Bags are packed. Cab is called for the morning. The folder with the last round of reservations and itineraries is sorted and placed in the carry-on. The final small gift bought, the final meal before cleaning out the apartment's fridge.
Time for the vacation to end. Time to go home. Already, since yesterday, OS feels himself get into gear for life back home. Tomorrow includes a business meeting in London, even. The time off was so sweet while it lasted.
England is quite a place. The alarming headlines, even if true, don't tell the story of the people who live here. They are resilient, mainly cheerful and good-humored. I visited small houses, with small kitchens, lived in by people who drive small cars. The walls are lined with books, the small gardens are often small masterpieces of design. They don't understand places like Brentwood, Tennessee, with its square miles of big brick boxes with pick-ups in the driveway driven by people who haven't read a book in years.
The old WWII sign 'Keep Calm and Carry On' (and variations) has popped up again, on shirts, mugs, fridge magnets, etc. It summarizes what OS has seen here--a determination to muddle through and be happy anyway. They have seen worse, and their parents and grandparents much much worse. It's not hard to spot where the Luftwaffe did its dirty work seventy years ago, and one hears old East London accents well away from the old neighborhoods, as the inhabitants had to be relocated in the war's wake. Each little church and school seems to have a plaque recording the names of the boys lost to the two world wars--and the lists stretch on and on.
As far as the recession goes, if the streets full of shoppers are any indication, there's not that much of a downturn still in place. Groceries brim with fresh everything, and prices there are pretty reasonable. People aren't driving old cars, the trains are full but not overrun, and run on schedule. And with rare exception, people here seem uninterested in staying aboard the EU ship while it scuttles itself. A cabbie refused a Euro coin proffered, half in jest, saying, 'No mate, not interested. It won't be worth anything soon enough.'
Again, this is the south of England, in a university town, so the impression may be skewed. But morale seems pretty high, which OS did not expect.
So, home again, to the wild wooly United States, and OS's beloved small-town life.
He will miss this place as he departs.
Showing posts with label England. Show all posts
Showing posts with label England. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
The Day After The Day After Boxing Day, Thoughts From England
OS has enjoyed his quiet days here in a university town in England. There is nothing like looking at different real estate and faces to help calm the mind and give some perspective. OS, being on vacation, has no dramatic insights to offer, but he has been impressed by scenes, anecdotes, vignettes, and shares them here.
1. If there's a recession on, it's hard to tell by the Christmas shopping. The stores have been packed here, and the reports from London about the shoppers on the 27th tell of eye-watering sales figures. Now, granted, a university town is more prosperous than many other places, but the majority of the people I encountered on the streets are only indirectly attached to the university--faculty, staff and students have all bugged out on holiday.
2. It's uncanny to observe how American popular culture and mores have penetrated the UK over the years. OS and his sainted bride were serenaded while standing in queue for a concert by a choir singing 'Rudolf', 'Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire', and 'Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas', all three songs amongst the most-played songs in American history. OS also walked the streets and heard buskers playing dixieland music, and one gent singing Hank Williams songs.
3. Inspirational moment of the year was an episode of 'The Choir', following Gareth Malone as he forms a choir made up of the wives of British servicemen on deployment in Afghanistan. They learn to sing, begin to bond, and Gareth gains their trust enough for them to share the letters they write and receive to/from their husbands. From this, he consults with a composer to create an anthem for them to sing to the Queen in Royal Albert Hall. Anyone not in utter tears from viewing this has no soul.
It is the number-one single on the UK pop charts. Wonder if the purveyors of that aural pornography known as rap will take notice? This is where the culture is, people returning to the marketplace to buy records that move them.
Moh, latuh, ya'll. Traveling to other parts of the island today for lunch with friends.
This is a great place, a great people. The headlines, per usual, don't begin to tell the story.
1. If there's a recession on, it's hard to tell by the Christmas shopping. The stores have been packed here, and the reports from London about the shoppers on the 27th tell of eye-watering sales figures. Now, granted, a university town is more prosperous than many other places, but the majority of the people I encountered on the streets are only indirectly attached to the university--faculty, staff and students have all bugged out on holiday.
2. It's uncanny to observe how American popular culture and mores have penetrated the UK over the years. OS and his sainted bride were serenaded while standing in queue for a concert by a choir singing 'Rudolf', 'Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire', and 'Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas', all three songs amongst the most-played songs in American history. OS also walked the streets and heard buskers playing dixieland music, and one gent singing Hank Williams songs.
3. Inspirational moment of the year was an episode of 'The Choir', following Gareth Malone as he forms a choir made up of the wives of British servicemen on deployment in Afghanistan. They learn to sing, begin to bond, and Gareth gains their trust enough for them to share the letters they write and receive to/from their husbands. From this, he consults with a composer to create an anthem for them to sing to the Queen in Royal Albert Hall. Anyone not in utter tears from viewing this has no soul.
It is the number-one single on the UK pop charts. Wonder if the purveyors of that aural pornography known as rap will take notice? This is where the culture is, people returning to the marketplace to buy records that move them.
Moh, latuh, ya'll. Traveling to other parts of the island today for lunch with friends.
This is a great place, a great people. The headlines, per usual, don't begin to tell the story.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
A Heroine For Our Day: Eileen Nearne, British Spy In WWII France
As we are treated to the daily avalanche of words, sounds, and images lionizing public women like Lady Gaga, MichelleMaBelle, BigSis, Eileen Kagan, Oprah(how can we forget Oprah?)--the depressing list just goes on and on, OS hopes we'll take a moment to remember a very private woman, Eileen Nearne, whose service and sacrifices made it possible for us to live in a world not run by the Nazis.
From the New York Times Obituaries this week:
After she died earlier this month, a frail 89-year-old alone in a flat in the British seaside town of Torquay, Eileen Nearne, her body undiscovered for several days, was listed by local officials as a candidate for what is known in Britain as a council burial, or what in the past was called a pauper’s grave.
But after the police looked through her possessions, including a Croix de Guerre medal awarded to her by the French government after World War II, the obscurity Ms. Nearne had cultivated for decades began to slip away.
Known to her neighbors as an insistently private woman who loved cats and revealed almost nothing about her past, she has emerged as a heroine in the tortured story of Nazi-occupied France, one of the secret agents who helped prepare the French resistance for the D-Day landings in June 1944.
On Tuesday, the anonymity that Ms. Nearne had cherished in life was denied her in death. A funeral service in Torquay featured a military bugler and piper and an array of uniformed mourners. A red cushion atop her coffin bore her wartime medals. Eulogies celebrated her as one of 39 British women who were parachuted into France as secret agents by the Special Operations Executive, a wartime agency known informally as “Churchill’s secret army,” which recruited more than 14,000 agents to conduct espionage and sabotage behind enemy lines.
The rest of the story is harrowing, as she heroically endured suffering for her nation and for freedom. In real ways, she never recovered from the experience, and her death at age eighty-nine was a release from suffering.
OS sits here, able to live his wonderful life in the US, because English women like Eileen faithfully served during their lifetimes.
It receives so little mention these days, but there is a large quiet slice of British society that has always quietly gone about its business of living with great courage and generosity in the face of daunting odds. It continues quietly today, and as a matter of fact, OS was the direct recipient of some of that grace this morning. Someday, in about five years, OS will be able to tell this remarkable story. For now, only silence will do.
Yes, we've got us a biiig economy problem, but a bigger cultural problem, which has to be tackled before the economy has a chance of turning around.
It's about the culture we choose to build by the lives we lead, and the heroes we emulate.
It's the culture.
It's the culture.
It's the culture.
OS prays daily that the Eileens of this world will prevail over the Lady Gagas. His children's futures depend upon how we choose.
From the New York Times Obituaries this week:
After she died earlier this month, a frail 89-year-old alone in a flat in the British seaside town of Torquay, Eileen Nearne, her body undiscovered for several days, was listed by local officials as a candidate for what is known in Britain as a council burial, or what in the past was called a pauper’s grave.
But after the police looked through her possessions, including a Croix de Guerre medal awarded to her by the French government after World War II, the obscurity Ms. Nearne had cultivated for decades began to slip away.
Known to her neighbors as an insistently private woman who loved cats and revealed almost nothing about her past, she has emerged as a heroine in the tortured story of Nazi-occupied France, one of the secret agents who helped prepare the French resistance for the D-Day landings in June 1944.
On Tuesday, the anonymity that Ms. Nearne had cherished in life was denied her in death. A funeral service in Torquay featured a military bugler and piper and an array of uniformed mourners. A red cushion atop her coffin bore her wartime medals. Eulogies celebrated her as one of 39 British women who were parachuted into France as secret agents by the Special Operations Executive, a wartime agency known informally as “Churchill’s secret army,” which recruited more than 14,000 agents to conduct espionage and sabotage behind enemy lines.
The rest of the story is harrowing, as she heroically endured suffering for her nation and for freedom. In real ways, she never recovered from the experience, and her death at age eighty-nine was a release from suffering.
OS sits here, able to live his wonderful life in the US, because English women like Eileen faithfully served during their lifetimes.
It receives so little mention these days, but there is a large quiet slice of British society that has always quietly gone about its business of living with great courage and generosity in the face of daunting odds. It continues quietly today, and as a matter of fact, OS was the direct recipient of some of that grace this morning. Someday, in about five years, OS will be able to tell this remarkable story. For now, only silence will do.
Yes, we've got us a biiig economy problem, but a bigger cultural problem, which has to be tackled before the economy has a chance of turning around.
It's about the culture we choose to build by the lives we lead, and the heroes we emulate.
It's the culture.
It's the culture.
It's the culture.
OS prays daily that the Eileens of this world will prevail over the Lady Gagas. His children's futures depend upon how we choose.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Lord Lavendon Has A Few Questions for Mr. Obama: A Reasoned View From The UK
The erudite Lord Lavendon has requested that OldSouth pass his thoughts along to The One, The Winner Of The 2010 Nobel Peace Prize, The Editor Of The Harvard Law Review Who Never Had A Word Of His Own Published , Our Beloved Leader, The Messiah, aka The President of The United States:
Thanks, your Lordship! As often noted before, just 'cuz every word is true, it don't mean it will matter a bit to The One. Truth don't matter when there is power to acquire, ya'll.
And, trust me, we're doing our best to send Barney and Nancy on their way. They just like deer ticks on the fanny of this great country, blood-suckin', dug-in, hangin' on fer dear life, and hard to get rid of.
Stand Tall, Ya'll. And come visit us heah' in the Heartland. We are yoh' friends!
Dear Mr Obama,
Usually I would let this one go, but I am so incensed by the latest proclamation of the President of the USA, that I feel compelled to say it, i.e. the leader of our greatest ally has now compared BP and the disaster in the gulf of Mexico as being a new "9/11".
Thanks a bloody lot Mr President, so BP is now on the same level as the terrorists , suicide bombers and general threats to the USA, the civilised world and the whole of Christendom as well know it? Please, Mr President, get a bally grip. BP (which is half American anyway) has admitted responsibility for the cleanup and is going out of its way to rectify the oil flood which is playing out in American waters. But, I would hope that you understand that whereas this oil spill was an accident and that BP will pay out and rebuild what has been destroyed, the 9/11 terrorist scum leashed destruction on the USA, by choice, not accident. Furthermore, you cannot sue the terrorists nor are they an ally of yours.
If, as some of your colleagues are saying, that BP should be nationalised and asset stripped to pay for this terrible occurrence, will you not agree with me, that the UK should nationalise the UK subsidiaries of JP Morgan, Goldman Sachs, Morgan Stanley and the other "vampire squids" which have borne the UK economy to her knees? Seems wrong, illogical and wrong doesn't it ? But what is good for the goose..
Thanks a bloody lot Mr President, so BP is now on the same level as the terrorists , suicide bombers and general threats to the USA, the civilised world and the whole of Christendom as well know it? Please, Mr President, get a bally grip. BP (which is half American anyway) has admitted responsibility for the cleanup and is going out of its way to rectify the oil flood which is playing out in American waters. But, I would hope that you understand that whereas this oil spill was an accident and that BP will pay out and rebuild what has been destroyed, the 9/11 terrorist scum leashed destruction on the USA, by choice, not accident. Furthermore, you cannot sue the terrorists nor are they an ally of yours.
If, as some of your colleagues are saying, that BP should be nationalised and asset stripped to pay for this terrible occurrence, will you not agree with me, that the UK should nationalise the UK subsidiaries of JP Morgan, Goldman Sachs, Morgan Stanley and the other "vampire squids" which have borne the UK economy to her knees? Seems wrong, illogical and wrong doesn't it ? But what is good for the goose..
Also, I think that you can have the DVDs back, which you gave our former PM (not that he could watch them anyway) , in the same way that you returned the bust of Britain's greatest -yes greatest- Prime Minister Churchill. Churchill was a bally hero to us Brits, who bought us through Britain's darkest hour- yes our darkest hour- when the forces of national socialism had conquered all of Europe, it was only Britain and her Dominions who stood between the light and the dark, until the Japs made sure your entry on the right side. How would you feel if we had a bust of George Washington or Lincoln and gave it back? Clearly you need a lesson in manners, honour and decency.
Whilst I am ranting, I would just like to let you know that, with regret, many of my patriots are becoming increasingly anti- American. Those of us , who argue for strong Anglo-American ties, are becoming a minority. Your actions are quickly adding fuel to the fire of those who wish the UK to become a province of the Euro-Super state; a state which would be nothing more than a pro-French, anti- American front.
Finally, I would like to pay tribute to the people of your great nation- tribute for putting up with you for so long. If you had been in Britain, you would be in the tower by now. I only hope that your great nation will vote against you and your socialist Democrat party, to restore one of the great nations of this earth, to restore the liberties and freedoms of America, which are are light and a treasure to the rest of the world. We in the UK had to put up with 13 years of failed socialist government- we are bust and a beggar to the world. I pray that such a state will not happen in your country.
God Bless America, God bless the Anglo-American special relationship!
Yours Lavendon
P.S- when the next financial crisis hits us, can you please have sacked that bloody irritating 'Barney Frank', who looks like he belongs in an Al Capone movie?
P.P.S- also can you please retire Nancy Pelosi, as I fear than any further Botox, will send her over the edge.....
Thanks, your Lordship! As often noted before, just 'cuz every word is true, it don't mean it will matter a bit to The One. Truth don't matter when there is power to acquire, ya'll.
And, trust me, we're doing our best to send Barney and Nancy on their way. They just like deer ticks on the fanny of this great country, blood-suckin', dug-in, hangin' on fer dear life, and hard to get rid of.
Stand Tall, Ya'll. And come visit us heah' in the Heartland. We are yoh' friends!
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