Yesterday I did some nosing around on the internet regarding my Mum's cousin. He was a rear gunner in a Halifax that was shot down in May 1943 over Holland. When I was growing up my mother occasionally spoke of him as she remembered meeting him during the war (he grew up in west London & mother in south Wales) when he was in uniform she was eleven when he was killed aged twenty-two.
As I ferreted around I followed leads from the website of 51 Squadron that was based at Snaith near York. I found out the number of the aircraft he was in DT645 and searched for that and I came across this:
http://www.aircrewremembered.com/smith-watson-david.html
My mothers cousin is Sgt WJ Merrigan and from what I recall he was the tail-gunner on this Halifax. Bearing that in mind it dawned on me as I read that there was the very real possibility that as the plane was shot from the rear he was the first to die and was spared the horror of being in a plane out of control and heading for the ground at a rate of knots.
I then read about the pilot who shot his plane down - well he was certainly no amateur as this was his 25th kill and he had survived the Battle of Britain. Then I read on and found that he himself was dead the very next day! The next bit certainly surprised me - instead of thinking 'Serves him right the $#%£&*@ for killing a member of my family.' My thought was simply he was doing a job in the same way that my mothers cousin who was twenty-two was doing a job, he was thirty-three - no age really for either of them, I just felt sad that these people died as a result of one small group of lunatics who wanted to rule the world and they were nothing more than bystanders caught up in it.
Friday, 25 September 2015
Saturday, 5 September 2015
Childhood Horse-Shit Trauma.
Way back in the 1970's when stuff used to work when the country wasn't on strike or in the dark and things had colour schemes were based on pools of sick - I was a child growing up in Swansea. Swansea in itself is a shit-hole, it always has been and always will be, in fact when the Luftwaffe started bombing it from 19th Feb 1941, they stopped after three nights when they realised they could not manage to make the place any worse and decided to drop their bombs on somewhere more deserving.
Back to my childhood - well I say childhood, I was legally a child and my dufflecoat had a hood that was permanently up as it was Wales and it rained a lot. It was more of a forced apprenticeship for small people who had no choice as far as my parents were concerned. One of the many things I was forced to do apart from mixing cement from the age of three, was every year (usually around Feb/March time) we would have a trip to the Gower to collect sack-loads of horse-shit for the garden. Rarely would we go to the Gower in the summer as it was full of tourists and my family didn't want to part with any money to park the car at Oxwich, Langland or Caswell - or anywhere else for that matter. In any case why waste valuable concrete mixing time when the weather was so good as making the house and garden look like Soviet Russia would never happen whilst we were playing on the sand or paddling!
Back to the sack-loads of horse-shit. Every year as soon as one Saturday would offer the chance of light drizzle or even no rain we would all be loaded into the car (a Ford Corsair V6 which regularly conked out) along with a various plastic sacks and Mam would bring a picnic which was ideal for eating in the freezing cold and wet with the ever present pong of horse-shit everywhere! It was only made worse by the horrors that always will be the taste of tepid tea out of a flask, there are few things more vile! We would be there for hours, sometimes until it started to get dark, filling sacks with horse-shit and struggling with them to the car - if only the NSPCC had known! The boot would be so full that the back end of the car was distinctly lower than the rest of it and on every occasion it was so full that my sister and I would have a few sacks of the stuff between us to stop us squabbling. Frankly even now I still prefer spending time with a sack of horse-shit than my sister. However a row always broke out when my Dad tried to get Mam to carry a sack-load on her lap. Then when we got home we'd have to barrow the vile stuff to the non-concreted part of the garden, aka the veg plot (which would have fed most of the street every year).
Once this ordeal was over all clothes would be removed and instead of being burnt as they deserved were washed and we were put in the bath. It is hardly surprising that at school I found it difficult as I was probably ponging like a heaven knows what! I still break out in a cold sweat whenever I walk past the mounted horse-guards on Whitehall as when we went there one particularly hot summer in the 70's all I remember seeing was a massive pile of horse-shit the associated cloud of flies and the look in my Dad's eye that said 'If only I had a few plastic sacks and a shovel.'
Back to my childhood - well I say childhood, I was legally a child and my dufflecoat had a hood that was permanently up as it was Wales and it rained a lot. It was more of a forced apprenticeship for small people who had no choice as far as my parents were concerned. One of the many things I was forced to do apart from mixing cement from the age of three, was every year (usually around Feb/March time) we would have a trip to the Gower to collect sack-loads of horse-shit for the garden. Rarely would we go to the Gower in the summer as it was full of tourists and my family didn't want to part with any money to park the car at Oxwich, Langland or Caswell - or anywhere else for that matter. In any case why waste valuable concrete mixing time when the weather was so good as making the house and garden look like Soviet Russia would never happen whilst we were playing on the sand or paddling!
Back to the sack-loads of horse-shit. Every year as soon as one Saturday would offer the chance of light drizzle or even no rain we would all be loaded into the car (a Ford Corsair V6 which regularly conked out) along with a various plastic sacks and Mam would bring a picnic which was ideal for eating in the freezing cold and wet with the ever present pong of horse-shit everywhere! It was only made worse by the horrors that always will be the taste of tepid tea out of a flask, there are few things more vile! We would be there for hours, sometimes until it started to get dark, filling sacks with horse-shit and struggling with them to the car - if only the NSPCC had known! The boot would be so full that the back end of the car was distinctly lower than the rest of it and on every occasion it was so full that my sister and I would have a few sacks of the stuff between us to stop us squabbling. Frankly even now I still prefer spending time with a sack of horse-shit than my sister. However a row always broke out when my Dad tried to get Mam to carry a sack-load on her lap. Then when we got home we'd have to barrow the vile stuff to the non-concreted part of the garden, aka the veg plot (which would have fed most of the street every year).
Once this ordeal was over all clothes would be removed and instead of being burnt as they deserved were washed and we were put in the bath. It is hardly surprising that at school I found it difficult as I was probably ponging like a heaven knows what! I still break out in a cold sweat whenever I walk past the mounted horse-guards on Whitehall as when we went there one particularly hot summer in the 70's all I remember seeing was a massive pile of horse-shit the associated cloud of flies and the look in my Dad's eye that said 'If only I had a few plastic sacks and a shovel.'
Saturday, 10 January 2015
Rusty's Rubbish Railway. Part 3.
The other trains that Rusty owns are class 143's, 150's and 158's or as everyone else calls them 'Nodding Donkeys' or 'Burger Vans.' These are just the polite names.
Sometimes Rusty has to bribe people to let him borrow their trains due to some of his being condemned as unfit for human use. This makes other peoples trains very frightened as they don't want to end up broken and smelling like an old tramps vest. Sometimes they get so frightened they hide at the back of the shed and refuse to come out. If they do come out they have been known to have oil-leaks because the sight of one of Rusty's drivers coming towards them has frightened them that much.
Sometimes Rusty has to bribe people to let him borrow their trains due to some of his being condemned as unfit for human use. This makes other peoples trains very frightened as they don't want to end up broken and smelling like an old tramps vest. Sometimes they get so frightened they hide at the back of the shed and refuse to come out. If they do come out they have been known to have oil-leaks because the sight of one of Rusty's drivers coming towards them has frightened them that much.
Rusty's Rubbish Railway. Part 2.
One of Rusty's best friends is Sleepy the Signalman. Rusty gives Sleepy lots and lots and lots of money to ensure his trains run no matter how late or decrepit they are.
Day after day all the other trains get held up to let Rusty's trains past. This makes the drivers and the passengers very angry and you can hear them calling Rusty's trains rude names as they amble through places like Bristol, Exeter, Salisbury and Portsmouth.
Sleepy doesn't care as Rusty bought him a nice big comfy chair to sleep in.
Day after day all the other trains get held up to let Rusty's trains past. This makes the drivers and the passengers very angry and you can hear them calling Rusty's trains rude names as they amble through places like Bristol, Exeter, Salisbury and Portsmouth.
Sleepy doesn't care as Rusty bought him a nice big comfy chair to sleep in.
Thursday, 27 November 2014
Rusty's Rubbish Railway. Part 1.
This is a story about Rusty who owned a railway company. His grubby dark blue trains ran (occasionally) to London, Wales, Bristol Cornwall and all the way to the south coast of England.
To make sure that he made as much money as possible from his trains Rusty only made sure that the posh shiny HST's ever got any maintenance. All his other trains were held together with string, duck-tape and occasionally self-tapping screws found on the track. From time to time passengers had to link arms from carriage to carriage to stop the detaching whilst in service.
As well as this he always made sure that passengers never received any more than £2.50 in compensation for any delay or disruption caused by his trains.
To make sure that he made as much money as possible from his trains Rusty only made sure that the posh shiny HST's ever got any maintenance. All his other trains were held together with string, duck-tape and occasionally self-tapping screws found on the track. From time to time passengers had to link arms from carriage to carriage to stop the detaching whilst in service.
As well as this he always made sure that passengers never received any more than £2.50 in compensation for any delay or disruption caused by his trains.
Friday, 6 September 2013
Feels like the naughty step to me.
Since Black Monday's little episode I have had a day off and then I went into work on Wednesday, not that I actually did anything as when I got there I felt decidedly unwell and stressed, so much so after I got my road learners pass I walked over to the platform where the train I wanted went from, sat there, watched the first train come in and then go. I knew something wasn't right as I became to get the warning signs for a migraine - I thought (as I usually do) that it was my imagination, then the second train came in and the warning signs go more noticeable. There was no way I was going to be able to do a 3hr plus journey to London and back and not be in severe pain by the end of it. I decided to cut my loses and head for home.
So yesterday I headed off for my shift at midday. Booked on, but didn't see anything of my instructor so I just headed down to the train. He was already on board and I let myself into the cab. He was in the driving seat with a look of surprise on his face. In point of fact I was supposed to be route learning until the manager sorted out another instructor for me next week - apparently he told me that on Black Monday - However after what happened Black Monday he could have told me that I could retire on full pay immediately and it would not have registered, mind you, past experience of 'communication' at SWT makes me think he never said it to me in the first place, I also have to wait for a call from said manager to confirm arrangement for my new instructor - somehow I can't see that coming unless I develop mind-reading abilities in the near future.
Once this initial surprise was over my (former) instructor said I could come along with him down to Exeter and back. Exeter is not one of my favourite routes as it is in First Great Western territory and as anyone who has had the misfortune of travelling with them will know, delays are their business, including delaying trains that aren't even theirs!! In for a penny etc I thought, so off we went.
How can I describe this, but the journey to Exeter was mainly composed of a somewhat embarrassed silence, with us both trying to make polite conversation that seemed to end as quickly as it started. I did however manage to get one point that was raised on Black Monday straightened out and it seems that everyone breaks coming into stations completely differently and rendered what I was told fairly nonsensical as I would end up stopping with the back of the train hanging off the platform. It's a bloody nightmare believe me! Anyway the drive back was a bit better, the ice having been broken when I saw a bloke walking past Exeter St Davids in a leopard skin frock - very strange.
Now we come to today. As I knew I would not be driving and I could not be doing with another cab trip, I went into work and just revised my drivers rules. Had a chat with another instructor, mentioned braking and got told a whole other way of doing it - this really does not make any sense to me now, I might as well just ask the passengers to take a vote on it and see what I can manage!
However if this is my imagination, it is just paranoia backed up by my history!
So yesterday I headed off for my shift at midday. Booked on, but didn't see anything of my instructor so I just headed down to the train. He was already on board and I let myself into the cab. He was in the driving seat with a look of surprise on his face. In point of fact I was supposed to be route learning until the manager sorted out another instructor for me next week - apparently he told me that on Black Monday - However after what happened Black Monday he could have told me that I could retire on full pay immediately and it would not have registered, mind you, past experience of 'communication' at SWT makes me think he never said it to me in the first place, I also have to wait for a call from said manager to confirm arrangement for my new instructor - somehow I can't see that coming unless I develop mind-reading abilities in the near future.
Once this initial surprise was over my (former) instructor said I could come along with him down to Exeter and back. Exeter is not one of my favourite routes as it is in First Great Western territory and as anyone who has had the misfortune of travelling with them will know, delays are their business, including delaying trains that aren't even theirs!! In for a penny etc I thought, so off we went.
How can I describe this, but the journey to Exeter was mainly composed of a somewhat embarrassed silence, with us both trying to make polite conversation that seemed to end as quickly as it started. I did however manage to get one point that was raised on Black Monday straightened out and it seems that everyone breaks coming into stations completely differently and rendered what I was told fairly nonsensical as I would end up stopping with the back of the train hanging off the platform. It's a bloody nightmare believe me! Anyway the drive back was a bit better, the ice having been broken when I saw a bloke walking past Exeter St Davids in a leopard skin frock - very strange.
Now we come to today. As I knew I would not be driving and I could not be doing with another cab trip, I went into work and just revised my drivers rules. Had a chat with another instructor, mentioned braking and got told a whole other way of doing it - this really does not make any sense to me now, I might as well just ask the passengers to take a vote on it and see what I can manage!
However if this is my imagination, it is just paranoia backed up by my history!
Wednesday, 4 September 2013
I want to curl up and die!
Up until Monday I felt that things with my training were really beginning to improve and that I was getting somewhere. Sadly I was completely and utterly deluded!
I have to admit that yesterdays two trip weren't as good as my previous ones. This all died on its arse when a manager got in the cab at Basingstoke - this was the first time anyone other than myself and my instructor had been in the can. It stressed me out completely - I would have much preferred a maniac with an axe as at least I would not now have to live under the cloud of what followed.
Just before my penultimate station he asks me how many hours I had done, followed by asking me whether I would be comfortable to stop at the station without any input from my instructor - which frankly was loaded questions go is up there with 'When did you stop beating your wife?' Now first of all I must explain that when you stop you first shut off the power at a certain point and then brake at another predetermined point. As I mentioned before I was stressed just by him being there and completely missed the shut off point, a lot of shouting ensued and all but my parentage seemed to be called into question. This left me feeling physically sick, shaking and was taken out of the driving seat to be berated further. Coincidentally I did manage to stop at the station, although rather hurriedly.
Just to make things worse I was then taken into a meeting with said manager and my instructor and told that the cab ride was deliberate as questions had been asked by some other managerial parasite why I had gone over the 225hrs and still hadn't been put in for my test. Consequently I will now be put with another instructor for 40hrs to see if a fresh pair of eyes can sort my stopping out. They did say that it is not their intention to allow me to fail and that the error I made was to be expected as I am still in training - frankly I don't believe a flaming word they are saying, but was too stunned to make any coherent points about the fact I have been faffed about from day one and my training has been somewhat fitful to say the least. All they got out of me was the question 'What happens if I am just a hopeless case?' Not much of a response beyond them reiterating that they did not want me to fail.
Add to this the fact that I am now being told by this manager that the way I have been taught to stop is wrong, makes me wonder whether these halfwits know what they are doing full-stop! Also they asked me to explain the comment on my weekly report regarding the BR dinosaur I had the displeasure of being out with for two days, which I stated had damaged my confidence.
Needless to say when I got home I cried for 2hrs non-stop - this is something I have never done since I was a child. During that time I honestly contemplated taking an over-dose feeling that I had let everyone down especially Penny for dragging her yet again miles to set up home in an area neither of us know that well. Obviously I didn't, but if I am honest I think I would rather be dead than fail this and have to go back to the misery of architecture.
Tomorrow I have to go back to work for three days then I am off for three and really I would rather do anything other than go back in there for the time being and certainly don't want to sit at the controls of a train irrespective of who is instructing me.
I have to admit that yesterdays two trip weren't as good as my previous ones. This all died on its arse when a manager got in the cab at Basingstoke - this was the first time anyone other than myself and my instructor had been in the can. It stressed me out completely - I would have much preferred a maniac with an axe as at least I would not now have to live under the cloud of what followed.
Just before my penultimate station he asks me how many hours I had done, followed by asking me whether I would be comfortable to stop at the station without any input from my instructor - which frankly was loaded questions go is up there with 'When did you stop beating your wife?' Now first of all I must explain that when you stop you first shut off the power at a certain point and then brake at another predetermined point. As I mentioned before I was stressed just by him being there and completely missed the shut off point, a lot of shouting ensued and all but my parentage seemed to be called into question. This left me feeling physically sick, shaking and was taken out of the driving seat to be berated further. Coincidentally I did manage to stop at the station, although rather hurriedly.
Just to make things worse I was then taken into a meeting with said manager and my instructor and told that the cab ride was deliberate as questions had been asked by some other managerial parasite why I had gone over the 225hrs and still hadn't been put in for my test. Consequently I will now be put with another instructor for 40hrs to see if a fresh pair of eyes can sort my stopping out. They did say that it is not their intention to allow me to fail and that the error I made was to be expected as I am still in training - frankly I don't believe a flaming word they are saying, but was too stunned to make any coherent points about the fact I have been faffed about from day one and my training has been somewhat fitful to say the least. All they got out of me was the question 'What happens if I am just a hopeless case?' Not much of a response beyond them reiterating that they did not want me to fail.
Add to this the fact that I am now being told by this manager that the way I have been taught to stop is wrong, makes me wonder whether these halfwits know what they are doing full-stop! Also they asked me to explain the comment on my weekly report regarding the BR dinosaur I had the displeasure of being out with for two days, which I stated had damaged my confidence.
Needless to say when I got home I cried for 2hrs non-stop - this is something I have never done since I was a child. During that time I honestly contemplated taking an over-dose feeling that I had let everyone down especially Penny for dragging her yet again miles to set up home in an area neither of us know that well. Obviously I didn't, but if I am honest I think I would rather be dead than fail this and have to go back to the misery of architecture.
Tomorrow I have to go back to work for three days then I am off for three and really I would rather do anything other than go back in there for the time being and certainly don't want to sit at the controls of a train irrespective of who is instructing me.
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