News from Nowhere

It is either the reward or the price for being a parish councillor (or both) that durham_rambler gets invited to all sort of stuff, and his default mode is to accept invitations. I don't always accompany him, but I did go last week to the opening of an exhibition of "Graphic Paintings" by Derek Slater, with the title "Time Changes Nothing" (there's a gallery of this work on the artist's website).



I used my phone to take some pictures, and they aren't great. Perversely, although this is disappointing, and I hope I will get better at this, I also take a degree of pleasure from it: I'm not planning to give up my camera. Anyway, here's a flavour of the event. The garlanded structure in the foreground gives away that the venue is within 'Bertie’s Play House', an under-used unit in the shopping centre, where management are being very creative about filling empty shops with interesting stuff.

( Yes, but what about the pictures? )

I also talked to the Parish Clerk, which is always fun, and all the more so right now as we had two things to discuss. First was the progress of his discussions of the Folk Festival Formerly Known as Hartlepool, henceforward the Furham Folk Festival - these are going well, apparently, and the Parish will offer support, and everyone is very pleased with everyone else: not something you hear very often, so hooray for that!

The other was progress on installing a blue plaque for Sam Green, which is also making good progress. Much of the organisation is out of my hands, for which I am grateful, though if Adam (the - very persuasice - Parish Clerk) has his way, I may end up playing a larger part than I had intended.

And yesterday Adam and his plaquqe fitter came along and screwed the plaque to the front of the house. I had assumed it would be hidden by some sort of curtain, but apparently that only goes up at the last minute, so for the time being it is complately visible.

durham_rambler's brother (another D.) and sister-in-law (M.) are in between some impressive holidays, and are filling the gap with a short tour of friends and relations in the UK. They fitted us in between an old friend in Easingwold, and a couple of days on Lindisfarne (just because). We had a couple of evenings together, and the day in between - long enough for a lot of chat, a bottle or so of wine and a visit to the cathedral.

It was Sunday, so access to the cathedral itself was restricted. We cut across the west end of the nave, on our way out to the the cloisters; I just had time to photograph this detail of some Restoration woodwork:



It's part of the casing of the old "Father Smith" organ, relocated when the organ was replaced.

Rather than dodge the worshippers in the cathedral, we wanted to visit the cathedral's museum, which currently houses an exhibition around Magna Carta. Durham owns the only surviving copy of the 1216 issues of the Charter (the year after the original, and restating it after the original was rescinded) plus, if I have this right, two copies of the definitive 1225 issue.

( More than you want to know about the museum... )

We left the cathedral through the College. At the gateway into the Bailey we met a man in military dress, crisp knaki and cockade in his beret, studying the notices, and durham_rambler asked if we could help.
Was this, he asked, Saint Nicholas' cathedral?
Durham cathedral is dedicated to Saint Cuthbert, and I told him so.
No, he definitely wanted Saint Nicholas.
Well, the church in the Market Place is Saint Nick's, would that do?
He didn't seem all that sure, but he asked for directions, and we pointed him along the Bailey towards the Market Place.
We were heading towards the Market Place ourselves, and before we got there we met our friend coming back (very much more briskly than we were going). He had found someone to solve his conundrum for him: he wanted Newcastle cathedral. (I should have thought of that).

We had a late lunch at Turkish Kitchen in Saddler Street: new to me, but would go again. Excellent bread, and a glass of pinot grigio rosé. M's halloumi salad was enormous: she boxed up most of the salad part, and we all shared it for dinner.

I wasn't even sure I would make it to the Gala this year. I wanted to; it's always an important date in my year. But I mistrusted my ability to spend all day on my feet, let alone a day at the mercy of what passes for a heatwave in the north of England. Well, the good news was that despite the announced withdrawal of the 3G on which my phone apparently runs, I could still get through to durham_rambler. So I set off, with no plan for the day beyond doing my best and withdrawing if I needed to. And it turned out fine: we did a lot of shade-hopping, and all was well.

One of the pleasures of the Big Meeting is - well, the people you meet. Often they are Old Comrades, but this yer the first old friend we ran into was a poet, which was an unexpected pleasure.

We made our way down to the Racecourse. As we followed the path down behind this banner:



this is what I heard from the stage:



It turns out to be Joe Solo's The Last Miner, and the more I listen to it, the more I like the way it engages with the question What is the Miners' Gala for now that the pits are all closed?.

We made our way down to the field, past the astronomy tent (we didn't see anything that looked like this), past StrikeMap (I meant to go back for a better look later, but when I did they were already packing up), and into a large marquee, which I think belonged to the Aged Miners' Homes: it contained nothing but some tables, a generous supply of chairs, and some people who were enjoying the shade. We joined them, with gratitude to our hosts, whoever they were. From here we made contact the our friend in the NASUWT, who arrived to brief us about her family news, and how her union has managed both to appoint and not to appoint Matt Wrack as its new General Secretary. From here, too, durham_rambler foraged for our lunch (chips with mystery toppings). And from here we set off from home.

We didn't stay for the speeches: we didn't have the stamina to sit in the sun and listen, even to Jeremy Corbyn. We did pause on another well placed bench, from which we could hear the Palestinian Ambassador - not what he was saying, but the music of his speech, and the audience response. Then on to Hotel Indigo (we were aiming for the Methodist church, but they had stopped serving at two), to sit in the shade, drink water and watch the bands going past: and from here, finally, skirting the town along with the crowds of bandmembers carrying their instruments to the bus, and I sat at the foot of Crossgate while durham_rambler came home and collected the car.

Today is cold and grey, and if we had any thoughts about going out, they have vanished.

Last Sunday, though, last Sunday was glorious, and we visited Crook Hall

The person who checked our passes boasted of the tree peony (a huge bloom, rather blotched and blowsy) and the Himalayan poppy (just the one, but they are very proud of it because apparently it is quite hard to get them to bloom). I was more impressed by a fine cluster of wild garlic (which has an apologetic sign in it: This garden in the process of remodelling - oh, well). Randomly, my favourite picture was of some lingering blossom:

There is a new sculpture of a toad, to replace the old wooden one, which was rotting, and has been put somewhere he can rot peacefully and productively; the new, metal toad is, inevitably, by Graeme Hopper. There is a moorhen on the pool. And there is a new second-hand bookshop, but I didn't buy anything (though I did photograph a copy of Pride and Prejudice for the previous post).

'Twas on a Wednesday morning
The electrician plumber came

We now have a fully flushing toilet in the upstairs bathroom. Just in time, because -

- we had a house guest for the end of the week:

Frances's three children, whose homes are scattered across the country, came to Durham to finalise her funeral arrangements, and make a start on clearing her house (in which they had lived as children). Their initial intention was for all three of them to stay at the house, but it would be a squeeze, especially since (and I find this rather sweet, both irrational and entirely understandable) no-one wanted to sleep in their mother's bed. So durham_rambler suggested to L. (middle 'child', with whom he maintains contact on - Bluesky, I think) that he should stay with us. Which worked very well: a practical, rather than a social, visit, but with some time for conversation, those peculiar conversations you have at these times with people who have known you not terribly well for all their lives...

Thursday evening, a civic event:

durham_rambler was invited, as a Parish Councillor, to the opening of 'Two Tales', a pop-up outpost of Seven Stories, the national centre for children's books in Newcastle. One of the many empty units in the shopping centre has been repurposed into a bookshop cum café cum events/ outreach venue: not the aspect of Seven Stories that most interests me, but surely a good thing nonetheless. The gathering was more civic than literary: no conversations about children's books, more (still) about the local elections. durham_rambler commiserated with one unsuccessful Labour candidate: "Sorry you weren't elected - " "I'm not!" was the reply, and I see his point. I almost left without buying a book (which would have been rude); we were already outside when I spotted in the window a supply of a book about illustrations in the Seven Stories collection, and had to go back in again.

Saturday was Eurovision!

But I have run out of time, so that'll have to wait...

durham_rambler has a group of volunteers who are helping him to distribute his election publicity. They are all much appreciated, but I was particularly tickled that one had sent in a report. So here it is (the redaction is mine):

Took advantage of sunny day yesterday and delivered the leaflets.

My report:

A few properties appeared vacant.

Two or three I have no idea how to access or find a letter box.

Interesting smell of recreational herbal products around one part of Whitesmocks

And cheerful complaint (unrelated to above point) from one resident of Whitesmocks that it never gets mentioned in Council and election literature.

[Redacted] is the place to go if one wanted to pilfer Amazon parcels

One Alsation

Lots of yappy dogs in St Nicholas Drive

One rabbit.

Cheers

Wednesday was durham_rambler's birthday: celebrations were low-key, as we have been distracted by builders, but we did manage to find a party to go to -

- if you can call something a party when it starts at 9.00 am. We had an invitation to the opening of the new building at the student development which currently houses Hild/Bede College: I'm still not sure who they thought they were inviting, but durham_rambler is Chair of the residents' association, and he wanted me to accompany him, and since it was his birthday, and since I had to be up early because of the builders, and anyway why not, I went with him. The Vice Chancellor cut a purple ribbon, there were some brief speeches, and then we retreated from the sleet into the JCR and chatted with friends and neighbours (including the Mayor and the Parish Clerk) and drank coffee and ate pastries...

We weren't home long before it was time to go out to lunch: we had booked at the Vane Arms in Thorpe Thewles, where we have eaten before, though not recently. There were mussels on the menu, which always makes durham_rambler happy, and the sun was shining, and after lunch there was a bus shelter repurposed as a book exchange to investigate (we got away without actually taking any books, although durham_rambler was intrigued by a biography of Josephine Butler).

Out again in the evening, to the pub quiz where, for the second week running we found ourselves in a three-way tie breaker for first place. We are not good at tie breakers, and we came third: but there's still a decent prize, and all the glory of top marks. And the winners were our friendly rivals, the student team on the next table, who have gone several weeks without a win, and were getting fractious, so it's all to the good.

When the Parish Council launched its search for suitable locations for blue plaques to commemmorate noteworthy local people and events, durham_rambler suggested Sam Green. We had known Sam in the 1970s, when he was our local City councillor, and were proud that Durham, at a time when when north east England was seen as socially backward, had elected the country's first out gay councillor. (Here's the Wikipedia page.)

The Parish Council has adopted this idea with enthusiasm. durham_rambler and I had assumed that they would seek to install the plaque on the house where Sam was living when we knew him, and which he was offering as a "crash pad" - quotation marks because this term for informal emergency accommodation seems to have fallen out of use, and I get blank looks when I use it. We were disconcerted to discover that instead of engaging with the owner of what is now, of course, a student let, they wanted to affix the plaque to the house where Sam was apparently living when he was first elected, which is the house where we now live (Sam having told us, back in 1975 "I see my mother's house is on the market again...")

At the same time, a project is under way in the University to "research [Sam's] career and write an article about his experience - and what an 'historic first' such as his election does (and doesn't) mean for thinking about social and cultural change over the past 50+ years in Modern Britain." So on Tuesday durham_rambler and I went to the History Department to be interviewed by Richard Huzzey and David Minto. The History Department has resisted any attempts to move it into new buildings, and is still where it always was, in a warren of old houses on the North Bailey. I have no idea how they accommodate students (or staff, or indeed visitors) with limited mobility: not only was the office we were visiting on the second floor, you have to find the right staircase (we didn't) or you will find yourself on the wrong bit of the second floor, and have to go back down to the entrance and try again (we did).

Despite this, I was glad of the opportunity to visit the department. I felt a bit mean about this, because they would willingly have come to us, and I think would have liked to see the house where Sam had grown up - but it was so much easier to visit, and to let Richard clear a big space on his table, and set out his (British Library approved, archive quality) recorder, with the lapel mikes positioned to pick up whoever was speaking, and bustle around apologising for the instant coffee...

I enjoyed talking about the past, and remembering someone we had known - maybe not all that well, but known, and liked - a long time ago. At times I felt that what we were doing was establishing context, rather than talking about the man himself, but that's useful too. There were, as I knew there would be, gaps in my memory: the first question was "How did you first meet Sam Green?" and neither of us could remember exactly. Did we meet Sam through the Welfare Rights Group, or did we come to the Welfare Rights Group through Sam? (The more I think about it, the more I incline to the former: luckily, I don't think this matters to the historic record). Interesting, too, after we had stopped recording, to hear some of the things other interviewees had said: I had remembered Sam wearing a single giant pearly earring and some lacy curtain as a scarf, but I had forgotten the holey knitted jumper - and now it was mentioned, yes, I could see it vividly.

Anyway, it was a fun afternoon, and a worthwhile project; now we let the historians do their thing, and later we will go to an open talk, and see what they have found out, and what they make of it all.

At Wednesday's pub quiz, the Professor warned us that he might not be on top form, having had an interrupted night. The doorbell had rung at three in the morning, and he had answered it to find a student neighbour uronating on his doorstep. Words were exchanged. He went back to bed, and next day discovered that his assailant had returned, and thrown eggs at the front of his house. (He had also dropped his ID: recriminations followed, and apologies, and cleaning up.)

This being a Durham student, they were quail's eggs.

J invited us to lunch on Thursday, which is always a treat.

We returned home to find a delegation of young women on our doorstep, holding a package wrapped in tissue paper. They were representatives of the student household next-door-but-one, there to warn us that they would be having a hallowe'en party, to apologise in advnace for the noise, and to appease us with home-baked brownies. We thanked them for the brownies, and asked what time they planned to end the party, and they said they planned to move into town at elevent o' clock: of course they did, because elevent is the locally agreed curfew.

The brownies were good, and the party must have been good, too: there seemed to be a huge number of people there, and it was very loud. At eleven o' clock there was no sign of it winding down: I heard a couple of blasts of a whistle on the garden, and wondered whether this was a 'time's up' signal, but time clearly wasn't up.

It was loud enough for durham_rambler (who is quite deaf) to go and remind them of the time: the police advise against doing this, but he found them quite affable: "People kept offering me drinks," he said, "but I just pulled the jackplugs out of the DJ's desk."

Which seems to have had the desired result.

After the Museum of the Moon, after a visit from Gaia, this summer Durham Cathedral has played host to a flock of Peace Doves.

Artist Peter Walker invited people - community groups and incividual volunteers - to write a message on a paper dove, then strung them together to make his installation. There's a lot about this process which arouses my prejudices: I've nothing against community involvement as an end in itself, but it's about the process not the outcome - I'm not more likely to admire the result because the artist has farmed the work out to other people. And I'm not against peace: who is? This is just a way of side-dtepping criticism, isn't it: but it's in a good cause...

You can't criticise art unless you've seen it, though. So in the last few days available, we caught the cathedral bus and went to have a look. And while I can't say I was moved by it, it was very pretty:

The BBC report linked above mentions music: I did not hear any music. But I quite liked the effect of the mass of doves, and the way they were fromed by the cathedral. I thought, in fact, that, unlike those Luke Jerram globes, this was a piece which had been devised for this space, and it wasn't until I came to write this post that I discovered a description on the artirt's website of his Doves of Peace installation at Liverpool Cathedral.