MEXICO
There are many places in the world that I would like to visit, but Mexico is not one of them. Well, not just at the moment, at any rate.
The main reason is that it seems to be incredibly violent. On 2 August the country's head of national intelligence said that more than 28,000 people had died in drug-related violence since 2006. Presumably there are other sorts of violence on top of that. Although the drug-fuelled stuff mainly affects bad guys and law-enforcement agents of one kind or another, ordinary citizens can (and do) get caught in the cross-fire. Some of it is also particularly horrific, with beheadings, public hangings from bridges, and the like.
Mexico is the main conduit for the supply of drugs into the United States, For what seems to be a very long time, the U.S. has conducted a "war on drugs", concentrating large amounts of resources in trying to reduce supply, notably in Latin America. However, this doesn't seem to have worked, not least because the street prices of drugs in the U.S. have fallen, which is the opposite of what you would expect. Faced with this unwelcome fact, an increasing number of people have begun to call for the legalisation (or, at least, decriminalisation) of some or all drugs, starting with marijuana. In the same way that prohibition did nothing for the American public's appetite for alcohol, but merely gave control of its production and distribution to criminals, so the same is true of drugs. Better, therefore, for Governments to licence, regulate and tax them, runs the argument.
I have always had some sympathy for this view, not least because I have tried marijuana and it seemed no worse than alcohol (what I didn't like was imbibing it through cigarettes, since I am a non-smoker). However, a more powerful voice than mine has now entered the debate. Shortly after Mexico's current President Felipe Calderon called for a debate on the matter, his predecessor Vicente Fox publicly suggested legalisation. When in office, Mr. Fox felt he had to back down, when faced with President Bush's objections. However, Mr. Bush is now gone, the drugs are still coming, and an awful lot of Mexicans are dying. Perhaps this time, there will be a rethink.
Walter Blotscher
Tuesday 31 August 2010
Monday 30 August 2010
DANISH CHURCHYARDS
Being a state church, as the Lutheran Church in Denmark is, has its advantages. The church is, in principle, financed by a separate tax (though non-members can opt out of this). But this is never enough, so the state provides a top-up payment. In return, the church carries out certain public functions, such as maintaining the registries of births and deaths in the parish.
One of those public functions is to manage graveyards. In order to fulfil this obligation, most parish churches employ a "graver" (a gravedigger), often on a part-time basis. Since modern Danes tend to die rather intermittently, particularly in rural areas, most of the graver's time is spent not on digging, but on gardening. When allied to a general Danish tendency towards tidiness, the result is spectacularly well-kept churchyards; well-laid out, with upright headstones and neat rows of box hedges along the weedless gravel paths. This is not always the case elsewhere in Europe. I visited my father's grave in England not long ago, and it looked a complete mess. Situated on a hillside, it was overgrown with weeds, prone to flooding and seemingly close to collapse.
It helps, I suppose, that Denmark became Lutheran in 1536. The Protestant reaction against finery in churches - few paintings, an absence of gold and marble, simple vestments - meant that more money was available for practical things such as keeping the roof from leaking and cutting the grass. In Granada recently, we visited the fantastic renaissance cathedral with its museum of gold and silver plate, and rich clothing studded with jewels. They would certainly have reflected the majesty of the Emperor Charles V and inspired awe in the congregation; but perhaps the average Andalucian peasant would, on balance, have preferred a well-tended grave for their loved ones?
Walter Blotscher
Being a state church, as the Lutheran Church in Denmark is, has its advantages. The church is, in principle, financed by a separate tax (though non-members can opt out of this). But this is never enough, so the state provides a top-up payment. In return, the church carries out certain public functions, such as maintaining the registries of births and deaths in the parish.
One of those public functions is to manage graveyards. In order to fulfil this obligation, most parish churches employ a "graver" (a gravedigger), often on a part-time basis. Since modern Danes tend to die rather intermittently, particularly in rural areas, most of the graver's time is spent not on digging, but on gardening. When allied to a general Danish tendency towards tidiness, the result is spectacularly well-kept churchyards; well-laid out, with upright headstones and neat rows of box hedges along the weedless gravel paths. This is not always the case elsewhere in Europe. I visited my father's grave in England not long ago, and it looked a complete mess. Situated on a hillside, it was overgrown with weeds, prone to flooding and seemingly close to collapse.
It helps, I suppose, that Denmark became Lutheran in 1536. The Protestant reaction against finery in churches - few paintings, an absence of gold and marble, simple vestments - meant that more money was available for practical things such as keeping the roof from leaking and cutting the grass. In Granada recently, we visited the fantastic renaissance cathedral with its museum of gold and silver plate, and rich clothing studded with jewels. They would certainly have reflected the majesty of the Emperor Charles V and inspired awe in the congregation; but perhaps the average Andalucian peasant would, on balance, have preferred a well-tended grave for their loved ones?
Walter Blotscher
Sunday 29 August 2010
THE AUSTRALIAN ELECTION
In my blog on Lene Espersen, I said that there was no such thing as a shoo-in in politics. Julia Gillard should have taken note.
Just over two months ago, Ms Gillard was deputy leader of Australia's ruling Labor Party, and a Government Minister. Worried by falling opinion polls caused by Prime Minister Kevin Rudd's decision to abandon a proposed emissions trading scheme, she organised a palace coup that dumped Mr. Rudd and installed her as party leader. From that position she automatically became the country's first woman Prime Minister. Buoyed by the subsequent blip in the polls, she called a snap general election in order to give herself a proper mandate. Facing an opposition led by the unattractive Tony Abbott, and fortified by the knowledge that Australians had not rejected a first-term government since the 1930's, she looked a shoo-in for a second term.
She was not. Lacklustre campaigns by both major blocks, and a flight of voters to the Green Party, have led to a hung Parliament for the first time since 1940. Labor has 72 seats in the 150-seat House of Representatives, the lower house of Parliament, the Liberal/National coalition has 73, the Green Party has one, and there are 4 independents. Since the independents are former opposition members from rural outback communities, you might think that the opposition has the upper hand. However, there are good reasons why they are "former opposition members", so nothing is certain. Negotiations and horse-trading look set to continue for some time.
The last thing Australia needs at the moment is a weak Government. So whoever comes out on top this time round, it is likely that there will be a fresh general election before too long. In the meantime, we should rejoice in the fact that this election produced the country's first ever Aboriginal M.P. in the lower - and more important - house (there have previously been two in the Senate). It was a long time coming, but an important milestone nevertheless.
Walter Blotscher
In my blog on Lene Espersen, I said that there was no such thing as a shoo-in in politics. Julia Gillard should have taken note.
Just over two months ago, Ms Gillard was deputy leader of Australia's ruling Labor Party, and a Government Minister. Worried by falling opinion polls caused by Prime Minister Kevin Rudd's decision to abandon a proposed emissions trading scheme, she organised a palace coup that dumped Mr. Rudd and installed her as party leader. From that position she automatically became the country's first woman Prime Minister. Buoyed by the subsequent blip in the polls, she called a snap general election in order to give herself a proper mandate. Facing an opposition led by the unattractive Tony Abbott, and fortified by the knowledge that Australians had not rejected a first-term government since the 1930's, she looked a shoo-in for a second term.
She was not. Lacklustre campaigns by both major blocks, and a flight of voters to the Green Party, have led to a hung Parliament for the first time since 1940. Labor has 72 seats in the 150-seat House of Representatives, the lower house of Parliament, the Liberal/National coalition has 73, the Green Party has one, and there are 4 independents. Since the independents are former opposition members from rural outback communities, you might think that the opposition has the upper hand. However, there are good reasons why they are "former opposition members", so nothing is certain. Negotiations and horse-trading look set to continue for some time.
The last thing Australia needs at the moment is a weak Government. So whoever comes out on top this time round, it is likely that there will be a fresh general election before too long. In the meantime, we should rejoice in the fact that this election produced the country's first ever Aboriginal M.P. in the lower - and more important - house (there have previously been two in the Senate). It was a long time coming, but an important milestone nevertheless.
Walter Blotscher
Saturday 28 August 2010
NEIGHBOURS
One of the nice things about living in a rural area is that you get to know your neighbours better. There is, in principle, no reason why it should be different in cities; after all, if physical distance is the criterion, then your neighbour in a block of flats will be much nearer than ours are. However, based on my experience of living in London, I would say that it just doesn't seem to work out that way.
We live on a cul-de-sac off a cul-de-sac, on a tarmac road that turns into a track leading down to the Baltic Sea, about half a mile away. There are four houses on the other side of the road (of which one is a summer house, so the owners are not often there), but ours is the only one on this side. Nobody is closer than 200 metres.
Despite that, we know all of the people in our little cul-de-sac, and most of the people in the bigger cul-de-sac, even though that runs for almost a mile up, and over, and around, the hill. In part, that is because we exchange services. Our neighbour with horses cuts and keeps the grass in our paddock; in return, I can call on him and his tractor to help me pull out tree roots. Another neighbour has chickens, where we buy our eggs. A third is a builder, who lent me one of his small scaffolding systems when I put a new roof on the middle building in return for three bottles of red wine. A fourth has a job driving big machines that make the trenches for sewerage pipes and such like. When we had our optic fibre cable installed, he helpfully brought home one of the machines and dug the connection trench for us from the road to the house; it took about 5 minutes.
Given enough time, we would probably have got to know all of them in due course. However, what really helps the process along is the annual street dinner for the two culs-de-sac, which we hold every August. This year's took place last night up the road, with my wife standing as one of the two co-hosts. 20 people came, which was a pretty good showing. We had great food, and I had a lot of extra strong beer (one neighbour works for the local brewery). It was all very "hyggeligt", as they say in these parts.
The other co-host will be leaving our little society, since he is getting divorced and has had to sell his house, the oldest in our village. But we were able to welcome two newcomers to the area. And on 1 October, the new owners of the house will arrive, fresh from 5 years in Australia. I'll probably get to know them before long.
Walter Blotscher
One of the nice things about living in a rural area is that you get to know your neighbours better. There is, in principle, no reason why it should be different in cities; after all, if physical distance is the criterion, then your neighbour in a block of flats will be much nearer than ours are. However, based on my experience of living in London, I would say that it just doesn't seem to work out that way.
We live on a cul-de-sac off a cul-de-sac, on a tarmac road that turns into a track leading down to the Baltic Sea, about half a mile away. There are four houses on the other side of the road (of which one is a summer house, so the owners are not often there), but ours is the only one on this side. Nobody is closer than 200 metres.
Despite that, we know all of the people in our little cul-de-sac, and most of the people in the bigger cul-de-sac, even though that runs for almost a mile up, and over, and around, the hill. In part, that is because we exchange services. Our neighbour with horses cuts and keeps the grass in our paddock; in return, I can call on him and his tractor to help me pull out tree roots. Another neighbour has chickens, where we buy our eggs. A third is a builder, who lent me one of his small scaffolding systems when I put a new roof on the middle building in return for three bottles of red wine. A fourth has a job driving big machines that make the trenches for sewerage pipes and such like. When we had our optic fibre cable installed, he helpfully brought home one of the machines and dug the connection trench for us from the road to the house; it took about 5 minutes.
Given enough time, we would probably have got to know all of them in due course. However, what really helps the process along is the annual street dinner for the two culs-de-sac, which we hold every August. This year's took place last night up the road, with my wife standing as one of the two co-hosts. 20 people came, which was a pretty good showing. We had great food, and I had a lot of extra strong beer (one neighbour works for the local brewery). It was all very "hyggeligt", as they say in these parts.
The other co-host will be leaving our little society, since he is getting divorced and has had to sell his house, the oldest in our village. But we were able to welcome two newcomers to the area. And on 1 October, the new owners of the house will arrive, fresh from 5 years in Australia. I'll probably get to know them before long.
Walter Blotscher
Friday 27 August 2010
SILVICULTURE IN AUGUST
It is the time of year for some serious work with a chainsaw. Our house is next to a wood, the first part of which is on our property. The whole wood is a conservation area, which means we are allowed to prune and trim within it, but not to go completely amok. The problem is that the wood itself does not understand words like conservation area, boundary or demarcation, and so steadily advances towards the house in the form of fast-growing sycamore trees.
Hence the need for defence in the form of my trusty Husqvarna. Having put in a brand new chain, I have this week cut the wood back to where it was when we arrived in 2002. Any thin trees or branches are dumped on the compost heap as a way of putting pressure on the Mole Army. Thicker stems (the rule of thumb is wider than a man's arm) are set to one side for future chopping and use in the wood-fired stove. When the ground is fully cleared, I will set up my wife's brand-new wooden washing line contraption, which will make her happy.
Most people around here tend to do their chainsaw work in deepest winter. I do some then as well. But I also tend to have a go in summer, since it is easier to pick out the trees that take the most light, when they are in full bloom.
I like messing around with trees. Cutting away so that the bigger trees get more light and room to grow. Right beside the house is a huge beech tree, which must be more than 300 years old. That's a serious tree.
Walter Blotscher
It is the time of year for some serious work with a chainsaw. Our house is next to a wood, the first part of which is on our property. The whole wood is a conservation area, which means we are allowed to prune and trim within it, but not to go completely amok. The problem is that the wood itself does not understand words like conservation area, boundary or demarcation, and so steadily advances towards the house in the form of fast-growing sycamore trees.
Hence the need for defence in the form of my trusty Husqvarna. Having put in a brand new chain, I have this week cut the wood back to where it was when we arrived in 2002. Any thin trees or branches are dumped on the compost heap as a way of putting pressure on the Mole Army. Thicker stems (the rule of thumb is wider than a man's arm) are set to one side for future chopping and use in the wood-fired stove. When the ground is fully cleared, I will set up my wife's brand-new wooden washing line contraption, which will make her happy.
Most people around here tend to do their chainsaw work in deepest winter. I do some then as well. But I also tend to have a go in summer, since it is easier to pick out the trees that take the most light, when they are in full bloom.
I like messing around with trees. Cutting away so that the bigger trees get more light and room to grow. Right beside the house is a huge beech tree, which must be more than 300 years old. That's a serious tree.
Walter Blotscher
Thursday 26 August 2010
WHAT WE EAT
I visited an interesting factory the other day. It makes just one product, meat protein, which is then used in a host of other food items. The plant is situated in the middle of nowhere in the north of Denmark, and employs around 70 people. There is only one other factory of its kind in the country.
The protein is made from two inputs; porcine bone meal (i.e. minced up pig bones) and porcine skin. Being Denmark, with lots of piggies, there is ample raw material around. That raw material is then boiled, diced, milled, dried, blended and packed, before being sent off in large bags to sausage makers and their ilk. The building was a mass of pipes, conveyors, hoppers, silos, pumps, washing facilities, grinders, weighing machines and extractors. And hanging over everything was a funny sort of smell, part pig, part disinfectant, part washing-up liquid.
It was, at the same time, both fascinating and repellant. Fascinating because of its size and complexity, repellant as you dimly become aware of one of the things that goes into a large proportion of your food. When I told my 16-year old (and vegetarian) daughter about it, I could see a look of revulsion cross her face. As for me, I think it will be some time before I eat another sausage.
Walter Blotscher
I visited an interesting factory the other day. It makes just one product, meat protein, which is then used in a host of other food items. The plant is situated in the middle of nowhere in the north of Denmark, and employs around 70 people. There is only one other factory of its kind in the country.
The protein is made from two inputs; porcine bone meal (i.e. minced up pig bones) and porcine skin. Being Denmark, with lots of piggies, there is ample raw material around. That raw material is then boiled, diced, milled, dried, blended and packed, before being sent off in large bags to sausage makers and their ilk. The building was a mass of pipes, conveyors, hoppers, silos, pumps, washing facilities, grinders, weighing machines and extractors. And hanging over everything was a funny sort of smell, part pig, part disinfectant, part washing-up liquid.
It was, at the same time, both fascinating and repellant. Fascinating because of its size and complexity, repellant as you dimly become aware of one of the things that goes into a large proportion of your food. When I told my 16-year old (and vegetarian) daughter about it, I could see a look of revulsion cross her face. As for me, I think it will be some time before I eat another sausage.
Walter Blotscher
Wednesday 25 August 2010
THE TUDORS
There was more of the Tudors on the tele this evening. Cate Blanchett starring in the sequel to Elizabeth, this time as the mature - though still virgin - queen of 1585, the year of the Spanish Armada.
I am not sure that it was historically 100% accurate. But it gave a good introduction to the issues involved; the religious and political rivalry with Spain, the threat from Catholicism, what to do with Mary, Queen of Scots, the difficulties of being an unmarried queen when monarchies require an heir, and the close shave before the Armada is eventually destroyed (mainly through bad weather). Plus the costumes and scenery were great.
As an Englishman in a multinational family, I got a little lump in the throat when we won. It's just a pity we are not as good as the Spanish at football.
Walter Blotscher
There was more of the Tudors on the tele this evening. Cate Blanchett starring in the sequel to Elizabeth, this time as the mature - though still virgin - queen of 1585, the year of the Spanish Armada.
I am not sure that it was historically 100% accurate. But it gave a good introduction to the issues involved; the religious and political rivalry with Spain, the threat from Catholicism, what to do with Mary, Queen of Scots, the difficulties of being an unmarried queen when monarchies require an heir, and the close shave before the Armada is eventually destroyed (mainly through bad weather). Plus the costumes and scenery were great.
As an Englishman in a multinational family, I got a little lump in the throat when we won. It's just a pity we are not as good as the Spanish at football.
Walter Blotscher
Tuesday 24 August 2010
AID TO PAKISTAN
The floods resulting from this year's extraordinary monsoon rains in Pakistan have caused a humanitarian tragedy. According to the U.N., more than 17 million people are affected, more than a million homes have been destroyed. A fifth of the country is under water, and likely to remain that way for some time. Diseases such as diarrhoea and cholera will spread, snakes will be an ever-present danger.
The long-term effects will probably be greater than either the tsunami in South East Asia or the earthquake in Haiti. Why is it, therefore, that the rich world's response to the floods, especially that of the general public, is not as enthusiastic as it was then?
Part of it is due to current economic problems, there is simply not as much money around. However, the real answer, I believe, lies in Pakistan itself. Rightly or wrongly, the country has come to be perceived as "unfriendly". A supporter of the Taliban in Afghanistan, a haven to radical Islamists, the scene of foreign flag-burnings, a dangerous nuclear power, an oppressor of women. Why give money to these sorts of things?
It is of course both true and a truism to say that most of the people affected by the floods have nothing to do with any of these things; they have merely tried to get on with improving their - pretty impoverished - lives, and have now lost what little they have. Unfortunately, that doesn't make the feelings in the West any less true. In politics, perception matters; a lot. Denmark's stock in the world plummetted when one of its newspapers published cartoons offensive to Muslims, in vain did it say that it was a question of free speech. The current reluctance is the same phenomenon in reverse.
When the floods have abated - as they eventually will - I hope that this is the lesson that Governments take to heart, both Pakistan's and those outside. Dialogue and understanding are vital if this planet is to survive the future. After all, if forecasts of climate change are right, then every country is potentially vulnerable to a natural disaster requiring the help of others.
Walter Blotscher
The floods resulting from this year's extraordinary monsoon rains in Pakistan have caused a humanitarian tragedy. According to the U.N., more than 17 million people are affected, more than a million homes have been destroyed. A fifth of the country is under water, and likely to remain that way for some time. Diseases such as diarrhoea and cholera will spread, snakes will be an ever-present danger.
The long-term effects will probably be greater than either the tsunami in South East Asia or the earthquake in Haiti. Why is it, therefore, that the rich world's response to the floods, especially that of the general public, is not as enthusiastic as it was then?
Part of it is due to current economic problems, there is simply not as much money around. However, the real answer, I believe, lies in Pakistan itself. Rightly or wrongly, the country has come to be perceived as "unfriendly". A supporter of the Taliban in Afghanistan, a haven to radical Islamists, the scene of foreign flag-burnings, a dangerous nuclear power, an oppressor of women. Why give money to these sorts of things?
It is of course both true and a truism to say that most of the people affected by the floods have nothing to do with any of these things; they have merely tried to get on with improving their - pretty impoverished - lives, and have now lost what little they have. Unfortunately, that doesn't make the feelings in the West any less true. In politics, perception matters; a lot. Denmark's stock in the world plummetted when one of its newspapers published cartoons offensive to Muslims, in vain did it say that it was a question of free speech. The current reluctance is the same phenomenon in reverse.
When the floods have abated - as they eventually will - I hope that this is the lesson that Governments take to heart, both Pakistan's and those outside. Dialogue and understanding are vital if this planet is to survive the future. After all, if forecasts of climate change are right, then every country is potentially vulnerable to a natural disaster requiring the help of others.
Walter Blotscher
Monday 23 August 2010
LENE ESPERSEN (2)
No sooner do I point out Lene Espersen's current political troubles on this blog than the Danish Conservative Party, of which she is the leader, is falling over itself to apologise to the electorate for her shortcomings.
Henriette Kjaer, the party's political spokeswoman (and de facto number 2), admitted over the weekend that the cost of being since 2001 the junior partner in the right of centre government has been a loss of distinctiveness for the Conservatives. Core voters have been "let down", and nobody now knows what the party stands for. All of which will now change. True, Lene Espersen was not mentioned by name. But if the expression "the buck stops with me" is to have any meaning, then she must bear a fair amount of responsibility for the current situation.
Does this mean that this blog is beginning to have political influence in Denmark? No. But what it does show is that Lene Espersen is fighting for her political life.
Walter Blotscher
No sooner do I point out Lene Espersen's current political troubles on this blog than the Danish Conservative Party, of which she is the leader, is falling over itself to apologise to the electorate for her shortcomings.
Henriette Kjaer, the party's political spokeswoman (and de facto number 2), admitted over the weekend that the cost of being since 2001 the junior partner in the right of centre government has been a loss of distinctiveness for the Conservatives. Core voters have been "let down", and nobody now knows what the party stands for. All of which will now change. True, Lene Espersen was not mentioned by name. But if the expression "the buck stops with me" is to have any meaning, then she must bear a fair amount of responsibility for the current situation.
Does this mean that this blog is beginning to have political influence in Denmark? No. But what it does show is that Lene Espersen is fighting for her political life.
Walter Blotscher
Sunday 22 August 2010
HUNG OVER
Yesterday I went to my neighbour's 60th birthday party lunch in the local village hall. It was all-male, started at 12.30, and finished in the wee hours.
I would like to write more about it, but won't for two reasons. First, I can't remember that much about it. Secondly, I am so dreadfully hung over that my eyeballs are hurting as I write this. I have to go and lie down for - yet another - nap.
Walter Blotscher
Yesterday I went to my neighbour's 60th birthday party lunch in the local village hall. It was all-male, started at 12.30, and finished in the wee hours.
I would like to write more about it, but won't for two reasons. First, I can't remember that much about it. Secondly, I am so dreadfully hung over that my eyeballs are hurting as I write this. I have to go and lie down for - yet another - nap.
Walter Blotscher
Friday 20 August 2010
BEARDS IN SPORT
Have you noticed how some sports (well, men's sports) are more hirsute than others? You might think that, in principle, sportsmen would never have beards, since hair and sweat don't mix very well together. But that's not completely true.
Swimming and cycling seem to be completely beardless. Not only beardless, but hairless, as participants deliberately shave their legs and/or make themselves bald in order to improve the slipstream. So too are winter sports, I suppose in order to stop icicles from forming in the beard. Tennis is also pretty beard-free. Football has a lot of stubble; but genuine hair seems confined to various permutations of sideboards (nasty partial beards such as David Villa's don't really count). There is that Swedish defender Olof Mellberg, who has a full growth; but he always looks as if he has wandered in from a kick-around in the park with his grandchildren, so it is difficult to take it seriously.
Despite the helmets and the ice, ice hockey is relatively hairy. A lot of it is of the "I am not going to shave as long as we are in the play-offs" kind; but the strong Russian/East European contingent seems to favour a hairy chin. Rugby is also quite well represented. Perhaps it is something to do with sports in which you wear a lot of padding? The beard is a sort of facial pad.
There is however one sport which a) has no padding, b) no ice c) no helmets, yet d) has a lot of beards. That is handball. I don't know why; maybe the creosote on the balls is a natural folic fertiliser. My son, who is 19 and a handball goalie, has already grown a beard. It's not bad; not as good as Olof Mellberg, but way better than David Villa. When it's got to maximum strength, I'll ask him why.
Walter Blotscher
Have you noticed how some sports (well, men's sports) are more hirsute than others? You might think that, in principle, sportsmen would never have beards, since hair and sweat don't mix very well together. But that's not completely true.
Swimming and cycling seem to be completely beardless. Not only beardless, but hairless, as participants deliberately shave their legs and/or make themselves bald in order to improve the slipstream. So too are winter sports, I suppose in order to stop icicles from forming in the beard. Tennis is also pretty beard-free. Football has a lot of stubble; but genuine hair seems confined to various permutations of sideboards (nasty partial beards such as David Villa's don't really count). There is that Swedish defender Olof Mellberg, who has a full growth; but he always looks as if he has wandered in from a kick-around in the park with his grandchildren, so it is difficult to take it seriously.
Despite the helmets and the ice, ice hockey is relatively hairy. A lot of it is of the "I am not going to shave as long as we are in the play-offs" kind; but the strong Russian/East European contingent seems to favour a hairy chin. Rugby is also quite well represented. Perhaps it is something to do with sports in which you wear a lot of padding? The beard is a sort of facial pad.
There is however one sport which a) has no padding, b) no ice c) no helmets, yet d) has a lot of beards. That is handball. I don't know why; maybe the creosote on the balls is a natural folic fertiliser. My son, who is 19 and a handball goalie, has already grown a beard. It's not bad; not as good as Olof Mellberg, but way better than David Villa. When it's got to maximum strength, I'll ask him why.
Walter Blotscher
Thursday 19 August 2010
IRAQ
With the departure of the last U.S. combat brigade from the country, the Iraq War has entered the end-game. 50,000 soldiers will remain until the end of 2011, but they are merely supposed to advise and train the local Iraqi forces. The war, as a war, is supposedly over.
It is easy to see why this has happened. With the war in Afghanistan not going well, Barack Obama was keen, if not desperate, to honour his election campaign promise to have all combat troops out of Iraq by 31 August this year. He will also want to honour his predecessor's agreement with the Iraqi Government to have absolutely everybody out of Iraq by the end of next year.
But is this such a good idea? There are many straws in the wind that suggest that the end of the Iraq War - as understood by foreigners - is merely the beginning of a new, internal conflict.
- the commander of the Iraqi Army, who in 2007 (i.e. before the "surge") had said that he expected that U.S. forces could leave in 2008, now says that the Iraqi Army will not be fully ready to take over security until 2020. What happens between 31 December 2011 and then?
- there are still many cases of extreme violence. Just two days ago, a suicide bomb outside an army recruiting office in Baghdad killed around 60 people. Two weeks ago, a series of explosions in Basra killed at least 43 people and wounded 185. And so on. In a Western country, any one of these incidents would provoke huge amounts of navel-gazing, political discussion, Government initiatives, and press comment; in Iraq, it is, sadly, part of daily life.
- most worryingly of all, the elections in March have still not resulted, five months later, in the formation of an Iraqi Government.
Despite the uncertainties, today is probably not a bad point in time at which to do a rough balance sheet of the war, some 7,5 years after it started. On the plus side, some bad guys (Saddam Hussein, his sons, relatives and cronies) were removed. And a system of democracy was introduced (though, as can be seen above, it is not functioning properly, and may well still collapse over the division of oil revenues and autonomy for the Kurds). On the minus side, around 100,000 Iraqi civilians have died, plus 4,415 U.S. soldiers, and hundreds from other countries. An awful lot of people have been injured, many for life. And the whole thing has cost more than US$1 trillion, of which only a tiny part can remotely considered as productive investment.
The likes of George W. Bush and Tony Blair will doubtless say that it was a price worth paying, indeed that it was necessary in order to preserve the free world's way of life. I disagree; and not just because it is not them who had to pay that price. To my mind, it was a colossal waste of human and financial resources, that demonstrated all that is wrong with the modern world; the lack of true checks and balances in today's states, the invoking of near religious certainty into political decisions, the hubris of leaders, and the corruption of power. The one good thing that might have come out of it was a commitment never to do such a thing again; sadly, that is precisely the one thing that in my view will not come out of it.
Walter Blotscher
With the departure of the last U.S. combat brigade from the country, the Iraq War has entered the end-game. 50,000 soldiers will remain until the end of 2011, but they are merely supposed to advise and train the local Iraqi forces. The war, as a war, is supposedly over.
It is easy to see why this has happened. With the war in Afghanistan not going well, Barack Obama was keen, if not desperate, to honour his election campaign promise to have all combat troops out of Iraq by 31 August this year. He will also want to honour his predecessor's agreement with the Iraqi Government to have absolutely everybody out of Iraq by the end of next year.
But is this such a good idea? There are many straws in the wind that suggest that the end of the Iraq War - as understood by foreigners - is merely the beginning of a new, internal conflict.
- the commander of the Iraqi Army, who in 2007 (i.e. before the "surge") had said that he expected that U.S. forces could leave in 2008, now says that the Iraqi Army will not be fully ready to take over security until 2020. What happens between 31 December 2011 and then?
- there are still many cases of extreme violence. Just two days ago, a suicide bomb outside an army recruiting office in Baghdad killed around 60 people. Two weeks ago, a series of explosions in Basra killed at least 43 people and wounded 185. And so on. In a Western country, any one of these incidents would provoke huge amounts of navel-gazing, political discussion, Government initiatives, and press comment; in Iraq, it is, sadly, part of daily life.
- most worryingly of all, the elections in March have still not resulted, five months later, in the formation of an Iraqi Government.
Despite the uncertainties, today is probably not a bad point in time at which to do a rough balance sheet of the war, some 7,5 years after it started. On the plus side, some bad guys (Saddam Hussein, his sons, relatives and cronies) were removed. And a system of democracy was introduced (though, as can be seen above, it is not functioning properly, and may well still collapse over the division of oil revenues and autonomy for the Kurds). On the minus side, around 100,000 Iraqi civilians have died, plus 4,415 U.S. soldiers, and hundreds from other countries. An awful lot of people have been injured, many for life. And the whole thing has cost more than US$1 trillion, of which only a tiny part can remotely considered as productive investment.
The likes of George W. Bush and Tony Blair will doubtless say that it was a price worth paying, indeed that it was necessary in order to preserve the free world's way of life. I disagree; and not just because it is not them who had to pay that price. To my mind, it was a colossal waste of human and financial resources, that demonstrated all that is wrong with the modern world; the lack of true checks and balances in today's states, the invoking of near religious certainty into political decisions, the hubris of leaders, and the corruption of power. The one good thing that might have come out of it was a commitment never to do such a thing again; sadly, that is precisely the one thing that in my view will not come out of it.
Walter Blotscher
Wednesday 18 August 2010
BLOGGING AND IT
This blog has from today a new function, a link to previous episodes. If, for instance, I want to refer to Monday's blog on Yoghurts With Bits, I simply write Yoghurt With Bits with this funny underlining, and you, dear reader, can go directly to it merely by clicking on it.
I should say up-front, that I did not work this out on my own, but had to use the IT-skills of my elder son (who, incidentally, was the person who set this blog up in the first place). I sent him an E-Mail asking him if he could sort it out. Being under the age of 25, he quite obviously could.
However, the process was not completely painless. He thought he could show me how to do it by ringing me up on the phone and talking me through it. This was overoptimisitic, to say the least. The fundamental problem was that he did not grasp, did not understand, just could not get his brain around the concept of, how much of an IT-moron I am. He kept on referring to basic concepts I did not know, and I could hear his frustration in my ear, every time I said "hang on a minute". In the end, he rang off, wrote the whole thing down in a Word file entitled "How to insert a link in a blog for dummies" and sent it to me by E-Mail. That worked.
It is the bane of every generation, I think, to find that the previous generation has difficulties with new technology. My mother has never used a computer in her life, and never will. I can use them; but I still have residual fears of crashing, and it is only recently that I have dared to have two programmes open and running simultaneously. For my children, computers and other gadgets are merely an extension of their bodies, like fingertips. When cars first appeared, people used to run in front of them with a red flag in order to warn pedestrians. In discussions with my children about IT, I often feel like the man with the red flag; namely, a bit of a prat.
Anyway, we may not have knowledge or skills, but this older generation sure has stubborn staying power. So I will now go through the whole of this blog, and do all of the appropriate links. Even if it does take me a while.
Walter Blotscher
This blog has from today a new function, a link to previous episodes. If, for instance, I want to refer to Monday's blog on Yoghurts With Bits, I simply write Yoghurt With Bits with this funny underlining, and you, dear reader, can go directly to it merely by clicking on it.
I should say up-front, that I did not work this out on my own, but had to use the IT-skills of my elder son (who, incidentally, was the person who set this blog up in the first place). I sent him an E-Mail asking him if he could sort it out. Being under the age of 25, he quite obviously could.
However, the process was not completely painless. He thought he could show me how to do it by ringing me up on the phone and talking me through it. This was overoptimisitic, to say the least. The fundamental problem was that he did not grasp, did not understand, just could not get his brain around the concept of, how much of an IT-moron I am. He kept on referring to basic concepts I did not know, and I could hear his frustration in my ear, every time I said "hang on a minute". In the end, he rang off, wrote the whole thing down in a Word file entitled "How to insert a link in a blog for dummies" and sent it to me by E-Mail. That worked.
It is the bane of every generation, I think, to find that the previous generation has difficulties with new technology. My mother has never used a computer in her life, and never will. I can use them; but I still have residual fears of crashing, and it is only recently that I have dared to have two programmes open and running simultaneously. For my children, computers and other gadgets are merely an extension of their bodies, like fingertips. When cars first appeared, people used to run in front of them with a red flag in order to warn pedestrians. In discussions with my children about IT, I often feel like the man with the red flag; namely, a bit of a prat.
Anyway, we may not have knowledge or skills, but this older generation sure has stubborn staying power. So I will now go through the whole of this blog, and do all of the appropriate links. Even if it does take me a while.
Walter Blotscher
Tuesday 17 August 2010
GEOGRAPHICAL IMPRESSIONS
I firmly believe that maps influence us. The fact that north is "up", south is "down", for instance.
(T'was not ever thus; mediaeval maps had east at the top, since Jerusalem/the Holy Land was the most important place in Christendom, and that was to the east. Seen from Europe, of course ...)
I was reminded of this when reading this week's Economist. On page 27, there was a 7cm x 5,5cm map of Israel and Palestine together. The West Bank is only about 50-60km wide; from Tel Aviv to the West Bank is even less, perhaps 30km. The whole of the Gaza Strip, home to 1,5 million people, is only 360 sq km, roughly 30km x 10km. When you put the facts down like that, it is easy to imagine a conflict in the area, irrespective of the history of the Israeli state and its wars with its neighbours. When there is simply not that much land to go round, then every olive grove takes on an increased importance.
On the next page, there was a slightly smaller map, this time of Sudan and its neighbours in Africa. Sudan is the continent's largest country, all 2,5m sq km of it, so the area shown by the map was vast. The province of Darfur, much in the news of late, accounts for roughly a fifth of Sudan, and is almost as large as France. It is about 1,400 times the size of the West Bank, yet has only 4 times as many people. When you put the facts down like that, it becomes absurd to think that the U.N.'s peacekeeping force of 22,000 can make the region secure. After all, nobody would try to secure France with just 22,000 soldiers; and Darfur has almost no infrastructure to help them move around.
As citizens of relatively small, well-organised Western European countries, we find it difficult to appreciate on the one hand the vast size, and consequent logistical problems, of some countries (eg Russia); and on the other, the intense population pressures in parts of the world (eg Bangladesh's 150million people crowded into an area about the same size as Ireland). It is true that all maps - including the Economist's - have a scale factor in the corner. But how many of us really look at that, particularly if it's on a TV screen? Perhaps we should.
Walter Blotscher
I firmly believe that maps influence us. The fact that north is "up", south is "down", for instance.
(T'was not ever thus; mediaeval maps had east at the top, since Jerusalem/the Holy Land was the most important place in Christendom, and that was to the east. Seen from Europe, of course ...)
I was reminded of this when reading this week's Economist. On page 27, there was a 7cm x 5,5cm map of Israel and Palestine together. The West Bank is only about 50-60km wide; from Tel Aviv to the West Bank is even less, perhaps 30km. The whole of the Gaza Strip, home to 1,5 million people, is only 360 sq km, roughly 30km x 10km. When you put the facts down like that, it is easy to imagine a conflict in the area, irrespective of the history of the Israeli state and its wars with its neighbours. When there is simply not that much land to go round, then every olive grove takes on an increased importance.
On the next page, there was a slightly smaller map, this time of Sudan and its neighbours in Africa. Sudan is the continent's largest country, all 2,5m sq km of it, so the area shown by the map was vast. The province of Darfur, much in the news of late, accounts for roughly a fifth of Sudan, and is almost as large as France. It is about 1,400 times the size of the West Bank, yet has only 4 times as many people. When you put the facts down like that, it becomes absurd to think that the U.N.'s peacekeeping force of 22,000 can make the region secure. After all, nobody would try to secure France with just 22,000 soldiers; and Darfur has almost no infrastructure to help them move around.
As citizens of relatively small, well-organised Western European countries, we find it difficult to appreciate on the one hand the vast size, and consequent logistical problems, of some countries (eg Russia); and on the other, the intense population pressures in parts of the world (eg Bangladesh's 150million people crowded into an area about the same size as Ireland). It is true that all maps - including the Economist's - have a scale factor in the corner. But how many of us really look at that, particularly if it's on a TV screen? Perhaps we should.
Walter Blotscher
Monday 16 August 2010
YOGHURT WITH BITS
As I write this with my right hand, I am idly spooning yoghurt into my mouth with my left. But not just any old yoghurt. This is a German 4-Korn yoghurt, produced abroad but sold here in Netto for kr.2.95 a throw (a throw being a sizeable 250g).
Apart from the range of interesting flavours - blood orange/pineapple (which this one is), strawberry/rhubarb, muesli - what I really like are the small corn bits that you can chew, and which occasionally get stuck between your teeth. As I said to my daughter, these yoghurts are both scrumptious and wicked.
With such a good product, you would think that the manufacturer's name would be plastered all over the packaging. But no. I eventually found it, tucked away in very, very small print; J. Bauer GmbH & Co, from Wasserburg, near Munich. Well done, them.
Walter Blotscher
As I write this with my right hand, I am idly spooning yoghurt into my mouth with my left. But not just any old yoghurt. This is a German 4-Korn yoghurt, produced abroad but sold here in Netto for kr.2.95 a throw (a throw being a sizeable 250g).
Apart from the range of interesting flavours - blood orange/pineapple (which this one is), strawberry/rhubarb, muesli - what I really like are the small corn bits that you can chew, and which occasionally get stuck between your teeth. As I said to my daughter, these yoghurts are both scrumptious and wicked.
With such a good product, you would think that the manufacturer's name would be plastered all over the packaging. But no. I eventually found it, tucked away in very, very small print; J. Bauer GmbH & Co, from Wasserburg, near Munich. Well done, them.
Walter Blotscher
Sunday 15 August 2010
LENE ESPERSEN
Lene Espersen is Denmark's attractive - some would say sexy - Foreign Minister, and the leader of the Conservatives, the junior partner in the country's right of centre government. She is also in a political hole.
Danish Governments are usually coalitions; and for the past three decades, they have alternated between right and left. In the 1980's, the Conservatives under Poul Schlüter were top dogs over their partners Venstre; then the 1990's saw a left of centre Government under Poul Nyrup Rasmussen. When the right got in again in 2001, two things were different. First, it was Venstre, under the religiously "on-message" Anders Fogh Rasmussen, who were the senior partners. Secondly, even in conjunction with the Conservatives, the right could only form a minority government. In order to get legislation passed, they have had to rely on the very right-wing, anti-immigrant, anti-Muslim and generally all-round nasty Danish People's Party, a phenomenon which has exposed the Conservatives' otherwise solid right flank.
When the party's nice but ineffectual leader Bendt Bendtsen stepped down in 2008 in order to get himself a fat pension as an MEP in Brussels, the choice was between two talented women; Lene Espersen, Justice Minister and long the heir-apparent, and Connie Hedegaard, the Climate Minister, who ran the Copenhagen Conference. Espersen won, shuffled her rival off to Brussels as Denmark's commissioner, and took over Bendtsen's former job as Economy Minister. This may have minimised the changes in ministerial portfolios, but was otherwise bad timing, as the finance crisis struck Denmark with a vengeance, and unemployment, though starting from a low base, began to rocket. With the Government losing popularity, particularly after Anders Fogh Rasmussen went off to become Secretary General of Nato, something more radical was needed. In February this year Espersen dumped long-standing Foreign Minister and party colleague Per Stig Møller, demoted him to Culture Minister, and took his place.
Since then, it has been downhill all the way. A young mother with small children, she has twice missed meetings with colleagues from other countries in order to have family holidays; the first occasion at the Nordic Council, where she was due to meet Hilary Clinton for the first time, and the second at the E.U. This has gone down very badly in Denmark, a small country which has few opportunities to sit at the top table with the big boys. The second holiday was particularly inapt, given the criticism she had faced first time round, and which she had promised to take to heart. With the Danish People's Party's leader Pia Kjærsgaard rubbing salt in the wounds from the sideline, the Conservatives have gone into freefall in public opinion polls, not helped by the fact that the Financial Times in Germany dubbed her the clumsiest Foreign Minister in the EU. Not surprisingly, there are now muttered calls from within her party for the head of the once darling of the right.
All of which proves - yet again - two things. First, it is difficult to be a party leader from the position of Foreign Minister (Guido Westerwelle is facing a similar problem running the FDP in Germany). The former requires you to be at home and on top of all your colleagues; the latter requires you to spend lots of time abroad. Secondly, there is no such thing in politics as a shoo-in. Lene Espersen was once considered a shoo-in for both the leadership of her party, and as a future Prime Minister of Denmark. She achieved the first, but there are not many people left who would put money on the second.
Walter Blotscher
Lene Espersen is Denmark's attractive - some would say sexy - Foreign Minister, and the leader of the Conservatives, the junior partner in the country's right of centre government. She is also in a political hole.
Danish Governments are usually coalitions; and for the past three decades, they have alternated between right and left. In the 1980's, the Conservatives under Poul Schlüter were top dogs over their partners Venstre; then the 1990's saw a left of centre Government under Poul Nyrup Rasmussen. When the right got in again in 2001, two things were different. First, it was Venstre, under the religiously "on-message" Anders Fogh Rasmussen, who were the senior partners. Secondly, even in conjunction with the Conservatives, the right could only form a minority government. In order to get legislation passed, they have had to rely on the very right-wing, anti-immigrant, anti-Muslim and generally all-round nasty Danish People's Party, a phenomenon which has exposed the Conservatives' otherwise solid right flank.
When the party's nice but ineffectual leader Bendt Bendtsen stepped down in 2008 in order to get himself a fat pension as an MEP in Brussels, the choice was between two talented women; Lene Espersen, Justice Minister and long the heir-apparent, and Connie Hedegaard, the Climate Minister, who ran the Copenhagen Conference. Espersen won, shuffled her rival off to Brussels as Denmark's commissioner, and took over Bendtsen's former job as Economy Minister. This may have minimised the changes in ministerial portfolios, but was otherwise bad timing, as the finance crisis struck Denmark with a vengeance, and unemployment, though starting from a low base, began to rocket. With the Government losing popularity, particularly after Anders Fogh Rasmussen went off to become Secretary General of Nato, something more radical was needed. In February this year Espersen dumped long-standing Foreign Minister and party colleague Per Stig Møller, demoted him to Culture Minister, and took his place.
Since then, it has been downhill all the way. A young mother with small children, she has twice missed meetings with colleagues from other countries in order to have family holidays; the first occasion at the Nordic Council, where she was due to meet Hilary Clinton for the first time, and the second at the E.U. This has gone down very badly in Denmark, a small country which has few opportunities to sit at the top table with the big boys. The second holiday was particularly inapt, given the criticism she had faced first time round, and which she had promised to take to heart. With the Danish People's Party's leader Pia Kjærsgaard rubbing salt in the wounds from the sideline, the Conservatives have gone into freefall in public opinion polls, not helped by the fact that the Financial Times in Germany dubbed her the clumsiest Foreign Minister in the EU. Not surprisingly, there are now muttered calls from within her party for the head of the once darling of the right.
All of which proves - yet again - two things. First, it is difficult to be a party leader from the position of Foreign Minister (Guido Westerwelle is facing a similar problem running the FDP in Germany). The former requires you to be at home and on top of all your colleagues; the latter requires you to spend lots of time abroad. Secondly, there is no such thing in politics as a shoo-in. Lene Espersen was once considered a shoo-in for both the leadership of her party, and as a future Prime Minister of Denmark. She achieved the first, but there are not many people left who would put money on the second.
Walter Blotscher
Saturday 14 August 2010
A MOSQUE IN MANHATTAN
Three cheers for Barack Obama's staunch defence of the plan to build a mosque and Islamic cultural centre at the south end of Manhattan Island in New York. The plan had been opposed by right-wing politicians in the U.S. such as Sarah Palin and Newt Gingrich, on the grounds that it was close to Ground Zero, where the 9/11 attacks took place. A "stab in the heart of the families of the innocent victims of those horrific attacks", wrote the former; an "assertion of Islamic triumphalism", said the latter.
Tosh, said President Obama (I am paraphrasing him here). In a dignified speech at a White House dinner celebrating the Muslim fasting month of Ramadan, he reminded listeners that the United States had been built by people fleeing religious oppression in Europe. He also repeated - once again - the necessary message that Al-Qaeda does not represent all Muslims, and that their message of terrorism does not represent Islam.
Although the Economist had chided the critics of the project in its Lexington column last week, New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg had until now been the only prominent politician to have supported the proposed mosque, and the principle of religious freedom that it represents. Let's hope that President Obama's speech will embolden others to stand up publicly for the same cause.
Walter Blotscher
Three cheers for Barack Obama's staunch defence of the plan to build a mosque and Islamic cultural centre at the south end of Manhattan Island in New York. The plan had been opposed by right-wing politicians in the U.S. such as Sarah Palin and Newt Gingrich, on the grounds that it was close to Ground Zero, where the 9/11 attacks took place. A "stab in the heart of the families of the innocent victims of those horrific attacks", wrote the former; an "assertion of Islamic triumphalism", said the latter.
Tosh, said President Obama (I am paraphrasing him here). In a dignified speech at a White House dinner celebrating the Muslim fasting month of Ramadan, he reminded listeners that the United States had been built by people fleeing religious oppression in Europe. He also repeated - once again - the necessary message that Al-Qaeda does not represent all Muslims, and that their message of terrorism does not represent Islam.
Although the Economist had chided the critics of the project in its Lexington column last week, New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg had until now been the only prominent politician to have supported the proposed mosque, and the principle of religious freedom that it represents. Let's hope that President Obama's speech will embolden others to stand up publicly for the same cause.
Walter Blotscher
Friday 13 August 2010
INTELLIGENT PARKING
The corollary of an urban society with lots of cars is the need for parking. This is particularly acute at hospitals, which attract three big groups of motorists; employees, patients and visitors. But how do you give priority to the first two without alienating the third?
For employees, it is easy. Since demand is relatively stable, both in terms of numbers and days worked, it is straightforward enough to give them their own separate area. For the latter it is more complicated, since demand can, and does, vary. Moreover, a patient needs to get to the hospital, and doesn't want to be put off by either lack of parking space or the cost of it; a visitor, on the other hand, chooses to go and is presumably more flexible about both.
The answer, as I discovered this morning when I took my mother-in-law to hospital to have a cataract operation, is a smart parking meter. Patients simply insert their health insurance card in the meter; the machine registers, via the hospital's in-house IT system, that he/she has an appointment on that day, and issues a free parking ticket. Visitors, on the other hand, have to insert their credit card and pay.
This admirably effective system requires, of course a) that everyone has a health insurance card, and b) that the hospital's IT system can be coupled up to the parking meter. Since those pre-requisites don't exist in the U.K., I fully expect the issue of patients' having to pay for parking to continue to be an irritation there.
Walter Blotscher
The corollary of an urban society with lots of cars is the need for parking. This is particularly acute at hospitals, which attract three big groups of motorists; employees, patients and visitors. But how do you give priority to the first two without alienating the third?
For employees, it is easy. Since demand is relatively stable, both in terms of numbers and days worked, it is straightforward enough to give them their own separate area. For the latter it is more complicated, since demand can, and does, vary. Moreover, a patient needs to get to the hospital, and doesn't want to be put off by either lack of parking space or the cost of it; a visitor, on the other hand, chooses to go and is presumably more flexible about both.
The answer, as I discovered this morning when I took my mother-in-law to hospital to have a cataract operation, is a smart parking meter. Patients simply insert their health insurance card in the meter; the machine registers, via the hospital's in-house IT system, that he/she has an appointment on that day, and issues a free parking ticket. Visitors, on the other hand, have to insert their credit card and pay.
This admirably effective system requires, of course a) that everyone has a health insurance card, and b) that the hospital's IT system can be coupled up to the parking meter. Since those pre-requisites don't exist in the U.K., I fully expect the issue of patients' having to pay for parking to continue to be an irritation there.
Walter Blotscher
Thursday 12 August 2010
ULYSSES
When I was at university, I won an academic prize worth £100. Since £100, even in those days, was never going to make me rich, I decided to spend it on books. The complete works of Shakespeare, the Bible, a history of Britain in 15 volumes, that sort of thing. Most of the books have remained unopened since; though they have dutifully followed me around the world from London to Brussels to London to Lesotho to Brighton to London to Tanzania to Denmark. Packing and unpacking them at regular intervals has become part of my life.
The list also included Ulysses, by James Joyce. At various times I have taken it down from the shelf and flicked through it, intending to start it. But until recently, the intent was all. Now, however, I can proudly say that I have finished it. Not in a madcap, unputdownable week - as with Wolf Hall - but painfully and laboriously over three months or so.
First published in 1922, Ulysses is a hard book to read. Its 700-odd pages take place on a single day in 1904, as the main character wanders around Dublin in much the same way as Ulysses himself wandered around the Mediterranean following the sack of Troy. There is quite a lot of Latin, Italian and French. There is also quite a lot about the Catholic church, classical allegories, and Irish history around the turn of the century; and an awful lot of detail about the geographical layout and social events of Dublin itself. But nothing much happens.
I can live with that, and I might even have found it interesting. But what makes it really hard is the English itself. Try this for a sentence.
"Universally that person's acumen is esteemed very little perceptive concerning whatsoever matters are being held as most profitably by mortals with sapience endowed to be studied who is ignorant of that which the most in doctrine erudite and certainly by reason of that in them high mind's ornament deserving of veneration constantly maintain when by general consent they affirm that other circumstances being equal by no exterior splendour is the prosperity of a nation more efficaciously asserted than by the measure of how far forward may have progressed the tribute of its solicitude for that proliferent continuance which of evils the original if it be absent when fortunately present constitutes the certain sign of omnipollent nature's incorrupted benefaction."
Got it? And that is by no means the longest or most complex sentence in the book. It used to be said that David Bowie, in generating the lyrics for his songs, wrote them out on pieces of paper, and then cut them up and pasted them randomly. Reading Ulysses, I often got the impression that Joyce's typesetter had had pretty much the same idea.
You can easily see that Joyce's literary structure and setting were revolutionary. You can also see that with its frequent references to sex and bodily functions, it was too strong a meat for some of the censors of the 1920's. But at the end of the day, is Ulysses any good? Having laboriously ploughed my way through it, my humble opinion is a crisp "no".
Walter Blotscher
When I was at university, I won an academic prize worth £100. Since £100, even in those days, was never going to make me rich, I decided to spend it on books. The complete works of Shakespeare, the Bible, a history of Britain in 15 volumes, that sort of thing. Most of the books have remained unopened since; though they have dutifully followed me around the world from London to Brussels to London to Lesotho to Brighton to London to Tanzania to Denmark. Packing and unpacking them at regular intervals has become part of my life.
The list also included Ulysses, by James Joyce. At various times I have taken it down from the shelf and flicked through it, intending to start it. But until recently, the intent was all. Now, however, I can proudly say that I have finished it. Not in a madcap, unputdownable week - as with Wolf Hall - but painfully and laboriously over three months or so.
First published in 1922, Ulysses is a hard book to read. Its 700-odd pages take place on a single day in 1904, as the main character wanders around Dublin in much the same way as Ulysses himself wandered around the Mediterranean following the sack of Troy. There is quite a lot of Latin, Italian and French. There is also quite a lot about the Catholic church, classical allegories, and Irish history around the turn of the century; and an awful lot of detail about the geographical layout and social events of Dublin itself. But nothing much happens.
I can live with that, and I might even have found it interesting. But what makes it really hard is the English itself. Try this for a sentence.
"Universally that person's acumen is esteemed very little perceptive concerning whatsoever matters are being held as most profitably by mortals with sapience endowed to be studied who is ignorant of that which the most in doctrine erudite and certainly by reason of that in them high mind's ornament deserving of veneration constantly maintain when by general consent they affirm that other circumstances being equal by no exterior splendour is the prosperity of a nation more efficaciously asserted than by the measure of how far forward may have progressed the tribute of its solicitude for that proliferent continuance which of evils the original if it be absent when fortunately present constitutes the certain sign of omnipollent nature's incorrupted benefaction."
Got it? And that is by no means the longest or most complex sentence in the book. It used to be said that David Bowie, in generating the lyrics for his songs, wrote them out on pieces of paper, and then cut them up and pasted them randomly. Reading Ulysses, I often got the impression that Joyce's typesetter had had pretty much the same idea.
You can easily see that Joyce's literary structure and setting were revolutionary. You can also see that with its frequent references to sex and bodily functions, it was too strong a meat for some of the censors of the 1920's. But at the end of the day, is Ulysses any good? Having laboriously ploughed my way through it, my humble opinion is a crisp "no".
Walter Blotscher
Wednesday 11 August 2010
GUILT AND INNOCENCE
In a legal system (that of England and Wales) that only allows two pleas in a criminal trial, namely guilty and not guilty, is "not guilty" the same as "innocent"? You could be forgiven for thinking that they are indeed the same; if so, you would be wrong.
In 1997, 14-year old Billie-Jo Jenkins was bludgeoned to death with a metal tent peg at the home of her foster family. Her foster father Sion Jenkins was convicted of her murder, and his appeal against that conviction was rejected. In 2003, his case was taken up by the Criminal Cases Review Commission, the body charged with investigating possible miscarriages of justice. In 2004 the original conviction was quashed, on the grounds that it was unsafe. A retrial was ordered, but the jury was unable to reach a verdict. A second retrial ended in February 2006 with a hung jury. Since the prosecution had not proved their case beyond reasonable doubt, under criminal law rules, that meant that Jenkins was formally acquitted of the charges; in other words, he was - and is - not guilty of murdering his foster daughter.
Jenkins then applied to the Ministry of Justice for compensation for the time spent in prison from his original arrest until his release from prison on bail, pending the first retrial. That has just been refused, on the grounds that he is not entitled to it; according to the Ministry, that is because although not guilty, he is not "clearly innocent".
Compensation for miscarriages of justice in the U.K. is governed by statute; S.133 of the Criminal Justice Act 1988. Unlike in some other countries, it does not apply to time spent in jail awaiting a trial, at which a defendant is subsequently acquitted; nor does it apply to jail time, where a defendant is convicted, but subsequently acquitted on first appeal. These periods of imprisonment are considered, rightly or wrongly, to be part of the rough and tumble of ordinary life. Compensation is reserved to a small minority of cases, ones where something has clearly gone horribly amiss and the defendant has wrongly sat in jail for a long period of time. They are primarily (though not exclusively) ones in which the CCRC has been involved.
But what constitutes a "miscarriage of justice"? This was considered by the House of Lords in 2004 in Mullen. Mullen had been convicted of helping to run an IRA bomb factory in London, and was sentenced to 30 years in prison; his appeal against sentence was rejected. His conviction was later quashed, not on the grounds that it was not true (he never in fact appealed against that verdict), but because the British police and intelligence services had been involved in his illegal deportation from Zimbabwe, to which he had fled, in order to stand trial. The trial should have been stopped before it began. Against that background, it was not formally necessary for the judges, in refusing Mullen compensation for his lengthy time in prison, to decide exactly what miscarriage of justice meant. But in the two leading opinions, Lord Steyn would have limited it to the narrow range of cases, where "the person concerned was clearly innocent"; whereas Lord Bingham would have allowed a wider class, which also covered "failures of the trial process". Everyone agreed that Mullen's case, where the illegality undermining the conviction took place before the trial even started, was outside both.
In 2009, the Court of Appeal in Adams took things a bit further forward. Adams had been convicted in 1993 of murder, an offence which - in England - automatically carries a life sentence. Following the involvement of the CCRC, the conviction was eventually quashed in 2007 as unsafe, on the grounds that Adam's legal representatives had failed at his trial to deploy crucial pieces of evidence provided to them by the prosecution, evidence which might have swayed the jury. The first issue before the Court of Appeal in his application for compensation was whether these pieces of evidence constituted "new or newly discovered facts". Only if the miscarriage of justice is the result of new or newly discovered facts can compensation be paid. On this, the Court of Appeal ruled in Adams' favour; the facts must be new to him (which they were), not new to him and/or his legal representatives.
The second issue was what was meant by miscarriage of justice. In Adams itself, the Court of Appeal judged the facts against Lord Bingham's analysis, and found that it lay, as with Mullen, outside of it; so there was no need to decide between Lord Bingham and Lord Steyn. However, they also reviewed other Court of Appeal and first instance cases in this area, and found that judges in general favoured the narrow interpretation given by Lord Steyn. This is the legal basis for the Ministry of Justice's reliance in the Jenkins case on the "clearly innocent" test.
If this all sounds like legal hair-splitting of the "angels dancing on a pinhead" kind, then it is not. As Mr. Jenkins himself has pointed out, the costs of being wrongfully convicted of a crime can be huge, and not just a forced loss of income and prospects. As a convicted child-killer, his time in prison would not have been easy. And in his particular case, his wife divorced him while he was in prison, and then emigrated with their four children to Tasmania. That would be tough under any circumstances.
One solution to the problem might be to adopt the legal position in Scotland, which allows for three verdicts in criminal trials; guilty, not guilty and "not proven", a sort of legal halfway house. Compensation would then be given only in cases eventually decided as not guilty. But even that would not solve the wider difficulty caused by trying to mesh together two distinct legal systems. The domestic legislation puts into force the relevant article of the International Convention on Civil and Political Rights 1966, to which the U.K. is a signatory. Miscarriage of justice is a self-standing concept within that article, a concept which does not exist in English law and which has never been definitively resolved. The Court of Appeal, on the other hand, in quashing criminal convictions, never decides whether there has been a miscarriage of justice, but simply whether the original conviction is "unsafe". Clearly there is an overlap between the two ideas; equally clearly, there are some cases (eg Mullen), where they are distinct.
This problem has the potential to grow, following the U.K.'s adoption of the Human Rights Act. The European Court of Human Rights has at times criticised aspects of the common law tradition as not giving the defendant a fair trial; and the test case Al-Khawaja and Tahery v. U.K. has the potential to declare large parts of the criminal system as constituting a breach of the defendant's human rights. The final decision on that will be very interesting.
Meanwhile, there is one piece of good news on the horizon. The Supreme Court, successor to the House of Lords in its judicial capacity, has agreed to hear an appeal in the Adams case early next year. At the least, this should nail down the meaning of miscarriage of justice for the purposes of compensation claims. Mr Jenkins must be fervently hoping that their decision allows him to reopen his claim.
Walter Blotscher
In a legal system (that of England and Wales) that only allows two pleas in a criminal trial, namely guilty and not guilty, is "not guilty" the same as "innocent"? You could be forgiven for thinking that they are indeed the same; if so, you would be wrong.
In 1997, 14-year old Billie-Jo Jenkins was bludgeoned to death with a metal tent peg at the home of her foster family. Her foster father Sion Jenkins was convicted of her murder, and his appeal against that conviction was rejected. In 2003, his case was taken up by the Criminal Cases Review Commission, the body charged with investigating possible miscarriages of justice. In 2004 the original conviction was quashed, on the grounds that it was unsafe. A retrial was ordered, but the jury was unable to reach a verdict. A second retrial ended in February 2006 with a hung jury. Since the prosecution had not proved their case beyond reasonable doubt, under criminal law rules, that meant that Jenkins was formally acquitted of the charges; in other words, he was - and is - not guilty of murdering his foster daughter.
Jenkins then applied to the Ministry of Justice for compensation for the time spent in prison from his original arrest until his release from prison on bail, pending the first retrial. That has just been refused, on the grounds that he is not entitled to it; according to the Ministry, that is because although not guilty, he is not "clearly innocent".
Compensation for miscarriages of justice in the U.K. is governed by statute; S.133 of the Criminal Justice Act 1988. Unlike in some other countries, it does not apply to time spent in jail awaiting a trial, at which a defendant is subsequently acquitted; nor does it apply to jail time, where a defendant is convicted, but subsequently acquitted on first appeal. These periods of imprisonment are considered, rightly or wrongly, to be part of the rough and tumble of ordinary life. Compensation is reserved to a small minority of cases, ones where something has clearly gone horribly amiss and the defendant has wrongly sat in jail for a long period of time. They are primarily (though not exclusively) ones in which the CCRC has been involved.
But what constitutes a "miscarriage of justice"? This was considered by the House of Lords in 2004 in Mullen. Mullen had been convicted of helping to run an IRA bomb factory in London, and was sentenced to 30 years in prison; his appeal against sentence was rejected. His conviction was later quashed, not on the grounds that it was not true (he never in fact appealed against that verdict), but because the British police and intelligence services had been involved in his illegal deportation from Zimbabwe, to which he had fled, in order to stand trial. The trial should have been stopped before it began. Against that background, it was not formally necessary for the judges, in refusing Mullen compensation for his lengthy time in prison, to decide exactly what miscarriage of justice meant. But in the two leading opinions, Lord Steyn would have limited it to the narrow range of cases, where "the person concerned was clearly innocent"; whereas Lord Bingham would have allowed a wider class, which also covered "failures of the trial process". Everyone agreed that Mullen's case, where the illegality undermining the conviction took place before the trial even started, was outside both.
In 2009, the Court of Appeal in Adams took things a bit further forward. Adams had been convicted in 1993 of murder, an offence which - in England - automatically carries a life sentence. Following the involvement of the CCRC, the conviction was eventually quashed in 2007 as unsafe, on the grounds that Adam's legal representatives had failed at his trial to deploy crucial pieces of evidence provided to them by the prosecution, evidence which might have swayed the jury. The first issue before the Court of Appeal in his application for compensation was whether these pieces of evidence constituted "new or newly discovered facts". Only if the miscarriage of justice is the result of new or newly discovered facts can compensation be paid. On this, the Court of Appeal ruled in Adams' favour; the facts must be new to him (which they were), not new to him and/or his legal representatives.
The second issue was what was meant by miscarriage of justice. In Adams itself, the Court of Appeal judged the facts against Lord Bingham's analysis, and found that it lay, as with Mullen, outside of it; so there was no need to decide between Lord Bingham and Lord Steyn. However, they also reviewed other Court of Appeal and first instance cases in this area, and found that judges in general favoured the narrow interpretation given by Lord Steyn. This is the legal basis for the Ministry of Justice's reliance in the Jenkins case on the "clearly innocent" test.
If this all sounds like legal hair-splitting of the "angels dancing on a pinhead" kind, then it is not. As Mr. Jenkins himself has pointed out, the costs of being wrongfully convicted of a crime can be huge, and not just a forced loss of income and prospects. As a convicted child-killer, his time in prison would not have been easy. And in his particular case, his wife divorced him while he was in prison, and then emigrated with their four children to Tasmania. That would be tough under any circumstances.
One solution to the problem might be to adopt the legal position in Scotland, which allows for three verdicts in criminal trials; guilty, not guilty and "not proven", a sort of legal halfway house. Compensation would then be given only in cases eventually decided as not guilty. But even that would not solve the wider difficulty caused by trying to mesh together two distinct legal systems. The domestic legislation puts into force the relevant article of the International Convention on Civil and Political Rights 1966, to which the U.K. is a signatory. Miscarriage of justice is a self-standing concept within that article, a concept which does not exist in English law and which has never been definitively resolved. The Court of Appeal, on the other hand, in quashing criminal convictions, never decides whether there has been a miscarriage of justice, but simply whether the original conviction is "unsafe". Clearly there is an overlap between the two ideas; equally clearly, there are some cases (eg Mullen), where they are distinct.
This problem has the potential to grow, following the U.K.'s adoption of the Human Rights Act. The European Court of Human Rights has at times criticised aspects of the common law tradition as not giving the defendant a fair trial; and the test case Al-Khawaja and Tahery v. U.K. has the potential to declare large parts of the criminal system as constituting a breach of the defendant's human rights. The final decision on that will be very interesting.
Meanwhile, there is one piece of good news on the horizon. The Supreme Court, successor to the House of Lords in its judicial capacity, has agreed to hear an appeal in the Adams case early next year. At the least, this should nail down the meaning of miscarriage of justice for the purposes of compensation claims. Mr Jenkins must be fervently hoping that their decision allows him to reopen his claim.
Walter Blotscher
Tuesday 10 August 2010
MOLE WARFARE (2)
My being away in Spain, West Jutland and the U.K. over the summer has allowed the Mole Army to regroup. The new commander has decided to attack out of the compost heap, even having a foray onto the back lawn (something, which has not happened for a while). With attacks in all directions, and only a limited number of traps, I have been pushed back on the defensive.
So you can imagine my surprise when I came out into the paddock the other day, and found a mole out in the open, lying dead on its back. A very unusual event. It was right next to a series of very shallow supply tunnels that I had been keeping a beady eye on; but there was no trap in the vicinity. The only explanation I could think of was that it had been caught by Cleo. Cleo (short for Cleopatra) is our schizophrenic black cat, brilliant at catching field mice, eating the nice bits of them, and depositing the rest as gifts for us near or even inside the house. She must have seen the mole trundling along the tunnel and nabbed it, before deciding in her picky way that "taupe saignante" was not as appetising as "souris bleu".
All in all, I felt a bit like Wellington at the Battle of Waterloo, after Blücher turned up with the Prussians. Relieved, and grateful for the help.
Walter Blotscher
My being away in Spain, West Jutland and the U.K. over the summer has allowed the Mole Army to regroup. The new commander has decided to attack out of the compost heap, even having a foray onto the back lawn (something, which has not happened for a while). With attacks in all directions, and only a limited number of traps, I have been pushed back on the defensive.
So you can imagine my surprise when I came out into the paddock the other day, and found a mole out in the open, lying dead on its back. A very unusual event. It was right next to a series of very shallow supply tunnels that I had been keeping a beady eye on; but there was no trap in the vicinity. The only explanation I could think of was that it had been caught by Cleo. Cleo (short for Cleopatra) is our schizophrenic black cat, brilliant at catching field mice, eating the nice bits of them, and depositing the rest as gifts for us near or even inside the house. She must have seen the mole trundling along the tunnel and nabbed it, before deciding in her picky way that "taupe saignante" was not as appetising as "souris bleu".
All in all, I felt a bit like Wellington at the Battle of Waterloo, after Blücher turned up with the Prussians. Relieved, and grateful for the help.
Walter Blotscher
Monday 9 August 2010
WOLF HALL
The Tudors are everywhere, it seems. Both Helen Mirren and Cate Blanchett have played Elizabeth 1 on film; Philippa Gregory has written best selling books on the period, and "The Other Boleyn Girl" was made into a film; I have read Alison Weir on Henry VIII; and the second series of the award-winning "The Tudors" is currently showing on Danish television (the first series was sent out under the title "Sex and Intrigue" - of which there was much - but name-recognition is taking hold in Scandinavia as well). Now comes Wolf Hall, a 650 page novel from Hilary Mantel, which won the 2009 Man Booker prize, and which I have just read.
As a royal dynasty, the Tudors were essentially Welsh lads on the make. Owen Tudor started the ball rolling by marrying the widow of Henry V, hero of Agincourt; his son then married Margaret Beaufort, also a woman with royal connections. Having snuck into the royal family by the back door, as it were, they became the leading beneficiaries of the fifteenth century aristocratic slaughter brilliantly depicted by Shakespeare and known as the Wars of the Roses. Henry VI (Lancastrian) inherited the Valois tendency to insanity, and his only son was killed in battle at the age of 17; Edward IV (Yorkist) took over from Henry until his own death, but his two young sons (the Princes in the Tower) were bumped off by their uncle Richard III; while Warwick the Kingmaker (who flitted between the two camps) conveniently died in battle without male heirs. When Owen Tudor's grandson Henry won a decisive victory at Bosworth Field in 1485, killing Richard in the process, the way forward to the throne was clear. He was crowned on the battlefield as Henry VII, and later married the eldest daughter of Edward IV. That should have made the Tudors' position secure. However, there were still males around with direct claims to the throne, which might in some people's eyes have outweighed the indirect ones of the upstart Welsh lads. The executions of Edward of Warwick by Henry VII, and of the Duke of Buckingham, Duke of Suffolk and the Pole family by his son Henry VIII, were all prompted by their participation - real or imagined - in a resumption of the Wars of the Roses, with the throne as the prize.
The combination of dynastic fragility and promotion of men of low birth reached its apogee in the reign of Henry VIII, king of England from 1509 to 1547. Henry was his father's second son and so was originally brought up for a career in the church. However, when his elder brother Arthur unexpectedly died at the age of 15 in April 1502, Henry inherited both Arthur's claim to the throne and his wife of four months, Katherine of Aragon. From that one event flowed much of the history of England for the next 50 years. Knowing where his family had come from, Henry was convinced that a legitimate male heir was absolutely vital for the kingdom's survival; yet the one thing he and Katherine could not do was produce a son together.
To help him in his "cause", Henry turned to a succession of other lads on the make, rather than the limited cadre of old aristocratic families that had traditionally occupied the great offices of state and church. Charles Brandon, his boyhood playmate, married his sister without asking his permission, yet kept his head and was made Duke of Suffolk. Thomas Wolsey was a butcher's son from Ipswich, who rose rapidly through the church to become Archbishop of York and a Cardinal, as well as Lord Chancellor for almost 15 years. He was replaced by Sir Thomas More, son of a lawyer and the first ever non-ecclesiastic in the job. Finally, there was Thomas Cromwell, son of a blacksmith, who rose to be Henry's Chief Minister from 1532-40 and was created Earl of Essex shortly before his death.
Against the background of the Europe-wide ferment of the Reformation, these men collectively made huge changes to England; to the law, to religion and religious life, to the structure of the country. Henry ended up having six wives, an unprecedented monarchical achievement, eventually getting a son by his third wife Jane Seymour. The church split from Rome, thereby creating that curious hybrid within Christianity called Anglicanism, an essentially catholic doctrine, but one that reports to the British monarch as its head. The monasteries were dissolved, and their vast assets given to the Crown for disposal. By the Statute of Wills it became possible for the first time to devise real property (i.e. land), instead of being bound by the iron rules of feudal inheritance (the common law tradition, whereby you have complete freedom to leave your property to whomever you like, is something which separates the United Kingdom from the rest of the E.U. today). And Wales, originally conquered more than two centuries earlier, was bound so tightly into the fabric of England that the policies of the last Labour Government for devolution within the United Kingdom were inevitably much different in Wales than in Scotland.
Wolf Hall takes the story from the fall of Cardinal Wolsey in 1529 for failing to obtain papal consent to Henry's divorce from Katherine of Aragon to the execution of Sir Thomas More in 1535 for not accepting Henry's new position as head of the church in England. It is written through the eyes of Thomas Cromwell, the eminence grise of the new order, as he works his way up from Wolsey's efficient protege to the post of Master Secretary and general top dog. Henry is on his second wife, Anne Boleyn, but still can't get a son; her execution, four more wives, the dissolution of the monasteries, and Cromwell's own downfall are all in the future, and await the book's intended sequel. It is masterfully written, and gripping stuff; I read it in less than a week.
And Wolf Hall itself? This is the family home of the Seymours, which - as the book ends - the court is about to visit for the first time. It is a neat literary trick to have as the title something which doesn't appear until the end. But that's the whole point. We all know how the story ends, it's the getting there that we want to enjoy.
Walter Blotscher
The Tudors are everywhere, it seems. Both Helen Mirren and Cate Blanchett have played Elizabeth 1 on film; Philippa Gregory has written best selling books on the period, and "The Other Boleyn Girl" was made into a film; I have read Alison Weir on Henry VIII; and the second series of the award-winning "The Tudors" is currently showing on Danish television (the first series was sent out under the title "Sex and Intrigue" - of which there was much - but name-recognition is taking hold in Scandinavia as well). Now comes Wolf Hall, a 650 page novel from Hilary Mantel, which won the 2009 Man Booker prize, and which I have just read.
As a royal dynasty, the Tudors were essentially Welsh lads on the make. Owen Tudor started the ball rolling by marrying the widow of Henry V, hero of Agincourt; his son then married Margaret Beaufort, also a woman with royal connections. Having snuck into the royal family by the back door, as it were, they became the leading beneficiaries of the fifteenth century aristocratic slaughter brilliantly depicted by Shakespeare and known as the Wars of the Roses. Henry VI (Lancastrian) inherited the Valois tendency to insanity, and his only son was killed in battle at the age of 17; Edward IV (Yorkist) took over from Henry until his own death, but his two young sons (the Princes in the Tower) were bumped off by their uncle Richard III; while Warwick the Kingmaker (who flitted between the two camps) conveniently died in battle without male heirs. When Owen Tudor's grandson Henry won a decisive victory at Bosworth Field in 1485, killing Richard in the process, the way forward to the throne was clear. He was crowned on the battlefield as Henry VII, and later married the eldest daughter of Edward IV. That should have made the Tudors' position secure. However, there were still males around with direct claims to the throne, which might in some people's eyes have outweighed the indirect ones of the upstart Welsh lads. The executions of Edward of Warwick by Henry VII, and of the Duke of Buckingham, Duke of Suffolk and the Pole family by his son Henry VIII, were all prompted by their participation - real or imagined - in a resumption of the Wars of the Roses, with the throne as the prize.
The combination of dynastic fragility and promotion of men of low birth reached its apogee in the reign of Henry VIII, king of England from 1509 to 1547. Henry was his father's second son and so was originally brought up for a career in the church. However, when his elder brother Arthur unexpectedly died at the age of 15 in April 1502, Henry inherited both Arthur's claim to the throne and his wife of four months, Katherine of Aragon. From that one event flowed much of the history of England for the next 50 years. Knowing where his family had come from, Henry was convinced that a legitimate male heir was absolutely vital for the kingdom's survival; yet the one thing he and Katherine could not do was produce a son together.
To help him in his "cause", Henry turned to a succession of other lads on the make, rather than the limited cadre of old aristocratic families that had traditionally occupied the great offices of state and church. Charles Brandon, his boyhood playmate, married his sister without asking his permission, yet kept his head and was made Duke of Suffolk. Thomas Wolsey was a butcher's son from Ipswich, who rose rapidly through the church to become Archbishop of York and a Cardinal, as well as Lord Chancellor for almost 15 years. He was replaced by Sir Thomas More, son of a lawyer and the first ever non-ecclesiastic in the job. Finally, there was Thomas Cromwell, son of a blacksmith, who rose to be Henry's Chief Minister from 1532-40 and was created Earl of Essex shortly before his death.
Against the background of the Europe-wide ferment of the Reformation, these men collectively made huge changes to England; to the law, to religion and religious life, to the structure of the country. Henry ended up having six wives, an unprecedented monarchical achievement, eventually getting a son by his third wife Jane Seymour. The church split from Rome, thereby creating that curious hybrid within Christianity called Anglicanism, an essentially catholic doctrine, but one that reports to the British monarch as its head. The monasteries were dissolved, and their vast assets given to the Crown for disposal. By the Statute of Wills it became possible for the first time to devise real property (i.e. land), instead of being bound by the iron rules of feudal inheritance (the common law tradition, whereby you have complete freedom to leave your property to whomever you like, is something which separates the United Kingdom from the rest of the E.U. today). And Wales, originally conquered more than two centuries earlier, was bound so tightly into the fabric of England that the policies of the last Labour Government for devolution within the United Kingdom were inevitably much different in Wales than in Scotland.
Wolf Hall takes the story from the fall of Cardinal Wolsey in 1529 for failing to obtain papal consent to Henry's divorce from Katherine of Aragon to the execution of Sir Thomas More in 1535 for not accepting Henry's new position as head of the church in England. It is written through the eyes of Thomas Cromwell, the eminence grise of the new order, as he works his way up from Wolsey's efficient protege to the post of Master Secretary and general top dog. Henry is on his second wife, Anne Boleyn, but still can't get a son; her execution, four more wives, the dissolution of the monasteries, and Cromwell's own downfall are all in the future, and await the book's intended sequel. It is masterfully written, and gripping stuff; I read it in less than a week.
And Wolf Hall itself? This is the family home of the Seymours, which - as the book ends - the court is about to visit for the first time. It is a neat literary trick to have as the title something which doesn't appear until the end. But that's the whole point. We all know how the story ends, it's the getting there that we want to enjoy.
Walter Blotscher
Sunday 8 August 2010
KOSOVO (2)
In my blog of 13 June, I asked whether Kosovo could now be regarded as a state (I actually used the word "country"), when more than 60 other countries had already recognised it as such, but a fair minority - including politically important ones such as Russia, China, India and Spain - had not. I also said that the International Court of Justice had been asked by the United Nations to give its opinion on the matter.
The ICJ's ruling, issued on 22 July, was widely expected, because of the political circumstances, to fudge the issue. It did; though not perhaps in the way anticipated. By ten to four, the court gave a clear ruling that Kosovo's unilateral declaration of independence did not violate international law. That was a huge boost to the Kosovans and a punch in the stomach for Serbia, the country of which Kosovo is/was a part, and the driving force behind the request to the ICJ.
However, that is not the end of the story. As the court itself noted, a declaration of independence does not of itself confer the status of a state. As nationalism took hold in former empires, the eighteenth, nineteenth and early twentieth centuries were full of such declarations; "sometimes a declaration resulted in the creation of a new State, at others it did not". Because the question at issue was a narrow one ("Is the unilateral declaration of independence by the Provisional Institutions of Self-Government of Kosovo in accordance with international law?"), there was no need for the ICJ to come to a view on whether Kosovo had, as a matter of law, achieved statehood. Nor was it necessary to come to a view on whether Kosovo had had the right to secede from Serbia; again, it had simply not been asked.
This result may be legally satisfying (though note that since four judges voted no, even the narrow point was not 100% clear-cut), but doesn't really take things much further forward. Serbia now needs to decide what to do next, bearing in mind a) that a new question to the ICJ would take time to get through the United Nations, and even longer to be decided by the court, b) that as time goes on, the reality on the ground (i.e. independence) becomes more and more entrenched, and c) that Serbia would like to join the EU, 22 of whose 27 members have already recognised Kosovo. Not surprisingly, the Serbs have gone into a huddle to think about things.
And my original riddle, namely "when is a country not a country?" remains unanswered.
Walter Blotscher
In my blog of 13 June, I asked whether Kosovo could now be regarded as a state (I actually used the word "country"), when more than 60 other countries had already recognised it as such, but a fair minority - including politically important ones such as Russia, China, India and Spain - had not. I also said that the International Court of Justice had been asked by the United Nations to give its opinion on the matter.
The ICJ's ruling, issued on 22 July, was widely expected, because of the political circumstances, to fudge the issue. It did; though not perhaps in the way anticipated. By ten to four, the court gave a clear ruling that Kosovo's unilateral declaration of independence did not violate international law. That was a huge boost to the Kosovans and a punch in the stomach for Serbia, the country of which Kosovo is/was a part, and the driving force behind the request to the ICJ.
However, that is not the end of the story. As the court itself noted, a declaration of independence does not of itself confer the status of a state. As nationalism took hold in former empires, the eighteenth, nineteenth and early twentieth centuries were full of such declarations; "sometimes a declaration resulted in the creation of a new State, at others it did not". Because the question at issue was a narrow one ("Is the unilateral declaration of independence by the Provisional Institutions of Self-Government of Kosovo in accordance with international law?"), there was no need for the ICJ to come to a view on whether Kosovo had, as a matter of law, achieved statehood. Nor was it necessary to come to a view on whether Kosovo had had the right to secede from Serbia; again, it had simply not been asked.
This result may be legally satisfying (though note that since four judges voted no, even the narrow point was not 100% clear-cut), but doesn't really take things much further forward. Serbia now needs to decide what to do next, bearing in mind a) that a new question to the ICJ would take time to get through the United Nations, and even longer to be decided by the court, b) that as time goes on, the reality on the ground (i.e. independence) becomes more and more entrenched, and c) that Serbia would like to join the EU, 22 of whose 27 members have already recognised Kosovo. Not surprisingly, the Serbs have gone into a huddle to think about things.
And my original riddle, namely "when is a country not a country?" remains unanswered.
Walter Blotscher
Saturday 7 August 2010
OLIVE OIL AND VIRGINS
I have always been somewhat baffled by the concept of extra virgin olive oil. I thought that "virgin" was one of those words, like "pregnant", that was either/or; you can't be half pregnant, or sort-of pregnant. I know that a lot of people, notably politicians, have started saying "pretty unique", but that is just bad English.
When I was at school, there were a lot of girls who said that they were virgins, but I can't remember anybody ever saying that they were "extra virgin". As I say, I am baffled.
Walter Blotscher
I have always been somewhat baffled by the concept of extra virgin olive oil. I thought that "virgin" was one of those words, like "pregnant", that was either/or; you can't be half pregnant, or sort-of pregnant. I know that a lot of people, notably politicians, have started saying "pretty unique", but that is just bad English.
When I was at school, there were a lot of girls who said that they were virgins, but I can't remember anybody ever saying that they were "extra virgin". As I say, I am baffled.
Walter Blotscher
Friday 6 August 2010
MAIZE AND AVOCADOS
Maize is not indigenous to Africa, but has become the staple food for a wide swathe of the east and south of the continent, including Tanzania. The cob is dried, and the seeds ground into a flour, which is then used to make a thick porridge (called ugali in kiswahili). This is then eaten with vegetables, fish, meat, or even milk.
In Denmark, on the other hand, maize is a low-value crop. Apart from some small sales of "corn on the cob", the field is simply harvested in the early autumn, ground up (plant and cob together) by the harvester, and used as cattle feed.
Avacados are not indigenous to Northern Europe, but have become available in a wide swathe of Scandinavia, including Denmark. The fruit is cut in half, the oil-rich stone in the middle is extracted, and the flesh is either sliced or mashed. This is then eaten with salad, tomatoes, onions or spicy meat.
In Tanzania, on the other hand, avocados are a low-value crop. There are so many trees and so many fruits per tree, that apart from small sales in and around the big cities, the fruit is simply left to drop on the ground, and get eaten as cattle feed.
In this globalised world, there ought to be opportunities here for a "win-win" deal. If only it were so simple.
Walter Blotscher
Maize is not indigenous to Africa, but has become the staple food for a wide swathe of the east and south of the continent, including Tanzania. The cob is dried, and the seeds ground into a flour, which is then used to make a thick porridge (called ugali in kiswahili). This is then eaten with vegetables, fish, meat, or even milk.
In Denmark, on the other hand, maize is a low-value crop. Apart from some small sales of "corn on the cob", the field is simply harvested in the early autumn, ground up (plant and cob together) by the harvester, and used as cattle feed.
Avacados are not indigenous to Northern Europe, but have become available in a wide swathe of Scandinavia, including Denmark. The fruit is cut in half, the oil-rich stone in the middle is extracted, and the flesh is either sliced or mashed. This is then eaten with salad, tomatoes, onions or spicy meat.
In Tanzania, on the other hand, avocados are a low-value crop. There are so many trees and so many fruits per tree, that apart from small sales in and around the big cities, the fruit is simply left to drop on the ground, and get eaten as cattle feed.
In this globalised world, there ought to be opportunities here for a "win-win" deal. If only it were so simple.
Walter Blotscher
Thursday 5 August 2010
SUPERFREAKONOMICS AND CLIMATE CHANGE (3)
Superfreakonomics is the sequel to Stephen Levitt's and Stephen Dubner's highly successful earlier collaboration Freakonomics, a quirky look at aspects of everyday life from an economist's viewpoint.
I have to admit that I was slightly disappointed. Part of that was inevitable, I think; the first book was totally new, so "more of the same", even if the specific examples are different, is never going to have that same shock impact.
The other reason was a rather long section on climate change, which - according to them - we could solve both now and cheaply. The argument runs as follows. We know from previous volcanic explosions that the earth's temperature falls in the immediate aftermath, We also know why; sulphur dioxide gets into the stratosphere (i.e. above the atmosphere), and that does something to the sun's rays. So, if we ourselves could get sulphur dioxide into the stratosphere, then we could cool down the planet. But this we can do; by building chimney-like balloon structures on top of existing power stations, which emit a lot of the stuff. This would not be cheap; but it would be a fraction of what other people are saying needs to be spent. More importantly, it could be done today.
I am afraid I am experiencing a growing sense of climate change fatigue. I accept Levitt's and Dubner's argument - backed up by their other examples - that solutions to seemingly intractable human problems are often right there in front of our noses, and surprisingly cheap. I also accept their premises both that human behaviour is the most difficult thing in the world to change, and that it is all the more difficult when there are vested interests trying to stop any such change. Nevertheless, part of me keeps whispering "if it was really that easy, wouldn't someone else have picked up the ball and run with it?"
Normally I would come to my own view on such things. But the problem with climate change, for me at any rate, is that the data are vast, opaque, and often conflicting; in short, a bit like the climate itself. To take but one example. July, which was hot here in Denmark, was in fact the fourth hottest July since records began 150 years ago, 18,7 degrees celsius on average instead of the long-term average of 15,6 degrees celsius. A sign of warming? Well, yes and no. It is true that the hottest July on record was 2006, so two of the top five have been during the past 5 years; on the other hand, the other three were 1994, 1941 and as long ago as 1901. So what does that say?
It's all very confusing.
Walter Blotscher
Superfreakonomics is the sequel to Stephen Levitt's and Stephen Dubner's highly successful earlier collaboration Freakonomics, a quirky look at aspects of everyday life from an economist's viewpoint.
I have to admit that I was slightly disappointed. Part of that was inevitable, I think; the first book was totally new, so "more of the same", even if the specific examples are different, is never going to have that same shock impact.
The other reason was a rather long section on climate change, which - according to them - we could solve both now and cheaply. The argument runs as follows. We know from previous volcanic explosions that the earth's temperature falls in the immediate aftermath, We also know why; sulphur dioxide gets into the stratosphere (i.e. above the atmosphere), and that does something to the sun's rays. So, if we ourselves could get sulphur dioxide into the stratosphere, then we could cool down the planet. But this we can do; by building chimney-like balloon structures on top of existing power stations, which emit a lot of the stuff. This would not be cheap; but it would be a fraction of what other people are saying needs to be spent. More importantly, it could be done today.
I am afraid I am experiencing a growing sense of climate change fatigue. I accept Levitt's and Dubner's argument - backed up by their other examples - that solutions to seemingly intractable human problems are often right there in front of our noses, and surprisingly cheap. I also accept their premises both that human behaviour is the most difficult thing in the world to change, and that it is all the more difficult when there are vested interests trying to stop any such change. Nevertheless, part of me keeps whispering "if it was really that easy, wouldn't someone else have picked up the ball and run with it?"
Normally I would come to my own view on such things. But the problem with climate change, for me at any rate, is that the data are vast, opaque, and often conflicting; in short, a bit like the climate itself. To take but one example. July, which was hot here in Denmark, was in fact the fourth hottest July since records began 150 years ago, 18,7 degrees celsius on average instead of the long-term average of 15,6 degrees celsius. A sign of warming? Well, yes and no. It is true that the hottest July on record was 2006, so two of the top five have been during the past 5 years; on the other hand, the other three were 1994, 1941 and as long ago as 1901. So what does that say?
It's all very confusing.
Walter Blotscher
Wednesday 4 August 2010
CROQUET
Croquet is a great game. Officially it is a simple matter of knocking large wooden balls through narrow metal hoops in a specified order. Unofficially - and very much like chess - it is a game of great subtlety and tactics, where the object is to totally destroy your opponent while trying to be as polite as possible.
I played a lot over the weekend, since my godson's father (an old university friend of mine) has a very nice court on a lawn outside his house. Said friend is normally a mild, unprepossessing sort of chap. But put a croquet mallet in his hand and he quickly becomes a tyrant. Poison drips from his tongue as he politely roquets you off into the henhouse, he chuckles evilly as you miss a simple shot through the hoop, you can feel the hostility oozing out of his summer jacket from the other side of the court. The smile that lit up his face as he played his winning shot into the post was pure Peter Mandelson.
Or maybe not? Perhaps he was just a well-behaved man playing a friendly game with his visitor, the smile was one of simple pleasure, and the above attributes are in fact what I felt during the match. Mmm. Maybe it's time I went back to badminton ....
Walter Blotscher
Croquet is a great game. Officially it is a simple matter of knocking large wooden balls through narrow metal hoops in a specified order. Unofficially - and very much like chess - it is a game of great subtlety and tactics, where the object is to totally destroy your opponent while trying to be as polite as possible.
I played a lot over the weekend, since my godson's father (an old university friend of mine) has a very nice court on a lawn outside his house. Said friend is normally a mild, unprepossessing sort of chap. But put a croquet mallet in his hand and he quickly becomes a tyrant. Poison drips from his tongue as he politely roquets you off into the henhouse, he chuckles evilly as you miss a simple shot through the hoop, you can feel the hostility oozing out of his summer jacket from the other side of the court. The smile that lit up his face as he played his winning shot into the post was pure Peter Mandelson.
Or maybe not? Perhaps he was just a well-behaved man playing a friendly game with his visitor, the smile was one of simple pleasure, and the above attributes are in fact what I felt during the match. Mmm. Maybe it's time I went back to badminton ....
Walter Blotscher
Tuesday 3 August 2010
AFGHANISTAN
Readers of The President And The General (24/6/10) will know that I am not in favour of the war in Afghanistan. I mentioned one reason then, but there are really three.
First, I don't support the "we needed to get rid of the Taliban, since they were bad people" argument. The concept of regime change has no basis in international law; one country can't simply walk into another one and start killing people. True, the war in Afghanistan (unlike, say, that in Iraq) was legal, since it was specifically authorised by the U.N.Security Council, which is allowed to sanction such things. However, the problem with that doctrine is that there are lots of bad people running governments in the world today. To be consistent, we should be petitioning the Security Council to wage war on - to name but a few - Sudan, Zimbabwe, Myanmar, Iran, Cambodia and perhaps even China. That's not going to happen.
Ah, say defendants, but the Taliban were particularly heinous, since they were exporting terror to the rest of the world; and in order to protect ourselves at home, we needed to root out that terror at its source. I don't buy this. I am neither a terrorist nor a security expert. But it doesn't seem to me to be that difficult to find an alternative place from which to cook up new schemes, if my original home is stuffed full of U.S. marines. Yemen, for instance, or Somalia. Or, most pertinently, Pakistan, just across the border. David Cameron may well have ruffled the Pakistani Government's feathers while visiting India last week. But he was merely stating in public what has long been accepted in private, namely that the Taliban are well entrenched in the lawless areas of the country along the frontier with Afghanistan, and are actively supported and protected by elements within the Pakistani intelligence community.
I might perhaps have accepted the above arguments if I thought we were winning. A sort of realpolitik position; OK, we're not morally in the right, or politically consistent, but at least a small part of the world will end up a better place by the time we have finished. However, now comes my third reason. I don't think we are winning, and I don't think we can win. As I wrote earlier, the world's great powers have at various times tried to subdue Afghanistan, the British in the 19th century, the Russians in the 20th. The one thing that stands out clearly from these earlier episodes is that Afghanistan refused to be subdued, and the said great powers were forced to exit with more than just a bloody nose. If Soviet Russia, hardly a delicate flower, couldn't knock its unruly neighbour into line, how can an unwieldy coalition of disparate forces, far from home base, be expected to do better? More sophisticated weaponry might be one answer. But as Vietnam showed, more sophisticated weaponry alone cannot beat stubborn resistance, particularly if the foreign weapons are propping up a notional Government that is widely perceived as both weak and corrupt.
Indeed, the parallels with Vietnam seem to be increasing. The publication in 1971 of the Pentagon Papers, a top-secret Department of Defense analysis of the U.S.' involvement in Vietnam between 1945 and 1967, which showed inter alia that the Johnson administration had lied to both Congress and the general public about its conduct of the war, had a fundamental effect on American opinion, and is widely seen today as the catalyst that ultimately led to the U.S.' humiliating withdrawal and defeat. Last week the whistle-blowing website Wikileaks published 75,000 of an estimated 90,000 classified military records dealing with Afghanistan from 2004-9, and which had been leaked to it. I haven't read them all, by any means. But judging from the comments of people who have read more of them than me, and from the ferocious reaction of the powers-that-be in the U.S., who seem to be more interested in shooting the messenger than in hearing the message, this could be a second Pentagon Papers moment. The war is apparently not going as well as politicians would have us believe; civilian casualties are high, local public opinion is not turning in favour of the coalition, objectives are not being met. Getting out of a mess we should never (in my view) have gotten into will tax the skills of western leaders over the coming years.
Walter Blotscher
Readers of The President And The General (24/6/10) will know that I am not in favour of the war in Afghanistan. I mentioned one reason then, but there are really three.
First, I don't support the "we needed to get rid of the Taliban, since they were bad people" argument. The concept of regime change has no basis in international law; one country can't simply walk into another one and start killing people. True, the war in Afghanistan (unlike, say, that in Iraq) was legal, since it was specifically authorised by the U.N.Security Council, which is allowed to sanction such things. However, the problem with that doctrine is that there are lots of bad people running governments in the world today. To be consistent, we should be petitioning the Security Council to wage war on - to name but a few - Sudan, Zimbabwe, Myanmar, Iran, Cambodia and perhaps even China. That's not going to happen.
Ah, say defendants, but the Taliban were particularly heinous, since they were exporting terror to the rest of the world; and in order to protect ourselves at home, we needed to root out that terror at its source. I don't buy this. I am neither a terrorist nor a security expert. But it doesn't seem to me to be that difficult to find an alternative place from which to cook up new schemes, if my original home is stuffed full of U.S. marines. Yemen, for instance, or Somalia. Or, most pertinently, Pakistan, just across the border. David Cameron may well have ruffled the Pakistani Government's feathers while visiting India last week. But he was merely stating in public what has long been accepted in private, namely that the Taliban are well entrenched in the lawless areas of the country along the frontier with Afghanistan, and are actively supported and protected by elements within the Pakistani intelligence community.
I might perhaps have accepted the above arguments if I thought we were winning. A sort of realpolitik position; OK, we're not morally in the right, or politically consistent, but at least a small part of the world will end up a better place by the time we have finished. However, now comes my third reason. I don't think we are winning, and I don't think we can win. As I wrote earlier, the world's great powers have at various times tried to subdue Afghanistan, the British in the 19th century, the Russians in the 20th. The one thing that stands out clearly from these earlier episodes is that Afghanistan refused to be subdued, and the said great powers were forced to exit with more than just a bloody nose. If Soviet Russia, hardly a delicate flower, couldn't knock its unruly neighbour into line, how can an unwieldy coalition of disparate forces, far from home base, be expected to do better? More sophisticated weaponry might be one answer. But as Vietnam showed, more sophisticated weaponry alone cannot beat stubborn resistance, particularly if the foreign weapons are propping up a notional Government that is widely perceived as both weak and corrupt.
Indeed, the parallels with Vietnam seem to be increasing. The publication in 1971 of the Pentagon Papers, a top-secret Department of Defense analysis of the U.S.' involvement in Vietnam between 1945 and 1967, which showed inter alia that the Johnson administration had lied to both Congress and the general public about its conduct of the war, had a fundamental effect on American opinion, and is widely seen today as the catalyst that ultimately led to the U.S.' humiliating withdrawal and defeat. Last week the whistle-blowing website Wikileaks published 75,000 of an estimated 90,000 classified military records dealing with Afghanistan from 2004-9, and which had been leaked to it. I haven't read them all, by any means. But judging from the comments of people who have read more of them than me, and from the ferocious reaction of the powers-that-be in the U.S., who seem to be more interested in shooting the messenger than in hearing the message, this could be a second Pentagon Papers moment. The war is apparently not going as well as politicians would have us believe; civilian casualties are high, local public opinion is not turning in favour of the coalition, objectives are not being met. Getting out of a mess we should never (in my view) have gotten into will tax the skills of western leaders over the coming years.
Walter Blotscher
Monday 2 August 2010
A SAXON CHURCH
My wife and I were in the U.K. this weekend, celebrating the 18th birthday of my godson (hence no blogging). On Saturday we visited St. Peter's church at Bradwell-on-Sea in Essex, one of the earliest church buildings in the country. It was founded by St. Cedd in 654AD on the site of an abandoned Roman fort, and still stands on its own at the end of the Blackwater Estuary, some 100 yards from the foreshore.
Saxon Britain was exposed to Christianity from two separate sources. St. Augustine came across from Rome, founded Canterbury, and then moved north and east from there; while St. Colomba sailed from Ireland to the Scottish island of Iona, from where monks moved south and east into Northumbria. Cedd was sent south from the abbey of Lindisfarne to convert the East Saxons, and brought with him the "Celtic" tradition, which stressed the importance of abbots, and which downplayed the "Roman" emphasis on dioceses, in which bishops called the shots. These differences on matters of authority were further complicated by disagreements about the date of Easter, the church's most important feast day. Cedd was one of the principal participants at the Synod of Whitby in 664AD, which decisively resolved the matter in favour of the Roman adherents, a resolution that has been unchallenged ever since.
Three things struck me as I was wandering round the church. First, it is fantastic that we still have such buildings dotted around Europe, to help us understand what happened in the past. Secondly, although many things have changed since 654AD, some surprisingly major things have not. The administrative boundries of the bishoprics of the Church of England, for instance, are not much different from that time. Canterbury and York (which took over from Lindisfarne as head of Northumbria after the Synod of Whitby) remain pre-eminent, and early foundations such as Rochester retain their status, even though they are modest towns today. So too is the system of counties, many of which would have been known to Cedd and his contemporaries; Kent, Essex, Sussex and so on.
Thirdly (and by far the biggest thing) is the sheer bravado and self-belief of men like Cedd. Sent with one companion on a dangerous voyage down the North Sea coast into a hostile, pagan land where the people probably couldn't understand him and might well have thought about killing him, he tackled the job with not much more than his natural resilience and an iron belief in the Christian message. The problems he faced were immense; that he solved them and left a monument which still stands, more than 1,300 years later, is impressive indeed.
Walter Blotscher
My wife and I were in the U.K. this weekend, celebrating the 18th birthday of my godson (hence no blogging). On Saturday we visited St. Peter's church at Bradwell-on-Sea in Essex, one of the earliest church buildings in the country. It was founded by St. Cedd in 654AD on the site of an abandoned Roman fort, and still stands on its own at the end of the Blackwater Estuary, some 100 yards from the foreshore.
Saxon Britain was exposed to Christianity from two separate sources. St. Augustine came across from Rome, founded Canterbury, and then moved north and east from there; while St. Colomba sailed from Ireland to the Scottish island of Iona, from where monks moved south and east into Northumbria. Cedd was sent south from the abbey of Lindisfarne to convert the East Saxons, and brought with him the "Celtic" tradition, which stressed the importance of abbots, and which downplayed the "Roman" emphasis on dioceses, in which bishops called the shots. These differences on matters of authority were further complicated by disagreements about the date of Easter, the church's most important feast day. Cedd was one of the principal participants at the Synod of Whitby in 664AD, which decisively resolved the matter in favour of the Roman adherents, a resolution that has been unchallenged ever since.
Three things struck me as I was wandering round the church. First, it is fantastic that we still have such buildings dotted around Europe, to help us understand what happened in the past. Secondly, although many things have changed since 654AD, some surprisingly major things have not. The administrative boundries of the bishoprics of the Church of England, for instance, are not much different from that time. Canterbury and York (which took over from Lindisfarne as head of Northumbria after the Synod of Whitby) remain pre-eminent, and early foundations such as Rochester retain their status, even though they are modest towns today. So too is the system of counties, many of which would have been known to Cedd and his contemporaries; Kent, Essex, Sussex and so on.
Thirdly (and by far the biggest thing) is the sheer bravado and self-belief of men like Cedd. Sent with one companion on a dangerous voyage down the North Sea coast into a hostile, pagan land where the people probably couldn't understand him and might well have thought about killing him, he tackled the job with not much more than his natural resilience and an iron belief in the Christian message. The problems he faced were immense; that he solved them and left a monument which still stands, more than 1,300 years later, is impressive indeed.
Walter Blotscher
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