Derby, a Quiet Little Backwater.

The local paper, The Derby Evening Telegraph included an article this week concerning Mrs Alice Wheeldon. There is no doubt she was 'set up' by government agents. (MI5). (See article from Wed 27th August 2008). There are moves afoot to clear her name. Governments are 'all powerful' and I view the attempts to clear her name with interest.  

Deja Vu, Coincidence, Take your Pick. Article dated 27th August 2008.

On January 29th, 1917, the police arrested Mrs Alice Wheeldon, her daughters Hettie and Winifred and Winifred's husband Alfred Mason. The charge, plotting the assassination of the Prime Minister, Lloyd George, using a poisoned dart whilst he was out walking on a Surrey golf course. It was a far fetched almost unbelievable scheme but Mrs Wheeldon, was a known anarchist involved with women's suffrage and her son Willie was a conscientious objector. Though much of the evidence was gained by the use of government agent provocateurs, William Rickards and Herbert Booth, Mrs Wheeldon and her fellow conspirators were sent for trial. Mrs Wheeldon was sentenced to ten years in jail, Mason to seven and Winifred to five; Hettie was acquitted. (Mrs Wheeldon was released after only a few months in prison, Rickards was committed to a mental asylum.)

Mrs Wheeldon ran a second hand clothes shop and lived over the premises in Pear Tree Road, Normanton, a poor area in the town of Derby.

Today's local newspaper headline concerns the arrest of a man in Derby on Tuesday. The fourth arrest in connection with a plot to kill the Prime Minister, Gordon Brown. Mrs Margaret Beckett local MP was quoted as saying, "I would be sorry that anyone from the city is being considered as having been involved in something so serious." But she would, wouldn't she and of any case she's not originally from Derby so as we say in Derby, "She knows nowt!" Oh, I forgot to mention, the arrest took place in Moore Street, Derby just another street in Normanton, over ninety years on still a poor suburb of Derby. Some things never change.

(I was particularly interested in the case concerning Gordon Brown. The man arrested was an Albanian. He received a sentence of seven years imprisonment at Preston Crown Court in November 2009. Evidently he is to serve half his sentence and then be deported. The charges related to items found in his Moore Street house. Items including: 71.8 litres of petrol, The Bomb Book, a video titled Mobile Detonators. The Hezbollah Military Intruders Manuals and a document titled Ragnars Detonators. Life in Derby in the 21st century?)

I hope justice is achieved for Mrs Wheeldon. But so much concerning these cases astound me. Two Prime Ministers, separated by many, many years. But apparently hated to such an extent that people wished them dead. Life goes on, for better or worse. Just another story in a newspaper, todays news, tomorrow's history. Derby, my home town seldom attracts more than a passing glance. I think I prefer it that way. What do you think?

LBB

I feel exhausted, there again I didn't have a very good night's sleep. I usually blog around twice a week and I knew I was about due today. So I tossed and turned all night wondering what on earth to write. I could look in the papers and be topical but it's not my style. Of any case millions out there do that already. and who wants to know the opinions of a retired, sixty nine year old, at the moment exhausted ex-schoolmaster. Which begs the question, if I'm struggling to fill two blogs a week, how do you six or seven times a week bloggers do it. Some of you seldom go to bed, that's for sure!

And what did you do in your LBB?

Life Before Blogging, do you remember those far off days. And if you do, what on earth did you do with your time! I've asked this question of several bloggers and amazingly often bloggers are unwilling to divulge such highly secret information. Perhaps life as we know it before LBB never really existed. Similarly the question, 'Why blog' receives equally evasive replies.

There's no doubt the blogging world is a godsend for many. The lonely, the exiled, the newly liberated, all welcome the opportunities offered. It is for some a club, a collection of like minded people who offer support and solice to each other, often in times of need. The benefits that blogging offers many cannot be overestimated. For others it is a chance to pontificate, without interruption on every conceivable subject. What was it Nicholas Murray Butler said. 'An expert is one who knows more and more about less and less.' Which again puzzles this comparative newcomer to the world of blogging, why spend so much time for no financial reward whatsoever. (Please spare me the' There's more to life than money' spiel. There isn't if you haven't got any.)

Professional bloggers get paid, the sole reason for their often dubious efforts. Most areas have local newspaper hacks who churn out banal, often peurile blogs on a weekly basis. Not for them the luxury of choosing when to blog. It's the 'You're paid to blog, so blog' school of thought. We amateurs are more in control of our blogs, and are unpaid, so it is our choice. So why the compulsion to show others our knowledge, skill, wit. And why so public a face. I've often wondered how many bloggers kept extensive diaries prior to their rebirth as bloggers. And how many would have subjected those diaries to full public scrutiny.

I have a public speaking engagement tonight, at the St Augustines Wives Group in Upperdale Road, Derby (see blog dated Fri 6th June Talk Talk). And I get paid to do so. I get paid £164,000 for a ninety minute speech. Mr Blair also gives speeches, he gets £20 for approximately fifty minutes but has to pay his own travelling expenses. Or is it the other way round; I forget! (Bill Clinton earned $475,000 in a single day from two speeches.)I would be the first to admit there is an element of an ego tripping in public speaking closely related to blogging. Plus after a serious illness it is my way of keeping the old brain cells or what is left active. (see blog dated 18th May Hooray For The NHS). I suspect the problem comes when hobby becomes obsession. When compulsion drives ever deeper and the hobby or interest takes over. The main reason I doubt I could cope with blogging daily.

I was in hospital many years ago. The old chap in the next bed would relate hourly how many rolls of wire he would have made on any particular day. An admirable, dedicated workman who had made this wire for forty years. Admirable except that he was dying. I find that sad, surely there are more important things in life; maybe I'm wrong.

Funny thing, obsession. I know a man whose whole life revolves around twitching. (Bird watching to you and me) His wife has to dress up in a penguin suit and sit on the end of the bed squawking if she wishes to arouse him. All right, not true but you know what I mean when we talk about compulsions and obsessions.

Gordon Brown and Nigel Clough both made publicised visits to Derby last Wednesday. It is less well known that The Queen also visited. As Michael Caine would have said, 'Not a lot of people know that.'

She visited our local asylum on an informal visit. She does this sometimes you know. It tends to deflect the bad publicity the minor royals attract every time they open their mouths.

She took great interest in the gardens and was particularly taken by one old chap who was tending the flowerbeds.

'Good morning, my man,' she said to him graciously, (The Queen always does graciously) 'and what's the matter with you. Why are you in here?'

The old man sighed a great sigh. 'There's nothing the matter with me. I'm just a harmless old blogger who suffered writers blog. Broke down, cracked up and I'm now kept in here completely against my will.'

The Queen is a little deaf (not a lot of people know that either) and wasn't sure sure she'd heard exactly what he had said, but no matter.

'I'll see about that,' said The Queen indignantly (she can also do surprise, consternation, etc. She can do them all, for she is The Queen when alls said and done.) 'I'll not have my subjects locked up for nothing; even buggers. I'll sort it out when I get back to the palace.'

The old man was ecstatic. 'Thank you ma'am, thank you oh thank you.' And he bowed as bloggers do. (psst, how do bloggers bow?) And The Queen waved her hand dismissively, as queens do and moved on.

The Queen had travelled a mere ten steps when she received a large blow to the back of the head which brought her to her knees. She staggered to her feet, turned and through glazed eyes saw the old man gesticulating wildly.

'Don't forget,' he shouted, clutching another house brick in his other hand.

Enjoy your blogging, but don't take it too seriously, for you never know.

One final thought for today. Anyone any bright ideas for an epitaph on a bloggers tombstone?

Quirks of Fate

The Prime Minister, Gordon Brown visited Derby on Wednesday, as did Nigel Clough. And whose visit will be remembered longest, Nigel's of course. For Nigel has become manager of the local football team..

We are rather a small time town, and county for that matter. (We are actually a city but you would hardly know.) The local airport, East Midlands, four miles from Derby incorporated the name Notts in its title for a spell, arguing that no one knew where Derby or Derbyshire was. (I travel fairly extensively in the British Isles and find this is often the case.) Rather naff but perhaps the airport authority had a point.

We have little interest in informing the world of our greatness, our superiority over other beings. (Lest it be said we lack pride, our football ground is called Pride Park, not too often with just cause, except for last Wednesday of course.

If some Yorkshiremen are exiled, they often have to tell you, ad nauseum where they are from; if you work with some Yorkshiremen they too also remind you frequently. Not imagined, alas, I have worked with many. And quite frankly, if I was expected to shout 'Derbyshire, Derbyshire' at a football match I'd be embarrassed. I have many Yorkshire friends, including bloggers, visit the county often and much of the place is beautiful; so please, no more unwanted bellicose rants in my direction.

Which all makes me wonder how others see us and our home areas.

Derby; Bonnie Prince Charlie, marched from Scotland, got as far as Derby and went home; I wonder why. Derby, home of Derby Crown China, Rolls Royce aero engines. Derbyshire, Bakewell Puddings, (they are puddings, not tarts,) a crooked spire and underrated scenery.

It is interesting how places become famous, and occasionally infamous. I have never been to Hastings but I know there was a battle there. Lockerbie, for ever remembered for an horrific air crash. (It is twenty years this week since the Kegworth Air Disaster not far from here. I wonder how many will think of this when the name of Kegworth is mentioned.) I think of Hungerford and only think of a terrible gunman running amok. Bamburgh will forever be remembered as the birthplace of the brave Grace Darling. Nottingham and Robin Hood, the White Cliffs of Dover, Dick Turpin and York, we often form a picture of many places without having ever visited.

(Concerning infamy, see blog dated 4th October. I would be mortified if Derby were to be remembered for such detestable, thoughtless insensitive behaviour. It seems to have already been forgotten. Sad in a way though I would not like it to be thought of as being typical of the place.)

We seek an identity, some more than others. Which brings me back to good old Nigel; just a football manager. A forty two year old, modest, unassuming, likeable typical Derbyshire born individual. Whose arrival in Derby on Wednesday resembled that of the Messiah. And to many he is just that. Almost thirty thousand people go to the football at Derby. That's a lot of people for a the size of the place. (population around 230,000.) Football is in a way a tribal thing, intangible but an identity for many, and in cases like Derby somewhat traditional. Many children from an early age will 'adopt' a team. Usually a famous successful team, for instance Manchester United. Right or wrong, people travel miles to go to their home matches just for the privilege of watching what they consider the best and inevitably claim 'bragging rights' over lesser mortals. None of us have any control over where we were born. I was born in Derby and saw my first Derby County match in 1948. I have followed them since through thick and thin, and boy, have there been some thin times! Without wishing to labour the point, only a football fan can realise how a successful football team can lift a town. Many years ago Nigel Clough's father, Brian became the manager of Derby County and was extremely successful and popular. History repeats itself and the whole town is agog with excitement. Incidentally life can be very quirky. Nigel Clough was born here and lives here with his family. His father came from Middlesborough but we didn't mind and he is in fact buried here.

I look at the addresses of the friends I have made amongst the visitors to my humble blog; two things spring to mind. How do you see your town/city/area. What would you expect it to mean to me? And secondly, off the top of your head, what do you know of Derby and Derbyshire?

Deja Vu, Coincidence, Take your Pick.

On January 29th, 1917, the police arrested Mrs Alice Wheeldon, her daughters Hettie and Winifred and Winifred's husband Alfred Mason. The charge, plotting the assassination of the Prime Minister, Lloyd George, using a poisoned dart whilst he was out walking on a Surrey golf course. It was a far fetched almost unbelievable scheme but Mrs Wheeldon, was a known anarchist involved with women's suffrage and her son Willie was a conscientious objector. Though much of the evidence was gained by the use of government agent provocateurs, William Rickards and Herbert Booth, Mrs Wheeldon and her fellow conspirators were sent for trial. Mrs Wheeldon was sentenced to ten years in jail, Mason to seven and Winifred to five; Hettie was acquitted. (Mrs Wheeldon was released after only a few months in prison, Rickards was committed to a mental asylum.)

Mrs Wheeldon ran a second hand clothes shop and lived over the premises in Pear Tree Road, Normanton, a poor area in the town of Derby.

Today's local newspaper headline concerns the arrest of a man in Derby on Tuesday. The fourth arrest in connection with a plot to kill the Prime Minister, Gordon Brown. Mrs Margaret Beckett local MP was quoted as saying, "I would be sorry that anyone from the city is being considered as having been involved in something so serious." But she would, wouldn't she and of any case she's not originally from Derby so as we say in Derby, "She knows nowt!" Oh, I forgot to mention, the arrest took place in Moore Street, Derby just another street in Normanton, over ninety years on still a poor suburb of Derby. Some things never change.