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Category: Angleterre
Morning walk
It’s that time of year when the trees are silhouettes that let the light through the branches, the mist hovers over the fields, the sunshine tries to break through. Time to wrap up and hear the ground crackle under the walking boots.
My mother the extremist
First published on The Lady Shed on 1/5/15
“Problem with you Mum, you’re an extremist”
That stopped me in my tracks. Driving along in my automobile, on a West Dorset lane, hedges ensuring I can only look ahead, no views of what’s happening in the fields around me. I didn’t slam on the brakes, but I sure was stunned into silence for a second.
“What do you mean I am an extremist?”
“You always go on about the Americans. That is extremist Mum”.
He was a bit angry with me. He loves America, the skateboarding, the rap music, the series on tv and all that stuff on YouTube. He doesn’t watch the news too much, that’s always the same old stuff of no interest to him whatsoever. Like so many adults who have given up on lis’ning.
And he sure has a way to get straight to the point, that boy of mine. And stop me in my tracks. He makes me think. He makes me readjust my ways. And I want to listen. Kids are not as blinded by economic beliefs that have been misinterpreted by a society on steroids along a motorway with hedges so high we can’t see any fields that may look different.
When so many teenagers I listen to see little hope of a bright future in this country, I wonder where we are heading. Just like the next person.
Starting from the system as we know it, our current base, the jungle out there, I can’t help but conclude that we will need dramatic changes in the long term if we are ever to live in that more balanced world philosophers have been writing about for centuries. For changes in the short and medium term, if we are to achieve any long term goals of rebalancing Society, maybe we do need to think about a few extremist ideas.
Yet I keep hearing that people don’t like change.
It makes me very angry when the Conservative Party’s manifesto states in the first paragraph “Labour’s Great Recession”. It worries me no end that the MP where I live has written a book entitled “How to privatise everything”. It astounds me that he writes policies with the help of seconded employees from KPMG and their like, even more so that our laws allow him -and many others- to do so. And then you have France riddled with endless strikes and equally filled with food banks. Economics and balance sheets are the only reality of life, it seems. “I didn’t leave Labour, Labour left me” said a Scotsman from Inverclyde, a typical Labour constituency near Glasgow, interviewed by the World Tonight on Radio 4 on 29 April 2015.
Is he the only one thinking this?
Take calculator, add person A = £6,210 a year salary to person B = £1,865,999 a year, divide by two and you’ll get an average that means the country is doing great, thanks. It means bugger all, how does that deal with poverty? I’m useless at maths but if the top paid earn forever more and the low paid earns a tiny bit more thanks to tax cuts, then when you average their salaries the number will be bigger. Recovery we hear, but for who? Cuts to vulnerable people’s benefits have lead to deaths. In 2015, in Britain or France. How can this be?
More importantly, where do we go from here?
In our black and white world, it seems that if I speak up against ‘the Americans’ I must be Red Nat. I must be against Obama. If I go on about the danger of corporations acting as a monopoly I must be antibusiness. If I speak up about Israel, I must be antisemite. Therefore I must be racist. Therefore I must be derided, attacked, bullied, silenced. Which is pretty much how the media have been able to conduct their affairs up to now. And allowed to tell people who they should vote for. For goodness sake, why are these non-dom media barons allowed to get away with such blatant political bias?
Yes things are changing, people are engaging in politics when given half a chance, as the Scottish referendum has shown. People are turning to alternative media for news thanks to the internet. McDonalds are closing outlets, Tesco is struggling (on paper). What happens next? Will they pay their small suppliers even later? These dangers have been forecasted for years, by extremists on the left, yet they have mainly been ignored by Westminster Cabinet Inc. The old school media meanwhile is peddling the same old hatred to divide us to smithereens.
Benefit scroungers vs the rich, public sector workers vs private, countryside vs cities, good old days of the Empire vs ignoring the young, disabled vs the lucky ones, Eastern European vs proper British, hard working families vs lazy single parents (we can only assume). Oh and religions, obviously, nothing like a good old established subject of division and hatred. Always works that one. And that was before we even started the election.
Now we’re in overdrive. When a woman suddenly inspires not only Scotland but also English voters, all hands on deck. She’ll be working with that Welsh one as well. And heaven forbid the Aussie one with mad ideas. She and the other two must be taken down: if we are to be Great or British, we must remain a Union, we must therefore ensure those self-centered Scots stay back where they belong, north of the border. And The Sun happily backs the SNP North of the Border, and treat them like terrorist scum South of the border.
And I’m an extremist?
I have a beautiful roof over my head, I live in a stunning area and I’m angry. I’ve never been hungry, but I’m scared. When more and more ‘haves’ think that Conservatives have gone too far, won’t vote for somebody who won’t tell them where those damn £12bn cuts will come from; when they can see for themselves how this witch hunt of the have-nots-who-must-all-be-scroungers hits the old industrial areas like Cornwall; when the scroungers off the top have not gone anywhere near a judge, let alone a prison, and nowhere near enough the coffers of HMRC whilst the rest of us keep filling that big black hole to pay for:
- the interest on our debt that goes straight into the bank balance of private banks with no renegotiation of the rate,
- in-work benefit that goes disproportionally to the likes of Amazon and their non-tax paying international friends,
- private landlords that make millions from rents on sub standard properties because there is no alternative social housing,
then please forgive me for worrying from my utopian cloud. I understood (wrongly) free market to mean something a bit more balanced, a bit less authoritarian from the corporations who want yet more power in Europe with TTIP so they can sue governments if their balance sheet gets hit by:
- our not wanting fracking,
- our wanting to know what we eat with proper labelling,
- our asking for dangerous chemicals to be banned.
TTIP is being negotiated in secret, now, and the main parties are in favour of ‘business’. When was TTIP mentioned in the elections?
And I’m not even talking about climate change, a subject that has been as good as absent in these elections too.
If we cut benefits from the poorest yet more, won’t there be even more anger? Would we not likely have more riots like in the States, like in New Orleans, still not recovered from the devastating hurricane ten years ago, even before racism is taken into account?
Do we want to become more like the States and their Senate that blocks the President from moving in the direction he was elected to go towards because a small number of people can spend millions on political campaigns, anti-climate-change ‘scientific research’ aimed at the ‘left’s conspiracy theories’, the Fox News and Tea Party of this world…
That’s why my son calls me an extremist about Americans. He’s not the only one. And I understand what he means. Out of context, I sound like a communist. In our current world, I’m just worried that we are like a car on a West Dorset lane going way too fast, heading for a tractor that we cannot see but is firmly around the corner.
Then what?
I have a vision of blondie Boris and his water cannons, a couple of years from now, you know the ones, acquired cheap from Germany without permission from government. That gives me a vision of his type of leadership, apart from his jokey way of talking to people like they’re idiots, like he knows better and will do what it takes to get his way. If authority is what we’re after, he’ll do a great job. Authority scares me because when it does not listen, it becomes totalitarian.
It does not let me talk.
If I want to go and protest in London about fracking I might end up kettled for hours by some private company like G4S, end up at the wrong end of that water cannon, maybe sent to a Serco private jail that needs to make a profit, if I get injured it may be Virgin that looks after me and if I end up with a nervous breakdown due to massive stress because I find our society frighteningly out of hand but don’t want to just ignore it because it is my children’s future, well, who knows who will look after me?
At the moment in West Dorset, people with mental issues who end up at the top of a cliff out of despair are taken in a police car to Poole, an hour away. Because there’s no money to help them significantly, they’re ‘released’, they go back to the cliff, the police has to pick them up again, and again, hopefully as the alternative is at the bottom of the cliff, and yet police numbers are decreasing.
Where do we go from here?
There are many alternative roads from the established ways, if only we get a chance to look at them properly, analyse their proposals fairly, and work out a more balanced way forward. From Positive Banking that invests in small businesses, to enabling community Green Energy so we never rely on monopolies and foreign countries anymore, surely humans are clever enough to build a better society learning from the mistakes of the past?
In my search for a fairer world for my children away from finance capitalism, totalitarian communism or corporate socialism…
am I really an extremist?
In your hands
Originally posted on The Lady Shed on 12/12/14
A Facebook friend shared a photo of a French man with a yellow triangle stuck on his chest. “Shame on you Marseille” she wrote.
So I read the caption, obviously:
“French homeless forced to wear ‘yellow triangles’”
What is wrong with France I wondered before I had time to think, brain blinded into alarm mode. Have they gone mad?
“The city of Marseille has been blasted for using Nazi-era tactics to identify its homeless population by issuing them with ID cards, adorned with a yellow…”
Well I bet, for crying out loud, what were they thinking?
A bit of research (in French, it helped) and the story appeared to be political poop-stirring. Once a city votes a far right councillor into office, as Marseille has, all sorts of poop will hit the fan; from stories that absolutely need to be reported to twisted facts taken out of context to create catchy headlines (and poop-loads of hits on a website).
And now in this country, as I feared prior to the European elections, main political parties have jumped on the immigration bandwagon, driven as we are by the media’s bottom line rather than balanced facts and figures. With a far right party driving the national train to the good-old-days of la-la-land stuck firmly in the long gone era of steam engines, I wonder: what is waiting for us at the next station?
Now, if you are concerned with the rise of UKIP in this country, you may think so long as we point out how dangerous the Far Right could become, never mind the tactics. Maybe, then again adding oil to the fire of xenophobia has consequences. When I commented on my friend’s Facebook that the original idea of that yellow triangle was to help, it was not an obligation nor supposed to be worn in full view, my friend was not having any of it. She’d seen the yellow triangle, and like me, understandably seen red. “Wake up and smell the coffee” said an outraged Facebook friend of hers.
There are images that blind us. A yellow triangle is one of them; rightly. There are stories that scare us. In an economic crisis, the fear of our child or grandchild losing their job to a lesser paid foreigner will shout loud and clear ‘Protect my child”. People who can’t find a decent job will understandably look to political parties that promise to offer answers. We need to blame someone for the ills of our overcrowded NHS and schools, worn out roads or zero hour contracts.
Nigel Farage on BBC Question time yesterday (11/12/14) explained that foreigners would exasperate these national problems with no explanation of how he would solve these exasperations. When an angry woman in the audience shouted against the rise of the far right, Mr Farage turned to Russell Brand – who had been told he should stand for election by another angry man in the studio – “Yes, you should stand for election. These are your voters. They’re lovely people”; imagine a half smile of contempt behind eyes that mean anything but the words being spoken. Man of the people indeed, maybe he should become a comedian, sarcasm at the ready.
Blaming foreigners turns to something like this “Maybe with Marseille’s collaboration during the war they learned all the wrong things?” was one of the comments on my friend’s Facebook post. Thump. Why don’t you just whack me in the face and kick me in the stomach? I thought. But did not write. These ‘articles’ and this constant blame game bring the worst out of us.
Ahead of an election year where dozens of communication specialists paid by political parties will look for stories to bash the opposition with; when more out of context quotes from politicians will create rivers of quick outraged articles that will leave the real issues unanswered, I can’t help but wonder quite how nasty it will become.
When I left France twenty seven years ago Monsieur Le Pen was beginning to change the face of French politics; and in its wake, France. Rather than build bridges that history had created and politicians had exasperated, canyons of hate are still being dug, forever wider. Here in the rural South West of England, a small minority were followed by a large proportion of voters in the last European elections. Two UKIP MEP’s sit at the European parliament representing the South West. That’s two out of six. I have a growing bitter taste of déja-vu in my mouth.
France is different, friends assure me. Yes it is, but like it or not we are joined at the hip by European history. I sure hope the Rosbifs will not go down the same route nationale as the Frogs. We can’t vote for celebs, MP’s is all we have. But Russell Brand has a point, the air smells of revolution.
I hope it does not have the bloody taste of the French Bastille of old nor have the smelly whiff of today’s French political landscape. Oh and like all Europeans in the UK, I can’t vote in the national elections. The fate of the UK political landscape is down to British and Commonwealth voters.
We’re in your hands.
Chideock’s catholic church
I came across Chideock’s catholic church by chance some years back.
A little path leads to a door flanked by two arches, a simple entrance not unlike a romanesque church that reminded me of a 13th century chapel you might find in the South of France.
As you walk on, emerging from under a canopy of leaves from the tall trees either side of the path, color hits you. There is Mary, her eyes raised to the sky above, as many a Catholic artwork. But this white statue above the door is against a painted backdrop of blue sky and golden stars and around her in a large roundel, eight painted medallions make a huge statement “This is a church like no other’.
It is a Catholic Church so you can expect Jesus on the cross and many a statue of Mary. Built in the 19th century, you won’t be surprised to find all sorts of artistic styles. That, and its interesting history, is what makes Our Lady Queen of Martyrs and St Ignatius of Loyola unique.
Raised in France where Catholicism is the main religion, it was fascinating to not only discover an extraordinary building but also its history, part of a bigger story of persecution. Hidden from the road by greenery, it feels like a secret venue but its apparent initial simplicity is lit by sparks of eccentricity and eclectic international artwork.
I’ve got a thing about churches, about what used to be, in most places, the centre of the community. Art and architecture draw me in, the people who built it make me want to stop, look around and listen. Raised by a Catholic family, I still light a candle and have a little thought for the ones I dearly miss.
Of course a Catholic church in England is not the centre of the village, it is the centre of a community that used to have to hide and Chideock is no exception. Thomas Weld of Lulworth bought Chideock estate in 1802 for his son Humphrey at a time when discretion was still called for despite the Reformation.
When the manor was built in 1805, the existing barn’s loft became a tiny chapel, it can still be visited today (by appointment). Its paintings, traveling altar and minute size tell a story of hiding. The walls of what is now the priest’s sacristy below the loft are totally decorated with murals and a 1929 painting by Fra Newbury of the Chideock Martyrs is inspired by portraits of the martyrs that can still be found around the church’s nave, below the upper windows.
What is unique about Chideock is that there was no architect involved. Charles Weld, Humphrey’s son, designed it and decorated most of it himself, with some help from his family.
Look closely and you’ll find a painting in an arch that was never finished, an almost ghost like figure; or Baroque inspired, slightly over the top, short white twisty marble columns encrusted with shiny stones and mosaics. You may think Corinthian when you observe the tall columns that hold the arches of the nave but look closer and its capitals (the sculptures at the top of the columns) are all different and were carved by Charles himself.
Several of the sculptures that catch your attention when you walk around were gathered during his travels. The German inscription on the painted Pieta at the back of the building is a giveaway to its origins and the white marble statues of Mary and St Joseph flanking the sanctuary at the front of the building are unsurprisingly Italian.
One of the most eye catching features is the gilded statue of Mary above the altar, almost floating towards heaven. Positioned under a skylight (and with a bit of help from human lighting too) she may be the first thing you see when you enter the church. Then again, we’re all different, there are so many details, inscriptions and little treasures to be found that you may see the high painted ceiling (barrel vault) or the imperfections in the treaded floor that leads you to the altar.
You’ll have to look around to find the baptismal font and its clever cover (check the wooden panelling too as it is from Westminster Abbey no less).
When I was commissioned to take photographs of the church I was lucky to be given a guided tour for my second visit. I won’t show you all the pictures although I took dozens, it would spoil the visit and the pleasure of discovering something you’ve never seen before. Look out for when they have open days to see the whole building.
In the church itself, there is plenty to see. You’ll find statues and paintings in alcoves, details in droves. Busy behind my lens capturing a mother in turn holding her baby or her grown son on her lap, I felt like time was stopping for a while, silence around me, away from our busy world, our religious differences.
Religious buildings have come to represent our differences in the world, something that pains many of us, yet when I visited this somewhat forgotten labour of love and faith, built by an English aristocrat for his community of believers, I felt a weird and unexpected sense of peace. It was (to my surprise) a descendant of Charles who gave me a tour of the church; her family still owns St Mary (although in trust). Private ownership of churches is one of the many things I learnt in Chideock.
Something I had never come across before either is a gallery overlooking the sanctuary for the Weld family to attend mass directly from the manor without being seen from the ground level. Although the family no longer owns Chideock manor, this is an interesting witness to a not so distant past. I must admit I found this feature rather strange, if fascinating, more to do with my French ancestry, of course, than my Catholic upbringing.
It made me think of history at large, social classes, lasting separations or forgotten divides. But it also reminded me that although churches are often a story of wealth enabling a building where beliefs can be shared and celebrated to exist, faith and even more so community involvement is now what is preserving the buildings for our future generations. As I visited, the cupola was about to be rebuilt and restored to how it used to be, thanks to funds raised locally over several years.
Craftsmanship prevails, wherever the funds come from, whoever the craftsmen are. Here, everybody can come and visit, light a candle, say a prayer or simply have a look around. I’ve only scratched the surface of what you can discover at Chideock catholic church. Whilst I was visiting, three men walked in and went straight to the little cloister adjacent to the church, now a local museum. In the silence of the church, it was easy to overhear their conversation.
Here was a father and his adult sons, looking at photographs of a person the older man knew many years ago when he lived in the area. The caretaker was called over to help. Now, was she the butcher’s daughter, or was she the one married to the builder? I left them to their conversation, the father with his revived memories, his sons, the lady of the church and the caretaker of St Mary.
We all walked back out at the same time a little while later, drizzle welcoming us to the English countryside, a smile on our faces.
I looked back at Mary in her roundel above the entrance.
Is that the sun shining behind her?
Summer, West Dorset
Morning sun, blue skies, birds tweeting…
January 2013, a winter to remember?
Went down to Beaminster this morning, few people around but all said “hello” in a cheery way.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” they said.
“I remember the winter of 1963” said an old boy. Does make me wonder, come Monday will we feel the same?
It was easy enough to get down, carefully. Driving back up however, was a different story.
So the car got left at the bottom of the hill, and the shopping was carried up.
Well it is beautiful and lots of fun was had by many today. I just went around with the camera…
and loved every minute of it!
Hope you’re all enjoying your winter walks.
Beaminster: une ville anglaise pittoresque près de Weymouth
Jonathan Lobert et sa médaille de bronze à Weymouth en Finn aux JO 2012 a montré aux amoureux de voile que le Dorset est une région Anglaise qui vaut le voyage. Tout près de Weymouth se trouve une petite ville qui vaut le détour: Beaminster. Je la connais depuis 25 ans, laissez moi vous en parler…
Beaminster se cache au milieu de collines dans un Parc Naturel Régional (‘Endroit de Beauté Naturelle Exceptionnelle comme disent les Anglais). A quelques minutes de la Côte Jurassique, listée à l’Unesco comme Site Naturel d’Intérêt International, nature et balades au calme abondent aux alentours.
Beaminster est une de ces villes qui ont plutôt l’air d’un village. Autoroutes et aéroports sont dans les régions voisines et c’est très bien comme ça! La pierre blonde locale et l’ église plutôt Normande de St Mary font de Beaminster une ville dont l’histoire médiévale est facile à imaginer. Ses boutiques ne sont pas des magasins de chaine qui vendent tous la même chose… L’ hotel Bridge House a 14 chambres modernes et comfortables dans une maison de prêtres médiévale et un choix de Bed and Breakfast permettent d’y passer quelques jours, si vous préférez les chambres d’hôtes.
Dans la galerie d’art ‘Strummer Pink’ les céramiques de Miranda Berrow sont uniques et superbes, les expositions d’art changent périodiquement. ‘At Home’ ont un grand choix pour toute home sweet home et ‘Cilla and Camilla’ est preuve que les Anglais adorent les cartes postales. Leurs bibelots sont autant d’idées cadeaux.
‘Green Drawers’ vend entre autres des habits de bébé en coton organique et des superbes coussins de l’artiste Liz Summerville. Les gens du coin viennent y faire remplir leurs bouteilles de liquide vaisselle pour éviter le gaspillage de plastique. ‘Djuna’ stocke notamment la marque Anglaise ‘Seasalt’ avec ses vêtements décontractés inspirés par la Côte des Cornouailles.
‘Number 21’, avec leurs vêtements, chaussures et affaires de maison ont des produits haut de gamme de qualité. La maison de thé ‘Ann Day’ (ouverte le matin seulement) vend des bijoux et autres bibelots de style Art Nouveau. ‘Belles Choses’ (non, pas Nice Things!) est la preuve que les Anglais aiment l’inspiration française dans leur décor de maison. En plus de ces boutiques où il fait bon flâner, la pharmacie stocke des parfums bien Anglais comme Bronnley dont la rose Anglaise est toujours un parfum classique et apprécié.
En vacances dans un cottage ou autre location, on trouve à Beaminster tout ce dont on a besoin pour faire de bons petits plats; une boulangerie mais également une pâtisserie, chose bien plus rare, qui fait aussi salon de thé. Le boucher Nick Tett stocke des viandes locales ainsi que des fromages et sauces. Quant aux fruits et légumes, Angie à ‘A Fruit and Two Veg’ est imbattable dans la région pour la fraicheur de ses produits (coupés la veille par le mari dans leur ferme du Somerset) et ses prix.
Et si en vacances on ne veut pas vraiment cuisiner, le choix ne manque pas… Deux pubs, trois restaurants, trois ‘take-away’ (plats à emporter) et un Peugeot français avec ses pizza au feu de bois sur la place du village tous les Jeudis… On se croirait presque en Normandie.
La prochaine fois je vous parlerai des restos…
Festival des Fruits de Mer, Weymouth 2011
Le festival des fruits de mer à Weymouth, dans le Dorset Occidental, celèbre poissons et crustacés mais également les pêcheurs de grand fond sans qui nous n’aurions pas les coquilles St Jacques ou crabes qui font le régal des visiteurs et gens du pays dans nos restaurants.
Les meilleurs restaurants et hôtels du coin se réunissent sur le vieux port de pêche et proposent des plats différents, inspirés par la pêche du jour. La région est réputée pour ses excellentes Coquilles St Jacques, ses crabes, ses huitres et bien sur ses poissons.
Quelques images pour vous tenter…
Le prochain: 7 et 8 Juillet 2012.
Pardon my Franglais 