver down the spine, sitting exactly where Queen Margaret waited, watching over the palace rooftops towards the far off fields.

Oh my oh my oh my ONE MORE TO GO!

The finishing post is finally in sight - just in time to end the year!


Day 29: First movie you ever remember watching.


My dad took me to see Bambi when I was about two years old.  Unfortunately I remember nothing of it but this is the first film I ever remember seeing, to the fact that we spent ages waiting in the cinema itself as the time was wrong or something.  I got a box of Smarties, a box 'mind, not a tube - woohoo!  I loved the feel and atmosphere of the place, it seemed giant, cavernous - the ABC cinema, Sauchiehall Street Glasgow I don't think is even there now which is a shame.  

As mother didn't like going to the cinema my visits were either with my dad, neighbours or friends (when I was a teen our thing was Saturdays in Glasgow, an afternoon at the cinema and home in time for dinner!  Living the life!)

I also remember getting the book of the film and being really annoyed the girl wasn't in it much - why didn't girls get to join in adventures like the boys did.  (After being too young to see Star Wars I did get to see the darker Empire Strikes Back and Princess Leia became who I wanted to be, plus she got Han Solo but didn't need rescued as such or simper about the place in order to do so!)

The Water Babies is an okay film, an okay book and I wish I had a more impressive film as the second to last one!   (Maybe I should learn to lie and make up that it was The Railway Children or something!)

Ten Years Seems Like Yesterday

It is the subject on everyone's mind simply because the day those planes struck the Twin Towers and the aftermath has been branded into the psyche of anyone who witnessed it.

The idea that in one heartbeat someone could commit mass murder, of people just doing their boring every day things, was almost incomprehensible.  But we had to comprehend.

They did it in the name of religion, the favourite beating stick of crimes against humanity.  How many millions have died in the futile reasoning that it was willed by some vengeful, bloodthirsty God?  I no more believe in their religious martyrdom than I do in the Easter Bunny.  It was mass murder, of the most horrific sense.  Regardless of how much you hate a country, or its people, to do such a thing...

I couldn't fathom it then and I cannot fathom it now.  My skin itches when I hear of people making excuses for why it happened.  People hated America because of this, they had reason to do it because of that.  Feeble.  Anyone who spouts hate must be prepared to face the consequences of their venomous bile and whereas some like to placate and try to see where the sticking plaster will go I find no solace in pretending that to even consider such crimes is nothing short of evil.

The people who perpetrated this were evil, as were the ones guilty in Madrid and then London.  They can make their windbag videos yammering on about how we in the West, who have given them a place to live, an education, a welcome in to our (much ignored and sidelined) culture, how we are the worst things to exist on this planet.  They can do this knowing that we have some semblance of freedom, that I do not need a male relative or a head to toe (plus eye) covering to go outside.  Yes, it is tied to one specific religion and that is a taboo subject to even cross but at some point we have to realise there are those who seek to oppress and we stand back and applaud to scared to point out the inadequacies.

Ach, I'm now warbling on.  It is not a popular view point and it is probably clear I do not find comfort in my own religion (lordie knows in past times I'd have burned as a witch for being a gobby mare.)

Ten years ago, I was lying on the couch in my living room.  On a day off, visit to midwife duly done and lunch just finished.  My mother called, an accident, she said, like what had happened to the Empire State Building during the war.  It was no accident and as events played out live yet unbelievable I began to wonder if there would be a world for my two babies to be born into.  Suddenly their January birth seemed too far away, what would have happened in between - it seemed world war three was about to commence.

Ten years ago it didn't look as though we would have a future.  I can't say that the coming years fill me with optimism other than to say that we're still here, sort of.

One Giant Step Back For Mankind

On Friday the final flight of the Space Shuttle program took place.  For some reason this feels like a huge step backwards, as though we are now giving up on reaching out and exploring the possibilities.


Perhaps this is America's way of conceding all future scientific adventures to the BRIC countries.  We should, and this sounds hard hearted but so what, also allow them to take over our moral responsibilities for the forever hand-out African countries.  The world does not seem a sane and happy place now.  I have already said to the Hobbits that their future will probably be elsewhere, Australia maybe as unfortunately Europe is not the place it once was and that is truly disappointing.


Ooh, change of direction there but not really.  It is all of the same.  There doesn't appear to be any opportunity now for progression that is not linked in with huge profit margins or financial crisis.  Is this the tipping point when people realise that despite the cost the space shuttle stood for more than a few astronauts pootling about in space.  That not everything should be boiled down to hard cash.

Day 12 — Whatever tickles your fancy

For this I have thought about the frivolity of the phrase and decided that maybe I should go a little more indepth than just a frivolous comment.

So, what has been "tickling" my fancy of late.

The Carry-On quality of that very phrase is just screaming out for me to say something smutty again but I digress.

I'll just say that I am very sad that "The Pacific" the HBO series shown on Sky Movies Premiere has finished.  It made me ashamed, as someone who enjoys studying history, that I knew nothing of the extreme circumstances of that particular theatre of war.  And on that subject, why a theatre of war?  Where did that phrase come from?  It suggests that those who went through such hardships were mere actors playing a role rather than servicemen suffering horrendous situations.

These actors, in the mini-series, served to remind us, the greedy selfish generation, that once there were warriors of such a fine calibre.  These men, young men, spent years in what must have seemed to be an utter hellish existence.  And that came through.  I would say the series was wonderful but that is a very glib statement.  It was thought-provoking, challenging, heart-stopping, incredibly sad and utterly involving joourney.

Now, ten-weeks later, it is all over.  I think, in some places, the story felt a little rushed.  Maybe they could have eked it out to 13 weeks?  You know, for sad sacks like me who have no life.

Interesting point.  My dad was in the RAF, served some time in Burma where he was shot in the back of the leg by a Japanese sniper.  I only found that out when I was 15 because, like most of his generation, he never spoke in great length of what he went through.  We have little snippets of that large slice of his life spent serving in World War II, some photos and mementos but now he is gone there will be nothing to colour in the missing spaces.

I'm here because that Japanese sniper was a lousy shot.

This is how it is these days.

When I was growing up my parents subscribed to The Reader's Digest.  I quite liked reading through the articles, trying out the word games inside although I would never have bought it in a shop.  Still, products shouldn't be entirely aimed at the young - a nice, gentle magazine for elderly people, I presumed I would fit into that category the day I started subscribing.  It would seem not.

I used to like having a browse around Borders, I used to like having a browse around Woolies.  Both shops stocked things I haven't been able to find anywhere else.  I noted that once Woolies went the price of stationery went up but perhaps it is just a personal niggle.  I miss finding that one thing in either of those shops that would be a treat to buy.

So this recession (misspelling of depression - with a deliberate small *d* there?) has its casualties and although they may seem minor it may not hit home until later when the little things that made life more pleasant (book shops, toy/stationery/everything else shops) are gone.  It is the small things that are pointing out how unfair the world is, how slanted towards those who have everything - looks pointedly towards the greedy bankers and their fat bonuses who are *still* making a fortune.

Maybe at some point things will even out.  There is enough money in the world for every single person to live a comfortable, happy life.  In fact, come to think of it, if the UK and US and every other country is in debt...who are we in debt to?  Who are we owing all this money to?  It can't be the banks, we had to bail them out with hard-earned and easy spent taxes.  So who do we owe the trillions to?

And all this rambling train of thought because I'm still pissed off that Woolies is gone!

The Heart of the Ocean Returned

In what can only be described as the weirdest of coincidences, yesterday, on the 98th anniversary of the launch of the Titanic, the last survivor died.

Of course, she won't have remembered it, being a little mite of only a few weeks old at the time but I suppose Millvina Dean would have spent her life in the shadow of the tragedy she survived. Her father died, as so many men did. Not the MD of the White Star Line though, in a selfishness that would fit in nicely now, he made sure he was fine.

Everyone has a fascination with this one disaster. Try thinking about it without that god-awful Celene Dion song though is difficult. Still...the fascination is of interest itself. And now there is no one left who spent that cold night drifting in the lifeboats.

Obama-rama

I made the Hobbits watch the inauguration of the new president tonight. Well, when I say made, I didn't tie them down or anything, just asked them to sit with me while we watched history happening.

They were interested in the amount of people there, once they realised the size of the place. I doubt they would have heard much of Obama's speech but at least, when asked in the future, they can say where they were when Obama became President Obama.

Once In A Lifetime...

There should perhaps be a question mark after that title. During their few short years in this world there have been many defining moments that the Hobbits can look back on as being historical events they lived through.
It has been a while, I haven't blogged for a while, I haven't done much to be honest. I am coasting at this time but this must be like when JFK became president. And again, when Labour had the landslide victory in 1997. Only this won't turn out to be as soul-crushingly disappointing as what Blair became.
Bush has been a dark time, I still find it ridiculous that he was voted in...twice! Obama has a very steep hill to climb, he at least acknowledges that. Already he has done so much to repair the damage caused by Bush.
Watch the news reports, there is a tingling along the spine, goose-pimples.
The Hobbits live in such interesting times and things have just gotten a little better, it doesn't look so God-awful bleak.
(I do feel a little sorry for McCain though, I think he was aware at what kind of people were supporting him and he should really have gotten the post in 2000. I guess his daddy just couldn't buy him the presidency like Bush's did.)

Will We Remember Them?

Another year, another Remembrance Day and I wonder how long before the relevance is questioned and the commitment of two whole minutes of silent contemplation in our time precious day is considered too much?

These are selfish times we are living in, perhaps WWII still has impact on today's society, particularly considering the lines between good and bad were much more clearly drawn than in certain recent conflicts. (Yet our soldiers continue to go wherever duty requires regardless.) There are films made, heroes commemorated and many books written on the subject of what went on during 1939-1945.

Those who remember WWI first hand are fading: it is all second-hand, sometimes third-hand memories of family members sacrificed or lucky escapes. Certainly there are the books and the photographs but not in the same way as WWII is chronicled.

Since learning the words of Dulce et Decorum Est in high school, there was a realisation of the monumental waste of human life, of future generations of possible geniuses wiped out for reasons I have yet to understand. That is the point, in WWII the motives were more clear cut, we knew what they were fighting for and why. But WWI? Oh I know the details but the link between the catalyst and the huge loss of young men huddled in filthy, dank terrifying trenches has always been sketchy. More to do with generals trying to prove themselves and resulting in needless sacrifices of the soldiers than any strategic plans - to win what exactly?

Last year we visited Ieper while in Belgium, took the Hobbits to the Menin Gate where list upon list of the names of men never found...that is just the men whose bodies disappeared in the mud forever, not the ones they did find and who lie buried beneath crisp white crosses, inspired a dreaded awe. The brilliant museum In Flanders Fields brought home the experiences of those young men, on both sides, in such a way I felt that perhaps WWI is the war we should pay tribute to more on this day.

Lifes cut short, families left to grieve and for what? The lesson wasn't learned as they did it all again 20 years later. And that is why Remembrance Day has to continue...


"...I died in Hell
(they called it Passchendaele)..."
- Siegfried Sassoon

Family History

Eldest Hobbit is studying "When my Gran was a girl..." or "olden days" as he calls it. I scanned a few photos for him to take in, glad that they will have a full history for at least one side of their family. How important knowing your own family tree is I am not sure. Perhaps to have anecdotes to colour in the characters of people you will never know but who you are still attached to through relations. To know what was there before you, where your family came from.

I never knew my maternal grandfather. Yet despite his death when I was only a few months old I look at his kind face in these old photographs and I do feel as though I know him. I've pieced together who he was from stories and memories from other family members, the things he went through during the war and after, his brothers who nearly all died in one battle during the war that went before (which luckily both my grandfathers were only just too young to be sent into but both of them had brothers who went - miraculously all survived although not without scars, one example; my father's uncle returned without sight or hearing and with severe lung problems.)

In fact the Hobbits' own grandfather was in the RAF during WW2 as a teenager seeing things that no teen should see. They will one day be able to place that history with him, they will be able to see him as a young man on a cool motorbike (a motorbike that once nearly wiped out this linage they are part of) and know the background that made him into the Grandpa they love.

I have the photographs, I will pass them on. And the stories will go on to another generation.

A Day At The Museum

Forging ahead in my attempt to keep the Hobbits happy with as normal a life as possible under these circumstances I took them on a trip to the Royal Museum in Edinburgh.

A long time favourite there is enough in there, and the attached Museum of Scotland, to keep them busy for hours. Even if they are not yet tall enough for their feet to reach the peddles so they can have a go on the racing car. (Eldest Hobbit: But Mummy *brother* can do the peddles and I'll steer!)

And a good day was had by all without a shadow cast over us by evil-X as he will from now on be known. (Him to me: Technically we are still married. Me to him: Yes, technically, that is all.)

Also planned for this week, the October holidays, are a trip to the zoo (because Mummy wants to see the Koalas dammit!) and a trip to Glasgow to satisfy the Hobbits' desire to go on the underground aka the Clockwork Orange. Normal life is resuming no matter what evil-X tries.