Silent Night

My grandfather would always walk out of the room when he heard this carol. It was bizarre. Up he’d get and storm off grumbling to himself. I can remember my Nan smiling sadly to us all and explaining it away with “he just can’t bear to hear it; it’s to do with the war”.

It puzzled me for years. Sometime in my teens I thought I had it figured. Silent Night is a German carol. That must be it, I thought. The Germans, the war time foe. Though his reaction was so extreme this hardly seemed a decent explanation.

It wasn’t until a few years ago that he finally told me the reason. Before his illness and old age robbed him of the ability and the will to tell me stories of his war time experiences he just came out with it one lunch time while we were tucking into fish and chips.

My grandfather was a seaman in the Royal Navy and took part in a great number of the convoys that carried and fetched supplied to and from South Africa, Europe, Malta and the Med, etc. His ship, H.M.S. Kelvin, saw a good deal of action and was one of the ships celebrated for breaking through the curtain the Germans and Italians had put around Malta – it was certainly the exploit that he spoke about with the most ease and pride.

This other story though was more painful and was one he’d carried around with him for more than 60 years without speaking much about it...

I believe his ship was part of a night convoy in the North Atlantic. It was winter and bitterly cold. A man overboard would be dead within minutes – from the cold rather than drowning. The going was cautious – German U-Boats were about and very active. The ships were effectively operating under black-out – no lights, engines only and no radio communication. Anything to minimize the possibility of a U-Boat picking them up. Another stipulation was that the ships were not allowed to stop. Not for anything. Not even to help a comrade fallen overboard. They had to keep going; they had to get through.

The ship ahead was unlucky. A U-Boat picked her off sometime in the small hours and she went down spilling her crew - hundreds of men - into the water.

The other ships, including my grandfather’s could not stop to pick up the survivors. They knew this. The men in the water also knew this and very softly sang Silent Night as the convoy and their comrades continued on into the night and away from them.

I cannot imagine the pain of having to live through that night and of having such a memory bubble to the surface for every Christmas that you experience afterwards. If not for his reaction to the carol we would never have known.

When I hear Silent Night now I too will feel sad and an aching sense of pain though for different reasons. And I shall remember all the Christmases when my grandfather disappeared out into the kitchen to bang about with the kettle until the carol had finished.

And I shall feel regret and I shall feel sorrow.

But mostly I shall feel pride.

The Miser’s Touch

I’m at odds with the world today. I don’t know what it or I have done but we’re not on good terms. The atmosphere is decidedly chilled.

I’m not sure who started it and I’m not sure when it will end but we’re heading for certain bloodshed.

It seemed to start when I got up this morning. The world was deliberately obtuse and uncooperative. Things wouldn’t open properly. Things would fall out of my hands. Things would spill. Other things, evil cupboardy things, would mysteriously open at malicious angles and crack me passing blows on the head.

I cottoned on pretty quickly. Let’s face it when a campaign is being waged against you it doesn’t take long for the signs to become self-evident.

For my part I have responded with rapid fire door slamming, aerial bombardments of stomping and carpet bombing with high explosive expletives. I have an everlasting supply of the latter so if this is to be a war of attrition, world, you’d better be in for the long haul.

Please don’t worry about me, people, I can hold my own. But it is, I admit, a lonely stance. My biggest enemy is my own paranoia. I am eyeing old friends with suspicion. Have they been converted? Brainwashed? Programmed against me? Sleeper agents waiting for the trigger word...? My computer, my mobile phone, even my MP3 player – their shiny buttons look like teeth this morning. I’m not sure I can trust their electrical impulses to remain loyal. The world is urging them to foul up. To lose or corrupt data. To crash.

Even the toaster is looking at me belligerently.

What have I done? What have I done?

I’ve gone over it all in my head but I can’t think of a damned thing. Was I too rough with the oven? Has the world taken the size of my carbon footprint personally?

Why are you picking on me and not Jeremy Clarkson?

The world is so unfair!

Well, enough is enough!

If it’s a fight you want, world, you can have one! Put ‘em up or shut up!

Let’s Play Global Thermal Nuclear War

You can’t turn on the TV these days without seeing some C list celeb adding their twopenneth-worth to the National anti-knife campaign or some appropriately austere politician promising tougher sentencing for those caught carrying knives or other catering based weaponry on our streets.

And on the whole I’m not complaining. Something does need to be done. And yes tougher sentencing is the answer. For those caught carrying as well as those caught using knives. Cos it’s all the same in my book.

What worries me most though is the justification that these knife wielders frequently put forward in defence of their need to carry knives. Twice this week I’ve heard the phrases “self defence” and “deterrent” used by some hoodie when asked why he has to carry a knife.

Kind of reminds me of the justification that our politicians used years ago (and still use) whenever they were questioned about the massive stockpile of nuclear weapons that they were building up. Why do we need such weapons?

- Because they maintain the peace; they deter outbreaks of war, blah blah blah.

But did anyone ever believe that?

Isn’t it a case that possessing any kind of weapon is actually an unspoken threat of war not a deterrent to ensure everlasting peace? There’s a big difference.

Tooling yourself up as an act of self defence is a complete fallacy. Wearing body armour – that’s self defence. Carrying a can of mace or a personal alarm – that’s self defence.

Shoving a 12 inch carving knife down the front of your baggies is an act of war.

And there is no justification.

At War With The World

I’m not sure who fired the first shot but the battle lines have undoubtedly been drawn this morning. My enemy seems to be everywhere. Not in full view like a Napoleonic regiment but instead secreted behind every window and street corner... a host of snipers hidden at every vantage point as I go about my day to day business.

There’s nothing fatal about their attacks but they’re debilitating. Their ammunition is irritation and annoyance. They’re fighting a war of attrition to wear me down.

And it’s working.

Every job I undertake is interrupted with the pressing needs of three others. Keys required for various work tasks seem to just walk away by themselves or vanish into thin air. My computer is on a go slow – I’m not joking; my paperclip tray has more processing power than my PC at the moment. My telephone is refusing to work... I swear to God it is connecting to numbers that I haven’t even dialled.

And my pens.

Even my pens have turned against me.

I got into work this morning to find their tops have all mysteriously been chewed over the weekend.

I, personally, do not chew pens. I do not chew pencils, crayons, biros, paint brushes or anything in fact except food. I don’t even chew chewing gum.

So how the hell has that happened? Or perhaps rather, why?

If the world wants to fight dirty, so be it.

As of now the gloves are off.

A Load Of Tosh

Actually, despite the title, this is going to be a favourable review of last night’s episode of Torchwood...

At last we were presented with a story that had depth, emotional content and decent social commentary. It also made far better use of Toshiko than her usual sidelined role of pretty-but-not-pretty-enough-Asian-geek-girl-in-the-background.

I have to confess that Toshiko has grown on me. Out of the all Torchwoodies she’s my favourite by far. Gwen I’m still ambivalent about: nice hair, nice eyes, but annoying trailer park attitude. Toshiko is quietly intelligent and the most morally upright member of the team.

And yes, she’s another brunette but that has no bearing on my opinion at all. Honestly.

Anyway yesterday’s episode revolved around a shell-shocked soldier removed from 1918 and cryogenically frozen by Torchwood in order for him to be reinserted back into his own time and so close up an immense rift in time that was forecast to destroy the world in 2008.

But let’s not get bogged down with the science.

This poor guy had been awoken / thawed out once a year since 1918 (and then refrozen) to give him a breath of fresh air, a walk in the park and to make sure that “everything still worked”.

I have to say that Toshiko was very thorough in checking that all his parts were still in working order. Having been his guardian on his previous “awake days” she’d fallen head over heels in love with him...

Geez, but Tosh needs to get out more! 4 dates in 4 years and she’s smitten?!? I’m not saying she’s easy but...

Sorry, ignore my ingrained and in-growing cynicism. It was actually a very touching relationship between the two of them, aided somewhat by Toshiko’s inherent shyness and social ineptitude and the young soldier, Tommy’s, fragile and wonder-filled state at being removed from the conflict of WWI and being allowed glimpses of the world that slowly formed in its aftermath.

And the fact he called Tosh a “daft lass”.

Hey, you may scoff but it got Tosh into bed and young Tommy showed what he was made of by going over the top with his bayonet fixed. Or something like that.

The clash between 1918 and the present also allowed the writer’s to critique the modern world – nothing too astounding or earth shattering here and nothing that hasn’t been done before but it was all expressed rather nicely and personably. As Tommy says: they fought the war to end all wars and then 3 weeks later (from his perspective) there was another one. What was the point of it all?

Cue sad and weary bout of naval gazing.

Of course it had to end. Badly for Tommy and Tosh but well for the rest of us. Tommy had to go back to 1918 when the time rift threatened to pull reality and the whole dang future down into the pan... unfortunately, according to the records from 1918 it was plain that Tommy’s condition, like so many struck down with shell-shock at the time, was hardly met with kindness and understanding by the army top brass. A few weeks after his discharge from hospital he was sent back to the front, suffered a relapse and was summarily executed for cowardice.

Thank you for saving the world and any last requests?

Bang bang.

Hey but at least he’d got a chance to smoke a last cigarette post coitus with Tosh.

That’s not too bad a way to go and in terms of the “big push”... at least the earth moved for them both.

For Once A Good Idea

I’ve just received the following email:

Number 10 Downing Street has approved a petition that was launched requesting a new public holiday falling on the Monday after Remembrance Sunday in November each year. To be known as the National Remembrance Holiday, its purpose is threefold:

1) To emphasise the remembrance of those servicemen and women who have given, and continue to give, their lives for Britain.

2) To remind people of the importance of protecting our Nation and what it stands for.

3) To break the 3 month period between the August Public Holiday and Christmas when there are currently no long weekends, especially as the UK has fewer public holidays than most European countries.

If you are in agreement, please sign up to the petition - it only takes a few moments - and it would be great if you were minded to forward the link to other people as well.

The petition is available on-line at: http://petitions.pm.gov.uk/remembermonday/

Seems like a jolly good idea to me...

Armistice

News of political correctness gone wrong and half-arsed council priorities were splashed over the front page of The Metro this morning and for once I’m in total agreement with their indignation.

It seems that an Armistice Day parade in Castle Bromwich has been cancelled as the police will be needed elsewhere to prevent two rival groups of football fans knocking seven bells out of each other; a rifle regiment in Chepstow has been told to parade without their rifles as the council leaders there fear such brazen displays of weaponry will encourage gun crime (like it needs anymore encouragement with the amount of gun based dramas on our TV screens) and apparently collection boxes in Kidderminster have had to be fitted with tamper alarms as so many of them are being broken into and the contents nicked.

What a wonderful world.

Whilst I realize that one day WWI and WWII will pass almost blandly into the musty annals of history along with the likes of the Peninsula and Boer War, at present it’s important to note that for some the events they signify still exist in living memory and we all should make the effort to remember and acknowledge the huge loss of life that was incurred. Our current world and our very freedoms (such as they are) were formed out of the smoking and bloody aftermaths of these events and it’s both callous and ungrateful to ignore this fact.

Now I realize I’m probably being over sensitive as I’m lucky enough to have a granddad who is still alive and who still retains vivid memories of being in the navy during the Second World War and who came out of the conflict with a host of medals, stories and most of his mates dead... but even without that living spur I’d hope I’d have the decency and respect to recognize how important it is to mark the 11th November.

It’s a question of dignity.

For us as well as for those who have gone before...