school service corps (in the early 1960s)... but not for me.

Bizarrely, I recently came across a photograph of an earth mound/retaining wall structure they use on shooting ranges and it immediately conjured up memories of my time at grammar school in Birmingham. We had our own firing range(!) in the 'playground' - consisting of a high brick wall, with battered earth in front to house the targets (we used the firing range as one of our playground ‘goalmouths’!), together with its own fully-equipped armoury on school premises (complete with rifles, bayonets and bullets)!!
I was born just four years after the end of the war and it’s easy to forget how much impact the war still had in those years of my youth.
The school’s cadet corps (Army/Navy/RAF) was taken EXTREMELY seriously; school masters used to wear their service uniforms once a week on service corps days. Each year, the school’s cadet corps had a large parade – they marched (complete with a full band of drummers and buglers) from the school to the sports ground off Wood Lane, three miles away… and they were always led by the Divinity master (and Army officer!) who rode a huge white horse (I know!).
There was an expectation for all boys to sign up for the Cadet Corps and I think most probably did. But NOT our Form. I was in the ‘Remove Stream’ at school – we were in the ‘fast stream’ earmarked to take our ‘O’ Levels in 4 years instead of 5. When it came to the time for signing up (in 1962/63, when we were perhaps 14 years old?), absolutely NO ONE in our class volunteered to ‘join up’. The assigned ‘Cadet Corps Masters’ were incredulous… “never in the history of the school has this ever happened” (or words to that effect). I recall the ‘Top Dog’ Corps Master coming to lecture us… it was our DUTY… we were the school’s future Cadet Corps OFFICERS for goodness sake (implying that, as the ‘bright’ ones, we were required to pull the others ‘into shape’). It had absolutely no effect… none of us joined up. 

It’s something I look back on with a certain pride… you might think our actions were inappropriate, unwarranted or misguided but, like the climate change school pupils of today, I think we were making our own small statement… and, naïve as it might be, I’m very pleased that we did.

oxford recollections…

Moira and I have just returned from a few days in Oxford, enjoying re-visiting some old haunts from our student days. As you might imagine, the trip brought back lots of memories for both of us…
For me, arriving in the city in September 1967 to begin my studies at Oxford School of Architecture… coming from Handsworth in Birmingham, Oxford was a huge contrast (understatement).
Looking back, I realise just how lucky I was to have been able study away from home and, obviously, in such a beautiful city like Oxford. Exploring new places from scratch, meeting new people, facing new challenges… such as coping financially, dealing with problems, accommodation, food… and, of course, making one’s own mistakes (and sorting them out!).
I feel sorry for those in higher education who don’t have the opportunity to live away from home for a while.
Oxford is clearly a very beautiful, small city – dominated by its University Colleges – but also one in which ‘privilege’ has prevailed (and, perhaps one would say, continues to prevail). Fortunately, I had very little to do with the university… apart from watching cricket in University Parks; attending a May Ball at Exeter College; being present at a number of outdoor theatrical performances in various College grounds; standing along the riverbank watching Eights Week activities; and I vaguely remember attending some disco or other at Queens College.
I got to know my way around Oxford quite quickly – thanks to fellow first year students Steve, Age and JohnTrem (who became lifelong friends). We decided to meet up for a cheap omelette lunch (at an upper floor café on the High Street) every Saturday during the first term before exploring various colleges and their grounds. By our first Christmas in Oxford, we knew the city pretty well.
From the start, I absolutely loved the Cherwell and Thames rivers running through the city… Christchurch Meadow was (and still is) a real favourite place; University Parks; Port Meadow; Shotover Hill; Boars Hill; Osney; Jericho; Botanical Gardens; Magdalen Bridge; Iffley; the ‘Turf’, ‘Trout’ and ‘Perch’ pubs.… so many places.
The punting in the summer (I got to become quite a good punter!)… from Magdalen Bridge or the Cherwell Boathouse up to the Vicky Arms.
You could buy half a pint of mild at the White Hart in Old Headington for 6 pence halfpenny (that’s 6.5d OLD money!) and we regularly used to go drinking at the Turf on a Friday night… and each drink 8 pints @ 2s 6d a pint (spending £ONE POUND in the process!)!
There were few ‘Rag Weeks’ during my time at college… one of which included a 24 hour café and an attempt to ‘Drink the Turf Dry’ (which I endeavoured to do single-handed as I recall… and ending up slumped in a fireplace at the 24 hour café having completely failed to do so).
May Morning was a rather special time… huge crowds gathering below Magdalen Tower at 6am while the choir sang. Crowded streets, Morris Dancers, people jumping off bridges… people queuing for breakfasts (and beer!). Mom and Dad joined Moira and me on one occasion and were absolutely mesmerised by it all (in a good way!).
There was also St Giles Fair… taking over St Giles every Autumn.
Of course, crucially, Oxford was also the place where Moira and I first met (31 October 1969!)… she was studying languages at the Poly.
Sunday afternoon walks with Steve, Bev, Age, Jane, Ted and Val became part of a regular routine… and always finished off with our homemade “Mrs Blenkins’ scones”.
Later, when I worked for The Oxford Architects Partnership (35 Queen Street, 1972-76), the office had a cricket team (of sorts) and we were hugely fortunate to be able to play on various College pitches (after the end of the summer term)… Worcester, New College, University/Corpus Christi.
Moira and I married in 1972 and continued to live Oxford until 1982. We rented places in Oakthorpe Road and Osberton Road, Summertown before buying our first home in Percy Street, off the Iffley Road… and, of course, our three daughters (Ruth, Hannah and Alice) were all born in Oxford.
So, Oxford: a very special place!

student days…

It’s exam time of year again (or was) - one of our granddaughters has just finished her GCSEs – it has reminded me of those uncertain, but exciting, days when pupils were coming to the end of their time at school and looking ahead to going off to university or pursuing career options.
A time of reflection and ‘what might have been?’ if we’d decided to follow other paths.

I was the first person in our family to go to university and, coming from a working-class background, I suppose that was quite significant. My decision to study architecture was based on a rather tentative suggestion from my Maths teacher, Mr Jones. Although I made general enquiries about what such a course would involve I frankly had very little idea of what an architect actually did (apart from ‘designing buildings’… whatever that meant!).
In 1966, I applied to study architecture at Aston and De Montfort universities and Oxford School of Architecture (then still part of the College of Technology, now within Oxford Brookes University); my parents were desperately keen that I continued to live at home (ie. studying at Aston), so were not impressed when I opted for Oxford!
My interview at the Oxford School with its wonderful, charismatic Principal, Reggie Cave, was quite an experience. This was at a time when places weren’t awarded on the basis of gaining three A* A-Levels or whatever… the interview was THE crucial part of the process. I completed some IQ tests before being called into the Principal’s office… and then he and I sat and discussed life, art, design, architecture and a whole realm of topics for well over an hour! At the end of our time together, Mr Cave offered me a place… but not for September 1966, but for 1967 (I had been part of the ‘Remove’ stream at school and had therefore completed my O-Levels in a year less than ‘normal’; Mr Cave felt I needed another 12 months’ maturity… and, of course, he was right!). So, ridiculously (this was before the time of ‘Gap Years’!), I stayed on at school for a third year in the Sixth Form – frankly just happy to play football and cricket!
Looking back, I realise how naïve and selfish I was in assuming that my parents would be happy for me to a) spend another year at school and b) embark on a six-year university course (I can assure you, money was tight!)!

I managed to gain a full grant (£360 a year - £120 per term!) and there were no tuition fees; there should have been a parental contribution on top of this, but I was able to manage without it (although Mom+Dad did pay for the odd train fare when I made my various visits home – although I frequently relied on hitch-hiking).
I think there were 80(?) architectural students in my first year, but numbers were considerably reduced over successive years (I think there were just 30 of us by year 6). I think times and attitudes have changed significantly over the past 50+ years (‘bums on seats’ seems to be the key for university funding, so perhaps now being dropped from courses on a year-by-year basis is relatively rare by comparison?).

The architecture course was something of a revelation. It was a mixture of public school-educated students and ‘ordinary’ people like me (I think there were 8 females). We were set a mixture of design projects each term – including perhaps half a dozen ‘one-day-sketch-schemes’. At the end of each project, critiques (‘crits’) were held in which each student had to present his/her scheme to a ‘jury’ of tutors. This was a hugely important part of the course – being able to ‘sell’ your design proposals; to explain/justify the way you had interpreted the project brief; and to defend your design decisions. I was initially struck by how confident the ex-public school students were by comparison with the rest of us… but we gradually developed more confidence and know-how as the course progressed.There are far too many experiences for me to recall in any great numbers (and an awful lot that I have forgotten!), but here are a few:

• On my very first day at college, I got trapped in a lift (together with three other students)!
• After registration on Day 1, one of the other architectural students (RobP – posh and public school-educated) and I decided to walk into Oxford together to do a little ‘exploring’. I was somewhat taken aback that he insisted on walking into town bare-footed (oh, those old hippie days!!).
• One of the other first year students (again public school-educated) introduced himself as ‘Mephistopheles’ and insisted that everyone should refer to him by that name… but I don’t think anyone ever did. He became something of a laughing stock and I don’t think he survived the first year of the course.
• There were no computers, of course! Just ‘Imperial’ and ‘Double-Elephant’ drawing boards, set-squares, T-squares, pens and pencils!
• There was no ‘College Bar’ until perhaps my third year – and, even then, it was only in a small, converted store (current students would no doubt find this unbelievable!). 
• Lots of societies/clubs within the college: FADS (Food+Drink Set) – which for a very modest joining fee ensured that ‘free’ access to food and drink samples at their monthly gatherings; Film Club – excellent, current, weekly films (again for an incredibly modest joining fee).
• We had a 24-hour Blues Festival in March 1969. Excellent artists including: Fairport Convention, The Crazy World of Arthur Brown, Roy Harper, Taste, Pete Brown and his Battered Ornaments, Free, Jo-Ann Kelly, Stefan Grossman, John Peel and others). 
• In my first year, I had ‘digs’ in Headington (Mrs Brown’s B+B for £7/week); 2nd Year: Arlington Drive, Marston (with Steve, Age and JohnT); 3rd Year: Norreys Avenue (with Age, JohnT and JohnTom); 4th Year: ‘Year Out’ at home in Brum; 5th Year: Lodge Hill, Abingdon (with Age+JohnTom?); 6th Year: bedsit in Littlemore until Christmas, then Oakthorpe Road, Summertown (having married Moira).
• Principal Reggie Cave’s infamous ‘Teapot Lecture’ given to first year students; this is a link to one he did in 1990 (we never had to fill in forms in ‘our day’!).
• Second Year students used to be sent on a European Study Trip. In 1968 (as it happens, the time of the Riots!), students went to Paris… but were so badly behaved that they cancelled the ‘European’ bit of the Study Trip the following year (ie. in MY second year!) and, instead, sent us to Pontins at Southport on a holiday accommodation project. The good news (for some, but not us!) was that we were so well behaved that they reinstated the European trip the following year (students went to Athens)! 
• The Architects’ Punt Race: these happened every summer – between King’s Mill and the Vicky Arms pub. Rules were fairly ‘basic’: Le Mons start; punt and six crew had to start and finish the race (as the race became more established boatyards would hide away their punts, poles and paddles the night before – equipment used to mysteriously disappear for race purposes!). The course highlights included negotiating the ‘Rollers’ (punts had to be pushed up ‘rollers’ at a change in water level) and paddling past ‘Parsons’ Pleasure’ (nudist bathing place)! On one occasion, I ended up in the water… I think we were in either first or second place entering the ‘rollers’ and anxious to re-enter the water as speedily as possible. Unfortunately, our heaviest crew member jumped back into the punt right at the bow end and the rest of us jumped in before the punt reached the water… with the predictable result that our punt (and us) disappeared under the water!
• We were required to attend lectures (but there were only perhaps 2-3/week) but, over the course of our time at college, architectural students did most of their work at their respective ‘homes/digs’. Looking back, I feel sure that we worked harder (and longer) than all the rest of the students at the college!! LOTS of all-night sessions, followed by a couple of days of ‘relaxing’ (ie. drinking!) before it all started again.
• One of key things for me (in the first year) was Tom Porter’s art ‘syllabus’. He became a brilliant influence for lots of us (definitely for me)… encouraged us to take risks; experimenting with different presentation techniques; colour; took us on a trip to London and pointed us towards Habitat, Carnaby Street/Biba; the film ‘2001: Space Odyssey’ etc. I won Tom’s poster competition for an exhibition at the Ashmolean in 1968.
• Mrs Barber’s brilliant ‘Art Materials’ shop on the ground floor of the architecture block (she was something of a ‘mother figure’ for lots of us and kept us all smiling!). 
• I won the ‘most improved student’ award (or whatever it was called) at the end of my second year (sponsored by the Oxford Architects Partnership – who subsequently offered me my first job). A huge boost to my self-confidence.

I know I was very fortunate to have ‘survived the course’ (over 60% of my fellow first year students didn’t)… but, hey, I did work very hard! Studying architecture is a long, long process (3 years at college; followed by a year-out in an office; followed by 2 years back at college; followed by a year in an office before being allowed to take ‘professional practice exams’ and become qualified. Because of the system in place in those days (as I’ve explained above), students would be kicked off the course at the end of each year (not because they hadn’t worked hard, just because they hadn’t achieved the required standards in the eyes of the tutors). Two of my closest friends met this fate and, as a result, never qualified.

Today, for those who choose or are able to go to university, the world is very different. There are no (or very few) grants available and, of course, there are also course fees to be paid… student loans are virtually the only way (the consequences of which seem to hang over individuals for the rest of their lives)… unless, of course, you have rich parents! Such matters have seriously curtailed opportunities to study away from home for many (due to lack of money) - a massive shame in my view. Having said all that, I do regret that there now seems to be an assumption/expectation that everyone will end up going to university. I feel quite strongly that this would be the wrong choice for SO many people… apprenticeships and/or specific job-related training would be the better option for huge numbers.

However, looking back on my own experiences, approaching 60 years later(!), I feel incredibly fortunate to have been given a chance to go to university.

It was an amazing, life-changing time for me personally – a time of independence; making decisions (and mistakes!) off my own bat… and seeing them through; meeting new people/making new friendships; adapting to new educational challenges (and growing in confidence in putting over my ideas); growing up(!); and, of course, being fortunate enough to study in a beautiful place like Oxford.

Bon voyage to all those about to leave school and/or continue their studies… dream your dreams!

Photograph: Oxford city from ChristChurch Meadow.

bill bryson: the body

I love Bill Bryson’s writing! I’ve just finished his excellent book ‘The Body: A Guide for Occupants’. It’s absolutely packed with fascinating observations and detail. In the penultimate chapter (‘Medicine Good and Bad’), for example, here are just a FEW extracts about health in the US (note: by quoting this stuff, I’m not ‘having a go’ at the US – I’m merely aware that, eventually it seems to me, the UK follows America’s ‘lead’ in virtually everything!):

• “With regard to life expectancy… it is not a good idea to be an American”.
• “For every 400 middle-aged Americans who die each year, just 220 die in Australia, 230 in Britain, 290 in Germany and 300 in France”.
• “America spends more on health care than any other nation – two and a half times more per person than the average for all the other developed countries”.
• “Yet despite the generous spending, and the undoubted high quality of American hospitals and health care generally, the US comes just 31^st in global rankings, behind Cyprus, Costa Rica and Chile, and just ahead of Cuba and Albania. How to explain such a paradox? Well, to begin with, and most inescapably, Americans lead more unhealthy lifestyles than most other people... As Allan S Detsky observed in the ‘New Yorker’, ‘Even wealthy Americans are not isolated from a lifestyle filled with oversized food portions, physical inactivity, and stress.’ The average Dutch or Swedish citizen consumes about 20% fewer calories than the average American, for instance.”

Although Bryson (who was born in Iowa, but a British resident for most of his adult life) is enthusiastic about the UK’s NHS, he points out: “For Britain, cancer survival rates are grim and ought to be a matter of national concern”.  He’s also critical about the UK spending “too little” on health care: “The ‘British Medical Journal’ reported in early 2019 that cuts to health and social care budgets between 2010 and 2017 led to about 120,000 early deaths in the UK, a pretty shocking finding”.

Fascinating (and sobering) stuff.

and this will all end…

“In dreams we remember what was, we think about what is, we imagine what might be, what can be, what will be” (Eva-Jane Gaffney speaks Sarah Coffey’s words in “The Pheonix”). These words are taken from a really beautiful Irish Covid-19-inspired video about love, loss, hope and strength (if you haven’t seen it, I suggest you do so by clicking here).

The video manages to captures many of the emotions we’re all feeling at the present time… the sense of gratitude; the kindness shown by others; the awful suffering; the amazing heroes; the precious lives lost; and the enormous strength shown…

We probably all have our ‘wish lists’ of the things we will treasure when all this ends. Those MANY things that perhaps some of us have taken for granted… those simple pleasures… those things that help to make us who we are.

We will never ever forget it and we will never ever let go again.

And this will all end…

But before we get carried away by it all, it’s VITALLY important that we also never allow the people in power to forget the things that they got SO wrong and at such cost:

• The Prime Minister is very good at putting a ‘positive gloss on things’, but conveniently fails to acknowledge that the death toll in the UK is amongst the highest in the world; that NHS staff and other healthcare workers have not had the protective clothing and equipment they needed and would have expected; that the government could have increased testing, tracking and tracing capacity weeks earlier than the current timetable; and that care homes have been woefully under-protected.
• The Prime Minister skipping five crucial meetings on the virus (as reported by The Sunday Times on 19 April, in its massively-critical assessment); when he did attend in early March, it was almost certainly too late (the virus was already upon us) - failings in February probably cost thousands of lives; calls to order protective gear were ignored and scientists’ warnings fell on deaf ears (check out this week's 'Panorama' programme if you think I'm being unfair).
• The Home Secretary making disparaging remarks about low-skilled workers (when it transpires that the majority of people employed by the sector are low-paid care workers - who are responsible for providing daily help to older and disabled adults in care homes and the community).

Writer Philip Pullman doesn’t hold back in his criticisms of the existing system (in an essay in ‘Perspectives’ for Penguin Books): “It’s all got to change. If we come out of this crisis with all the rickety, fly-blown, worm-eaten old structures still intact, the same vain and indolent public schoolboys in charge, the same hedge fund managers stuffing their overloaded pockets with greasy fingers, our descendants will not forgive us. Nor should they. We must burn out the old corruption and establish a better way of living together… And let’s reform the voting system. At the very least, let’s do that without delay. It’s no wonder that people feel disconnected from politics when most of us live in safe seats, and might as well not vote at all. We must be able to see that our opinions are accurately reflected in the composition of our government, not completely disregarded as they are now. So it might lead to coalitions: excellent. Discussion, compromise, working together are exactly how to run a decent country”.

And when this will all end, you’ll ask me dance.

And I will say, yes, let’s dance.

I desperately hope that we come out of it all determined to make the world a better place.

I desperately hope that we remember the people and the jobs that make our day-to-day lives worth living.

I desperately hope that we truly decide to care for our planet.

I desperately hope that we can move away from the old world of greed and power, of the haves and the have-nots. My fear is that some will have very short memories and revert back (if ever they budged) to lives governed by wealth and influence.

I desperately hope that such individuals and corporations are overwhelmed by the voices of those who know there’s a better way.

We’ve learnt so much from this awful coronavirus experience. Let’s use what we’ve learnt to make the world a better place.

And this WILL all end…

We will cry… oh we will cry!

Photo: Banksey’s ‘Girl With Pierced Eardrum’ gets a Covid-19 facemask.

bauhaus centenary…

I watched this excellent programme on iPlayer celebrating the 100^th anniversary of the Bauhaus School. Architect Walter Gropius founded the Bauhaus in Weimar in 1919 and determined that it should revolutionise the way art and design were taught. He gathered together teachers and students and established a framework in which all the disciplines would come together to create the buildings and products of the future, and define a new way of living in the modern world.
I started at the Oxford School of Architecture in 1967 and, thanks to art tutor Tom Porter (a hugely influential figure within the school), I was urged to see the Bauhaus Exhibition at the Royal Academy in 1968 – probably at a time when the Bauhaus and its influence had been more or less forgotten. I remember it as a brilliant, inspiring exhibition – and it was the first time I’d seen a Marcel Breuer chair (amongst other iconic pieces)!

I’d actually made a special study of the Bauhaus School as part of my Art A Level course (but, obviously, in a pretty superficial way!)… and I certainly remember sketches I made of two of Gropius’s new school buildings (when the school moved to Dessau).
Through political pressure, the school moved again, to Berlin, before it was finally closed in 1933 after the Nazis took control of Germany – although its influence continued to spread as teachers and students departed to foreign lands.

Gropius was clearly influenced by figures such as John Ruskin and William Morris, but his emphasis was thoroughly modernistic. Although I regard Gropius as something of a design hero, I’m not sure he was a particularly good architect (I’ve certainly read comments about his inability to draw – something I still regard, even with today’s computer technology, as a fundamental requirement!). But Gropius certainly DID excel in other areas: he was a philosopher; he was ‘good with people’; he was a true networker; he involved himself as a member or a leader in the myriad small groups of revolutionary artists of extraordinary talent, such as: Paul Klee, Oskar Schlemmer, Wassily Kandinsky, Josef Albers, and Lázsló Moholy-Nagy.

It wasn’t all wonderful and inspirational stuff though. Gropius was a great theoretic champion of sexual equality within the Bauhaus workshops but, in practice, female students were directed to the weaving class (sounds ridiculous today!). Although the best of Bauhaus weaving is stunning (there’s this other excellent documentary focussing on Anni Albers), there were huge frustrations in a system in which only one exceptionally determined student, Marianne Brandt, entered the product design workshop.

What I did find hugely inspiring about Bauhaus, back in the 1960s, was the drawing together of art, design and technology… and I still think this has massively important relevance today. Sadly, the pitiful focus (don’t get me started!) on ‘core subjects’ (Maths, English and Sciences) in the UK education system – at the expense of the Arts, Humanities and Technology is utterly shameful in my view… and goes against virtually everything the Bauhaus was championing.

Oh for that time of bold and beautiful experiment in bringing creativity alive to be re-born!

optimism over despair…

"We have two choices. We can be pessimistic, give up, and help ensure that the worst will happen. Or we can be optimistic, grasp the opportunities that surely exist, and maybe help make the world a better place”.
The above words were on the cover of Noam Chomsky’s book “Optimism Over Despair”. Given my own current sense of desperation and hopelessness about what’s currently going on in our world, I (obviously) thought: This book is for me!

I’ve previously read various articles by Chomsky (born in 1928) and had also watched bits from a couple of his lectures on YouTube, but this was my first book of his. He is a hugely impressive man. The book was published in 2017 and represents his interviews with CJ Polychroniou from late 2013 to early 2017 (originally published in ‘Truthout’)(so barely touches Trump’s time as president).

Chomsky has been described as “America’s moral conscience” (even if, according to the book’s introduction, “he remains unknown to the majority of Americans”).
It’s an absolutely fascinating, thought-provoking book… BUT, in the end, I felt that I’d been hood-winked. I think I would probably have a good case under the Trades Description Act, 1968.
The book consists of 196 dense pages of text – essentially focussing on the USA. They provide insights into the consequences of capitalist globalisation. They analyse the state of the planet. They tell us how we got here. They explain the motivations of those on the world stage… BUT they do NOT inform us why we should feel optimistic rather than desperate. Indeed, the quote at the top of the page is the ONLY reference to ‘optimism over despair’ in the entire book… and it comes at the very end of the book (ie. the final paragraph of P196!) in response to the question: “Are you overall optimistic about the future of humanity, given the kind of creatures we are?”… and, in fact, the quote is not complete – because Chomsky added five more words at the end of it: “Not much of a choice”! In fact, this concluding chapter was written in February 2016 – nine months before Trump’s election – so who knows if he still thinks there’s a case for optimism today?
Did the book make me feel better informed about the ways of the world, unfettered corporate expansion, the effects of unmitigated climate change, illegal wars? Yes, of course I did.
Did the book make me feel less desperate and more optimistic? Absolutely not (indeed quite the reverse – and it was published before Trump had settled into his new ‘role’ and before the ramifications of Brexit here in the UK had begun to unfold).

It would be foolhardy of me to try to summarise Chomsky’s views on the incredibly wide-ranging number of issues covered in the book, but I’ll leave you with just a few extracts (apologies for their great length, but they include some interesting stuff in my view!):

·         “It is well established that electoral campaigns are designed so as to marginalise issues and focus on personalities, rhetorical style, body language and the like. And there are good reasons. Party managers read polls and are well aware that on a host of major issues, both parties are well to the right of the population – not surprisingly; they are, after all, business parties”.

·         “A recent IMF study attributes the profits of the big banks almost entirely to the implicit government insurance policy (‘too big to fail’), not just the widely publicised bailouts but access to cheap credit, favourable ratings because of state guarantee, and much else”.
·         “But the big banks, which were responsible for the latest crisis, are bigger and richer than ever. Corporate profits are breaking records, wealth beyond the dreams of avarice is accumulating among those who count, and labour is severely weakened by union busting and ‘growing worker insecurity’, to borrow the term Alan Greenspan used in explaining the grand success of the economy he managed, when he was still ‘Sir Alan’ – perhaps the greatest economist since Adam Smith, before the collapse of the structure he had administered, along with its intellectual foundations. So what is there to complain about?”.
·         “JP Morgan Chase has just been fined $13billion (half of it tax-deductible) for what should be regarded as criminal behaviour in fraudulent mortgage schemes, from which the usual victims suffer under hopeless burdens of debt… The inspector-general of the US government bailout programme, Neil Barofsky, pointed out that it was officially a legislative bargain: the banks that were the culprits were to be bailed out, and their victims, people losing their homes, were to be given some limited protection and support. As he explains, only the first part of the bargain was seriously honoured, and the plan became a ‘giveaway to Wall Street executives’ – to the surprise of no one who understands ‘really existing capitalism’. The list goes on”.
·         “Democrats have to face the fact that for forty years they have pretty much abandoned whatever commitment they had to working people”.
·         (Reference to Goldman Sachs ‘surging stock price’ following Trump’s election and…): “Other big gainers are energy corporations, health insurers, and construction firms, all expecting huge profits from the administration’s announced plans. These include Paul Ryan-style fiscal programme of tax cuts for the rich and corporations, increased military spending, turning the health system over even more to insurance companies with predictable consequences, taxpayer largesse for a privatised form of credit-based infrastructure development, and other ‘normal Republican’ gifts to wealth and privilege at taxpayer expense. Rather plausibly, economist Larry Summers describes the fiscal programme as ‘the most misguided set of tax changes in US history which will massively favour the top 1% of income earners, threaten an explosive rise in federal debt, complicate the tax code and do little if anything to spur growth’. But great news for those who matter”.
·         “Prestigious and influential positions in Congress used to be granted to on the basis of seniority and perceived achievement. Now they are basically bought, which drives congressional representatives even deeper into the pockets of the rich. And the Supreme Court decisions have accelerated the process”.
·         “On November 8 (2016), the most powerful country in world history, which will set its stamp on what comes next, had an election. The outcome placed total control of the government – executive, Congress, the Supreme Court – in the hands of the Republican Party, which has become the most dangerous organisation in world history… The party is dedicated to racing as rapidly as possible to destruction of organised human life… The winning candidate, now president-elect, calls for rapid increase in use of fossil fuels, including coal; dismantling of regulations; rejection of help to developing countries that are seeking to move to sustainable energy; and, in general, racing to the cliff as fast as possible”.
·         “One of the difficulties in raising public concern over the very severe threats of global warming is that 40% of the US population does not see why it is a problem, since Christ is returning in a few decades”.
·         “It is an astonishing fact about the current era that in the most powerful country in world history, with a high level of education and privilege, one of the two political parties virtually denies the well-established facts about anthropogenic climate change. In the primary debates for the 2016 election, every single Republican candidate was a climate change denier, with one exception, John Kasich – the ‘rational moderate’ – who said it may be happening but we shouldn’t do anything about it”.
·         “Concentration of wealth leads naturally to concentration of power, which in turn translates to legislation favouring interests of the rich and powerful and thereby increasing even further the concentration of power and wealth… It’s a vicious cycle in constant progress. The state is there to provide security and support to the interests of the privileged and powerful sectors of society, while the rest of the population is left to experience the brutal reality of capitalism. Socialism for the rich, capitalism for the poor”.
·         “Trump supporters include much of the white working-class. One can understand their anger and frustration, and why Trump’s rhetoric might appeal to them. But they are betting on the wrong horse. His policy proposals – to the limited extent that they are coherent – not only do not seriously address their legitimate concerns but would be quite harmful to them. And not just to them”.
·         “Since oppression and repression exist, they are reflections of human nature. The same is true of sympathy, solidarity, kindness, and concern for others – and for some great figures, like Adam Smith, these were essential properties of humans. The task for social policy is to design the ways we live and the institutional and cultural structure of our lives so as to favour the benign and to suppress the harsh and destructive aspects of our fundamental nature”.
·         “There are two grim shadows that loom over everything that we consider: environmental catastrophe and nuclear war, the latter threat much under-estimated, in my view”.
Much food for thought… and very little of it feeling suitable for consumption.

first day of the 2019 cricket season…

I had originally planned to travel down to Taunton today to watch Somerset play Kent, but the forecast was for light rain all day. I ended getting on the number 75 bus to the Brightside Ground here in Bristol (the forecast looked much more promising) to watch Gloucestershire against Oxford MCCU (a combined team formed from Oxford University and Oxford Brookes University)… with the added bonus that entrance was free! The other attraction was that I could cart all my cricket books across town and donate them to the Club Shop’s secondhand bookstall.

Well, the day didn’t quite go as planned:
1. I set out from the house (suitably dressed for watching cricket - in several layers of clothing, including thermal underwear, fleece, waterproof, scarf and gloves… as you do) and, just as I was about to get on the bus, realised that I’d left my bus pass and bank cards at home. I duly retraced my steps, collected the aforementioned articles and eventually caught my bus.
2. The journey was fine and I arrived 25 minutes before start of play. I went straight to the Club Shop (I tell you, those books were bloomin’ heavy and I couldn’t wait to present them to the grateful shop manager!). Sadly, he told me that they weren’t ‘doing’ secondhand books this season… “Tony’s still going to persevere with the books off his own bat* (* that’s a cricket joke!), but he won’t be around until the Cheltenham Festival games later in the summer”. So I ended up having to lug all the books around with me… despite the temptation to leave individual books in secret places around the ground, just to lighten the load.
3. When I first arrived at the ground, the groundstaff were busy clearing away the cricket covers and huge tarpaulins ready for play to start at 11am… but then it started to rain. So the groundstaff had to reverse what they were doing and reinstate the covers/tarpaulins accordingly.
4. And so the crowd (numbering about six in total at that time?) sat around and waited for the shower to pass… which it did, eventually. In the meantime, there was an announcement that it had been decided that the players would be taking an ‘early lunch’ at 12.20pm, with a view to starting play some time around 1pm.
5. So, the ground staff recommenced their work… a tractor busied itself around the outfield clearing the surface rainwater, the senior groundsman started painting the white lines for the batting creases, the stumps were set up… everything was ready for the first ball of the season to be bowled.
6. Well (and you know what’s coming, don’t you?!), at around 12.40pm, it started to rain again (quite hard, steady sort of rain) and dark clouds surrounded the ground. I waited for a while in case there was an improvement…
7. By this time, I was feeling pretty cold and pretty miserable (yes, me!)… I’d been sitting out under cover reading for most of the time (NOT one of my cricket books!) and had also done a very quick stand-up sketch of one of the sightscreens (I know!). It was time to go to the bar, get myself a pint of beer and maybe a pasty… then I thought, do you know, I think I’ll just get on a bus home, get myself some lunch and settle down with my book in comfort!
In fact, play did start (just before 3pm). Gloucestershire batted and, it seems, made a terrible start (reduced to 17-3 at one stage) but slightly recovered to 51-3 before, you guessed it, it started to rain again! They restarted some time after 5.15pm and managed to play for another 40 minutes.
So, yes, I’ve attended my first game of the new cricket season… BUT I’ve still to see a ball being bowled in anger.
But, hey, it’s not ALL bad news. At least I was RIGHT in deciding not to go to Taunton… there was no play there at all due to rain.
Next time. Next time!
Photo: Being a member of the ground staff on a wet day is no fun!
PS: It’s feels somewhat ironic/nostalgic that Gloucestershire were playing Oxford University as, from the summer of 1968 until the mid-1970s, I used to go down to The Parks regularly to watch the cricket – featuring the likes of Imran Khan and Vic Marks.
PPS: Obviously, if you fancy giving some old cricket books a good home, please do let me know (seriously!)(I could let you have a list of titles).

 

put it to the people march. london...

I was one of the thousands and thousands who participated in yesterday’s march demanding a People’s Vote. The organisers reckon there were more than a million marchers and various reports have speculated that it might actually have been the largest in the UK… ever – even bigger than the demonstration against the Iraq war in February 2003 (which I also attended).
It was quite an experience. I’ve never seen as many EU flags in my life! People everywhere - happy chanting marchers… applauding and waving spectators. Crowds of demonstrators literally inching their way down Piccadilly at the start of the march (it must have taken an hour and a half to cover the first half mile)... focussed, in very good spirits (and voice), peaceful, passionate and determined.
During the course of the march, I found myself (at various times) walking alongside two wonderful, colourful, talented drumming bands. Despite being a man of natural rhythm (well, in my head!!)(obviously), even I struggled to walk and jig along to the amazing beat - but some people actually DO have such talents! It was a simply wonderful atmosphere… and then, as you do, I came across a group/side of marching Morris dancers!! There’s something rather magical about being part of a large group of happy smiling people (ie. the dancers AND the rest of us). People of all ages; lots of old people like me, lots of enthusiastic young families and lots of ‘young people’ too.
A simply, brilliant memorable day.
I felt conscious that I was also representing lots of other family members and friends who weren’t able to be at the march… they were certainly with me in spirit (and I with them). This felt powerfully tangible and rather humbling.

So, will the politicians listen to us?

My first instinct (maybe I’ve just been buoyed up by yesterday’s events?) is that they simply MUST. However, I fear that the powers-that-be (and who knows who they will be over the coming days/weeks?!) will muddle on and fudge stuff once again.

And as a footnote…

As I travelled home to Bristol Temple Meads on the train last night, I found myself reflecting on the day. It had been a huge demonstration of ‘people power’… really encouraging and perceptibly powerful. It was all incredibly civilised and ‘very British’ I suppose… but it also spoke of the very best of our society and civilisation.
I was very proud to have been part of it.
But as I pondered, I also found myself realising that the marchers had been a somewhat predominantly middle-class group of individuals – and articulate, well-educated and liberal to boot. Yes, I’d be the first to acknowledge that this is a HUGE generalisation (clearly, I have absolutely no idea… it was just a ‘sense’ that I took from the day!) and, yes, I’m well aware that there are lots of passionate Brexiteers who could be described in a similar manner (ok, well maybe not liberal!). But this, in turn, reminded me of various political analyses undertaken after the Referendum and, indeed, after the 2017 General Election… which identified a significant group of disaffected, largely poorly-educated(?) members of our population for whom politics represents an unimportant, meaningless desert in their lives… many clearly feel completely forgotten and ignored by all those ‘in power’ (not just the government) and so, having been duly fed by what I regard as bigoted newspapers, ’certain’ politicians etc, have reacted accordingly when presented with their chance of ‘making a difference’. Yes, as I say, a huge generalisation… I know.
But, after my own brilliant, uplifting day with my fellow marchers, it left me feeling very dejected and sad.
Yes, I’m only too aware that, over the past three years or so (don’t remind of the Thatcher years!), I’ve also frequently felt irritated, hopeless and helpless by the actions and inactions of our politicians. The only difference between the ‘disillusioned’ and me perhaps is that I want to fight for what I believe… f for hope and for the things that are fundamentally important.or hope and for the things that are fundamentally important… and they simply feel ignored and unimportant?
I wish it was all so different.
Photo: random images from the day…

struggling schools within a struggling society: present and future problems…

You’ve probably read/heard stuff about how schools are struggling…
You’ve probably seen/read about the thousands of head teachers from around the country demonstrating in London recently…
You might be a parent who is seeing for yourself some of the scary issues schools are facing through lack of adequate funding.
You might well have shrugged your shoulders and thought: “well, we’re all struggling, what makes schools so special?”.
Well, I’d urge you to read this (please):

After retiring from my architectural practice, I spent six years working in a secondary school in a mentoring capacity. This morning, I received this from a friend/former work colleague (she’s still working in education, but not at the same school):

“I'm so glad you are out of education Steve it's heartbreaking where I work now, so many kids with problems... they just can't get the mental health support need counselling. Teachers are dealing with disruptive kids every lesson no TAs. One class has 2/3 kids with SEN no TA. When kids tell me they are cutting themselves I'm told the waiting list for in school counsellor is over 6 months. They have no money to buy in counselling support, they try to get trainee counsellors but there aren't any just now. Schools are dealing with lack of special school provision for those who need it. One boy in year9 genuinely doesn't think he's a human. Other day was lying on the floor in class teacher couldn't get him up. We are failing him as he is more anxious by an environment he shouldn't be in and the rest of the class are learning lot less. That's one example of many. I'm seeing kids where parents don't engage at all with them, complete neglect - and social services are not on any of it as short staffed. I'm not even in a pastoral role and 4 kids have confided in me this month with big problems who need and were getting no support. The sad thing is I often can't get them that support. It's breaking my heart you'd hate it. You can't run a society not looking after your mental health, disabled, your kids and the poor as well as screwing over social workers schools and hospitals. Why the hell are we letting this happen?”

Things were bad enough when I left education in 2011 (thank you Mr Gove and welcome to the depressing world of Academy Schools!). Mental health issues were rising at an alarming rate and waiting lists for counselling support for pupils were in order of six weeks (they’re now six months and the numbers of children needing support is increasing).

Disruptive pupils, lack of parental support (frankly, an alarming number of parents who seem to think they have little or no responsibility for raising their children once they’ve started school)(you might be shocked by this, but I can assure you I came across many such situations).
This is the next generation of adults we’re talking about, for goodness sake… and they’re going to be the parents of the generation after that. It MATTERS and this isn’t anything that the short-term, egotistical whims of education ministers will solve.

In my view, we’ve completely lost our way when it comes to education (some of my teacher friends might disagree with certain aspects, but…?). Everything seems to be focused on ‘league tables’ and ‘results’. Teachers are all under ridiculous pressure to ensure that ‘attainment standards’ are met and for the 'curriculum' to be rigidly adhered to. It also seems to me that it’s currently about ensuring most children receive a university education (I personally think we need to focus far more on apprenticeships and the like - a degree doesn’t need to be for everyone), instead of educating future citizens of the adult world in the broadest possible way - where the environment, the arts and humanities are given far higher priority and where issues such as relationships, respect and kindness play a fundamental part in teaching children about life and the world.

But I’m clearly living in cloud cuckoo land and I’m old and I just don’t understand.

half century…

Fifty years ago this week (well, maybe not quite this week… but pretty close), I started at Oxford School of Architecture. A handful of my close friends from that time (plus hangers-on!) will be duly getting together in Oxford to celebrate this momentous occasion.
It might get messy!
Fifty years ago, I was young. I was naïve. I was innocent(!?). I really didn’t know much about life or the world (when I compare myself to 18 year-olds of today).
Thanks to a random conversation with my Maths teacher, Gwyn Jones, I’d set my goals on becoming an architect (as opposed to a ‘draughtsman’, whatever that meant).
I’d passed my 11-plus and, much to my parents’ surprise (and staunch resistance), had gone through the ‘Remove-stream’ at Handsworth Grammar School and taken my O Level exams a year early.
Like many of my generation, no one in our family had previously gone to university. For both me and my family, it was an utterly different world. As far as my parents were concerned, I would be studying in Birmingham. I applied for a place on the architecture course at Aston, Leicester and Oxford. Much to my relief, Aston didn’t want me but Oxford offered me an interview (I can’t remember anything about Leicester apart from submitting an application).
As a very young 17 year-old, I duly went down to Oxford by train and was interviewed by the Principal – the wonderful, charismatic, unique Reginald Cave. My memory is that the interview lasted more than an hour… Reggie looked at my sketchbooks (yes, this was still a time when you needed to be able to draw if you wanted to be an architect!), asked me all sorts of mystifying questions and chatted about life and about my A Level subjects (Maths, Further Maths and Art). At the end, he offered me a place on the course… BUT, due to my young age, insisted that this be deferred for a year.
Being offered an unconditional place was absolute music to my ears and I readily accepted it - I’m pretty sure that my parents were a) similarly proud and b) at a complete loss as to how they were going to afford to make it all happen (we were very much a working class family)! 
You can imagine an equivalent situation/opportunity for a student today… So, what did I decide to do? Gap year? World travel? Somewhat ridiculously (when I now look back on things), I decided that I’d stay on for another year in the sixth form – that way, I could have another year playing for the school’s first eleven football and cricket teams. How utterly, utterly embarrassing, looking back… but despite the illogicality of the decision, my parents agreed.

A year on and I was preparing to make my way to Oxford. I needed to purchase, amongst other things, a drawing board, set square and T-square… plus drawing pens and pencils. I remember my uncle Len (who worked for the Water Board and knew about such things) telling which pens to buy (in the event, he was wrong and it took me another year or so to compile appropriate replacements!).

I distinctly remember being driven down to Oxford in our Ford Anglia (I had digs with a Mrs Brown in Headington), accompanied by my mother and our ‘auntie’ Ella. In the car’s small boot were my entire life’s possessions (or so it seemed): a medium-sized case, a portfolio and bag containing various pieces of equipment and books. Contrast this, for example, with when we took our daughter Hannah to Bath Spa University thirty years later… Moira and I had to drive her down in TWO cars, because she insisted that she NEEDED to have ALL her shoes with her (and, believe me, there were dozens!). Incidentally, I should point out that, amongst my small ‘array’ of clothes was a ‘sports jacket’… an item that my mother insisted I would need in order to attend the ‘Saturday dances’.
I kid you not.
My memories of enrolment day are relatively hazy. I remember getting my grant cheque and paying it into the bank (I was on a ‘full’ grant - £360 per year – and, amazingly, this really did suffice, just)(and without parental contributions). Of course, there were also no course fees! I think I remember getting stuck in a lift that first morning(?) and shaking hands with Steve Bowles (who was later to become my best man – he clearly thought that shaking hands was a very strange thing for students to do and has spent the past 50 years reminding me of this sad occasion).
But, hey man, this was the 1960s… flower power, drugs, Woodstock and much, much more.
On that first morning, I decided to walk into Oxford with one of my fellow architectural students, Rob Parkinson… he was public school-educated, had a posh accent and AMAZINGLY was walking around in his BARE feet (I know)! Boy, did I feel incredibly ‘un-cool’ (or whatever the word was in those days). The rest is history (obviously)…
You could buy a pint of mild in Old Headington for 1s 3d, but us hard-drinkers got into a routine of spending a whole £1 at the Turf pub on a Friday night (that’s 8 pints @ 2s 6d a pint).
Oh, yes, we knew how to live the high life!
Student life was very enjoyable, but tough… architecture students worked bloomin’ hard (even if it seemed to us that the rest of the student community spent most of their time in the common room – somewhat incredibly, we didn’t have a student bar in those early days!). Long hours and unremitting days… culminating in gruelling ‘crits’ when we had to explain and justify our schemes to our tutors (and, sometimes, to fellow students)… and then followed by two or three days of ‘rest and relaxation’ (drinking). Very competitive and great fun… but, crucially for me, it was all part of the process of ‘growing up’… and having the freedom to do this away from the confines of home was incredibly important. Those first three years on the course – and especially the first year – were gloriously life-transforming.

I readily accept that university is not for everyone (although it seems that’s what most young people are pushed into these days… wrongly, in my opinion), but just having time-off from family/home life gives young people the freedom to take their own decisions and make their own mistakes (which they will) and to learn about life, money, responsibility and relationships… still, hopefully, with the parental bail-out contingency if everything goes terribly wrong (in theory)!

As I say, for me, university WAS life-transforming and I’m just so grateful that I was given a chance to take advantage of the opportunity.
No doubt, the next few days will involve recalling various embarrassing stories and situations that we’ve spent the last 50 years trying to erase from our memories. Fortunately, there’ll also be LOTS of very fond memories too.
Photo: From a similar get together 5 years ago (very sadly, Christiane is no longer with us x).