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Gurkha Pensions

Today was one for visiting Norman and Carol in their different parts of London. Jackie drove me to and from New Milton station for the purpose of this trip.
As is often the case, a young woman sat next to me on the train to Waterloo with her huge luggage container effectively blocking two seats opposite in the crowded carriage. She made no effort to accommodate an elderly couple who squeezed themselves into one and a half seats. A now familiar conversation ensued between me and the newcomers about the lack of adequate storage space on board. Addressing the other passenger, I said: ‘It must be embarrassing for you’. In a quite unconcerned tone she replied: ‘Not really’. With good humour, the gentleman opposite observed that ‘the young today are far more thick skinned than we were’. Smiles all round. ‘Well, you should be’, said I to the young woman. Here the conversation ended.
I took my usual routes to each of my friends’ homes. Much of the Metropolitan Line runs above ground. This means that, in common with the overground railways in the metropolis, its adjacent buildings are decorated with graffiti, like this example photographed from the platform at Preston Road. Some would find this, in its own way, equally as artistic as the work of Banksy, although it commands neither the admiration nor the high prices of his efforts.
As always, a plane thundering over the recreation ground on the way to Norman’s reminded me that this area is on a flight path from Heathrow.
Norman provided us with a lunch of what he called a salmon and prawn ‘concoction’ with savoury rice, followed by Christmas pudding and well-laced custard. We shared a bottle of Italian white Triade, 2012.
As I left Westminster underground station en route to Carol’s, traffic around Parliament Square was somewhat disrupted by a dignified and silent demonstration by retired Gurkhas and their families. A recent government report has disappointed them in their quest for adequate pensions.
There follows the text of a report by Yahoo! news:

‘About 300 former Gurkha soldiers and their relatives protested outside Britain’s parliament on Thursday to demand better pensions, after rejecting an official report they had hoped would address their grievances.

Many of the veterans — Nepalese soldiers who served with the British army — had invested high hopes in the parliamentary inquiry launched last year into decades of alleged discrimination at the hands of the British government.
But the report proved a bitter disappointment for the veterans and hundreds gathered outside the Houses of Parliament in protest, holding up placards saying: “Price of loyalty — injustice” and “Gurkha pension rights”.
“It has taken over 20 years of campaigning to get to this stage, and we thought this would be an opportunity to put an end to the Gurkha grievances once and for all,” said Deepak Maskey, a spokesman for the Gurkha Satyagraha campaign.
“But that has not happened.”
One veteran, Gyanraj Rai, said he might have to resume a two-week hunger strike he carried out last year, which only ended with the launch of the inquiry by the All-Party Parliamentary Group (APPG) on Gurkha rights.
“We want the value of our blood and tears. We want to be treated as our British counterparts,” the 56-year-old, who served 19 years with the British army, told AFP.
Afterwards many of the protesters, the men wearing suits and the women wrapped in brightly coloured scarves, took their message to Prime Minister David Cameron with a demonstration outside Downing Street.
The Gurkhas are renowned for their ferocity, loyalty, bravery and razor-sharp kukri fighting knives. They first served as part of the Indian army in British-run India in 1815 and around 2,700 are currently enlisted.
But it is only since 2007 that they have had the same pay and conditions as British soldiers, and campaigners have been demanding rights for veterans and their families, many of whom they say have been left in poverty.
One of the key issues was the income of almost 21,000 veterans on the Gurkha Pension Scheme, but the parliamentary report did not make any recommendations, citing ongoing legal action.
Instead, it focused on issues it said were more clear-cut, such as the policy to discharge any Gurkhas who married outside Nepalese society.
This was “racism pure and simple”, the lawmakers said, saying any Gurkha who wished to pursue legal action should be given British state funds to fight their case.
APPG chairwoman Jackie Doyle-Price, a lawmaker with Cameron’s Conservative party, acknowledged the Gurkhas’ disappointment at her report.
She stressed that her group only had the power to advise, not compel, the government, but said it was only a “staging post on the journey — it’s not the end of it”.’
Further on, down Victoria Street, a bus was mounted on the pavement. This, apparently, is the year of the bus. Scattered around the capital are sculptures of these vehicles which will eventually be sold in support of charities. Themes that have been used in the past have included cows, and elephants which Jackie and I took Flo to see about five years ago. This involved obtaining a list of the exhibits and tracking down as many as we could. Today, Amy, on her scooter was carrying out a similar tour with her father.

Hordle Closed Cemetery

A new discovery was made on my familiar Hordle Cliff walk this morning.
An abandoned bird’s nest perched high up in the hedgerow on Downton Lane where, seduced my the mild autumn, blackberry blossom still blooms, and lichen blends with the gorse. Roger was out with his tractor bearing new attachments, the purpose of which I do not know. Barbed wire and bramble combined to deter intruders from scaling his five barred gate. A day or two ago, Jackie and I, in the car, had noticed a disused cemetery beside Hordle Manor Farm. On foot, I had not seen it. Today I investigated the Hordle Closed Cemetery.

This is its story:

None of the inscriptions on the aged gravestones is still legible.

On the cliff top by the rather precarious footpath leading to Barton on Sea, a sign warning of crumbling terrain, and informing ramblers that there is no access to the beach for two miles, is completely obscured by brambles.

In our garden we are still enjoying the abundant flora, like this Compassion rose, that was similarly obscured when we took up residence in April.

Whilst I had been wandering, Jackie had produced something to wonder at. Following the design of her late father Don Rivett, she had created the skeleton of a guy for Jessica and Imogen to complete on 1st November. On the wall behind this figure hangs a painting on canvas affixed to an adjustable frame that Becky had made for me in the 1990s as a rest for reading in bed.

For those readers who do not know about Guy Fawkes, it is this gentleman who is represented by the effigies such as this one, burnt, usually on 5th November. On this date is remembered the Gunpowder Plot of 1605. Guido Fawkes led this failed attempt to blow up King James I by setting a charge under the Houses of Parliament. He was betrayed and the plot foiled. Fawkes was a Catholic, but most of those who celebrate his failure today are probably unaware that they are participating in an anti-Papist ritual, or that some of the fireworks that accompany the bonfire that becomes the miscreant’s funeral pyre are also religious symbols. The Catherine Wheel, for example, represents the martyrdom of that eponymous saint who was intended to be broken on a wheel. This particularly unpleasant death involved the victim being threaded through the spokes of a wheel so that all their limbs were broken and a lingering demise followed. When the fourth century Catherine of Alexandria was subjected to this treatment, each spoke she touched broke. Her tormentors then gave up and beheaded her. Perhaps it is just fun to celebrate the anniversary in blissful ignorance.

This afternoon our new BT TV box was delivered, and I did manage to set it up, with Jackie’s help when it came to entering our postcode by using the number keys on the remote control. How was I to know how to enter S from a button containing 7pqrs? BT TV, incidentally now seems to be called YOUVIEW. Early this evening we tested it by watching episode four of New Tricks which we enjoyed. The new system appears much easier to manage and the box is far smaller.

Our dinner this evening consisted of a rack of pork ribs marinaded in chili sauce with Jackie’s savoury rice jam-packed with vegetables. A strawberry trifle was to follow. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank astillo San Lorenzo rioja reserva 2009.

The Green Paratha

Shelly visited us briefly this morning, before we set off to Wroughton to see Frances and take her her pictures.
Our sister in law was pleased with her pictures, and we spent the afternoon speaking of recent weeks, of the impending funeral, and of more than forty years close relationship. Fiona arrived shortly before we left, and was able to join in.
This trip involved Jackie driving for a total of five hours, during which time we listened to Radio 4 a lot. The news items were repeated throughout the day, so much so, that were I, in later, years to be asked where I was when Oscar Pistorius’s sentencing was announced, I am fairly sure I would be able to answer the question.
On our return home we dined at The Jarna in New Milton. Jackie enjoyed her butter chicken and mushroom rice, as I did my lamb vindaloo and special rice. We shared an onion baji and a plain paratha, and both drank cobra. Although I like my curries very hot, I have not ordered a vindaloo for quite a number of years. This is because it doesn’t make sense to eat both potato and rice. Traditionally, in this country, vindaloo has been regarded as the hottest meal. It doesn’t need to be, because it just refers to the method of cooking, with vinegar and potato. Anyway, I thought I’d try it tonight. It was perfect, with very tender lamb, and only one potato.
Now naga chilis are more freely available, if they are on the menu, I will choose them, allegedly the hottest in the world. Interestingly, jalfrezi is often currently the hotter offering in restaurants.
Probably the naan is a more popular Asian bread than the paratha. Appetising enough, the former looks bigger because it comes puffed out. Jackie and I prefer the taste of the latter which is flatter and rather more buttery. The reason I like it is because it reminds me in look and taste of my mother’s potato cakes. Anyone familiar with the spot lighting in The Jarna will appreciate that this paratha is not actually green, but is tinged with the colour of the overhead bulb. Had we been seated in another alcove it may have been blue. This element does take a little getting used to.

‘The Face Of A Chrysanthemum………..’

Backlit by the morning sun, the turning leaves of our weeping birch blended well with Frances’s Duchy of Cornwall sunflowers, and contrasted with the red prunus foliage.
A road traffic mirror fixed to a post on the corner of the road into the Country Park reflected the scene in Shorfield Road.
This, although a bit breezy, was a bright T-shirt morning. I varied my Milford on Sea walk, in reverse, a little, by taking a footpath along the back of the static caravans in Sea Breeze Way. There I met Len and his West Highland terriers Hamish and Angus. I told their owner the story of Billy, my maternal grandmother’s Westie. This little terrier was quite happy to allow visitors into the room, but turned savage when they attempted to leave. Len then described the breed aa ‘a large dog in a small body’ known as having ‘the face of a chrysanthemum and the tail of a carrot’.
Turning right into Blackbush Road at the end of the path led me to the gate of Fox Hat, the home of Giles, our friend of forty four years. One of his stained glass pieces of artwork enhances the entrance. I knocked at his door and we had a brief conversation before he had to leave for an appointment. From there, I soon picked up the path through the nature reserve.
A couple of crows picking at the grass on the cliff top, unusually ignored two passers by. Maybe at least one of them was distracted by me. Further on another of these birds took off, like Peter Pan, leaving its shadow behind.
This afternoon I made two A3+ size prints of the feature portrait from the post of 17th, one each for Frances and Mum. Later, Jackie drove us to Hobby Craft at Hedge End where we bought picture frames, and to Elizabeth’s where we mounted the photographs. We took Mum hers, stayed with her for a while, then returned to my sister’s and thence to The Farmer’s Home at Durley where we dined on the usual good fare. My choice was gammon, whilst the two ladies enjoyed pork loin steak. We all then had the lightest sticky toffee pudding. Jackie drank peroni, and my sister and I shared a carafe of Merlot. Afterwards we delivered Elizabeth to The Firs and Jackie drove us home.

‘Your Own Back Yard’

I do hope my Hordle Cliff walk has not yet become boring for my readers. It is, you see, the safest route to take from the house. I trod it this pleasantly mild morning.
The cattle on the hillside seemed divided as to whether we were due more rain. Apparently they sit down when it is expected.
A solid bank of cloud over The Solent met the inland blue skies, forming a fascinating diagonal echoed by an evaporating jet stream.
Pondering on my ramble, I thought of Chris Weston. This other Chris had ably led a weekend tutorial on digital landscape photography. In September 2008 I was still using positive film to make colour slides, but knowing I would learn much from this man I accompanied Elizabeth on the weekend course. I was in fact the only person without a digital device.
The best place to seek out subjects, according to our tutor, is ‘your own back yard’, that is territory with which you are most familiar. He was fortunate in having Portland Bill on his home ground. He took us out on a splendid Dorset dawn, and let us wander. Elizabeth famously doesn’t do mornings, and had said the night before that she may not surface in time. As she staggered into the lounge where we were gathered, she received a round of applause.

Here are some of those early morning images:

Peering down through the rocks, many of which bore chiselled graffiti, produced interesting abstracts, and various artefacts such as rusty chains were enhanced by the early morning sun.
We also learned about the nature of light, the best for landscapes being early or late in the day. At midday the overhead brightness is too strong. We returned in the evening, when we took more pictures:

A couple sat among the rocks, as the clouds gathered against the setting sun.

The rock formation that is known as Durdle Door stretched out to sea.

This afternoon I decided to tackle BT. Again. This time in relation to the TV account. Since we moved home in April we have not watched much television. We have begun to do so a little, and have been having problems accessing BT iPlayer. Today a message came up on our screen informing us that there was a problem with the BT TV account, and giving a telephone number to ring. I called them. I was told that we should have activated the account when we moved. I said we had arranged for this when our account was transferred from our previous address. The adviser kept repeating that we had paid neither for activation nor the monthly charge since we left Minstead. I reiterated that our bills state, by a blue tick against the item, that they include TV from BT. Eventually I twigged what was going on. The BT representative was reading page 3, where the bill is broken down. I was looking at the total on page 1, which says ‘This bill is for:’ and lists Telephone, Broadband, and TV, all of which are ticked. No-one told us we should reactivate the TV separately when we arranged for the transfer between homes, nor that we were not being charged for the service. As I said, I didn’t examine the bills that intricately, given that the total was always more or less the same and listed the services opposite the total. Eventually the woman to whom I was speaking got the message and undertook to pass on my observations. I said I would do the same in the automated survey of customer satisfaction that would follow the call. I hope she had more luck than me because when answering the survey questions I was thanked for my participation and bade goodbye before I had finished. This was interesting in the light of the survey’s introduction statement that ‘we do listen to what you say’.

If I had any confidence in any other conglomerate offering a better service I would change our service provider immediately.

Danni came for a visit this afternoon and helped me produce one composite photograph and a couple of large individual prints for Frances of her muntjac deer. This involved investing in the Pages application for the iMac. Whilst this facility was being downloaded we wandered around the garden and disturbed a vole that was hiding behind the Heligan Path sign. Danni photographed it with her mobile phone.

Our niece left us briefly to dine with Andy and his mother and brother at The Royal Oak. Jackie and I enjoyed chilli con carne (recipe) and wild rice. She drank Hoegaarden and I drank Kingfisher. Then Danni and Andy returned to continue the conversations.

A Grey Day

Yesterday morning I abandoned all ideas of any other post than the one I wrote as a tribute to Chris. This is because news of his death reached me as we were on the way to New Milton to collect Alison from the station.
Before then we had been relieved of our unwanted bath by friends of A Lady Tiler, who works with The Lady Plumber. Sam, the plumber, will attend to the pipework next week. The final twist was the discovery that those feet that had been bolted on to the roll top slipper bath had been placed in the wrong order.
After a brief visit we returned Alison to the station and I walked back. I did not take my camera, nor did I reflect on my surroundings. I just thought about my brother, then went home and wrote the post.
Walking along Christchurch Road, the grass verges of which have been cut, I had a wake up call. I faced the oncoming traffic and walked on the grass. That, one would have thought, should be safe. Suddenly, however, from behind, and inches to my left, I felt the gust and heard the roar of a car, far exceeding the 60 mph speed limit, overtaking another from the other side of the road, and veering into the path of a vehicle coming towards it. The car being approached had to brake. The offending one was followed by an equally speedy motorbike. On such a day, this was a message I should heed. I will never walk along that road again.
In the evening we dined at The Crown at Everton.
This morning, showered by intermittent rain, I walked the Hordle Cliff route. Except for one hardy specimen, the cattle in Hordle Manor Farm sheltered in their byre. For many reasons it was a grey day.
Having been unable last night to download BBC iPlayer, later this morning we had another attempt, and successfully watched episode 3 of New Tricks. I am warming to the new team.
The weather, at least, brightened up a little this afternoon, and Jackie drove us down to Barton on Sea for a brief sojourn. It is a frighteningly long way down to the beach from the unstable cliff top, even if you are leaning on a protective fence. Gulls, sweeping against crumbling clouds, and crows hugging the cliff, frolicked on the thermals; and young people dabbled with the waves.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s classic chilli con carne (recipe) and wild rice. She drank Hoegaarden, and I drank more of the Isla Negra.

Christopher Michael Knight 1.10.1943 – 17.10.2014

This is the post I would never have wished to write.

Ever since I was fourteen months old, my brother Chris has been the companion and rival of my childhood, and lifelong friend.

Here we are posing for a studio portrait in the suits Mum made us for the Victory Street Party in 1945

In 1947 he first broke his leg in the garden of 29a Stanton Road. Our grandmother in Durham dressed us in her pink petticoats before we returned home to

greet our new sister Jacqueline

who was toddling by 1949 when we wore fair aisle jumpers Mum had knitted.

In 1950 we had another holiday in Durham where we sat on our grandparents garden wall,

and again in 1951 where we had a trip to the seaside.

Even Mum doesn’t know where this shot was taken in 1952.

No self respecting budding guitarist in a University band was complete in 1960 without his Hank Marvin specs.

At my wedding to Jackie on 2nd March 1968 neither the groom nor the best man was free of embarrassment when the photographer required us jointly to kiss the bride.

When, in March 2004 Sam completed his epic Atlantic Row in Port St Charles, Barbados, Chris was there, with Frances and Fiona, accompanying Jessica and me on the welcoming yacht.

Later that year the family celebrated the event with a special dinner. Chris, Frances, and Fiona were there with most of the family.

When Jacqueline celebrated her 60th birthday in Boston, Lincolnshire on 14th April 2007 he was his usual cheerful self.

He was the father of the bride when, in August of that year, Fiona married Paul. No doubt he was pulling my leg when Elizabeth caught us on camera.

Chris and Frances made several trips to Sigoules. Not far from there live his boyhood friend Mike Ozga and his wife Oona. We visited them April 2009, where Elizabeth photographed us.

Naturally he was party to my surprise seventieth birthday celebration in July 2012.

Chris was one of those very rare beings – a truly good man.

He died peacefully this morning after a short illness.

Starting Handles

On this brighter, balmy, day, the returning sunshine was welcomed by all; by me; by Roger’s newly sown fields; by ferns and mare’s tails on the bank of the stream; by basking cattle huddled behind the corner cottage; by a young man, with the customary electronic device, waiting for a bus; by slithering slugs and by creeping caterpillars on the footpath; and by one solitary wave watcher seated on the shingle.

These are the steps Bob runs up and down.

On my return, whist Jackie continued her autumn tidying, I began the daunting task of digging out the more stubborn roots of bramble and ivy from the back drive. Bolt cutters were required for the removal of more of our predecessor’s metal mesh.

As you can see, I didn’t get very far.

Margery and Paul visited us this afternoon, and we enjoyed our usual wide-ranging conversations. Thinking of how times have changed over the last century, we embarked on the subject of early motoring. We travelled back to 1919 when Jackie’s grandfather acquired his first car, and never had to take a test. He would regularly drive himself from Anerley to Brighton when hardly another vehicle was to be seen on the road. She remembered her Dad cranking up a starting handle to get the car going, and jump into the car hoping the engine would continue running. The dog-legged shaped metal crank was shoved through a hole in front of the motor where its own female end engaged with a male one attached to the starting mechanism. This handle for the Morris Minor most resembles one I remember using to help my Dad get moving. You had to be quite vigorous in your cranking, and hope the equipment didn’t suddenly whizz round and break your wrist.

Later, Jackie and I watched, on BBC iPlayer, episode 2 of the 11th series of New Tricks. It was in the 9th series of 2012 – the last one I watched – that the skilful and watchable Denis Lawson replaced James Bolam as one of the old dogs, (who, according to proverb, cannot be taught new tricks), namely a trio of retired policemen under the management of a female officer played originally by Amanda Redman. Their task is to reopen investigations into unsolved crimes.

As with a number of successful TV series over the years, this comedy-drama began as a one-off – on 27th March 2003. Of the original cast only the everlasting Dennis Waterman remains. Redman has been replaced by Tamzin Outhwaite; and Alun Armstrong by Nicholas Lyndhurst.

Having found the rapport between the original cast members very entertaining, I will need to reserve judgement on the current team. One of the secrets of success of such productions is the chemistry between the actors. In my view this is a little lacking at the moment, but it is worth persevering with.

The supporting cast played their parts well.

Our evening meal consisted of Jackie’s classic sausage casserole (recipe), smooth mashed potato, and crisp carrots and peas, followed by jam sponge and custard. She drank Hoegaarden, whilst I enjoyed Isla Negra Cabernet Sauvignon 2013.

Everything Closed But The Window

On another dull morning I walked the circular route to Hordle Cliff and back. At the bottom of Downton Lane I met the woman whose garden I had photographed on the 3rd. She told me that the salt wind to which her home is exposed makes it impossible to grow much, but she was pleased at my compliments.
Roger has another crow deterrent in his recently sown fields. A noise such as that emitted by a cannon erupts at regular intervals. Had I not become used to it it would certainly startle me.

Jackie has been making delightful weatherproof signs indicating various sections of the garden, such as this one for The Heligan Path.

Before the rain set in I continued the clearance of the back drive.

After a late lunch we drove to Milford on Sea to register with the Milford Medical Centre. Well, when it was very wet outside, and we had existed since 1st April without a GP, it didn’t seem to be a bad idea. Passing The Red Lion pub Jackie wondered what it would be like, so we popped back to find out. It was closed. So we tried The Crown Inn at Everton. That, too, was closed. So we went home.

We have a Velux window in the kitchen roof. When it rains it leaks. This, we have discovered, is because it doesn’t shut properly and is impossible to lock. The recent deluges have made the drips onto the floor rather persistent of attention. I moved the furniture and climbed up on the stepladder to investigate. First it was necessary to brush away lots of black crud, living spiders, and their dead prey. This landed on the table. The locking mechanism could only be operated manually and with great difficulty. I sprayed it with WD40. I then still had to use my fingers to push the levers, but the fast-acting lubricant had made it easier to do so. I could now lock it. But only when it wasn’t shut, which it still won’t do properly.

I gave up, mopped up the floor, and brushed off the table and put it back in position.

This evening a certain perseverance was rewarded. The Red Lion in Milford on Sea had announced that its winter hours meant that it closed at 2.30 on Wednesdays and reopened at 6.00. We decided to return this evening and were rewarded by a friendly atmosphere in an eighteenth century hostelry that served very good food. Had we actually seen a doctor on our earlier trip, I am sure the steak and ale pie; the rack of pork ribs, the plum tart and custard, the chocolate fudge cake, the Peroni, and the Ringwood’s best would have been just what he or she would have ordered. There is also a dentist’s surgery across the road.

Had I Been Wearing A Hat………

On the way down the garden for my circular walk to Hordle Cliff and back I passed several naked ladies bearing no hint of goose pimples. These nerines are so called because they appear before their leaves.
Not having Jessica’s confident fungal knowledge I could not identify the mushrooms now growing on the verge of the coast road. I stick to what you can buy in the shops. It’s safer that way.
Visible from the cliff top, a layer of lit cloud contrasted with the streak of blue sky on the horizon. There Bob, having cycled to the spot, was preparing his psyche for running up and down the steps. This tough gentleman, suffering from Parkinson’s disease and having had an operation for a fused back, took this exercise, which I would no longer attempt, because ‘you have to keep going’. Had I been wearing a hat, I would have taken it off to him.
Our sister in law, Frances, had sent me some photographs from her mobile phone, asking me if I could do anything with them. She needn’t have worried. They were excellent shots of a male muntjac deer. And I don’t even know how to use the camera on my Samsung Galaxy. I just lightened them up a bit and also produced some crops. Here are a couple:
The mushroom season is also the time for lunches of Jackie’s soups. Today’s was spinach. Her method is as follows:
For two pints of soup:
Make a roux using 1 1/2 ounces each of butter and flour. Add 1/2 teaspoon of nutmeg.
Keep adding milk until you have a rich creamy sauce. Put to one side.
In another ounce of butter fry a finely chopped onion. Then add a 200g bag of spinach (unless you grow your own) and fry until it reduces down.
Add a pint of chicken stock.
When cooked thoroughly ‘stick it through a blender’. Reheat the roux, gradually add the puree to it and cook a little while longer.
Try it. It is delicious.
This afternoon we continued our work on the back drive. I removed and piled up more cuttings on the November bonfire pile, and Jackie spent time clearing soil from the gravel.
This evening we dined on smoked haddock fish cakes, chips, cauliflower cheese (recipe), carrots and runner beans. I drank Marston’s Premium, exceptional premium Pale Ale, and Jackie finished the chenin blanc.