Always look on the bright side ....

 

Optimistic song always associated with 
Eric Idle.

Snoopy, the Eternal Panglossian

 

Gordon Brown

In spite of gloomy news writ large wherever one looks, it IS cheering to read of Gordon Brown’s interventions and realise what a sane and balanced commentator he is, or he has become, especially when compared to his relatively inglorious term as Prime Minister, a job for which he was intellectually, though not temperamentally, suited. His several comments recently demonstrate his sane, considered approach to government and politics, clearly motivated by the wider public interest. SO refreshing after the selfish, egocentric Posh Boys’ Club supposedly running the country now. Boris is on his second holiday this 
month while paid for pretending to be Prime Minister and despite the fact that, after September 1, he will be unemployed with lots of spare time.

I was also cheered this week by reading of a remark by Lewis Hamilton when explaining why he had said that he didn’t like driving. He was referring to ‘leisure driving’ which he finds ‘stressful’. His comment that I empathised with was, “I try not to do things that don’t add to my life.” That totally hits the spot with me and it is exactly what ageing has taught me to do. Lewis H. is not only a courageous 

Lewis Hamilton

and talented world-beating racer, but he is clever. Based on that principle, in the face of declining energy, I have stopped cooking. I simply buy a week’s dinners from Cook which are of excellent standards and sensible prices, without, I believe, preservatives and other E-nasties involved. This adds to my life by removing any effort at all from deciding on meals beyond my weekly selection from Cook and, of course, from preparation and cooking.

Oleksiy Rednikov
Ukrainian Defence Minister

Another super example of having fun, and in this case, in a deeply unfunny situation, is in the trolling by the Ukrainian Ministry of Defence, of the Russians. It was following extensive, unexplained explosions in the Saky airbase in the Crimea which did huge amounts of damage to Russian aircraft there. The defence minister, Oleksiy Reznikov tweeted, “Don’t smoke in dangerous places!” Later he released a catchy little video teasing those Russians who had been holidaying on beaches near Saky, about their mistake in choosing a vacation in occupied territory. “You could have chosen Dubai, Turkey or Cuba but no, you chose Crimea!” I found this gem in The Observer, by Rowan Moore who rather splendidly observed that “you have to take your schadenfreude where you can.”

Liz in Maggie-mode, appealing
to Tory leadership voters.

Lord Norman Tebbit

And then, in the same newspaper, joy divine! An article by Will Hutton headed, "Liz Truss’s economic plan is ruinous nonsense with no reference to reality." I have been saying to myself for ages that the Conservatives must have a death wish if they actually elect her as leader, so this article was really on my bright side! Though I would personally rather like the death wish forecast to be on the nail, the idea of being British when she appears on the international political scene will be embarrassing, it is true! On the same Truss theme, I saw online that the Very Old Norman Tebbit who happens to live locally, looked after by carers, doesn’t think it democratic for Conservative members to be choosing their new leader; it should be solely M.P.s, implying that people who had merely paid a subscription to join a political party, might not have the expertise or knowledge to be trusted with choosing the new Dear Leader. I agree with him. He also commented on Liz’s politics that “she is a former card-carrying  Liberal and a firm Remainer. In fact, she has in the past held opposite convictions on just about every major policy issue to those she now proclaims.” Do wish dear Norman were still as influential as he is eloquent!

What else cheered me this last week? Sad to hear that the lovely Raymond Briggs has just died [at 88] but rather jolly to read a discussion that he might actually have disliked children! I loved his stories and

Raymond Briggs, iconoclastic national treasure,
with the sad ending of The Snowman

his evident grumpiness, his divine illustrations and his creations. Who can ever forget Fungus the Bogeyman while his Snowman, a secular saint, almost equals Santa in Christmas popularity? Briggs apparently turned down an offer to be the Children’s Laureate, saying, 

Fungus the Bogeyman

"No thank you. All that running all over the country, all the bookings and bed and breakfasts and railways. I don’t want to go to schools and give talks on children’s books. I don’t actually know anything much about children. I try to avoid them as much as possible.” I can readily relate to all those feelings of unwillingness to make huge and continuing efforts, which would have changed his life considerably, but there’s no dislike of children there, really just a wish to keep his distance from the unknown and Too Much Work. But it is a pity that he and his wife chose not to have children because of a mental condition she had; he would have made a gloriously imaginative and memorably grumpy Grandad!

Joe Biden

Although there is little brightness on the U.K. political scene, Joe Biden is scoring high with the amazing reach of his legislation passed, against all the odds including the chicanery of the Republican Trump cult. His government has

Liz Cheney,
unusually courageous right-wing Republican
on a mission to defeat and remove Trump

 passed the American Rescue Plan, the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law, the CHIPS and Science Act, and now the Inflation Reduction Act. These measures are enormously popular and include: lower medical costs, including provision for over-the-counter hearing aids; bridge repair; broadband access and investment in science. In spite of these legislative successes, Biden continues to score a dauntingly low satisfaction rate among the general public, even lower than Trump. Trump, a man unfit to govern and with an ego unable to grasp its own ineptitude, still has  huge support. Witness yesterday's Primary in Arizona, which Liz Cheney won handsomely last time around, but who lost this time, with support languishing in the 30s, percentage-wise. The Trump-approved candidate who subscribes to his Big Lie about the last Presidential election, scored double Liz Cheney's tally. I am hoping that the bright side of this reversal of Cheney's fortune will be when legal action against Trump manages to succeed and American democracy begins to be saved, in spite of the Maga-hat wearing, permanently angry Trumpettes. Signs from the Cheney camp suggest that she will run for President in 2024, knowing full well she cannot win but also aware that her candidacy will split off at least some of the Republican vote from Trump.

                                                        

                                                        Post Script

Norman Tebbit with his wife, Lady Margaret.
She was paralysed in Oct 1984 when the I.R.A. bombed the
Grand Hotel, Brighton where the Conservative Party
conference was based. Five were killed; she spent the
rest of her life in a wheelchair, dying in Dec 2020.

   

Pigeons: Genus Columba Domestica.

 

Pigeons, preening.

This is an introduction to an unlikely late-flowering love story. When I moved to Bury St Edmunds into a small apartment earlier this year, I found, faute de mieux, that I was living quite close to pigeons. My large terrace in particular, while not a home for them, more a place to visit, is a pigeon vantage point for me. Leaning on this terrace wall, surrounded by roofs, I see and hear pigeons all around. They rarely venture to share the terrace with me, though cast-off grey feathers testify to their presence at other times. But they settle on nearby tiles and roofs, cooing the while in that rolling, roiling, round, surrounding, soothing sound which I have grown to love. As I fix my face and hair, early in the day, standing near my bedroom window, I am entertained by the sight of pigeons, seduced each day by a little water outlet, below the large terrace wall. They virtually start queuing up on nearby tiles, to alight on the tiny platform, often two at once, to peck and perhaps drink, generally from around 7.00 a.m.. And while I watch, I listen to the wonderful murmuring they produce, a communal cooing which envelops the listener in a wholly relaxed warm sound of solace. I feel lucky to start each day thus.

My conversion to pigeon-lover has been relatively recent and sudden. Shamefacedly, I have to admit to long being in tune with Tom Lehrer's clever song, Poisoning Pigeons In The Park. Six months ago when I came to live here, I only saw pigeons as feral and invasive; all around in towns and cities, chiefly despised or barely tolerated; part of the urban landscape and rather annoyingly forever in search of food as they deposited their droppings over pavements and public buildings. Funnily enough, while people dislike what are called feral pigeons, they are simultaneously admirers of so-called homing pigeons which are applauded hugely for their incredible navigational skills. The two groups of pigeons are virtually one. Both are pigeons!

When I was a small girl, local miners were great

A handsome feral pigeon.

pigeon-fanciers and racing pigeons was a popular sport. I always loved it that men who spent their long working lives in the dark labyrinths of the mine below the earth’s surface, just loved pigeons which can fly free for hundreds of miles and then ingeniously find their way back home. Always, creatures of the air and light. Interestingly, pigeons can find their way using smell, landmarks, the Earth’s magnetic field and infrasound [sound waves too low for humans to hear.] They can follow each other and learn routes from each other. They understand human transport routes and often rely on that knowledge for navigation rather than their own internal magnetic compasses. We are still learning about these remarkable birds which mate for life and are attentive parents. They are the descendants of wild rock doves, the world's oldest domesticated bird, adopted by man perhaps 10,000 years ago. Certainly, Mesopotamian cuneiform tablets mention the domestication of pigeons 5,000 years ago as do Egyptian hieroglyphics. Over many centuries, they have been treasured both for food and especially for their supreme navigational skills, valued as particularly useful in times of war as messengers. They thrive now in our cities because our tall buildings and window ledges mimic the caves and cliffs of their original, natural home and they can easily find food from the messy, careless humans below.

Jacobin pigeon.

Our contemporary disdain for feral pigeons was not shared during the mid 1800s when many new breeds were being developed such as Jacobins, fantails, tumblets and barbs. 

Fantail.

Charles Darwin became a pigeon aficionado and used these examples of diversity among one species as part of his explanation of natural selection in The Origin Of Species. Interestingly, I chanced upon a 2009 account from John Murray, Darwin’s publishers, of the 200^th celebration of his birth and the 150^th anniversary of the publication of his seminal work. Six live pigeons apparently featured in the celebrations; definitely I shall investigate as I feel another pigeon-related blog on Darwin and John Murray gestating.

The critical message carried by Cher Ami.

Homing pigeons were used extensively during both World Wars to deliver vital messages between battalions and to fly with tiny cameras for reconnaissance missions. The most famous war pigeon ever was Cher Ami who was awarded the Croix de Guerre in 1918 for delivering messages from an encircled U.S. battalion with many badly-wounded men  under heavy fire. He was shot through the breast, blinded in one eye and his right leg was hanging on by a tendon when he delivered his last message. He was one distinguished bird among 32, including G.I. Joe and Paddy, awarded the Dickin Medal, the animal V.C. over the period of the two world wars, for saving human lives. Cher Ami died in June 1919 and his body was preserved at the Smithsonian Institute in Washington. 

Iridescent plumage with exquisitely delicate sheen.

Since arriving in my little Bury flat, I have grown to enjoy watching the local pigeons who live so close to me. I now admire their absolutely beautiful plumage; watch their ongoing social interactions and see pairs preening each other rather tenderly. I am charmed by them and was impressed only this morning, early, in the Abbey Gardens, when another walker who was chatting to a park gardener, held up his practised arm for a pigeon to alight and remain in a regal pose! When I expressed astonishment and admiration, he said carelessly, “Happens all the time!”

Mates for life.

Hall Porters' Chairs

 

Aforementioned lamp table

When I moved to Bury St Edmunds in February of this year, serious downsizing had to be managed in the face of the move from a large family flat in  Bruges, to a rather more modestly-sized apartment. The process was complex and occasionally difficult. Where to direct the unneeded furniture and impedimenta? How to part with beloved pieces, part of my life for 40/50 years like the Regency Linen Cupboard or the 1920s lamp table. Eventually, all was solved, mostly given, occasionally sold, generally for ridiculous prices. For example, £60 for the lovely lamp table which I longed to keep!! I would have loved to have given that to someone in my family but failed to find anyone interested! This is almost certainly part of the normal ageing process and one which has to be seized and accomplished like so much else!

Smalley Hall, Derbyshire.

Perhaps my total favourite item of furniture over the years, has been the beloved Hall Porter’s Chair which I 

Forest Farm, Papplewick.

obtained at an auction at Smalley Hall in Derbyshire, soon after I had sold Waingroves Hall near Ripley in Derbyshire in April 1983.. I was temporarily storing my furniture, and staying, in an empty cottage on my sister’s farm, Forest Farm, near Papplewick, between Mansfield and Nottingham, and she and I went to the Smalley Hall two day sale together and had a great time. I know Esme bought at least one carpet and a rug, plus several more items, and I know I saw the hall porter’s chair for the first time and fell for it, knowing nothing about it but loving its appearance. I also bought a small Chinese rug from the servants’ quarters, still in service. Oh, happy times!! I had recently received, unsought, a cheque for £400 from the tax people, which was apparently the unexpected bonus of the recent separation from my husband. I never did understand it all but received it gratefully, £400 being a not inconsiderable sum in 1983! As the chair featured on Day 2 of the sale, this meant I dare not bid for anything else as my bonus £400 could all be needed in the pursuit of the Chair. I did eventually buy it for a total of £440, a small fortune for me then, and only after a bidding tussle with an unseen person, though the Delight in the purchase dominated the day!

Object of desire for almost
40 years.

It now resides in all its natural splendour in my son’s home, its most recent abode!! It was described in the auction booklet thus: 

Victorian oak-framed hall porter’s chair upholstered in green velour, the lofty winged back with arched canopy and scroll arms, on turned supports with brass castors. The estimated price range was £200/£350.

Porters’ chairs originated in 17^th century France, usually made of cane or wicker and known as ‘guerites’ [sentries]. The name suggests a defensive mode though popularly then these chairs were often used for the elderly and infirm to protect them from draughts. The hall porter was an important cog in the machinery of the large and affluent house; he was the gatekeeper, admitting or refusing callers based on his memory for the faces and names of his employer’s acquaintances, and his assessment of the individual caller’s social status and suitability. In an 1857 book, The Household Manager, Charles Pierce wrote:

I think this may resemble 
a guerite, popularly used by
invalids and the elderly in
the 18th century.

“If his master be a rich man, and a charitable one, that master is being for ever applied to by the distressed, the needy and the imposter. … Hence is called into exercise the necessity for the porter’s searching and discriminative eye, and into his scrupulous pause before receiving a letter or answering an enquiry.”

Georgian Hall Porter's Chair
circa 1820.

Entrusted with this crucial role in maintaining the security of the house, the hall porter was expected to man his post at all times, sleeping in his chair after dark and often taking meals there. Some porters’ chairs had drawers beneath the seat where supplies could be kept and occasionally there are examples of lined drawers for hot coals to supply warmth in draughty halls. Most hall porters’ chairs were large and often hooded, to exclude draughts and were incidentally helpful acoustically, slightly amplifying the volume of the voice. But, with progress in other forms of security, the hall porter’s chair was considered old-fashioned by the mid 19^th century and became obsolete by the early 20^th century.

Interestingly, hooded wicker chairs for protection against sun and wind were very popular on
Scheveningen Beach, near The Hague, Netherlands; in fact, between circa 1860 and 1972, these canopied beach chairs were a noted feature of the Scheveningen scene and there is a recent interest locally in reviving the fashion!

Scheveningen beach in Edwardian times.

News from Nowhere

William Morris
1834-1896.

Strawberry Thief.
A William Morris design.

 I wrote the above title without much thought, intending to write a blog on several small items, noticed or experienced by me but chiefly unconnected to each other. It was a title to suggest Odds ‘n’ Sods, already used previously. BUT News From Nowhere is a famous title of a novel written by William Morris, that prolific writer; poet; designer of carpets and cloth; artist looking back nostalgically to the Middle Ages; leader of the Pre-Raphaelites; social reformer with a formidable work ethic and actor. In his relatively short life, 1834-1896, he gathered a huge accumulation of achievements and remains a well-known name today. His designs for furniture, fabrics, stained glass, wallpaper and other decorative arts generated the Arts and Crafts movement in England.

First edition,
News From Nowhere.

His utopian News From Nowhere, published in 1890 as a series, imagines a future in which common ownership and the democratic control of the production of life’s necessities are based in a pastoral paradise where people find pleasure in nature and in their work. The book explores the organisation of society and the relationships that society engenders, tackling a common criticism of socialism, the supposed lack of incentive to work in a communist society. So, my title is borrowed, but not stolen!

'Borrowed' from The New
Statesman, 15-21 July 2022.

My list of sights and sounds, unrelated to each other but catching my attention this week, must begin with the ghastly Conservative Leadership contest which goes on and on, It also happens to be a process to choose the next Prime Minister for the 60 million or so of us uninvolved save for the forced witnessing of the populist theatre being frantically played out by two people [one, able; one, less so] each, no doubt, quietly promising Cabinet seats in the future for public support now. It is not a pretty spectacle nor is it a just and civilised way to choose a country’s leader.

Much more interesting and beautiful is the present state of the Great Churchyard stretching in an abundance of headstones from St Mary’s into the Abbey Gardens. I was astonished yesterday,[3/08/2022] to see that overnight, the tall dead or dying grasses and seed heads wreathing round and hiding the stones, had all disappeared, scythed to the ground by unknown hands to reveal far more headstones than I had thought possible. Dramatic and oddly touching to see so many quiet memorials to past lives. The earliest reference to this same churchyard [once part of the Abbey of St Edmund] is in 1197 when Jocelyn of Brakelond, the great chronicler of the Abbey, commented that wrestling bouts between the Abbey’s servants and the townspeople in the cemetery, led to bloodshed. It is now perpetually serene. On my early morning walks, I often go along an avenue lined with trees leading to the West Front and stopped, months ago, to read one tombstone adjacent to the path and only partially covered by earlier cow parsley. It bears the names and dates of William and Harriet Chapman who lived in

A view of part of the Great Churchyard after 
the great mowing earlier this August week.

Austenian times and seem to me to have had the perfect names for early, early nineteenth century Bury St Edmunds. I nod in recognition and greeting each time I pass!

I live in anticipation of a hosepipe ban in the present drought though perhaps, fear would better describe my feelings. I water with a hosepipe from a water butt; all technically correct in these climate change times BUT the fact is that I now have to stagger out with four bucketsful of water each morning as the original plan to harvest rainwater in my politically and environmentally correct water butt, does not work in a drought. Times are hard and difficult decisions lie ahead; water as usual but at 4.30 a.m. when all neighbours are abed, or let my beautiful plants die.

My water butt which would provide my Green 
credentials were it ever to rain!

Last week I was 88. I knew that the supremely lucky number for the Chinese is 8 so I went online to check, hoping that 88 might mean double the luck. Not for the first time, China disappointed me. 8 remains the luckiest number in Chinese culture, BUT 88 symbolises good fortune and luck. By happenstance, I also discovered an interesting fact should I ever have to appear in a quiz! The 2008 Beijing Olympics opened at 8.00 p.m. on the 8 August [8/08/2008]. I tried to ignore the fact that the Nazi abbreviation for Heil Hitler was 88, H being the eighth letter of the alphabet, and comforted myself with the thought that Hitler lasted less than twenty years while Chinese superstitions span centuries!

Chinese characters for 88.
Regrettably, adorning a baseball cap!!

Part of the terrace. Left, back corner,
gorgeous hydrangea blooms burnt during
the worst heat recently.

Lark and Linnet

Debris in still water.

The beautiful Abbott's Bridge spanning the Lark.

 I am unhappy to notice, when I walk through the Abbey Gardens most early mornings that the tiny stream which is the River Lark, is stationary, resembling stagnant water with, in parts, algae forming. I love the name of the river and the fact that it is one of few chalk streams, most of which in England are situated in Suffolk, but in Bury, it is looking in a distressed state. The Lark, a tributary of the River Ouse, rises in Bradfield Combust and crosses the border between Suffolk and Cambridgeshire, with the Lark Valley Path following the meandering flow of the river as it winds its way from Bury St Edmunds to Mildenhall providing stunning views. But the state of the visible water in the Abbey Gardens does give pause for thought though there is a team of volunteers which does its best to improve the sluggish status quo.

Lark-cleaning volunteers in action.

Because of this observation, I looked up the St Edmundsbury Chronicle online to find, to my delight, a long and detailed history of the River Lark from 1600, astonishing in its detail. I have dipped and dived into it, quite quickly giving up the unequal struggle to summarise it, but unable to resist one or two or more, interesting historical markers of its history and noting, not for the first time, how much of the unfolding of everyday life can be found in the narrative of one important entity, like a river.

In Roman times, the Lark was an early canal from Isleham to Prickwillow. This was probably to ship out church, hardened chalk known as Tottenhoe Stone as a building material, from Clunch Pits at Isleham. An early name for the river was the Burne but the River Larke name seems to have been established by the early 17th century. The first serious known attempt since Roman times to improve the River Lark for navigation took place in 1621. Plans were prepared by John Gason of Finchley and authorisation sought through Parliament but the endeavour failed. In 1635 a Henry Lambe obtained permission to improve navigation of the river from Mildenhall to Bury St Edmunds in recognition of the need to reduce transportation costs incurred by road. Suspicion from mill owners, led by landowners, Sir Roger North and Thomas Steward, claiming that the

18th century Horstead Mill, Norfolk.
Mill owners were powerful people!

contractors were damaging their mills, succeeded in stopping Lambe’s work. Undeterred, Lambe persisted and eventually, in 1637 Charles 1 granted Lambe a license to proceed with his improvements, for an annual fee of £6.13.4 with permission for Lambe to charge a toll along the Lark from Bury to Mildenhall. As no further records exist of any subsequent developments, it is assumed that the Civil War stopped Lambe’s work and no further improvements happened for another 60 years.

In 1693 Henry Ashley, proprietor of the Great Ouse Navigation, turned his attention to the River Lark which had become silted up and was no longer suitable for barge traffic. He had plans to canalise the Lark and run barges up to Bury St Edmunds, thus restoring ancient trade links to Kings Lynn. Once 'his' canal was in place, between 1716 and 1855 the River Lark was a busy waterway linking Bury St Edmunds with Ely, Cambridge and Kings Lynn. There were certain weaknesses in the system however often involving uncooperative local landowners and their commercial interests, but even slow water transport was more efficient than roads at the time, although these shortcomings gradually reduced as road transport improved.

Daniel Defoe, in 1774, described the river at Bury as:

“a very small river, or rather a very small branch of a small river ….. which runs from Milden Hall on the edge of the fens…….They have made this river navigable to the said Milden Hall from which there is a navigable dyke which goes into the river Ouse and so to Lynn, so that all their [Bury’s] coal, wine, iron, lead and other goods are brought by water from Lynn, or from London by way of Lynn, to the ease of the tradesmen.”

First train into Bury, 1845

Between 1820-46 the Cullum family made improvements to the Lark until stopped by the impact of the coming of the railways. And around a century after Defoe, The Mildenhall Almanack of 1882 reported:

1996 More channel-straightening.
"The hapless Lark, which once meandered
gently through water meadows, neatly packaged
into an outsize concrete canyon. No water vole
would dream of venturing here, nor otter, purple
strife or figwort" Roger Deakin.

“The River Lark as a water highway …… is practically closed. Within a few years the traffic extended to Fornham, now above Mildenhall, a barge is never seen. The whole course of the river is choked with weeds, on which, during floods, heavy deposits of soil have accumulated, which renders navigation impossible.” In the same year [1882] the footbridge across the River Lark located in the Abbey Gardens, was built for the use of scholars at the new home of the King Edward V1 Grammar School which was being built at the time in the Vinefields. An interesting social footnote.

After 1905 the Lark slowly declined into a drainage river and, following disastrous floods in 1968 the flood relief scheme involving channel-straightening and concrete flood walls was instigated with more channel-straightening in 1996 when Tesco was built.

Barge on the River Lark, 1910.

 This somewhat potted version of the detailed history of the River Lark, is based on the more thorough historical account given on the St Edmundsbury Chronicle site which is well worth reading. It provides a fascinating glimpse of a community’s river-based history and it shows that the state of today’s sluggish Lark is an echo of aspects of former times; the Lark has struggled over the centuries against weeds, human obstacles, commercial contra-interests and social developments plus additional diminutions.

The River Linnet. Virtually no history of the Linnet was found, it,  presumably, being smaller and less important than the Lark with which it unites in the Abbey Gardens.
But, here it is, in its understated, tranquil beauty.

Baptisms in the River Lark in May 1917.
There was a minor fashion for river baptism in the
twentieth century until 1970.

Image taken from a watercolour painted in 1725; engraved
for printing by R.Godfrey in 1729. On the extreme left is the dovecote
still there today. Also shown is one arm of the River Linnet flowing
 immediately in front of the dovecote. In this period, 
the Lark and the Linnet ran parallel to each other, 
until they joined under the Abbot's Bridge.

Mid-July Blooms.

 

The cause of it all. Dear Boris who only yesterday skipped an
emergency Cobra meeting he should have chaired, 
to host a party at Chequers. 
Missing in action again Boris; a little bit demob-happy!

Rishi Sunak.

Despite the heat, the contest for the leadership of the Tory Party is hotting up!! We, i.e. the general population, are all interested in this strangely antiquated, faux-modern process. It is supposed to be democratic as the original list of eleven hopefuls is hastily whittled down [five people standing this weekend; three/four [or is it 2?] to be left on Monday 18 July] by Conservative M.P.s voting against an increasingly bitter background of smears, explosively-timed leaks and accusations of backroom stitch-ups. There are factional divisions in the Conservative Party, and rancour rides high. When two are left, the membership of the Conservative Party will vote for The One. That is, the final arbiters are the circa 165,000 mainly elderly members, chiefly living in the South East, who will choose the Prime Minister for the entire U.K. of approximately 60 million plus Brits!! It IS, after all the nationally-chosen method; we are organised as a Parliamentary system, not a Presidential one, but most of us cannot forbear but think that a General Election would be a little more democratic. This will not [though could] happen as Tory MPs are well aware of the dangers just now, of asking a battered electorate for more time in Government after a long and less-than-glorious period in office so far.

Liz Truss in determined pursuit of her role model.

Kemi Badenhoch.

Tom Tugendhat

 As the BBC News seems unrelenting in its devotion to broadcasting discussions, arguments, opinions, on the current political pageant, we are all pretty au fait with at least the basic names and details of the eager candidates. As the political climate in Bury St Edmunds is not, exactly, nurturing my political/spiritual needs, as it were, I can only suggest what I think I have observed elderly Conservative Party members want in a leader. Policies or proposed policies, are obviously important but these voters also warm to someone whom they think, thinks like them. And they perhaps judge the abilities of a candidate to be Prime Minister, based on what he/she says, especially if the professed opinions chime well with their opinions, possibly formed long ago. And I also suspect that patriotism proudly professed, goes a long way!! Plus the candidate choice of a modestly middle route vis-a-vis policies; nothing to frighten the horses. I would guess that the splendid Kemi Badenoch banging on about trans rights, though totally au courant, bewilders the important fraction of the electorate who wield the power in this particular election.

Penny Mordaunt

I have been side-tracked from my rant after
searching for a photo of Angela Lansbury.
I discover she was 95 last October and  send
felicitations! Splendid endurance. As a tribute,
she has been granted A Large Photo.

Now that nice-looking, middle class Penny Mordaunt, of whom I had not even heard a month ago, she really IS worth considering. AND she’s a Navy reservist, representing Portsmouth for about ten years. Her father was a paratrooper and she has interesting family connections. [e.g. actress Dame Angela Lansbury was her grandmother’s cousin; her mother was related to Philip Snowden, first Labour Chancellor of the Exchequer]. Her own career has been steady but not stellar. Briefly Boris’s first woman Defence Secretary before he quickly sacked her and Minister for International Trade since September 2021. She was also, again briefly, assistant to Lord Frost in the Brexit negotiations before he begged Boris to move her on as she was so ineffective. In her current leadership campaign, she has carefully followed the middle way; no immediate tax cuts but also rejecting Sunak’s ‘cuts must wait till inflation is controlled’. She has sensibly promised to halve VAT on fuel until, at least, April 2023 and to raise tax thresholds for basic and middle income earners, by the rate of inflation. All this is worthy, [she was a Communications Specialist, pre-politics, after all] ; but it is not obviously comprehensible to an outsider why she is currently Number Two in the voting results in a contest for Prime Minister. In fact, I am totally mystified as to why Penny [named after HMS Penelope] is there at all. The Telegraph [online] may have the answer: Penny has ‘relatable charisma and an upbeat vision of British patriotism.’ But she didn’t know, when interviewed, the likely cost of her middle-of-the-road policy proposals.

Angela Lansbury in her prime.

Of the presently-remaining candidates there are Liz Truss,[NO, perlease]; Kemi Badenoch [excellent potential; the woke candidate]; Tom Tugendhat [ex-army, hugely admired by his local electors; relevant, recent military admin experience in Afghanistan] and Rishi Sunak, clearly highly intelligent, hugely experienced and talented though, sadly, not a Socialist as suggested by Jacob Rees-Mogg, [Minister for the 18^th Century!] I would imagine if Keir Starmer could choose, it wouldn’t be Rishi; he certainly offers the greatest threat to the future election prospects of the Labour Party.

Perhaps young Conservatives are under-
represented in the process of choosing a new leader!?