Old papers, old documents, the RAF and Jan Smuts

I was having a bit of a clear out - that was the intention but, as usual, too much time spent reading things and looking at pictures to actually dispose of very much. When we left South Africa for good in the late 1970s my mother came with us and so did quite a bit of her memorabilia as she lived with us for the last few years of her life.  

We have disposed of all the little photographs of people we can’t identify and a few other bits and pieces but it is difficult to let go.  My children are very welcome to throw it all out when I have departed but I can’t.  

Amongst all the papers are some relating to her father’s military service, his early career and then retirement.  Born in the East End of London he served in WW1, enlisting in 2016 and ended up as a rigger in the Royal Flying Corps (RFC) which was the Air Battalion of the Royal Engineers, under the control of the British Army. 

He was however, demobbed from the newly formed Royal Air Force (RAF) at the end of the war after the RFC had merged with the Royal Naval Air Service.

The RAF is the world's oldest independent air force: that is, the first air force to become independent of army or navy control. There is a particular South African interest in this as General Jan Smuts (subsequently twice Prime Minister of South Africa) was largely instrumental in its formation.  

Smuts was invited by the then British Prime Minister, Lloyd George, to join the Imperial War Cabinet in 1917 and served until 1919. Lloyd George commissioned Smuts to report on two issues the second of which was air organisation generally and the direction of aerial operations.  Smuts reported: “the day may not be far off when aerial operations with their devastation of enemy lands and destruction of industrial and populous centres on a vast scale may become the principal operations of war, to which the older forms of military and naval operations may become secondary and subordinate”. How prescient!

Given this new dimension he commented that it was important that the design of aircraft and engines for such operations should be settled in accordance with the policy which would direct their future strategic use. On this basis he recommended that an Air Ministry should be created which should supervise the merger of the two air services. This was accepted and Smuts was then asked to lead an Air Organisation Committee to put it into effect. This received Royal Assent from the King on November 29 1917. 

It is worth following the link below and reading about Smuts: an extraordinary intellect and career from very inauspicious beginnings.  His politics must be viewed of their time – certainly many of his beliefs sit uncomfortably today.  

Jan Smuts was the only person to sign both of the peace treaties ending both WWI and WWII. One wonders if his advice had been followed after the first war whether Germany would have followed the path it did.  

My father, a surgeon, gleefully told the following story many times. He volunteered to serve at the start of WWII (there was no conscription in South Africa and it was not a foregone conclusion that the government would join the Allies – see South Africa's entry into WWII ). He was initially stationed at what was then Roberts Heights, subsequently Voortrekker Hoogte, just outside Pretoria (the administrative capital of SA). One evening his commanding officer instructed him to go and see Prime Minister Smuts at the official residence in Pretoria.  On arrival the secretary apologised that the PM was running late.  She asked if there was anything he wanted and he asked to make a telephone call.  She indicated the chair behind the PMs desk and said to go ahead.  He then called my mother and said “You’ll never guess where I am sitting…..” 

On the buses....Pamela to the rescue

Apparently most of the users of the buses are the old and retired and children and mothers with children. I certainly use the bus more often now that time is less of an issue and definitely in the tropical heat we are having now – some of the underground trains aren’t too bad but my line is like a sauna – even when empty.

I started the day in quite a philosophical mood. There is so much unpleasantness, xenophobia, racism, anti-Semitism, anti-Muslim behaviour etc that it reminded me that most of the time we rub along quite well. At the stop after mine an orthodox Jew with long beard, skull-cap and side curls came on board as did a boy – the same except for the beard. I heard Polish behind me and English in front of me. A couple of stops later several Muslim women wearing headscarves boarded, as well as a couple of young women wearing clothes the skimpiness of which took me aback. Then two young women with pushchairs – one black and one Japanese and everyone made way for each other and I thought that most of the time London is a wonderful place.

I decided to take the bus home – have book, don’t care how long it takes.  As we neared Lords Cricket Ground the driver announced that the road was closed due to a burst water main and the bus would follow a diversionary route along Abbey Road. 

For Beatles fans that is where the famous recording studio was and people come from all over the world to be photographed crossing the pedestrian crossing (as in the album cover below) and to write graffiti on the wall.  If you are driving this can hold you up considerably.

We trundled along and the bus then turned up Belsize Road to make its way back to Finchley Road (the main road). It is a six-way junction and to those unfamiliar with the area there are three possible turnings, the middle one being a dead end. That’s the one he took. We reached the dead end and he started to reverse back down the road (yikes).  This is a narrow road with only enough room for the bus, cars parked on either side. 

I went up to him and said that he should turn left into the road we had just passed on his way back down and then could turn right at the end and get to the main road.  

He wouldn’t speak until he had stopped the bus (quite correct) and then looked extremely dubious. I pointed to the block of flats on our left and said, “See that flat at the end? That’s where I used to live”.  He was still sceptical even after I told him the road was wide enough – so did a sprint half way up and came back.  “Stay here”, he said, and off we went again. Apparently the only instruction he had was to turn left not which of three streets to turn left into.

My good deed for the day.

Rescue Monkey

This is rescue monkey – you may know him as Curious George but in our house he rushes to the rescue. I have no idea where he came from but he has been living in a wicker box in the spare room with various accumulated toys, crayons, pavement chalk, jigsaw puzzles and other bits and pieces accumulated over the years and kept for visiting grandchildren.

The first time George sprang into action was when a grandson (now a hulking six foot rugby player) forgot teddy when he slept over.  Short of driving to his parents’ house to find teddy, I scrabbled around in the toy box and found rescue monkey.

The story goes that he lives in the toy box and is quite lonely so looks forward to getting out and spending some time with a cuddly child.  Fortunately it worked and it worked again last night with the youngest of our grandchildren. He even joined her in the kitchen for breakfast and colouring in.  Whew!

PS I stopped writing my blog late last year.  The world was so awful that all I felt like doing was ranting.  This is daft because our family life has been good, we have had celebrations and successes which we have enjoyed but I was finding it too difficult to separate the personal from the political.  I am not sure that the world has improved but I am trying to be a little calmer.  Maybe rescue monkey should stay out of the toy box.  

My lovely neighbour has finally gone

That seems a bit repetitive I know – ‘gone’ is pretty final, but let me explain.

Number One Husband and I grew up in South Africa, lived for some years in London, returned to Johannesburg and then came back to live in London about forty years ago and moved into our house.

There are a number of houses, all built at the end of the 1950s and we were the first new arrivals.  Our lovely neighbour was the first person we met, her youngest son was our first baby-sitter and we remained friends.

She was a kind, sensible and encouraging presence, with a wry sense of humour and I knew that if there were any problems for me, or my children, she would be there.  We were always invited for New Year’s Eve – a comfortable evening chatting to local friends, no driving or forced hilarity, and a few steps back home.

We started to lose her a few years ago when she began the cruel descent into Alzheimers.  I remember one of her carers saying to me that she became upset that she had to have carers – “I am the one who is supposed to take care of everyone” because that is what she had always done. She remained at home with carers until the end but the first loss, the loss of her company, was several years ago.  

She died a few months ago and we were at the funeral and then at prayers with her family which felt very final then.

The house has now been sold and the new owners are refurbishing as the house was quite old-fashioned. I sit at my computer overlooking the driveway and when I saw the carpets and curtains that were so familiar to me being taken out – there was a sense of finality then that I hadn’t experienced before.   

Escapism is OK – Leighton House is the perfect place

Catastrophic weather, famines, political chaos, war and other violent conflicts are nothing new and I don’t know if it is the power of 24 hour TV news, the speed with which the news is transmitted, often in real time or the overwhelming effect of bad news coming through every medium.  But right now it feels like the beginning of the end time.  And most of us are powerless to do anything.

I voted to remain in the European Union in the UK referendum and stand back and watch the chaos resulting from the vote that went the other way.  Even more corruption in South Africa than existed already, an increase in anti-Semitism here and in Europe, people fleeing terror across borders – and so it goes on.

I have already reduced the time I spend watching or reading the news.  I try to be pleasant to people I encounter and help where I can, support my local food bank etc.  But sometimes escape is the only answer.

London is blessed with a huge variety of (mostly FREE) art galleries and museums.  Last Sunday we went to the “Alma-Tadema at home in Antiquity” exhibition at Leighton House and the world stayed firmly outside the door.  I have visited the house before and it is worth it for that alone, but this exhibition traces Alma-Tadema’s career from his childhood in the North Netherlands to domestic life in St Johns Wood. 

The exhibition is superbly curated with a rare opportunity to see works from around the world – from the Netherlands to Mexico, from the USA, various British galleries and private collections. The antiquity part of the exhibition describes and illustrates his fascination with Pompeii and the ancient world.  Languid ladies in white robes looking out to sea were certainly my view of his work but there is so much more. 

The scope of the exhibition is wide including some of his work for theatre productions and some examples of how his work has influenced film makers from the original Quo Vadis in 1013 to the Cecil B deMille production of The Ten Commandments which I saw as a child (Charlton Heston as Moses with an American accent!) up to Ridley Scott’s Gladiator.

A real treat and the world stays firmly outside the door!

The exhibition is on until the end of October

  

Kingston-upon-Hull, City of Culture

Liverpool was the European City of Culture in 2008 and, following the significant social and economic benefits for the area, the Government decided to institute a UK City of Culture Programme. (Just as well as we seem to be destined to depart the European Union so this is our only shot.)

The choice of Hull for 2017 was unanimous because it apparently put forward "the most compelling case based on its theme as 'a city coming out of the shadows'".

We spent a couple of days there with friends and I can recommend it.  We had a great time but having never been to Hull before I can’t comment on the changes, which apparently are significant. Very importantly it is mostly walkable but if you don’t feel like walking between attractions you can take the Hull Land Train. For £2.50 it will take you between attractions, you can get off and on again with cheesy music and hilarious patter. I am not sure how understandable it is if English isn’t your first language but the Japanese students seemed to be having a whale of a time.  Not sure they were as pleased with our sing-a-long though. 

We loved the exhibitions at the Ferens Gallery including the blue nudes by Spencer Tunick – “Sea of Hull”, where he photographed over 3,000 naked people painted blue in various places in Hull – you can visit the settings for the photographs (minus the nudes). The Turner Prize will be held there this year.

The Maritime Museum was fascinating as was the Streetlife Museum of transport and we spent some time in the house of William Wilberforce with an exhibition about the slave trade and his part in its abolition.  Much to my surprise I also loved the aquarium The Deep.

Here are some random things that I didn’t know

Hull was the most bombed city after London during WW2 – the bombers dropped any excess bombs they had on the way home to lighten the load.  Over 90% of homes were affected 

Amy Johnson the famous aviator came from Hull

Over 2.2 million emigrants from Northern Europe passed through Hull from the middle of the 18^th century to about 1914, en route to the USA, Canada and South Africa.

It built all its wealth on whaling, then fishing (with a dreadful human toll – it was very dangerous). Now it has modernised and is the UK's first fully-enclosed cargo-handling facility providing all-weather working for various types of weather-sensitive cargoes including steel and bagged products. It handles 10 million tonnes a year.

Go by rail, in London from Kings Cross, and you have to travel on Hull Trains.  It was voted Rail Operator of the Year for good reason – clean, comfortable, the best loo's ever seen on a train and brilliant staff and unlike the rest of the industry they have 50:50 gender parity.  Read Hull Trains flying the flag for females!  Our crew were efficient (female) and hilarious.  The train was delayed for a few minutes at Doncaster and they apologised for the delay as an unruly passenger had to be removed. We saw him speaking to a policeman. I commented to the crew member that they didn’t seem to have any trouble with him – she said “I’ve got a five year old – it was a piece of cake!” 

It wasn’t that long ago.....

My grandchildren accept modern technology as if it has always been with us.  Why shouldn’t they, it is what they have always known.  They are bemused by stories of life without television, computers and mobile phones.  Television came late to South Africa – in 1976 - so not only did I grow up without it but our children started off without it too. 

Somehow the leap from no television to more channels than one can count isn’t as extraordinary as what has happened to personal communication.

Living in Johannesburg we had direct dialling – no going through an operator as you had to in the country.  Direct dialling was however only within the city – to call another city we had to go through the long-distance operator.

When we first lived in London, calls between our family and us were rare.  Not only did you have to book them 48 hours in advance but the cost was prohibitive. Around 1967/8 I was earning £15.00 a week (before tax) and the cost of a telephone call was £1.00 a minute for a maximum of three minutes. That was a pretty good salary then. To put that into context, on a salary today of £300 a week (pretty much minimum wage) the relative cost would be £20 a minute. In emergencies you could get a call through in two hours as I found out when my mother called me to say that my father had died. 

Being able to call someone and see them “through the phone” was science fiction and for some reason we made the assumption that you would have to answer the phone even if you were in a state of undress.   Leap forwards to the present and I can speak to anyone anywhere for free through FaceTime, Skype etc and can see them as well and I don’t have to answer if I don’t want to and they can’t see me unless I do. Sophisticated conference calls take this to a new level which I can’t quite grasp.

I take for granted that I can call friends and family far afield instantly and if it is the middle of the night for them, can send an email to be responded to when they wake up. 

I remember in the 1980s when the tech industry was first working on voice recognition, it was slow and inaccurate and you wondered if they would ever get it to work.  Now I can ask “Alexa” to convert ounces into millilitres, tell me what is on my shopping list, switch to any radio station, give me a news update, the weather forecast for anywhere in the world and “read” a book to me.  No effort no thought, now normal.