Travel

Street Furniture

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It was Monday morning when Coco noticed it.

Or carry on reading….

There was a road sign above his head, not visible until immediately after a left turn had been executed from a very busy thoroughfare and having been caught previously by a restricted entry notice in a similar position Coco halted to read the sign, which was rather similar in its length to the abstract of a précis of War and Peace which recently been printed as a supplement to a well-known daily newspaper not afraid to use long words, complete sentences and paragraphs had.

Almost immediately there was a sound rather like an angry goose behind his vehicle, which he thought, though it is rather difficult to judge from inside a car, seemed to emanate from the large white passenger coach which was also turning, or rather trying to turn, left but had found an obstruction on the road. Coco wondered why such a comfortable vehicle was being used for the carriage of geese, but as farmers sometimes use their Rolls Royce for the carriage of pigs perhaps Coco need not have wondered. It may have been that Coco was mistaken and there actually was a mad wild goose nearby no doubt on a leash being held by one of the inhabitants of those parts. Anyway, leaving the goose behind, there are four road signs here within a distance of about four poles of the corner, each of which needs to be carefully, correctly, and comprehensively comprehended by the road users. The coach driver would have to travel more slowly to read them, though he would be able to read with greater ease than the writer being seated himself at a greater altitude than he.

Why we complain about lower speed limits when the plethora of street furniture requires a forward motion of no more than five mph is somewhat of a mystery to Coco.

A solution to this problem appears to have been found by our friends in Westmoreland. It only remains for its proper implementation in other parts of the country, and particularly in our towns, where the uncountable nature of signs can lead to extraordinary consequences. Coco must say that when he first saw the sign it seemed to him to be a quite unnecessary addition to the street furniture, but after many more than several sightings of the same its usefulness began to become clear to him.

Coco regrets now not stopping to photograph one end of a one way street where, when you approached from the west the speed limit was thirty mph, but when you approached from the east it was a mere twenty mph. There were other ways onto the street one of which clearly indicated the end of a twenty mph zone, but imposed a new zone with the same speed restriction only three metres, which as we know is even shorter than a pole, further down the road. Coco felt that Westmorelanders should be invited to discussions and consultations about a new regime for the placement and display of signs. Coco should also like to propose a standard here, but Coco, who has no doubt that others can provide better suggestions for the standard, invites you to do so. With the incorporation of the Westmorelandish solution this would greatly increase the readability of our signs, and reduce the risk of signs being misread.

What Coco proposes is a standard layout of signs, which would remove the need for multiple sign posts, at least one of which will be missed when there is an angry goose following you, to replace them with one sign post where all of the different parts would be present in a standardised order. That order would be the same on all road signs from the top to the bottom. The order Coco would propose is as follows, from the top:

  • Entry/no entry
  • Traffic flow direction
  • Speed limit
  • Parking restrictions
  • Road closure times and restrictions
  • Bus lane information
  • Enforcement notices
  • Other useful information – eg time of day, proximity to schools, hospitals, months of the year, police stations etc

As an aside, Coco does wonder why we need to be told about enforcement, it should be a given that where there is a restriction enforcement tools will be in place, hence positioning it towards the bottom of the standardised layout. This standardised layout of signs would make them easier to read and increase safety on our roads.

Now this is where the Westmorelandish sign comes into its greatest use. Coco had hoped to be able to show you a picture of such an actual sign, but having only seen them whilst driving where it was not possible to stop, and due to the inappropriateness of taking hold of a camera or mobile phone whilst being in charge of a motor vehicle Coco does not have such a photograph. The possibility of finding one on maps occurred to Coco, but having driven all the way virtually from Lancaster towards the A66 on the M6, we had a breakdown at

we could go no further. Coco had to pick the man up and move him manually forward on the road….it must be electrical interference from the railroad below…if you can find where to click in order to move forward, please let Coco know.

A bit further down the road we are overtaken by a white City van, which appears to be moving relatively to us faster than we are moving than the articulated truck which we are overtaking and which is almost certainly travelling as fast as its speed limiter allows it. But it is a white van; white vans are invisible against the white clouds.

Sadly, on this epic journey Coco found no examples of the sign, so Coco must fake one. By the way, though there were indications of road works, no actual works were visible. Google maps is evidently not to be relied upon for the presence or otherwise of roadworks.

When we have a standard, which is capable of carrying all the information a road user may need on one sign post, it is also necessary to indicate if any particular part of it is not in use. This Westmorelandish sign is ideally suited to that use, and so would be used on every road sign when any particular part of the sign was not required.

Where the really useful information about where the road leads – is it going to Edinburgh or London is an important consideration when you are wondering whether to turn left or right in Doncaster – needs to fit in somewhere but Coco is having difficulty finding room for it. Coco dare says it will be obvious to many of you what the solution is.


Anyway, here is an example of a sign using the new standard, don’t forget to follow the link to see the original. Coco is sure to be certain that you agree the new standardised sign on the right is far easier to read than the conventional placing of four signs as on the left.

Never too late

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It was a warm afternoon when Elmer and Wilma drove up the mountain from Brenzone through Prada. As they drove behind another tourist, whom they recognised as a tourist from the British number plates, for some reason his thoughts turned to his elder brothers, Barney and Homer. He missed them both, though they were quite different both in the characters and their careers.

He had lost Barney some thirty years earlier to malaria which he had contracted whilst working with indigenous tribes in the Amazon basin. He and Wilma had nursed Barney in his last months at their home and then in Elmer’s clinic in their home town, Milan, in Georgia. It was the name Milan had initially brought them across to Lombardy, but it was the coffee and gelato, which never failed to please that brought them back year after year.

Homer had taken a different path. Early in life he studied in seminary and taken up a pastoral role in a church simply known as Bethel not far from the family home. Upon the retirement of the senior pastor, he took up that position and remained in it for the next forty-five years. Upon his retirement the congregation asked him to remain with them, which he did supporting the new pastor in whatever way he could for a further ten years. Elmer spoke warmly of his elder brother at the funeral celebration only a few months earlier. He had few words to say however as he strongly believed that both Barney and Homer had wasted their lives and though he had often said it to them, he did not wish any hint of that to be heard by the outside world.

Intellectually he regarded them as his superiors, and not simply because they were his elder brothers. He had often tested them out and had never found them wanting in their thinking and reasoning when they were in possession of the correct data, which most often they were. They were also, and especially Homer, ready and able to show him where his own thinking and reasoning was deficient. Homer often corrected him to strengthen his arguments even when his arguments were counter to Homer’s own beliefs. Elmer had greatly valued their help for it had greatly benefitted him in his academic medical work. Homer was never slow to praise where it was due, and so was always quick to read his papers. In addition to giving appropriate praise, he would point out where his argument was weak, or the evidence he had provided did not support quite as well as he had hoped what he wanted to say. Elmer puzzled at times over this as Homer had had absolutely no medical training whatsoever, but when he examined matters again, Homer was never off the mark.

Elmer was ten years younger than the two of them. As a teenager he had watched them grow into men and make their choices. They had all grown up in Milan at the local SB congregation. His two brothers had been baptised when they were twelve, but it was some years later that the faith they professed began to take shape in their lives and influences their choices. Their behaviour changed in their late teens as they became serious, committed believers. At twelve Elmer had refused to be baptised. Despite his brother’s efforts to persuade him, he wanted to play ball and the training matches were Sunday morning. The Sunday morning training was frowned upon by most of the community, but there were enough families who participated to make it happen. It also resulted in better team play and consequently more wins for Elmer’s team.

Leaving college Elmer went to medical school in the north states where he obtained distinctions in all of his exams. He had planned to be simply a local doctor, but his time of study changed his thinking. He went on to become qualified as a surgeon and then took an academic position. In his thirties he became a professor at which point he decided that as to be a local doctor had been his target, that is what he would become. Such was his reputation however that his colleagues, both local and international, persuaded him that he should not do that. He therefore compromised.

It was that compromise that led him and Wilma to set up the clinic in Milan. It would be a new type of clinic, offering both local medical services as well as conducting specialist research and surgery. It was ambitious, but his academic community supported him in it, as did his local community when they eventually understood what he was trying to do. It was in this clinic that Barney had spent his last few weeks.

Barney’s presence in the clinic had had a big impact upon the staff. He was quite different to Elmer. He knew how sick he was. He knew that he was dying, yet he had a quiet confidence in the God who raises from the dead. Though Milan was a religious community most of its inhabitants would not be looking forward to death preferring to find a way, any way, to put it off. Barney was expressing what few could say: Komm! du süße Todesstunde! which some of the Lutherans recognised but not many others. Some of the staff tried to talk with Elmer about this, but Elmer dismissed in the most polite way possible, but privately saying to himself: Nonsense, Barney.

Elmer had often rebuffed his brothers who had questioned him about his world view. He could not argue against them successfully, he knew that, and as related above Homer when pointing out the weaknesses of his argument would show him how to strengthen it. Even when he did follow Homer’s advice, Homer still managed to unpick the argument! Elmer dismissed their thoughts of eternity as religious phantasy. He would do what he did in his way for the good of those around him.

Then it happened. A vehicle coming down the road, misjudged the road as much as the British driver did in the car ahead of them. There was a passenger in the car who had taken much of the force of the impact. Elmer stopped.

The British driver got out, and Elmer shouted: I am a doctor. You need help?

Clearly they did. Elmer moved over to the vehicles as quickly as he could where he realised that they must get the passenger out without any delay. The other vehicle had to be moved back. The passenger, a young lad of barely sixteen years was dazed and bled greatly. Elmer tried to staunch the flow. Wílma ran back to bring tourniquets from their car in the hope they might be of use, but too little could be done.

After a short while the young boy opened his eyes. His father’s countenance brightened, but Elmer knew otherwise.  The boy spoke only briefly: Don’t worry about me; I’m with Jesus. It was the last moment of his breath. In the thrall of death the young fight, but cannot overcome. The old acquiesce.

Elmer reflected: If the British car had not been there, I would have been in that same seat as the young boy. If the car in front had not been British, the boy would have not have been in that seat. He had come from Milan to Milan to hear what his two brothers had told him for sixty years from a boy who was only a little older than he had been when he had stopped listening to his brothers and had dismissed their teaching, from the same boy who had now died in his place. He remembered what John had written to Gaius: Beloved, I pray that you may prosper in all things and be in health, just as your soul prospers. It burned through him. In his life he had focussed simply on prosperity and being in health, he had not seen before that John premised Gaius’s external well-being upon that of his soul. Elmer knew he had neglected, even rejected, the well-being of, his soul.

It was not Barney and Homer who had wasted their lives as Elmer now saw so very clearly. He returned to Bethel to be baptised, and to follow Jesus just as Barney and Elmer had done.

Based upon a true story….whose origin Coco has forgotten

The Prepared Piano

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Had we not known what was coming the backstage sounds may have indicated that the music that was to follow would be of, shall we say, an interesting nature. If you have ever listened to the Lord Denning of the now defunct Third programme in its modern guise, Tom Service, you will understand that we can all be composers, it is simply a matter of rearranging the notes, as we were to hear in the first two pieces for prepared pianoforte, into a new order to produce a new work.

The orchestra handled the spiky passages quite well in the opinion of this auditor though his opinion is little really to go by, and even managed to pull off some eighth tone shifts without batting an eyelid. The pianist made valiant efforts – when the orchestra seemed to be taking it too easily she came in with great gusto, increasing the velocity only for the orchestra to calm things down again no sooner had she left, so to speak, the stage. This behaviour was quite consistent and seemed not at all out of place despite it perhaps being felt to be not appropriate for a fully written out score as we had for these two pieces. The skill of the orchestra, in the hands of the conductor, not to forget that of the pianist, was amply demonstrated by these rapid and frequent changes.

The serenade for strings (Elgar), which followed, was in quite a different mood to the prepared piano pieces. The strings were much more comfortable here. There were no inadvertent eighth tones; the smooth lyricism and close romantic harmonies contrasted almost beyond measure with some of the classical jumps and leaps that Mozart had required of them.

The preparation of the pianoforte by the way had been beautifully done. It was a rich black in colour with at least a thirty centimetre polish, tuned to perfection in equal temperament. The only puzzle I had was as the concerti were in C minor and Eb major, why had they not prepared the piano with Mozart’s tuning?

As for Tom Session’s contention, the two concerti do indeed demonstrate that it is simply a matter of rearranging the notes, but it requires a Mozart to successfully achieve it, the rest of us are much more like the man on the Pirschheide tramline who though he knows the train time tables forwards, backwards and crabwise, cannot plan a journey for you from Zwiesel to Aachen. Mozart on the other hand can take Twinkle, twinkle, and with it show you the Milky Way.

The Fall of Florence

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Saturday had an interesting evening, Beethoven, Ireland and Honegger. Daniele Gatti played Beethoven’s 4th concerto in a pleasant way that drew you in to the conflict that he portrayed. After a generous interval and Ireland’s Concertino pastorale for strings we were treated to what I had thought, and those of you who know anything about Honegger also would also think, would be quite a challenging piece, Liturgique, symphony nr.3.

Somewhat astonishingly however It proved however to be as lyrical as Ireland’s pastorale.

Loch Ness

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Plan for biggest Nessie search in more than 50 years

Loch Ness Monster: Hundreds join huge search for Nessie

They are at it again…a copy of the best photograph they had may be found here Loch Ness, 1934

But the hunt is fruitless. Coco may have already remarked upon this but many years ago Nessie emigrated and took a trip up the St Lawrence where she was spotted at the foot of Niagara Falls, on the northern side of course, not having a required green card. It was an exciting moment when she was spotted, even more so when perhaps her tail also appeared at the surface of the water. There is a striking similarity between the one captured in 1934 and this new one, though Coco is sure the quality of the 1934 original is better than its modern counterpart.

St Lawrence River

St Lawrence River, North side, 2013 (Actually, Niagara River, West side, but the meaning may be lost on you if you are not fully familiar with the geography)

Loch Ness, 1934

Lambton Worm

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Coco came across the Lambton Worm recently, in proper dialect sung in a wonnerful Geordie accent. It is a tale about a young squire who went fishing on a Sunday morning when he should not have done with terrible consequences for the people who lived on both sides of the Wear.

Apologies to those who understand neither spoken nor written Geordie. There is a partial transcription here, but if this works properly you shall see that embedded below in an iframe. Some words do still defeat Coco. Apologies to those who do speak and read Geordie also for orthographic, linguistic, dialectical, grammatical, innocent and deliberate errors. Please pay careful attention to the refrain, as it asks you to do.

Original Lambton wormTranscription
One Sunday morn young Lambton went
Afishing’ in the Wear;
An’ catched a fish upon he’s heuk,
He thowt leuk’t varry queer.
But whatt’n a kind of fish it was
Young Lambton cuddent tell.
He waddn’t fash te carry’d hyem,
So he hoyed it doon a well.

Whisht! Lads, haad yor gobs,
An Aa’ll tell ye’s aall an aaful story
Whisht! Lads, haad yor gobs,
An’ Aa’ll tell ye ‘boot the wohrm.

Noo Lambton felt inclined te gan
An’ fight i’ foreign wars.
he joined a troop o’ Knights that cared
For nowther woonds nor scars,
An’ off he went te Palestine
Where queer things him befel,
An’ varry seun forgat aboot
The queer wohrm i’ the well. Ref…

But the wohrm got fat an’ growed and’ growed
An’ growed an aaful size;
He’d greet big teeth, a greet big gob,
An’ greet big google eyes.
An’ when at neets he craaled aboot
Te pick up bits o’ news,
If he felt dry upon the road,
He milked a dozen coos. Ref…

This feorful wohrm wad often feed
On caalves an’ lambs an’ sheep,
An’ swally little bairns alive
When they laid doon te sleep.
An’ when he’d eaten aall he cud
An’ he had had he’s fill,
He craaled away an’ lapped he’s tail
Seven times roond Pensher Hill. Ref…

The news of this myest aaful wohrm
An’ his queer gannins on
Seun crossed the seas, gat te the ears
Ov brave and’ bowld Sor John.
So hyem he cam an’ catched the beast
An’ cut ‘im in twe haalves,
An’ that seun stopped he’s eatin’ bairns,
An’ sheep an’ lambs and caalves. Ref…

So noo ye knaa hoo aall the foaks
On byeth sides ov the Wear
Lost lots o’ sheep an’ lots o’ sleep
An’ leeved i’ mortal feor.
So let’s hev one te brave Sor John
That kept the bairns frae harm,
Saved coos an’ caalves by myekin’ haalves
O’ the famis Lambton Wohrm.

Noo lads, Aa’ll haad me gob,
That’s aall Aa knaa aboot the story
Ov Sor John’s clivvor job
Wi’ the aaful Lambton Wohrm.		One Sunday morn young Lambton went
Fishing in the Wear;
And caught a fish upon his hook,
He thought looked very queer.
But what kind of fish it was
Young Lambton could not tell.
He was not keen to carry it home,
So he hoyed it down a well.

Shush! Lads, hold your tongues,
And I’ll tell you all an awful story
Shush! Lads, hold your tongues,
And I’ll tell you about the worm.

Now Lambton felt inclined to go
And fight in foreign wars.
He joined a troop of Knights that cared
For neither wounds nor scars,
And off he went to Palestine
Where queer things him befell,
And very soon forgot about
The queer worm in the well. Ref.

But the worm grew fat and grew and grew
And grew to an awful size;
He’d great big teeth, a greet big mouth,
And great big googly eyes.
And when at night he crawled about
To pick up bits of news,
If he felt dry upon the road,
He milked a dozen cows. Ref.

This fearful worm would often feed
On calves and lambs and sheep,
And swallow little bairns alive
When they laid down to sleep.
And when he’d eaten all he could
And he had had his fill,
He crawled away and wrapped his tail
Seven times round Penshaw Hill. Ref.

The news of this most awful worm
And his queer goings on
Soon crossed the seas and to the ears
Of brave and bold Sir John.
So home he came and caught the beast
And cut him in two halves,
And that soon stopped him eating bairns,
And sheep and lambs and calves. Ref.

So now you know how all the folks
On both sides of the Wear
Lost lots of sheep and lots of sleep
And lived in mortal fear.
So let’s have a drink to brave Sir John
That kept the bairns from harm,
Saved cows and calves by making halves
Of the famous Lambton Worm.

Now lads, I’ll hold my tongue,
That’s all I know about the story
Of Sir John’s clever/cleaver* job
On the awful Lambton Worm.

Words: C M Leumane – Lambton Worm Music: C M Leumane
The copyright of this arrangement of the music for the Lambton Worm is held by The Mitford Family (© c.1984).
The Lambton Worm is a traditional song. This version was produced in the 19th century by Leumane. The transcription into standard English is mine. The singer in the Lambton Worm is, I think, Julie Mitford. You will find a reference to the song here, where she says Eventually you’ll be able to access all of the recordings for each album. The Worm is not yet on her blog, but I take it that she means it will become available as an mp3, in a similar manner to the other songs which she recorded with her father, and are already available.

Car three

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Coco’s dear old Corsa was so far out of condition.

One of the problems of lockdown is not being able to go out on those long runs that that you need to take to remain healthy and in good trim. She had fallen from grace and was running at an average of only just 34mpg. You may recall how much better she thought she was doing last fall, but see what too much sitting around, drinking too much fuel, and not enough hard work has done. Letting her off the leash however has done wonders. After a good cross-country run she came back with an cumulative average of just over 40mpg. Well done, old girl, a much better performance.

We can all suffer like that. Drinking too much fuel, sitting around, not enough hard work and we become unfit. Study to show yourself approved, the apostle said. Don’t misunderstand the word study, it means examine, test, watch, work hard, be careful. He tells us elsewhere to strengthen the hands that hang down and the feeble knees to walk straight. And the Lord himself tells us that it will not be easy, we must take up a cross if we would follow him. But it is far better than that because he took up his own cross to die in our place. He did not leave us to try to do enough for ourselves, he did everything that was required on our behalf.

So trust in him, and one say it will not just be, as to Coco’s dear old Corsa: Well done, old girl, but you will still end up on the scrap heap, but rather: Well done, good and faithful servant, enter into the joy of your Lord.

Dowlais – steel works

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When steel matters

The events that are shortly to be related took place in a different age and a different culture, in an altogether foreign location in the broadest sense which was unknown to the people of that time, but is now known to us as a consequence of the work of Einstein in the early part of the twentieth century. It was the time of railroads, steam trains, iron mills, steelworks, coal-mines and dirty work, when undertaker meant more than the entrepreneur and entrepreneur was an unknown word. The prosperity of a municipality could be measured, at least in part by the number of railway stations that it boasted, but better by the quality of the steel produced there and it was from one of these small towns towards the upper end of one of the rolling Welsh valleys that a principle undertaker in the steel industry received a telegram from a bridge and engineering fabricator in North Africa who wished to discuss the procurement of a quantity of steel for the provision of the building of a new bridge across the Niger.

Enys Jones was an atypical undertaker, who upon receipt of the telegram passed it to her chief supply officer Emyr Carwyn Lloyd for his examination. Following certain enquiries he reported back to his superior, who authorised him to visit the prospective customer to ascertain the needs of the project, the suitability of an agreement to supply and the terms of any such agreement. A telegram was returned to the enquirer, who responded with an offer to meet the costs of the journey subject to an upper limit, which was found to be most agreeable to Emyr Lloyd. It was never openly said, but both thought that Emyr was not an inappropriate name for the visitor and may well lend a certain status to the supply officer which he would otherwise not have had.

Emyr Carwen Lloyd set about his travel plans with the meticulous precision that he afforded to his daily work and which, he had no doubt, had earned the company for which he worked its enviable reputation, prompting the enquiry which he was then about to pursue. He would travel by train and sail for which he believed a combined first class return ticket would be available.

Sadly, his carefully crafted plans began to fall apart as he arrived at Dowlais Central to buy the ticket for his journey.

‘Timbuctoo, sir, where, if I may enquire, is that? It’s not on my list. I can offer you Cardiff, but that’s as far as we go.’ He bought a ticket to Cardiff.

Cardiff Central is a few minutes’ walk from his first destination. As he walked, he mused on the way that at least here it would be possible to buy his ticket, but the response was not dissimilar:

‘Timbuctoo, sir, where is that? It’s not on my list. I can give you Timahoe, Timoleague, Touraneena, Tuar Mhic Éadaigh,.. ‘ He would have gone on, but Emyr interrupted him: ‘Timbuctoo is not in Ireland, it is in North Africa’. He bought a ticket for London. The ticket officer advised him that he had a ticket to the Victoria station. As his train would be going into the Waterloo, it would be to his advantage if he alighted at the Vauxhall station to change to a local train into the Victoria, otherwise he would require a hansome cab to take him from the Waterloo to the Victoria. If he alerted the guard on the train he would be given whatever assistance may be required to make the transfer. On the journey he learned from a fellow passenger that although the train managers preferred the transfers to take place at Vauxhall, most passengers found it more convenient, though slightly longer to alight at the Clapham junction station and continue the journey into the Victoria station from there.

Upon his arrival in Victoria he decided to wait until the morning to continue the journey and found lodgings in a hotel nearby to the station.

In the morning his hopes were high; here he was in the middle of the capital city of the Empire, surely here it would be possible to buy a ticket for the remainder of his journey. His hopes were dashed as he asked for his ticket.

‘Timbuctoo, sir? Do you mean Timbuctoo in French North Africa?’

‘Yes, is there another?’ he replied rather glad that the ticket officer at the least knew of Timbuctoo

‘I only wanted to be sure, sir, that that was your intended destination. I would not want to sell you an invalid ticket for your journey. Some people do ask for the strangest of tickets. Only last week someone wanted a ticket to Riyadh. It turned out in the end he wanted to go to Rhaeadr, but couldn’t get his tongue round it. All seemed to be going well, until he was presented with his ticket.’

‘Is that all?’ he enquired.

‘Yes, sir. We have a train leaving for Paris in three hours. It will arrive tomorrow afternoon. You must continue your journey from there. ‘

There was nothing for it. He took the train to Paris, where he thought it would become possible to obtain a pass for the rest of his journey, after all Timbuctoo was in French North Africa.

The station at Paris Nord was a cacophony of the most unpleasant sounds, and aromas. His French was poor, but he understood enough to receive the message: ‘A ticket to where? It is possible that we sell you tickets to Dunquerque, Calais, Aix-la-Chappelle, Essen, Hamburg, Copenhagan, Stockholm, Oslo, Berlin, Prague even Moscow, but Timbuctoo, it is impossible. You must go to the correct ticket office to buy such a ticket. ‘

‘And where is the correct ticket office?’, he asked, but no one was able to tell him. They neither knew nor did they care. It was not their business.

He retired to a rather shabby, though for Paris Nord it was probably considered to be rather smart, hotel, to consider his next move. Whilst speaking with one of the other guests he learned that he would never be able to buy a ticket to Timbuctoo in Paris, the primary reason being that whilst he was not English, he would still be treated as if he were Rosbif. The guest however also happened to know that the train for Rome would leave at noon the following day. From Rome he would be able to travel to Naples and Palermo, and sail to Tunis, thereafter travel to Timbuctoo would be quite straightforward though not as comfortable as he would find the journey to and through Italy. Emyr was greatly encouraged, and even more so when he learned that the hotel had a railway ticket office which specialised in tickets to Italy where he was able to buy the three tickets he required to travel to Palermo there and then.

The journey through Italy, though it took five days, was as comfortable and pleasant as he had been led to understand, if not more so. It also considerably lightened his luggage as he was able to return several books by post as he passed through Naples. On his arrival in Palermo he met again the guest from the hotel in Paris, whom he chided for not telling that they would be on the same train. The gentleman excused himself that as he could not afford the first class travel they would not have been permitted to associate with each other on the journey. It was better for Emyr to travel alone than to suffer the rigours of the third class, they could however share in the journey to Tunis as the sailing vessel made no such class distinction. They travelled together to the port and embarked later that day across the Tyrrhenian Sea.

Herr Professor Doktor Ärhard Feinbaum proved to be the excellent company on the crossing. He was an archaeologist who was working in Carthage. He was also knowledgeable of Timbuctoo and provided Emyr with much insight and understanding of what to expect when he arrived, and also how to show interest in the exotic features of the locality.

Ärhard assisted Emyr in the acquisition of transport to Timbuctoo. It would be an arduous journey of three months. Emyr regretted posting some books back from Naples. He could have read them again. Ärhard however knew the drivers well, and persuaded them, by only referring to his guest as Emyr, that he should be well cared for and provided with his own private apartment on the journey. Ärhard would also ensure that a telegram was sent back to Wales to advise on Emyr’s progress as soon as it became possible to make a visit to the French government offices of the city.

Emyr acquired a journal before they left Tunis. If he could not read he would write he thought to himself. The heat, the sand and winds of the desert seemed to be perpetual. They would leave at dawn, travel for four or five hours then rest until late afternoon, when they travelled again until it was no longer possible to see. Emyr never saw any tents being dismantled or restored, but whenever they arrived at camp the tents were there ready for them, and his writing desk carefully set out. On a few days no travel was possible consequent upon the desert storms which afflicted the region from time to time. At length the caravan arrived at the outskirts of Timbuctoo, where the Berber who had led the train arranged accommodation for the now highly honoured Emyr. His writing had been worthwhile.

It was from this accommodation that Emyr sent a telegram back to his office and arranged his first visit to the enquirer.

Upon his arrival at the offices of the bridge and steel fabricant Emyr was quite taken aback to be greeted in Welsh, albeit it was Welsh with a strong Italian accent:

‚Diwrnod da, Emyr Carwen. Sut mae’n mynd gyda chi? Sut mae’ch taith wedi mynd â chi?’

‘Good day, Emyr Carwen. How goes it with you? How has your journey taken you?’ The translation from Banbara to Welsh was quite literal but Emyr understood them to ask: How are you? How was your journey?

At first he thought that they had simply learned these questions by rote to be polite, but when he proceeded to be polite himself and answered in Welsh his astonishment increased greatly in magnitude. Not only did they fully comprehend his reply, they asked for clarification in his use of hiraeth and whether it would be appropriate to use it in the context of sailor on the high seas who would in due course return home. They explained that, having no fleet themselves, they had no experience nor had any of their people of such things and so had difficulty understanding the use of the concept, as their mother tongue lacked the vocabulary for such ventures. They also asked for his assistance in enhancing their enunciation of his family name Lloyd, as, although other local languages had similar voiceless alveolar lateral fricative sounds they had not quite been able to master the Welsh sound. It was at this part of the discussion that Emyr Carwen Lloyd started to hear words that he did not even know existed in the Welsh language.

His relief was palpable when he discovered that the commercial discussions would be held in English, but the contract would be drawn up in Welsh. It appeared to him that they had already decided they would buy the steel from him, and that it was really only the quantity and quality, which would be determined by the purpose to which it was to be put, that remained to be determined. The price it appeared was not open for negotiation. The engineers had already done their work, and knew what they would be expected to pay for the various qualities that would be required. The only concern appeared to be the shipping costs, insurance of the cargo and timing. The steel, they thought, could be sent by boat from Cardiff down the west coast of Africa and then up the Niger. At some point it would have to be offloaded onto barges for the final stages of the journey, but it would eventually arrive at the port some six miles south of the city, close to the final destination where it was to be used. Timing was important as the Niger was only navigable in the vicinity of Timbuctoo for two months of the year. It would not be possible to move the eight to ten thousand tonnes of steel and iron required in the dry season, though it would be in the dry season that construction work would be undertaken.

Emyr and the engineers poured over the designs and calculations for several days, each checking the other’s figures and calculations in meticulous details. Emyr was not simply interested in the sale of the steel, but that the project itself would work. He would not sell steel for a project that would fail for other reasons, as the failure itself may be used to impugn the quality of the steel provided and reflect badly upon the Enys Jones Steel Works (Dowlais). So every detail was assessed and eventually the calculations and quantities agreed down to the number of nuts and bolts that would be provided. It was also agreed that no part of the project would be provisioned by steel from any other supplier upon pain of forfeiture of a bond that would be held by the German consulate in Tunis, there being no British presence and the French could not be trusted by either party.

The contract being concluded, it was time for Emyr to depart. Ärhard not being present he would have to arrange the journey back himself. So he went to the local travel office as suggested by his host. Anticipating that he would have to travel in stages he asked about travel back to Tunis. That would not be a problem he was told, there was a train leaving in a few days. Accommodation in it could be arranged, in the meantime arrangements could be made for him to spend time to view the city. The presence of ‘the Welsh Emyr’ had become well-known in the city and he was by then something of a celebrity. Then there was a question:

‘What is the end of your journey?’

They were not unfamiliar words to Emyr who had often sung them in the chapel at home.

‘Why I am going back home to Dowlais’ he said with a note of surprise in his voice.

‘So you would require a ticket to Dowlais then, sir.’ came the reply, ‘Would that be Dowlais Central, Dowlais Top or Dowlais Caeharris?’

Courtesy of PLC, this version PC 2021

Fasting in the new normal

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The new normal: a new perspective

Thinking about the new normal again (oh dear, did you say, we would prefer that you did not think too much): we have had a year of, in alphabetical order, Zoom, Webex, Teams and other rooms’ meetings. I suppose we are getting used to that by now. We can meet anyone, anywhere at almost any time. Some have become so accustomed to this kind of meeting that they even say, ‘Let’s meet for coffee’. The virtual room is set up and wonderful face to face chat takes place over the coffee at the your own kitchen table. Then of course are the long and tedious lunch time office meetings with bacon and avocado, ham and pickle, cheese and tomato sandwiches laid on. At least in the virtual room it is easier to pretend that you are paying attention. And the committee meetings, all day or evening, which you can now do in the comfort of your own armchair. But no matter how heavily your own table is laden with caviar, smoked salmon, trout, olives, cucumbers, garlics, brie, mozzarella, cheddar, brioches, croissants, fruited breads and oysters you cannot but yearn for the dried up ham sandwiches and soggy cheese and tomato just to be able to be with your colleagues, peers and committee members, to be able to hear their real voices instead of replicas emanating from the inside of a loudspeaker. As one of my colleagues said as the others were glued to the admittedly much better pictures on their computer screens, whereas we had simple rigged up a pinhole camera to display the event on a sheet of paper, at the transit of Venus: Come and watch the real thing. You can see the missing photons. We were watching the real shadow cast by the Sun of Venus as it happened.

But I thought, there are some good things about this virtual world, and this thought was inspired by a lady who always liked to make sure she would be on night duty at this time of the year. We have become, as we said accustomed to it. It no longer feels as unnatural as it did before. We can join in with people anywhere in the world, or even out of this world if you count the ISS among your contacts. It is good to join in with things. The physical limitations of our being have meant that we could not choose to do so wherever we liked, but the virtual world overcomes that. On a UK visit, one contact was not put off but continued to meet in the virtual gaming world with his companions until they banned him, as he had managed to secure a better connection from the UK to the controller than they could. But for a time he was effectively in two places as one. In this virtual world not only can you meet with people anywhere, you can yourself be anywhere. You can travel around the globe in a matter of minutes, though I would not recommend it as that would be rather like playing knick-knock on the doorbells down your street, better perhaps to spend a while with the ones whom you visit on the way. If you plan it well you can have morning coffee every hour for twenty four hours, and if by then your hands are not shaking your arms out of their shoulder joints, you could start again. I can think of a few people who would be overwhelmed by the prospect of such a thing especially if it involved chocolate with the coffee. So I thought I would modify my degustational habits, and as I have met a few people there, and for this purpose and this purpose only, I shall be in Alice Springs. I shall breakfast just after sunset.

But what is fasting?

Fasting is a difficult thing to do, as you will know if ever you have tried it. When you fast, anoint your face, the Lord said, so that people do not know that you fast. So you go about your business as if nothing has changed, and suddenly you notice it. It seems that almost everyone has a fixation on eating, and more to the point getting you to eat. You go to the office, and on the way the free gifts are being handed out at the station: a new energy bar. As you arrive, they are handing out the croissant: a bit of an embarrassment really, the caterers delivered the clients’ breakfast to the office and not the convention centre, and so not to let them go to waste… The catering failure at the convention centre brings some back to the office early, and they want you to join them for lunch. In the middle of the afternoon, the dreadnoughts come round: but it is Tuesday. Thursday is dreadnought day. It’s a busy day, and you notice how wherever you go, people offer sweets: boiled sweets, chewy sweets, toffee to glue your teeth together sweets, chocolate – you can’t say no to that surely. And all the while you hold your tongue and do not say ‘I can’t, I’m fasting’ but you are also fast running out of other excuses, then a ‘phone call arrives from Jim who is in town just for the day…

There are the days of course when nothing happens, until one person comes by and you are caught unawares. Deeply engrossed in whatever work you had to do, there he is someone with whom you had never spoken before. He wants to talk, he has some questions but does not quite know how to begin, so to break the ice offers you a sweet; without thinking you accept and in it goes. You can do nothing. Although it is not too late to remove it from the buccal cavity to do so would not provide a propitious opening to the conversation which was about to begin. You remind yourself that fasting is not a matter of law; your attention is given over to the business that the one time stranger has brought to you.

Fasting has benefits. There are physiological benefits, but of that I shall not speak. The time that we retrieve by not eating, preparing to eat, and dealing with its effects, can be spent in prayer and meditation.

Moses fasted for 40 full days when he received the law from God and neither ate nor drank. How did he survive that? We sometimes hear what hunger strikes do to men. The Lord reminded us that that the law itself says that man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God. If the Lord was able to provide manna in the wilderness for a people numbering millions for forty years, then he was also able to sustain Moses through his exhausting fast. Remember however that the miracle of the manna ceased when the people entered the promised land. The sustention of Moses does not provide us with an excuse to test the Lord by our fasting.

The Lord himself after his baptism by John in the Jordan went out into the wilderness to fast, also for forty full days. It was at the end of this time that he was tempted by the devil to satisfy himself, test God and take his kingdom in way other than that which had been planned from the foundation of the world. He rejected these things. The temptations prepared him for the work he had come to do: ‘I have not come to do my will but the will of him who sent me. I have not come to be served, but to be a servant, to carry my cross and give my life for my sheep.’

We noted that fasting provides an opportunity for prayer and meditation, but take care: Fasting does not provide cleansing, or the forgiveness of sins. These are only available because Jesus has made the only acceptable sacrifice for sin in his own death. That you fast, pray and meditate may show that you have received cleansing but it will not give it to you. James in his letter reminds us that just as we know that a tree is living when it produces fruit, we know that faith in the Lord Jesus Christ for salvation is living (real) when it produces fruit (good works, etc). The good works do not provide salvation any more than the fruit can cause the tree to live.

So, we learn that fasting, just a physical training, has some value, but it can do nothing to cleanse the soul. The Lord told us that if our hand leads us into sin to cut it off for it is better to enter the kingdom of God maimed than be cast into hell whole. The point of this is not that it is our hands that cause us to sin; he tells us elsewhere that sin proceeds from the heart. If we would be clean in heart, we shall be clean in hand and foot as well, and if we would be clean we must look to the Lord Jesus Christ and set our hope on the living God who is the Saviour of all.

So, fast if you will, but if you do not hold fast to the Lord Jesus, there is no salvation.

It is far, far better that he hold you fast, than that you hold a fast.

Car too

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Coco has a friendly Corsa who is ever the optimist In fact she is in his view overly optimistic even in the face of the facts.

When topped up with a mere 41.32l of petrol she will announce that she has a range of 499 miles. Coco is pretty sure that she announces only 499 miles because that is the upper limit on the metre she uses. But the facts so obviously fly in the face of this optimism. The other day and three miles before being topped up she announced that she had less than 19 miles left, sulked bitterly and refused to do any more calculations. She also knows that she has a range of 39.1 miles for every gallon she holds. Now to his mind that mean that after the top up she would have a range of about 41.32*39.1/4.546 + 16 say 370 miles. Well Coco can only attribute the additional 129 miles to optimism or perhaps merely to hubris.
Such optimism is entirely misplaced, would you not agree?

We can all be like that, and have an optimism which is misplaced. We live in a harsh world, in which the difficulties which are common to us all will not be effaced, and in which there are hardships which are of our own making and others made by other people for us. There is no excuse of course for the making of those hardships, and those who mistreat others, as we are reminded by the recent references to the Nuremberg trials, shall be brought to account.

But lest we sink into pessimism, there is an optimism which we may have which is even greater than my Corsa’s, which if she had anything like it she would use to claim a range, if her metre allowed it, of ∞:
Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor has it entered into the imagination of the heart of man what God has prepared for those who love him.

Do we love the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ? Do we love him?

Optimism based upon the work of Christ on the cross, unlike that of the friendly Corsa, is never misplaced.