Intumescent strip!

Today I spend the day in a building that used to be a home for adults with learning difficulties.  It is now our training centre (academy).

I knew the day would be frustrating as core mandatory training largely involves discussing the colour of bin bags, and how to lift a box,

Then in fire awareness I learnt about 'Intumescent Strips',  This are strips of a material that expands if a door is burning, creating an air lock.  It sounded fascinating.  Why is there so much fascinating stuff that can never be tried out. I did recall the amazing time dad heated up shoe polish on the stove to make it softer.  It spontaneously ignited, and he got the opportunity tio at last use the fire extinguisher.  This scooped up the hot burning fat and sprayed in all over the kitchen wall.  Poor Dad,  We loved it but he had to clear it all up.

A family Walk

The weather on Saturday was quite something.  cycling though Leicestershire has given me ideas of places to explore.  Croft Quarry has created an enormous hole in Leicestershire, with the pink granite being taken south to pave London streets many years ago.  The top of the hill is preserved.

Croft Hill- not much of a hill...

Croff Quarry -  a tremendous hole!

Granite breaks out at the top.

The walk starts from Croft, a small quarrying village.  The church is built from enormous pink granite blocks.  The route skirts the quarry.  Blue bells were just beginning to flower.  The path heads steeply to the top.  We passed though a mass of burrowing bees, which did not bother us.  

From the top there is a great panorama of urban Leicester, and the out-lying towns, Blaby, Narborough and Earl Shilton.  We headed down towards the M69 towards the farmstead of Potters Marston, which until the black death, was a village.  The chapel dates back to the 15th century.

I think I saw Swallows or Mouse Martins swooning over one field, but we didn't get close enough.  I enjoyed seeing a flock of ducks cycle high above us, rising to clear high trees before coming down like an aircraft at Heathrow to land perfectly on the short runway of the farm pond..  

Potters Marston church (no bells at all)

The interior- looks almost Baptist?

The Hall- now the farm house.

Arandora Star

Not a new member of the family.  A tragedy from the North Atlantic highlighted in Roma Tearne's new book, 'The Pier'. Apparently whilst on holiday in Tuscany (I'm guessing Lucca as it has a memorial to the sinking of the Arandora Star) Tearne met an Italian man whose father and other relatives died aboard the ship.  It reminded me of the recent controversy raised by the Pope as to whether the Armenian nation experienced genocide in the first world war, but on a micro scale.

The ship was loaded with German and Italian interns and POWs.  Many were essentially British, having no military interest and having living and worked as shop keepers in Britain for many years.  But their origins were suspect.  The power of their ethnic label was ignited by the poisonous political climate of the time.

Was the ship adequately supported as it transported the interns from Liverpool to Canada?  It had been fitted with anti-torpedo nets in the past.  It had a crew of 300 british, so we presume, so it wasn't just a death trap.  It was sunk at 6.00am on the 2nd July 1940 by a German U boat.

Did the British public and authorities really care about these people?  They were reported at the time as befitted their ethnic sterotypes, the Germans 'brutish and selfish', the Italians pathetic, and scared.

I was reminded by the revulsion I felt yesterday when I examined my own immediate reaction to hearing about the 1000's of deaths at sea of southern migrants to Europe from Libya.  'Better they die than come, unwanted, to the Europe and UK".  A terrible fascist thought I reject.

Easter Thoughts

I muse that 'fun' is the ingredient that needs to be in all relationships for them to be alive.  How alive are my relationships?

Is 'fun' the word I'm looking for?  I am searching about.  The word I want describes a sort of 'reciprocity' that offers a mutually rewarding interaction between parties.

I consider that this is even a necessary condition for my (notional) relationship with my pet fish.  If the fish does nothing for me, I get rid of the fish.  I put food out for the birds.  If the birds come at night and eat my food without me seeing them, do I continue to put food out?

Can I have a relationship with an inanimate object?  I child may have a teddy that may go everywhere with it.  Does this mean they have a relationship with the teddy?  Is it reciprocal?  Does the teddy communicate?

In all relationships there's communication.  Even 'no' communication is communication. (Waltzlawick 1972)

Can I have a living relationship with my dead father?  I love him dearly.  I remember his words and influence, but is this a reciprocal relationship?

Can I have a relationship with my Creator?  Will it be a real relationship if God is dead?

Can I have a reciprocal relationship with a living Jesus?

Will if be fun for us both? Will we both experience it as mutually joyful?

These are my Easter thoughts.

Easter Poem

Anticipation stirred me this morning,
I awake before the alarm.

Flight paths arc the sky's dawning,
A natural rhythm restoring calm.

Am I alone in searching the sky?
Ears examining the layers of sound.

I notice the lark, calling from its crows-nest up high,
But consumed with urgency, its eyes fixed only earth-bound.

Every year I recall this watchful sense and hope lifts,
Summer is heralded by the return of the swifts.

Grateful to the ARP

Today I cycled to Marion's for our family post-Easter celebration.  I have done it twice before and always found the route difficult at Stoke Albany.  I've been known to carry my bike up a steep embankment to join the main road.  No exception today.  I roded through Wilbarston and then the road began to peter out, as in the 'road to the North' (a Southern joke).  I ended up on the outskirts of a vast World War II aerodrome.

In the distance, I could see someone coming towards me along the runway on an old shopping bicycle.  He was distinguished, with a trilby hat, in a flowing black coat.

  "Can I get through to Pipewell this way?" I asked, hoping he might be a Pipewell resident, the Vicar perhaps?  He frowned, and shook his head, and in a plum english accent said

"Not unless you can cope with a lot of mud.  Better to go this way," and he pointed to a metaled farm track leading off at an angle.  It will take you to a village called 'Pipwell'.  Your'll find your way from there."

I thanked him, and as we separated I'm sure he added, " and remember not to talk to strangers.  Careless words cost lives.  And observe the blackout."

Sites/Sights I passed today

Pipewell Church-  apparently pronounced 'Pipwell'

The Eleanor cross in Geddington

Boughton House, Kettering