Weekly Lesson: Remembrance Sunday

For study until 17th of November 2024

Subject: Remembrance Sunday

Audio: On usual social media platforms

Remembrance Sunday

In the month of November, on the Sunday closest to the 11th, Remembrance Sunday takes place. The day is supposed to commemorate the War Dead across the Commonwealth and British territories but for younger generations it is often perceived as incredibly dull.  Since it is a historic ceremony involving the dead, it has been enshrined in our communities as being very important, reminding us that democracy is not an automatic right, it is something which was fought for at a great price with a loss of life.  Our Leaders gather at War Memorials up and down the country and lay flowers, remembering all those who have died. In these days where we celebrate diversity and peace, ceremonies like this can seem a bit icky.  In fact for most of us the ickiness of the day sits in direct contrast with modern living.

The ceremony represents the face of Britain as it was in 1919 when the first took place on Armistice Day in 1919. Over time it has been expanded to include the Second World War and other conflicts in the World.  Little has changed in the ceremony since 1919, the three faces of the Government  all come together. The Monarchy, the Church and the Military all parade through the streets, looking like a reminder of days gone by.  Despite the Government telling us that Britain is now multicultural and politically correct, the ceremony itself is embarrassingly “white”.

When I was a little boy, in the 1980s, there were still people around who remembered the First World War known as World War One and Remembrance Sunday seemed much more important than it is today. World War One still encroaches on our lives today as well; If you work for a company here, you may be asked on certain days to observe a two minute silence to remember the War Dead on anniversaries of World War One.  If I had a penny for every time I have been asked to respect a two minute silence to remember the war, I would be a very rich man by now.

I stopped commemorating  Remembrance Sunday some years ago, I really dislike the two minute silence part at 11am where we are told we have to “shut up” for two minutes to remember those who died in the Wars. That may have worked some years ago but these days trying to get anyone to focus on something for 2 minutes is not likely to happen.

I find the whole thing rather fake,  I mean billions are spent on having ceremonies remembering the Glorious Dead from the old British Empire, why not just look at stopping war. Would that not be a better idea or forget about the ceremony and give the money to a charity instead? 

Then there’s the Royal commentary about the King and Queen who are of course leading the ceremony in London dressed in black wearing poppies on their jackets. A poppy is a little flower that you can see everyone wearing the week before the ceremony it is a little paper flower which is bright red and sometimes has a bit of green at the back. It is used as a symbol of remembering our War Dead.

Apparently this year our Queen has a chest infection so she cannot attend.  It is a very sombre affair,  my Grandmother used to say our Royals all look like horses with their rather protruding teeth and many people here refer to them as “horsey” – meaning they have horse features. I can imagine them nibbling on the flowers rather than laying them at the cenotaph.

 It’s hard to escape, every news channel in the UK has live coverage from London showing our Royals arriving looking more like they are going to the Oscars rather than the Cenotaph.

“And today the Queen is wearing the pearls gifted to her from the Sultan of Oman… and the king’s coat was last seen worn at his Mother’s funeral…”. It is the epitome of boredom, kitsch and a ceremony which feels wrong in so many ways. It really is just icky.

Last year I forgot about the ceremony and tried to listen to radio on my phone at 11.01am. Getting no sound I immediately uninstalled the app, still heard nothing and blamed my Bluetooth buds. Just before giving up and threatening to reset the whole phone, I heard a trumpet and realised it marked the end of the two minute silence, my equipment was fine and started playing. I rolled my eyes, picked up my cat and went to the other room to watch Angela Lansbury as Jessica Fletcher in Murder She Wrote, solve another murder. It seemed the only way I could escape the boredom of the day.

Earlier this year it got quite exciting, in my local newspaper there was an enquiry from volunteers who look after  a War Cemetery in the Netherlands seeking contact with relatives of people buried there. The name was one of my Mother’s cousins and I was able to pass photos and give a short biography of the man. The Dutch guy who wanted the info was really excited and clearly thought we were going to be best friends forever and share a love for researching  the lives of young men who died tragically.  From my point of view it was interesting to know where Tommy was buried but I never knew him, he died during the war.  I only  knew that it wasn’t exactly a hero’s death, he was stealing chickens from the enemy camp during World War Two and sadly a bomb dropped while he was there.  Maybe I will drop into to the cemetery the next time I am in the Netherlands but there’s more chance of me being in the supermarket buying chicken  rather than remembering Tommy this year. As much as I love family history, I never expected to be the last man standing with photos and biographies. I  am only in my fifties after all, still very young.

Anyway, after this ceremony, my attention will be turning to Christmas cards another eccentrically British tradition and I’ll be looking at my Christmas card list to see who I got a card from last year and who is worthy of a card this year. If I don’t get a card two years in a row  from someone, then the person is removed from my list.

 This may be a far cry from Remembrance Sunday but equally important in my opinion.

Weekly Lesson: The TV Licence

For study until 27th of October 2024

Subject: The Television Licence

Audio: On usual social media platforms.

The Television Licence

It was one of those days where I was grateful for technology. After hearing someone knocking at my door, I opened the doorbell video app on my phone and saw two men standing there.

“Oh” I thought…..either they are trying to sell me a broadband deal for better Wifi or, they are religious. I had to make a snap decision whether to actually open the door, so I thought it best just to ask them who they are, using my phone. After all, last time I was lumbered with a heater, toaster and washing machine (see my lesson from two weeks ago) from the Charity givers.

“Can I help?” I asked, while staring at the app and the mic on my phone.

“Yes, it is TV Licence Enforcement, we need to see your licence”.

“Oh, OK”

I walked to the door, trying to gather my thoughts on the way, I opened it to see an ID pushed into my face.

“Its about your TV Licence sir”, one of them blurted out. “We just checked with the Post Office, it has expired”.

I remembered how serious this can be. If you own a TV in the UK then you need to also have a licence. It costs around £200 each year.  When you buy a TV, you also need to give your name and address and the shop is legally obliged to tell the Enforcement Officers. You also need one if you have BBC Iplayer on your phone or computer. It’s terribly organised and definitely very British to enforce it in this way.

“I have a licence” – in fact I pay quarterly” I replied,  “ you took forty pounds just yesterday from my bank account”. I chuckled. They clearly didn’t see the funny side of my words. Of course they wanted to see the paper, so I invited them in.

“Sooooo, that’s the TV?” they said as they entered my living room. They were obviously still in suspicion mode. I did my best not to give a sarcastic remark.  By this point I was trying desperately to find my licence. I remembered it was electronic so I was scrolling through my phone trying to find it. It seemed like a lifetime had passed,

“If this was Ancient Egypt you would have found it by now” – one of them said sarcastically.

As I was standing at the window scrolling on my phone, I saw their truck  outside, it kind of looked like a camper van or little caravan with a huge metal bit on the roof but their trucks always look uglier and more grey than any holiday truck.

“Nice cat” one of the men said. My cat hissed and walked away. I really wish I could have done the same.

“Not friendly is he?” he chortled.

“Oh he hates everyone, its not personal, don’t worry” – I quipped.

“Here is the licence” – I showed it to them on my phone and they looked confused.

“Is this not apartment number one? They asked squinting their eyes.

“No, this is apartment two”  I responded, realising what had happened.

“Well, sorry we got the wrong apartment” they admitted, as they both headed to the door.

“Well there’s no one living next door” I chirped again, the guy left some weeks ago, I know because I have some stuff here for him.

“Oh there is someone there  – we can see what channel they are watching” he said as he looked down at his Ipad walking towards the apartment opposite.

It is indeed typical in a country like ours that they would develop technology to ensure you have a TV licence. Its hardly the be all and end all of everything but we love solid rules and enforcing them.

Just at that moment a Priest entered my apartment block and as I live on the ground level, he saw me first. “Did you call for the Last Rites to be administered?”

“Eh… no……” I uttered

“Um, I know it was someone in this block but I don’t know who….” He replied

“Well it wasn’t me…” I said uncomfortably, hoping that he wouldn’t ask me about Church attendance. Everyone knows the  Parish Priest and I was rather hoping that he had forgotten I existed.

He glanced at his notebook..”my my….sorry It’s apartment two on the next level…”

“I don’t suppose you need them anyway…? I could swing by later….?” – he chortled “Remember you don’t have to be dying to get the Last Rites”.

“No, no no….  I’m in great health….” I said, convincing myself that it was true, shook my head and backed away as he walked up the stairs. I got a bit flabbergasted. Do I look like I need the Last Rites? The barber always gives me OAP rates and I never correct him but I am still a long way away from aged 60. My day couldn’t really get any more surreal.

I watched as the TV Enforcement officers knocked on the door opposite, of course there was no reply. So they stood there and I  closed the door and opened the video app again. After a few moments they started calling through the letterbox (These people meant business and I had forgotten just how much power they have). They can choose to simply give you a penalty or if you agree to trot down the post office and buy a licence immediately, they will overlook the fact that you had a TV without one. You can buy it online as well.

There was indeed someone inside, I could hear a difficult conversation. It sounded like there was a guy insisting he didn’t have a TV.  My app caught a clear picture of him, it looked like a scene from a 1967 hippie movie, my neighbour was wearing a kaftan, love beads and sandals. He kind of looked like Barry White but not as entertaining. The TV licence enforcement officers weren’t getting in and I could hear the conversation was getting uncomfortable. Finally they reached a compromise and the two men left, looking happy. A thought came to my mind that they were earning commission.

My video doorbell hadn’t picked up anything from that apartment in weeks, so it was really strange that the man living there hadn’t left in weeks. By the looks of him it looked like he hadn’t left since 1967!

The moral of the story is, get a TV licence if you own a TV and live in the UK. They will find you if you don’t.

Weekly Lesson: Government Housing-Friend or Foe?

For study until 14 July 2024

Subject: Government Housing-Friend or Foe?

Audio: On usual social media platforms.

The UK was a very industrial place until Margaret Thatcher came on the scene in the 1980s. For many people up until that time the daily grind involved working shifts in the local factory. In my case, my whole family worked in the local steel factory, that included my Father, Grandfather, Great Grandfather and even my Great Great Grandfather until he was fired for promoting Trade Unions in the early 1900s. Meanwhile the women were working (where there were not enough men) in the local thread mills, which offered  lighter work.

In the early days, going back to the 1840s my family lived in small cottages which were only big enough to hold a handful of people. Like most people of their day they raised between ten to fifteen children. By the time the 1920s came, slums had developed, there was no running water, no indoor sanitation and “rows” of houses were built around the steel work factory with simply two rooms and running water with outside toilets. In the 1930s the Government realised there were issues with sanitation and started to build housing estates known as “housing schemes” or “council estates” which they could rent to employees of local factories. This marked the beginning of organised housing – built around towns which were themselves formed to support local industry.

Moving forward 100 years to 2024, the Northern part of the UK is dominated by these estates and the Government remains one of the largest property owners. In Scotland the Government owns a quarter of all total rentable accommodation. I remember visiting my Grandparents in the 1980s and both my maternal and paternal Grandparents were happily living on Council Estates. The towns where they lived had three Council Estates. They knew all of the neighbours, people who were economically the same and were either friends or relatives. These estates tended to be full of old hardened women who clearly had battled their way into old age whose families had left home years before. In many ways they were the matriarchs of these estates, knowing exactly what “buttons to press” to ensure the Government took action when they need a repair to their homes or have someone forcibly removed. It felt strange because the people were poorer compared to today yet they were incredibly proud.

In the North of the UK today, renting an apartment or house from the Government is considered perfectly normal and accessible for everyone (because there’s little choice) whereas in the South where there was less industry and more education, fewer of these estates exist.

Since the Government owns a lot of property, they are also one of the largest employers in Scotland and Northern England. Plumbers, Electricians, maintenance people, office staff and housing managers are all required. As you would expect from the Government, the salary isn’t great even though the working conditions are better than the private sector, so they generally attract unskilled workers who are happy with a lower pay. This is a very attractive option for boys who do not want to enter further education, many of whom grew up and live on Council Estates themselves.

Things are slowly changing. The local Government here has started to demolish some of these old homes in order to build new ones for residents. The combination of an ageing population as well as houses no longer meeting basic standards of living such as energy saving and noise pollution means that they need to look at how they provide accommodation. Some of these estates historically had very bad reputations and needed to be demolished as well owing to their high crime rates and social problems.

Since the 1990s the Local Government has been proactively demolishing and rebuilding, making these properties safer to live in. Selling the ground to property developers also means many Council estates are surrounded by luxury privately owned property developments, which creates a kind of a hydrid, displacing the cold sting of poverty associated with these estates in the past.

Unlike today where we can define “home” as a mental construct, a structure of Love and Family, a place of peace we can choose to reside in, in the old days home and house was all about physicality, bricks and stone.

As the metaverse or holographic universe comes upon us, we will once again be asked to redefine dwellings as an ethereal space. The jury is out on what exactly the future will look like but it will likely offer us personal and communal spaces to live together.

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Affirmations

Monday – There is a place for me in the Learning Community

Compare how learning alone compares to your experience of being in School with others. What is your learning tribe or community?

Tuesday – I can Learn at any age or point of life

Why do you think age is a barrier for some people?

Wednesday – I am flexible enough to make change

Why do we lose our mental elasticity as we get older? How do we stop that process?

Thursday – I choose to learn today because it brings me joy

What other healthy choices do you make daily to support your learning and your mental health?

Friday – I speak English and it gets better every day

How do you measure your progress? If you do not measure your progress, make a mental note to ask your teacher for ways to do this.