Tag: content writing

11th Hour, 11th Day, 11th Month

I’ve always loved the poetry from WWI, not for some macabre reason, but I think we should never stop being a witness to what happened, and importantly, to keep those memories alive. A lot of it is incredible poetry in its own right, and I’ve read all of Wilfred Owen and Siegfried Sassoon’s works over the years. They’re probably my two favourites. 

But I have another reason for my interest, as at least three of my family fought in WW1, and another was a code breaker stationed overseas. My grandfather was in France as an officer, but as a qualified chemist he had the job to go and blow up any bridges that intelligence had told them the Germans would be advancing across. He also went in behind the lines to plant explosives on other enemy, war-critical installations. 

My grandfather’s cap badge

‘Look down, and swear by the slain of the War that you’ll never forget.’

by Siegfried Sassoon.

My grandfather was a bit of a writer, maybe that’s where I get it from, he wrote every day in his tiny diaries, the little ones the reps used to bring to the factory he later worked in, or that his father had brought home. He also kept war diaries and note books, with details of Morse code and translations, trench and bridge diagrams and little sketches and annotations. 

Transcribed from a coded signal from my Grandfather’s War Notebook

A sketch from my Grandfathers War Notebook

I also have a map he drew of the area just to the north of the Somme where he was stationed, as well as his signing-up notice. I am so thankful I have all of this, so I can keep in my memory the incredible things he achieved as well as the fact he was one of the kindest men, and also very dashing with his moustache and uniform. 

My Grandfather’s battalion, he is seated centre front row, holding his riding cane.

My godfather, also my great uncle, had a different story, he was much younger and hadn’t finished school yet or gone on to college or university. But when war broke out, he went to sign up. He was however a year too young and when he got into Manchester to join up, they realised his age and his mother came and got him back. But a year later he was old enough and he served in the infantry in the Manchester Regiment. 

My godfather, aged 17.

After training he was sent to the front and stationed in France. It makes me cry even now thinking of what he saw and felt. During one battle in the Somme area he was crossing the battle field along with his battalion, and he slipped into a shell crater, losing his footing as they fought their way across the battle field. Another soldier was lying in there, in screaming agony with the severity of his godawful wounds, he’d lost a leg and was bleeding out everywhere. My uncle went to give him some comfort in his dying moments, and realised he knew him – it was his cousin. In desperation to try and save his life, and with enemy gunfire whistling past, screaming rounds overhead and a field full of mines and barbed wire, he carried him out and to where he could get some help. He was awarded a medal for bravery. He was later gassed in the trenches (mustard gas) and was sent home to recover. 

But the impact of what he saw and experienced was for him and so many, many others absolutely unbearable. We can only guess at some of what they truly witnessed. But for years later he suffered with heartbreaking levels of PTSD, he had appalling nightmares and would awake on my grandmother’s sofa drenched in sweat, often screaming and sobbing. Having been a victim of gassing, he later developed throat cancer and died barely a year after I was born. The war stole this precious, kind man away from me, and a chance to get to know him, and have some memories of someone I know my father loved so much that he made him my godfather. Years later I walked across London all night to raise money for cancer research, I had his name and photograph pinned to my running number. 

My uncle and grandfather, weren’t the only members of the family to be in the Great War, there was another relative who I also want to mention, he was William Forster, born on the 28th of November 1892 in Jesmond, Newcastle. He later went to school at Downside and then to Cambridge where he got a BA and LLB. But war broke out and like many of his generation he was enlisted. William was a private, in the Royal Fusiliers, 8th Battalion. His military service number was 10497.

William was killed at the Battle of the Somme on the 7th of October, 1916 during the Attack of Bayonet Trench; he was only 23 years old. He is buried at Thiepval Memorial in France.

He is also remembered in De Ruvigny’s ‘Roll of Honour 1914-1918’ and in ‘The Valley Remembers’ by Sandy Hunter. William also has his name inscribed on a stained-glass window at All Saints Church, Thropton, Nr Alnwick. 

Image from the Attack at Bayonet Trench where William was killed. (Getty archive)

This is for my grandfather, for my godfather and also for William, and all the hundreds of thousands of lives, on both sides that never made it back. 

May we remember them all today, at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month.

No mockeries for them; no prayers nor bells,
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
 
By Wilfred Owen, from ‘Anthem for Doomed Youth’

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River Deep, Mountain High

Having spent the last 6 months living in the mountains, overlooking a large flat plain and river, while seeing how the majority of Umbrians in this area, work the land for food and resources. Right now, the olives are being harvested, a really bad year after a long, hot and dry summer. Also, people are out collecting and chopping wood and building huge piles outside their homes, ready for the winter home fires. Italy, doesn’t have its own natural gas resources, so winter energy bills can be high here, which is why so many have wood burners. But it is fuel of another sort that my story today is about. It’s about a brown coal called lignite and a young local man, earlier last century.

That vast plain that I look down on, and drive across most days, was once… well actually I need to go back further than a little bit, in fact a bloody long way back, to 1.8 million years ago, in the Pliocene Era. It was from this time period and the breaking down of plant matter that a huge presence of lignite, a type of brown fossil coal, settled into seams on what is now, that valley floor near Perugia. Lignite was to become so important in the region and wider parts of Italy as a fuel, so much so that in 1925 it was a justified expense to build the first power plant in Pietrafitta. By 1958 a new power plant, called “City of Rome”, including vast almost War of the Worlds looking excavators were deployed to remove the layers of soil and rock, so that an open cast lignite mine could be worked.

One of the huge dredging machines, used to clear the lignite mines.

But this isn’t so much about the coal mine, but about one particular man, who was sent to work in the mine after his father was killed in WWII. His name was Luigi Boldrini, he was around 14 years old and he suddenly had to be the bread winner for his family. At first Luigi worked in the mine, but as he got older, he was given more responsibility and put in charge of running one of the huge rock and earth moving machines. By this time, he was assistant mine foreman, when one day he noticed something that wasn’t the usual rock debris or coal, when he stopped what he was doing and went to look he discovered a huge fossilised mammoth tusk. 

Mammoth Tusk on display at the Paleontology Museum

Mammoths were once very prevalent in the area and they had lived from about 2 million years ago to 9,000 years ago, during the last Ice Age (the Pleistocene Epoch). Just for super quick time referencing, the Pliocene lasted from around 5.333 million to 2.58 million years ago. It marked the beginning of the transition from a warm, moist climate (perfect coal making conditions) to the more fluctuating and cooler conditions of the Pleistocene, and saw the first appearances of early human species such as Australopithecus and Homo habilis. Ironically that flat plain was also the site of a large battle between Attila the Hun and Italians in the 440’s AD, he famously arrived on an elephant, only his elephant survived that battle and most of his troops including Attila died of the diseases they caught along the way. Those plains have seen elephants in both their prehistoric and historic forms.

For to march and drill

Over field and hill

Is a military goal

Lyrics by: J.Pat O’Malley – ‘Colonel Hathi’s March’

(With apologies, you try and find a decent song about elephants or even mammoths.)

But back to the main story; Luigi stopped what he was doing and went to the mine office to report what he had found and ask that they stop excavating the coal in that area just while it could be safely retrieved. The mine was hugely important for keeping not only Umbria going, but also Rome. The mine office said no, and get back to work.

Historical photo of the Pietrafitta Lignite Mine.

But Luigi, thank the fossil gods up there, did everything he could to save the tusks. Taking time after his long shifts to dig them out and save what he could. But he kept on finding more and so he worked most nights looking for and removing what he could find and save. He even built iron frames to support the tusks and stored all the fossils carefully on racking in his own garage. This went on for years, and sometimes if he found larger remains, he would pour concrete over it to protect it from mine machinery, and come back later with friends to tip it over and bring it to his garage.

Mammoth Tusks still set in their concrete cocoon, cast by Boldroni

Years later when the mine company had wised the f*ck up and stopped being historical saboteurs, they began to allow the retrieval of remains. Sadly, by then, Luigi had died. But his legacy, his unbelievably unprecedented amount of work, dedication and fascination for what he found was not in vain. There is now a Paleontological Museum named after him, with all the fossils he found, including the upside-down ones, cast in cocoons of concrete, their contents too fragile and valuable to risk separating from the cement. Here in the museum, you can even see the iron frames he so carefully designed and forged.

His paleontological collection is displayed alongside that of the University of Perugia and the Umbrian Museums Department, his finds are considered a flagship of national paleontology and one of the most important in Europe, with current analysis looking at one of those mammoth tusks – from what is now known to be the largest mammoth in Europe, and possibly the world. It is an absolute whopper. 

Over all those years, Luigi found thousands of fossils belonging to many animal species, such as fish, amphibians, birds, bears, rhinos and elephants, monkeys, turtles and several species of deer, including an unknown species and many more. Findings of seeds, leaves and shells were also included, as well as that precious collection of Mammoths, the Mammuthus Meridionalis.

Mammoth Teeth

A few years ago, an underground car park was being dug out for a local shopping centre, and they found more mammoth remains, this time, they had learned their lesson and work was stopped while they were carefully removed and preserved. 

I guess for me, his story began with such sadness at the loss of his father, and having to work so hard at such a young age. But his discovery and his tenacity in searching for, and preserving his finds, makes him nothing short of a hero. I studied paleontology as part of my degree and its importance as a science and historical reference point is incredible. He had no training but he knew the fossils were worth the hours of hard work and preservation, and he has left a ground-breaking legacy behind him. 

One of the original iron frames, forged by Boldroni to support a mammoth tusk.

“I brought them back to see the sky and the Pietrafitta plain, where a million years ago they passed and grazed.”

Luigi Boldroni. 

Follow me at: @write.upmystreet

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Five Card Trick

Years ago, I used to play Pontoon with my father, he was an avid card game player, and while Bridge left me napping on the sofa with boredom (never got past the snooze-worthy basics), I loved playing this particular game with him. The 5 Card Trick is a special aspect of Pontoon that adds to the challenge. Understanding this can help you develop your game. To achieve a 5 Card Trick, you must collect five cards without exceeding a total value of 21, which requires a delicate balance and careful decision-making, and a lot of sniggering at our particular card table. 

If you manage to gather five cards under or equal to 21, it counts as a 5 Card Trick. This hand is highly valued and often stands out compared to other hands with a total of 21. Each time you decide to twist, you’re working towards forming this distinctive hand.

Now my papa was, unlike me, little Miss Dyscalculia here, a steely mathematician and somehow, to his dismay he had not only produced someone who was shit at maths, but also horrific at science (he was an industrial pharmacist who studied at Imperial in London). But he didn’t just have a clever mind, he snuck in the sneaky parental trick of helping me a bit with my number ineptness, while dealing on top of that the family tradition of being ultra-competitive. In all he had cleverly found a game that he and I could really enjoy together. The keeping the tally bit for me, played into my will to win, as well as track over time, who won last time, it was like another edge to the game, having those rolling score cards and league tables. It was a smashing way of giving me some number confidence back, as well as spending time with one of my favourite people on the planet. 

When my father died, and we were sitting down deciding who had what from the house. I asked for the antique card table, it’s one of those ones that swivels around and opens up with a lovely green baize circle inside. But when I eventually got it home, the absolute gem in my hand was one of our old score cards, still tucked inside the table drawer with a wedge of old wax crayon we’d used to mark the cards. It was like holding my very own King of Hearts.

But more recently, I have just binge watched my way through Sneaky Pete on Netflix. No spoilers but it’s about a confidence trickster, and this got me thinking about not just those sly types that slide into your life over the years, but particularly how money and control, amongst other abhorrence’s makes some people turn into absolute wankers, of this there is no denying. 

I’ve met a few tricky sods in my time, but sometimes I’ve trusted my belief in humanity rather than my gut instinct, and you know that’s okay too, it’s their badness, their trickery not yours or mine. I’ll let you into a secret, you can worry yourself about what’s been, the trick dear reader, is to decide how it’s going to be.  At the end of the Sneaky Pete series and without giving it all away, we see him realise a lot of things and that in one way or another is a learning for him. By repeating his tricks over and over and by teaching others he sees the value in… well, you will need to watch it to find out exactly what. But it deals back to my experience with my father, that practice is in itself a learning trick, while achieving self-belief is another altogether.

From ‘Sneaky Pete‘ (Netflix)

But what about the tricks your body or mind can play on itself. Fairly recent social media has been covering the so-called rapture, most of which was absolutely hilarious. But some people actually fall for this nonsense, and I’m not talking about your faith but the really mind-bending bollocks that this was.

Religion has a real and defining place in many people’s lives, not least of all mine. I’d go so far as to say, that particular faith aside, being brought up with a belief taught me to be a better, kinder and more honest person. Most people I know will tell you; I find it impossible to lie, and that’s not some religious guilt, it’s just an honest to goodness default setting to be truthful. And that for me is a good trick to have up your sleeve, and no I’m not going to say ‘the truth shall set you free’, but a lie, in my book takes away the person you are fibbing to, their own right to choose based on the truth. If you tell someone you are well, when you are actually sick, for instance, it takes away their ability to care or to help.  

I’ve rambled off track here a bit, as usual… but what I wanted to say, that finding your trick, that ace up your sleeve, be that a post-it note stuck to your forehead, or a rhyme that helps you remember; – that version of your own card trick, which can be as mind bending as a mathematicians puzzle or finding your own equivalent of that old Pontoon scorecard, to remind you, that like me, you can at least now add up to 21. There’s no gambling with those odds, but your chances are always good if you play life with truth and love at the centre of your deck. 

How do I do it, what’s my trick with for instance my recent country-moving decision. Yes, I get scared sometimes, like for instance, have I done the maths correctly (eeek) have I got enough in the tin to live off until I shuffle off this earth? Fear is just that, it’s a mind trick – it’s a feeling rather than a reality, the reality is I’ve got this far on my own, and now moved to another country. So, excuse me if I dust off the superwoman pants even for a moment. 

Tricks aren’t just for the brave or the calculating miscreants, we all have them up our sleeves for when we need them. Call it self-belief if you want to. 

You can go your own way

You can be true

You can go your own way

You can be true

Lyrics and Song: ‘Sail with Ease’ by Liam Bailey from Sneaky Pete, soundtrack

P.S My papa was one for some hilarious top tips, he once told me while helping with the Sunday lunch, that the best trick to get clean finger nails was to make a crumble. And that is exactly the person I got my sense of humour from, …well, I did warn you. 

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Three and a Half Lions

Cats and me we go way back. Aged two, and Lion number 1; the fam were on a camping holiday in Europe, we went to Barcelona zoo where, as a tiny tot I managed to breach the fence and get into the lion’s enclosure. Cue a security alert and my mother losing her shit while wardens went in with precautionary stun darts, to whisk me out.

Dinner Time

Years later we had a tabby cat show up with its face pressed against the French doors. I’d been begging my 11-year-old arse off to try and persuade my parents to let me have a cat, they’d stoically declined. We’d had goldfish, budgies (which are seriously boring btw) and a hamster which had escaped, chewed through an electric cable and fused the boiler. My father in a bid to save her little life, dosed her up with half a Junior Disprin and some whiskey administered from a thimble. Still not responding he proceeded to give it heart massage, aka prodding gently with his finger. Right… we all know how this ends, she carked it. So armed with a family ability to not look after pets so well, my incessant bidding was declined. 

But by now the cat distribution system had spoken, and there she was miaowing at the drawing room windows. ‘You’re not to feed her, you’ll encourage her,’ was the stern warning. I went off to school and so this went on for several days, me rushing home to see if she was still at the windows, looking hopeful. Then one day I got back from school a bit early, it was summer so I popped open the fridge in search of something cool to drink and oh my days there in the door was not only a can of cat food, but it was open and half empty. Hmm… didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to suss that someone was feeding the cat. The story didn’t stop there, turned out my papa was feeding her out of the boot of the car and my mother had said can on the go in the fridge. Anyway, Matilda, and for this story, the half lion, was with us for many years, as you’ve no doubt worked out, she was shortly allowed inside … forever. 

Time passed and several cats later, as clearly one wasn’t enough, and while working for a tea company in my 40’s, I came up with a stellar idea to set up a charity arm to my employer and give back to the part of the world from where the tea originated: southern Africa. I was responsible for setting up a fundraising campaign which ran in various guises for 16+ years,  raised money for boreholes for 10 villages for the Kalahari Bushmen, a school, an art & literacy project amongst others, and I had some of the most incredible life changing adventures in Namibia and Botswana. On one of them I was with a group from Barclays who were on a leadership management team building thing, during which we visited an art project in Botswana. I’d seen some of their work online before we went out, but seeing it in real life, meeting and talking to the artists, left a massive impression on me.

Gamnqoa Kukama at work

Art is something that should make you feel something whether it is laughter, tears or OMG that belongs in the charity shop up the high street. Feel something you should. I did. As I sat talking to them and looking at their work stacked against the walls of the tin roofed studio in ridiculous heat, I made them a promise – to not only come back but also to bring their art to London for an exhibition and tell their stories.

Ancient Bushman Rock Art – Cederberg Mountains, South Africa

It took a while to persuade the boss and also make a couple more trips out to build a set of paintings and lino prints, to fill an exhibition. Along the way I also discovered an art project in a township in South Africa, they make incredible pieces using tea bags. Well that was too good an opportunity to miss and so I got them a ton of tea bags sent direct from our supplier in South Africa and we began working on some ideas to incorporate them into the exhibition. Now before lion number 3 comes along, I need to tell you about lion number 2, need to keep this stuff in sequence and all that. 

It was after one of my trips to Botswana and I was doing the long drive south from Ghanzi to Gaberone, for my flight. If you’ve ever driven over there, you’ll know those endless roads, and much of Botswana sits on a flat plain. The roads are unlit and animals from donkeys to you’ve guessed it, wander around and cause some horrible accidents, particularly in the dark.

One of those long dusty Botswanan Roads (cow subbed for lion)

I was trying to reach Gaborone before dusk, but after a day at the project I was really hungry so I stopped to buy a bucket of chicken wings and some cola. Rather than eat inside I quickly ate a few in a lay-by a little further down the road. Picture a lovely warm African evening, and I was eating my wings and watching the sunset in my rear-view mirror, and the driver’s window was down to let in the slowly cooling air. Something caught my eye, just moving almost out of view. Now a lot of wildlife has been perfectly created to blend in with their natural surroundings, lions not being any different. A quick glance and I couldn’t see anything more than some wafting grass. Back to the chicken and then …OMAFG there she was right by the door, (window still open btw) and eye-balling me and the chicken. She was a stunning adult and hungry lioness, and as much as I wanted to stop, take a photo and enjoy being that close to her, I donated the chicken at speed out the window and hit the pedal. I didn’t so much as stop for a pee all the way to Gaborone. 

Now then, lion no. 3… back to the tea bags, and Imizamo Yethu, in Hout Bay. They were going to produce some large pieces of art for us and would be shipped over to London in time for the exhibition. But as, and I believe these things happen for a reason, I was contacted by another charity, one that works with lion rescue and protection. They were about to do a fundraiser with a set of around 30 life size lions; would we like to support one? Didn’t take me long to say yes and as luck would have it (no coincidences in this story), they were being produced in South Africa. Rooi as he came to be known (meaning red in Afrikaans, like the colour of tea) was delivered to the tea bag art project, and while I was kept up to date with the design and it’s creation, what arrived in London (thank you Kenyan Airways for flying it back to London for us), was incredible. Rooi took a focal point in the art exhibition and his auction on the opening night raised thousands of pounds, in addition to the quite beautiful collection of wildlife paintings from Botswana.

The Beautiful Lion, ‘Rooi’ at the Bushman Art Exhibition.

Bushmen believe that during their trance dances, shapeshifting into a lion’s form is one of the most powerful and spiritual forms they can take. They believe that they turn into an actual lion, travelling between the heavens and the earth. The exhibition focused on the importance of wildlife to the San peoples across Namibia and Botswana, and as one of them told me, ‘Wildlife is part of who we are, our art lifts us out of the darkness.’

‘Hush, my darling, don’t fear my darling

The lion sleeps tonight’ 

Originally written in the Zulu language, The Lion Sleeps Tonight was recorded by Solomon Linda in 1939 in South Africa, but called ‘Mbube’. It wasn’t until the 1960’s that it became a global hit with a new title, by The Tokens

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A Sign of the Times

An Otterly Brilliant Sign

I’ve always loved a good signpost, I think it’s the geographer in me, that loves maps and navigating and they’re all wrapped up together. That and my ironical innate sense of any direction, makes them vital markers in my brain. The word ‘sign’ itself is derived from the Latin signum, meaning “mark” or “signal’. But signs aren’t just about the ones telling you the train is coming, to stick to the footpath, how many miles it is to the next town, or when to turn left. They can be as vital as sign language or even those small things that you see and then interpret; the look on someone’s face, their tone of voice or that they are always late, return your calls on time, always know what to say … the list is endless. We all have our little markers in life those signals, that tell us what we feel we need to know or understand. Star signs, a white feather, road signs, up in the bloody air signs, they are all around us. Hearing your neighbours arguing continually through the walls, can be a sign it’s time to move house, or the summer waft of grilling burgers may be your sign that as a barbecue enthusiast, you have landed on your upturned burger bun-loving feet. 

But what are my signs? Well for one, I’ve been thinking a lot of a friend of mine lately, she died a few years ago of the unmentionable C-word, she was a life force and my lasting memory of her is dancing on the stage at the Breast Cancer fashion show, while Tony Christie belted out “Is this the way to Amarillo.’ But more than that, she loved rainbows, and since she’s gone whenever I see a rainbow I feel she’s here giving me a little sign. She was hugely encouraging, when I first started seriously thinking of moving to Italy, and her fierce bravery for life is one in which I often seek comfort. 

For Rachel

The seasons here in Umbria are shifting, a couple of storms later and while it is still toasty in the high 20’s during the day, the mornings up here in the mountains are swathed in mist, making it seem like I’m living in the clouds. It’s quite beautiful and worth getting up early to witness.

But it’s a sign that winter is coming and cooler nights (hallelujah) and finally I can think about wearing the jeans I brought with me 5 months ago.  But those few rainy days, brought some stunning rainbows, and if I needed it, a sign that I am where I am meant to be.  The fields that were full of sunflowers in June are drying and being harvested, another sign of shifting daylight hours as those golden heads darken and droop. Did you know sunflowers are a sign of our condition of being?

And weirdly for some reason I’ve been feeling more anxious lately, the purchase of the apartment I am buying is seemingly endless with complications. I’ve never moved house, without there being some delay, major stress or nightmare survey, I am sure this has played a part, too many bad experiences. While this one isn’t falling into that pot exactly, I’ve noticed that I’ve begun to check my phone a lot, for any updates or replies, and how that’s been making me feel, tense and worried. Time is ticking along. That was my sign to find a way to relax, so while I still had my phone in my hand, I booked myself into a hot spring spa about an hour away in Tuscany for an afternoon of relaxing. The last few months have been fun but also exhausting; navigating bureaucracy in another language that I am far from fluent in, but also solo. We all need to pay attention to those signs that it’s time to switch off, and I had a super afternoon for the sum total of 29 Euros, floating in hot natural springs. It was fabulous. 

A Sign to Relax

Italians seem to love signs to the point of oblivion and confusion. Pretty much every road junction and bend in the highway is cluttered with a stack of often conflicting signposts, don’t get me started on when there are two facing opposite ways for the same thing. But my point here is don’t let those signs in your head stack up like a mad Italian crossroads, listen to them as they are rarely ever wrong. 

Sign, sign

Everywhere a sign

Blockin out the scenery

Breakin’ my mind

Do this, do that

Can’t you read the sign?

Song and Lyrics by – Five Man Electrical Band

PS If you need a sign to go exploring one night in the dark, drive up to that hilltop and wait for the lunar eclipse to appear through the soft clouds on the horizon. This is my sign to you to not miss those experiences. 

Lunar Eclipse over Perugia

PPS This could be your sign to ask me to do some content writing for you, I can be reached at writeupymystreet@btinternet.com

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