A businesslike approach to the threat of extinction

Greta Thunberg asked why she should go to school if everything she would learn there is irrelevant in the face of catastrophic climate change.

But what if you’ve already spent decades in business earning a living and working towards a great future for your employees and for your own family? How do you react when you are confronted by the looming climate change disaster?

Two St Albans businessmen who did not previously know each other took similar action. 

Alex Paul is owner/director of a sportswear company employing fifty.  He has been with Extinction Rebellion since its inception. 

“I asked myself the question In ten years time when my children ask me what I did to prevent the catastrophe what will I say? I now have an answer for that question.”

Nigel Harvey, CEO of a company which coordinates recycling joined Extinction Rebellion over the summer.  His motivation was strikingly similar to Alex’s.  

“One day I hope to have grandchildren.  When they ask me whether I did anything to prevent this crisis, I’ll have some sort of answer for them.”

Both are busy running their businesses and annual leave is limited so each picked the means to make the maximum contribution to Extinction Rebellion in the shortest time. 

They each attended training sessions on the rights of arrestees, then booked a day off work, travelled into London, and headed for the high-vis jackets of the police cordon.

On Monday 7^th October Nigel sat on the road in Trafalgar Square in defence of a scaffolding tower which Extinction Rebellion members had erected, climbed and then superglued themselves to.  In no time, he was being carried off into a police van.

On Tuesday 8^th October Alex went to Downing St.  Seeing that the police were clearing the protesters’ tents, he went and sat in an empty one and refused to budge.  He was arrested almost immediately.

Both were released after a number of hours and able to resume work the next day.  Both now have a cogent story which makes clear to their colleagues and friends the depth of their concern for the future of the planet and the need to act.

Job done.  For both Alex and Nigel a businesslike approach to climate protest has proved effective.

It should also be said that Alex is not the first arrestee in his family. In the April protests, his wife, Emily Spry, GP, decided to be arrested in order to spread awareness of the climate change emergency.  If Alex’s response is anything to go by, it certainly had an effect.

Extinction Rebellion

When is being arrested a good thing?

When you are doing it deliberately to raise awareness of the looming threat of climate change.

On Monday Nigel  sat on the road in Trafalgar Square in defence of a scaffolding tower which Extinction Rebellion members had erected, climbed and then superglued themselves to.  

The protesters are following the example of Greta Thunberg and the school strikes in asking the government to act urgently to save the planet from irreversible climate change.

Far from being one of the “crusties” dismissed by Boris Johnson, Nigel is CEO of a company which coordinates recycling and he has a science degree from Cambridge University.  Many of the Extinction Rebellion protesters are educated professionals who have seen the data on climate change and are terrified by the implications.

“The great mistake is to imagine that the UK will be okay.  The changes that are affecting the planet will wipe out millions of hectares of agricultural land and dispossess many millions of people across the globe.  You can be certain the repercussions will damage the UK.”

Nigel was keen to allow himself to be arrested to show how important this issue was to him.

“Extinction Rebellion follows the models of the Suffragettes and the American Civil Rights Movement led by Martin Luther King. Allowing myself to be arrested is a great way of showing how important this is to me.  One day I hope to have grandchildren.  When they ask me whether I did anything to prevent this crisis, I’ll have some sort of answer for them.”

The Capture

We've been watching The Capture, the cleverly plotted BBC drama. 

It's made me think - how many times each day as I go about my work routines, pics/footage of me is captured.  I teach in several different schools which have adopted a new visitor system.  On arrival, I go to a touch screen and enter my details.  Then it takes a pic.
Even though it's a head shot, I can't help sucking in my stomach.

The photo is then printed out with my name, inserted in a little plastic wallet and hung round my neck on a lanyard.
 
I had presumed that this was in case, under the stress of modern teaching, I was found wondering the corridors, unable to remember my own name. 

Now, I realise it is for security. 

Or maybe for blackmail purposes - if I ever threatened to quit a particular school they could post the world's most unflattering photo on facebook/insta/twitter.

At the first school this week, I was too short for their set-up and my photo was only of my glasses and the top of my head. 

In the second school, I had cycled and my hair was frizzy and my glasses misted.

In the third school, the set-up takes photos against the light, so as always, I was represented by a silhouette, specs glinting in a sinister manner.

Think I'm going to invest in a stick-on moustache to see if I can go one better next week.
After that - some false goofy teeth.

And when I run out of ideas - a hand-stand of course.

New nests

In the last couple of months, all of my children have moved house into proper civilised flats. Still rentals rather than the distant glittering dream of a mortgage. But definitely smarter than in the past. 

It seems like just yesterday we were dragging new bedding into university halls of residence (or not, in the case of Carenza who forgot hers).  I had a really bad back at that point, so while Nigel hauled a massive suitcase of clothes I would carry a pack of paperclips.

Perhaps because of such past uselessness, none of the children involved me in their move this time.

It felt weird.

 

I wanted to see where they were living.  Help them settle in.  It is a basic Mum function. 

At a very primitive level, I have a need to interfere with their interior design.

I have now managed to blag my way into Perran and Carenza’s flat, and mighty fine it is.  I think they wanted to hold off until it was perfect – being new householders, they don’t realise yet that it will never be perfect. But I was still impressed.

And I have a ticket to go to Edinburgh in November. Pascoe thinks I am coming to see him, but in fact, it is his flat that I am interested in.

On Skype, Pascoe tells me he has been enjoying watching the antlike continuous parade of new Edinburgh students entering Wilkinsons and leaving with an armful of essentials which ALWAYS includes a clothes airer.

“That was us once,” I say.

The Dove and the Passion Flower

The last few weeks have been about trying again.

A year ago we attempted to establish our own flock of doves but failed to source bonded pairs of birds as we should have. 

Over winter we appeared to be running an all-you-can-eat buffet for the local sparrowhawk. In the spring the two remaining pairs nested but magpies raided them persistently. Finally they drifted off to join a bigger flock just down the road.

Three weeks ago we got new birds and netted them in so they would learn to think of our dove cote as home. Then on the night of a dear friend's funeral, a fox broke in, killed one dove and made a hole big enough for others to get out.

Now we are trying once more with four new pairs of doves.

Meanwhile in the back garden, we just planted a passion flower for the fourth time. We're usually good with flowers, but clearly not passion flowers. Maybe this time.

In both cases, we think it's worth trying again because we have a vision. A flock of doves wheeling above our house and landing on the roof.  A sunny back wall bursting into life with the exotic green and violet blooms of the passion flower.

With both flowers and birds, we've taken note of what went wrong and tried to improve our chances of success this time.

Wish us luck

Extinction Rebellion

A really potent army recruitment poster of 1915 had a child asking his father, “Daddy, what did YOU do in the Great War?”

There is nothing more powerful than the thought that we will be called to account for our actions.  Especially if it our own children and grandchildren who are suffering as a result. 

So Nigel and I joined Extinction Rebellion.  It’s not like we have an excess of spare time or a shortage of hobbies.  It just seems incredibly urgent.

Many people would like to carry on the way we are - "If we ignore climate change, maybe it'll go away." Plus there is a strong mesh of business interests which does not want us to consume fewer resources. 

However, I have studied history and archaeology and I know that mighty civilisations like ours have fallen and that sometimes it has been for environmental reasons.

It is devastatingly inaccurate for us Brits to say, "We'll be okay." 

Actually global climate crisis will affect all of us. The millions who are being drowned and scorched will strive for survival. Society will break down on an unprecedented level.

Ours is the last generation that can prevent this. I am haunted by the vision of my someday grandchildren asking me what I did to ensure the planet was habitable for them. I want to have some sort of answer for them.

The death of a friend

When we downsized to our new house four years ago, Ann and Helen kindly came to help me unpack the kitchen.  We worked hard for several hours and at the end of the day we were all tired.

“I think that’s enough for today,” I said.

But I had reckoned without Ann’s characteristic of being a completer/finisher.  It was one of the things that made her so effective, but at that moment, I could have done without it.

“Let’s just leave it now.”

But she was determined to finish the job.  And because she was tired, a dish slipped from her fingers and got chipped.

The dish was part of a set, so I kept it.  But every time I used it, the chip annoyed me a little.

However, this summer, Ann suffered a terrible horse-riding accident, and after three weeks in a coma, she died.

She leaves a great gap in all our lives and when her funeral took place, four hundred and fifty people arrived from all over the country to pay tribute to the extraordinary person she was.

It has been too hard to write about, but suffice it to say, that chipped dish is now the most precious one in my house.

XR and the ants

At Greenbelt, Nigel, Pascoe and I took the opportunity to find out more about Extinction Rebellion (XR).  We don’t want our descendants to live in a world of famine, pollution and social breakdown. 

In order to get motivated to do something about Climate Change, we have to look squarely at the consequences.

And, it’s very frightening. 

So I also soothed myself by going on a nature walk run by Bob Gilbert, aimed at noticing the unnoticed (e.g. a beautiful willowherb flower that had taken root in the crook of a beech).  And by going on a foraging event led by Miles Irving where we learnt why we should gather ribwort, nettle seed and purple ground ivy.

But, the best indication of hope occurred just as we were packing up our tent.  I picked up the gas canister which had been on the ground only three days and discovered that in that brief time, yellow meadow ants  had nested inside its concave base and had filled this new chamber with their pupae.  I had to remove the canister, but we saw worker ants start to pick up the pupae and carry them to safety.

Given a chance, nature will triumph.  But we do have to ensure that Climate Change does not take our last chance away.

photo by Pascoe

Festival on Fire

Each August Bank Holiday, Nigel, Pascoe and I go to Greenbelt Festival and camp with Nick and Jackie (and this year, Mark, Adri and offspring too).  Nick found us all a great spot.

We were close to some portaloos and a stand pipe, but not TOO near.

Even better, we were right next to a large area of grass – presumably one of the campsite fire breaks. 

However, when we got back to our tents on the first night, a large fire was burning in the grassy area.  Worse, campers had begun to sing songs around it.

“Oh you’ll never get to Heaven in a biscuit tin…”

I was indignant:

“Don’t they realise how dangerous fire is on a campsite?  How do I contact the fire marshalls?”

“It’s okay Mum,” said Pascoe, “There’s somebody wearing a yellow gilet that says Fire Marshall…Hold on though – what on earth are they doing?”

The fire marshall was giving the fire a good poke and adding some sticks.

Clearly they had completely misunderstood the role of fire marshall. 

And it wasn’t just a single rogue operator – other fire marshalls joined him and stood warming their hands beside the blaze.

“She’ll be coming round the mountain when she comes…”

I was no longer sure who to complain to.

And on the following night, it happened all over again.

It was only on our last night that I thought to check the programme and discovered that it was the official Greenbelt Campfire – open to all festival-goers.

So this Greenbelt was the one where I discovered my inner NIMBY – although I’m not sure I ought to be boasting about it.

The one good thing about an eight hour drive

I visit my parents in Cornwall as often as I can.  I seem to be good at choosing a time to drive down, but bad at picking a moment to come back. 

My last two homeward journeys have been interrupted by crashes on the M5.  (I haven’t investigated to discover the nature of the accidents – I don’t want to know.)

Each time, Google maps has routed me across country to the A303.

I have travelled through thatched hamlets on narrow tracks that appeared to have been adopted only recently by the council.  I have followed a caravan which was perilously scraping the hedges on both sides.  And then I have ground to a halt detained by a new traffic jam created by all the other drivers who have been following Google’s whimsical advice.

I have often felt that Google is toying with me.  Perhaps even that my cross-country struggles are being observed by some super-villain at the heart of an IT hub, cackling “Mwah-hah-hah!”

But if there is one thing that has made the massive detours worthwhile, it is the moment on the A303 when, from around a hillock appears the magnificent, square-shouldered grey monument of Stonehenge.  It lifts my heart with its ancient presence, and the engineering achievement it represents makes me proud to be British.

Which is just as well, because if Brexit goes through, we’ll be right back to the Stone Age.

Lunar eclipse with badgers

Fiona and I had just been for a twilight walk along the river at St Clements and I was dropping her off at her house when I suddenly remembered,

“Ooh, there’s a lunar eclipse tonight, starting around now…I thought we might watch it together.”

“Can’t see anything here – too many trees.”

“So no holding hands in the moonlight?”

“Nope.  Sling your hook.”

So I drove back to my parents’ house, dived in to tell them I’d returned, then back out to the garden to look at the eclipse.  It reminded me of an orange smiley mouth glowing benignly over the town.

Then I noticed that something was coming towards me up the drive.

A cat?

Not unless it was a cat that had been body building.

I realised that I was being approached by my father’s arch enemy, The Badger.  The badger has for years dug up my father’s seedlings because where he watered the soil, it attracted delicious worms.

The handsome yet rather large animal caught me by surprise and I let out an involuntary shriek.  The badger hesitated, then in a leisurely manner, turned and trundled off back down the drive.

Meanwhile, the eclipse was continuing spectacular.  I Whatsapped my family who live in the South to go look.  Nigel ventured outside the pub in St Albans and texted back “Lovely”

But Perran and Carenza were so excited at the prospect of an eclipse, that they ran out into their gritty London street, Carenza without shoes, but reported,

“Oh no, can’t see.  There’s low cloud in London.”

“Never mind that,” I replied, “There’s bloody badgers in Cornwall.”

Shed Roof

Mum and Dad are very independent and are still doing jobs in the house and garden that I would either put off or pay somebody else to do. 

Usually, my offers of help get turned down and I feel I haven’t been terribly useful, apart from driving them on outings.

But last time, I was more insistent and instead of rejecting my offer at once, I could see Dad turning it over: “There is one thing…”

“Good,” I thought.  “Maybe a little weeding in the garden or a touch of spring cleaning in the house.”

 “…The shed needs re-roofing.”

My heart sank.

The garden shed was a large one – ten foot by five.  It was nearly as old as me (i.e. old) and was gradually attaining a rhomboidal profile as it sagged over the years (unlike me, I’d like to point out).

Was re-roofing even feasible?  In many places, the wood was rotten.  Inside lived scary, poisonous false widow spiders.

“That’s fine Dad.  How are we going to do it?”

“Like I’ve done it the last two times.”  He produced a large plastic tarpaulin and together we hauled it over the shed roof. 

He then handed me a rather small staple gun and it was my job to ping in the six million staples needed to attach the tarpaulin round the eaves. 

The staple gun jammed on every tenth shot and nipped my fingers as I fought with it.  The sun came out and made me sweat in the long-sleeved top I’d donned against the spiders.

But when I finally screwed the guttering back into place, I had a definite feeling of satisfaction – this time I really had been useful.

The Ginger Beer Bug - on Radio Verulam

My story The Ginger Beer Bug - about friendship and the inconvenient gift of a ginger beer starter - has been broadcast on Radio Verulam - Rob Pearman's Local Life Show on Wednesday 17th July. It is now available as a podcast.

  Ginger Beer Bug comes just after Nick Churton's hilarious An Unwanted Appearance.

Listen to the podcast here:
Local Life Podcast - Two More Short Stories

I have also written about the ginger beer starter in a previous blog - Of Friends and Fermentation

My thanks to Rob Pearman for an enjoyable recording session.

The kindness of a stranger

Carol had a great itinerary planned for the day.  It was a walk around picturesque Three Peaks Bay.

We anticipated the sight of sea holly, rock samphire and the mass of painted lady butterflies arriving from their migration across the sea.

Caroline drove us, and due to narrow lanes packed full of traffic there was much squeezing into passing places, lots of waiting and a certain amount of reversing.

But we knew it would be worth it.

However, when we got to the carpark at the Three Peaks Campsite, every single space was full.  More cars were arriving behind us.  We were never going to get a place.

Then out of nowhere appeared the campsite owner/manager.  She asked a group of young men who had arrived in two cars to double park with each other and create a space for us.  She then approached the others who were queuing behind us and directed them to another carpark several miles away.

From being the unluckiest walkers in the world, we were now the luckiest.

It didn’t even surprise us when the sun came out and shone on the Three Peaks cliff and the ruins of a Mediaeval Castle in the dunes.

At the end of the day, we returned to the campsite, had a cup of tea at their café and bought gifts to take home to our spouses from their shop.  

And when I spotted the manager again, I thanked her for a very special day.

Walking and Talking

 

Carol, Caroline, Diane and I have a core purpose. It is walking and talking. Coffee might happen but what we most want to do, for the last fifteen years, is go for a walk together.

Yet for a long time we've had to compromise. Each of us in turn has had a foot/ankle injury, some more long-lasting than others.

In hopes all would be well, we'd booked a walking weekend to the Gower Peninsula in August. There was not much else to do there so we fretted we'd not be up to walking.

Carol, undisputed Mistress of the Map, planned a walk of seven miles along the ridge above Rhossili Bay, out to the island and back along the beach. 

In the morning, we creaked into our boots and hitched on our rucksacks apprehensively. Would our dodgy feet stagger that far?

We flapped along the breezy ridge, crowned with a haze of heather and gorse.  Down through dunes, past blue sea holly and a thousand bees. Then on to Burry Holms Island where we watched the invasion of hundreds of painted lady butterflies and devoured our sandwiches. 

The march back took us along the beach studded with razor shells and with surfers providing the entertainment. The steep haul back up the cliff to the Worm's Head Hotel nearly killed us. 

But we'd achieved it -  a long walk.

Better still, next day we got up and did another one.

Welsh Wine Lake

Going off with my mates for a walking weekend to the Gower. I tried to disguise the fact that I'd brought too much stuff by keeping my main suitcase small but putting walking gear and provisions in several carriers that clustered round my suitcase like satellites round the mother ship.

This meant that when Carol and Caroline came to pick me up I had to make two trips between my front door and Caroline's car boot. 

It was in between the first and second trips that The Incident occurred. 

I returned to see a pool of red wine seeping out of one of my bags onto the road. 

At nine in the morning my cul-de-sac was heavy with the scent of fair-trade merlot while a stain reminiscent of Silent Witness spread a surprisingly long way across the road.

None of us recalled clacking the bottle so there may have been a weakness in the glass. 

Being practised domestic goddesses we sprang into action and had the puddle cleaned up in no time. Before my neighbours confirmed their worst suspicions about me.

And would the loss of the merlot ruin our weekend? 

Not a chance. I had a second bottle in one of my other bags.

A Test of Friendship

We have spent many a weekend with our friends the Thompsons. Once we lived in County Durham, in a village next door to theirs, had our first children within a year of one another. Now we live hundreds of miles apart.

All our youngsters are living independently. Hannah even got married. So nowadays it is just us four old codgers meeting up.

We meet in the Peak District since it is half way between.

Since it was July, we decided to camp.

The forecast looked okay. Perhaps a little rain on Sunday.

Not long after we had pitched our tents on Friday, watery clouds began to frown-out the sun.

We checked the forecast – some rain now on Saturday too.

By Saturday afternoon, we had retreated early from our hike.  Wet and listless we explored Bakewell, crowded with damp tourists.  

Then we began to get the hang of it – basically the forecast had been wrong- it was going to rain heavily all weekend.

Well, now we knew.  We made plans for Sunday – we’d go to Haddon Hall where there was also an “Artisan Fair” (like a craft fair but without the teasel hedgehogs and decoupage) and then on to the cinema to see Yesterday.

The guides at Haddon Hall crammed us with interesting anecdotes, the artisans told us their secrets – how to hunt problem gulls with a lanner falcon, how to fly fish for brown trout.  Best of all, we met several alpacas, making their weird humming bleats.

Yesterday was entertaining and its (many) flaws gave us plenty to discuss.

Then on Monday morning, at last the sun shone.  We walked miles, took all our photos and dismantled our tents in the dry.

“Monday will be the day we remember!” said Carolyn.

But I’m not so sure – I’ll always hold onto the memory of good friends who were able to make even a wet weekend in tents fun.