Between a Bridge and a Pub

There are two planning applications being considered at the present time that in theory could have repercussions for the area in which I live. I speak of the application to erect a rather large wind turbine at Riddian Bridge and the conversion of the old Avion Cinema to a Weatherspoons Pub.

I have mixed feelings about both.

To me wind turbines resemble the windmills of old and are really quite beautiful when seen out at sea from a shore nearby. Even some of those sited on wind swept hills seem to lift some quality from below and make me smile. So I'm not against them per se. Let’s face it we desperately need to obtain our energy from environmentally clean and sustainable sources. The prospect of more nuclear energy terrorises me but that’s just me!

In Walsall we are blessed with some lovely nature reserves and green spaces but there are few beautiful views unless you stand on top of Barr Beacon, which if you haven’t done you should do! The views from Riddian Bridge and towards it too are pleasant and about as rural as you can get in an urban borough such as Walsall, which is where my mixed feelings come into play. I suspect that once it’s been built I will grow to like the turbine every bit as much as others I have admired but I admit to a niggle.

As to the Avion, well to save the 1930s building from the curse of the Walsall Firestarter would be a noble and fine thing but my misgivings here are based upon experience of what has gone before.

With The Elms having gone to being a Crown Carvery it really is no longer a traditional pub and Aldridge could do with a decent central pub open to all. However there is a reason The Elms went the way it did and I witnessed the reasons on a Friday or Saturday night far too often. A casual drink, listening to a live band, a little bop to the tracks played by a DJ became undesirable with the youngsters, unable to handle their earlier home consumed Alcopops etc on top of what was then consumed on the premises, causing madness and mayhem. There was a good reason for all those employed on security duties.

The Elms gained the sort of reputation that had previously been the preserve of The Hop and Grape (or Hope and Grope as it was known locally) until its closure some years ago now. Despite attempts by decent people to manage what happened within, it became a place to avoid and one poor man was murdered in an alley just over the road after being followed out of the pub.

Neither place was the preserve of just the locals, both attracted custom from a much wider area and I always used to wonder what it was that went through a non-local’s mind when deciding that Aldridge was the place for a Friday or Saturday night out!

So both applications have their good points for me but both bring negatives. Que sera…..

A rural view over fields very close to Riddian Bridge. Taken in May 2011

Snowdon: Our Journey

On a beautifully sunny day a month ago I finally crossed a long-standing ‘thing to do before I die’ off my list. Along with my daughter and partner, we walked to the summit of Snowdon and back down again.

Having been in North Wales for over a week before making the climb we had chosen the day with care, holding out for a forecast when no rain was due and we were rewarded well. At 8am we set off from the car park at Pen-y-Pass using the Miners Track, in glorious sunshine. We were wrapped up warmly as despite the sunshine it was a mere 9C however with a good pace for the first hour or so, layers were gradually packed away in rucksacks and arms and legs shown to the sun. During the day we did see some cloud and the sun hid from us now and then but on the whole we chose a wonderful day in which to do this for the very first time.

The first part of the Miners Path is, well it’s easy and it does lull you into a false sense of security, which is smashed to smithereens later on! However it is a very gentle ascent until well past the causeway at Llyn Llydaw. We were lucky at this time as there were few who were following this path so early in the day and so for the most part we could enjoy the beauty of the morning and our surroundings in relative peace and quiet. How glorious the landscape is. When travelling past Snowdon by road I had often thought how grey and stark it looked but once walking, it became clear that this was not the case at all. The colours are subtle and muted but Snowdon is far greener than I had anticipated.

I tried not to look upwards on my left hand side too often for there lay our destination and although we had been walking for a while, it didn't seem to get any nearer and so it was better not to look! It is a daunting prospect from below.

The water in the lakes was beautifully clear and looked so inviting. Later in the day on our descent we glimpsed hardy or perhaps foolhardy people frolicking and swimming in Glaslyn. I admit that I spent far too long lingering by the waters and taking photographs but I just wanted to drink the whole experience in and imprint the beautiful pictures in front of my eyes along with the serenity I was feeling inside, within my mind forever.

Once past Glaslyn the path becomes steep, uneven and downright difficult in parts! At stages we scrambled upon the scree and more than once I was thankful that there was no low cloud or rain obscuring the way. It became obvious why so many people come to grief in poor weather conditions on this most accessible of mountains. It’s still a challenge no matter how many people walk and climb it and shouldn't be taken as a light task. The penultimate haul from where the Miners Track meets the Pyg Track took an excessive amount of time. It is very steep and by this stage there were many people ascending and one or two early risers who by now were descending having perhaps claimed the summit to themselves as their reward for getting out of bed at ridiculous o clock! I readily admit that I found this part difficult, as did my companions although my daughter’s difficulties were more to do with not liking the drop to our left hand side rather than the strenuous nature of the activity.

The puffing, panting, grunting, hurting all melted away into nothing once we reached the post where the path from Llanberis comes up. All of a sudden a breathtaking vista opens up in front of your eyes. A few fluffy white clouds were in my eye line and then before me lay what felt like the whole world; lakes, villages, hills and in the distance the sea. It had been worth every moment of effort.

With renewed vigour we turned left and walked towards the summit. This took us another 15 minutes or so. It was extremely busy by this time with what seemed to be the world and his wife taking advantage of the glorious weather to make the climb. The train chuffed passed us on ascent and then descent but I did not envy those who had taken that transport to the summit. Apart from those who have no choice through disability, I pitied those who cannot experience the sense of achievement in having done what we were doing.

It was hard to actually get onto the summit point itself due to the sheer numbers of people attempting the same thing but we did make it for a couple of minutes. And then I found a relatively quiet spot and had a moment with my Mom. I admit to having had a good cry then. Mom would have loved it there with the stunning views and it saddened me that she had never made it up there. She told me not to be so daft because she had been with me every step of the way and was enjoying the moment with me. I pulled myself together and rejoined my companions. We purchased top up drinks and a well needed coffee from the café but if you’re thinking of doing the same, I urge you to consider which body part you will sell in order to fund such purchases. There is nothing like a captive market. We then found a quiet enough spot for the three of us to sit together and eat the packed lunch we had brought with us. We sat munching away, reflecting upon our efforts, on the fact that it was worth it and enjoying the views.

I must mention a tiny young lady of just four years old. We first made her acquaintance with her family at the car park and spent most of the ascent passing them or they passing us. She made it all the way to the summit without being carried. I've no idea if the same happened on the descent as we didn't see them again after meeting them at the summit.

We enjoyed a good hour up there to rest and recharge the batteries and then we began our descent, which was a difficult thing to do such was the volume of upward traffic facing us. One of the things that I did find a hindrance was dogs. The rules of the national park clearly state that dogs should be kept on leads. Unfortunately the majority of owners appear to ignore this rule when it starts to get tough, the pathway narrows and the dog starts pulling in a different direction to the one the owner wished to travel. A request, for the comfort and safety of yourself and for others, leave your dogs at home. Several times I was nearly tripped by a free running dog. It seriously hinders progress when you have to be on the look out for the animals and it also ruins the place having to listen to owners shout and call their dogs. You may as well be in a town park.

The decision was made to take the Pyg Track down as it gave us a different route to the ascent and finished at the car park we had started from. On the whole I don’t think it offered such good views and I didn't enjoy it, however this may have something to do with me finding it far more difficult to descend rather than climb. I always have and the advent of creaky joints and bones with my advancing age hasn't helped! We spent some considerable time being distracted by a mountain rescue that took place above us, the RAF helicopter swooping around and finally lowering a rescuer to whomever it was that needed their help. Once the rescue had been made peace once again became our preserve as by now the crowds had thinned and we were seeing less and less people.

We arrived back at the car park just under 8 hours after we had started earlier in the day. We had taken our time, enjoying the views, the sunshine, the experience and having a good rest at the summit. It wasn't a race but an experience to enjoy and savour and I hope to do it again as soon as I can although my two companions may differ on that!

The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth

This has been a difficult blog to write for a myriad of reasons but mostly because it’s an emotive subject and as regular readers know I get emotional over very simple matters!

A few years ago Father Christmas asked me if my daughter had been a good girl that year. When I replied that she was always good he gave me an incredulous look but it’s true, she is. She’s always been well behaved, polite, trustworthy and I've never had a problem with her going places with other people because I know instinctively that she will behave.

Back in May during a PE lesson at her Primary school, Whetstone Field in Aldridge, an incident occurred where the teacher in charge that day, grabbed my daughter with rather too much force resulting in substantial bruising on her arm. Every finger and the thumb prints could be seen. My argument has always been that it was unnecessary to grab my daughter in such a way and to drag her across the playground. She wasn't misbehaving and even if she had been to use force that left clear and unambiguous bruising was unacceptable and unprofessional. There was never a question in my mind that my daughter’s report of the incident was nothing but truthful, she doesn't lie plus why on earth would she lie about such a thing? The teacher concerned had no recollection of the incident. Take from that what you will.

This is where events took on a life of their own and where I as a reasonably intelligent person got caught up in procedures and meetings that I knew nothing about. I've never had to deal with Children’s Services and Initial Response Teams and Multi-agency Strategy meetings before and I'm none the wiser now because not one person involved in all of these agencies told me what was happening, what should happen and what my daughter’s rights and expectations should be.

I had a meeting with the Head Teacher where she was shown the bruising and given full details. Her reaction was insipid to say the least and when I asked her what would happen next she advised me that she would probably let the Chair of the Governors know by the end of the day. I walked home and decided that I didn't like the reaction I had just received and contacted the Police.

Without going into detail all I can say is that the agencies involved let my daughter down badly. The Police didn't listen to my initial call and sent a local bobby to interview my daughter about the alleged assault, rather than a specialist officer. The school didn't swing into action as they should have done and there was delay in contacting Children’s Services. The initial response team at Children’s Services were slow on the uptake too. The result of all this was that it was 8 days after the incident before my daughter was examined by a paediatrician who was unable to neither confirm nor deny that daughter’s account of how the bruising happened was true because by then the bruising had faded to a yellow mess.

Unbeknown to me a Strategy Meeting involving the Police, the School, Children’s Services and Serco took place and the decision of the meeting was that no further action would be taken. At the time I was informed of this I didn't realise the importance and finality of this decision. I do now. I was never informed that the meeting would be take place and who would be there. At no stage was I ever informed of any procedures and what would happen. I have learned that when you find yourself dealing with an incident where advice as to what is happening should be given, agencies/authority close ranks and leave you stumbling around in the dark.

The result is that due to ‘the lack of evidence’ due to the tardiness of all those involved including the school who interviewed just one child from a class of 30 who had witnessed the incident and that child on being confronted with his Head Teacher and Class Teacher in a room on his own with nobody to hold his hand, understandably got muddled and confused, the word of the teacher, who had everything to lose, was believed over the word of my daughter who had nothing to lose and no reason to lie.

I have learned a lot from this incident. In future if I find myself in a situation where I do not know the ropes I will obtain specialist advice immediately and I advise others to do the same. If you don’t then there is no justice for a child. Those who preach the mantra of children having all the rights these days and no responsibilities should take heed of this account. My child had no rights in all of this, took all the responsibility and achieved no justice despite having done nothing wrong.

Fortunately my daughter has now moved onto to Secondary school and is happy there. Unfortunately there is still a teacher at Whetstone Field who needs some retraining at the very least but is not getting it and who should if she had any conscience and morality have accepted responsibility for hurting my daughter. I feel for you if you have a child there because in my experience it is not the school it once was nor the school it likes to project itself as.

This is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth as I see it and in my opinion.

Cuts and Pits

Late last Thursday afternoon we took a walk along the canal in Rushall and through Park Lime Pits. The variety of flora and fauna at this time of the year is amazing and everything looked stunning. The heron was about as always.

We are so blessed to have such beauty on our doorsteps even though we live in an urban jungle

Wild plums are everywhere, we counted at least five different varieties. We now have 14 jars of beautiful wild plum jam. We've called it Parkies Jam.

This is Walsall....the bit you don't see from the M6! Tranquil, lovely and surprisingly rural. This is the Walsall I love.

On death and life

Death as the cliché goes is part of life. You can pay an accountant to avoid taxes but even those rich enough to be able to buy into cryogenics cannot avoid death. As a child I was shielded from the deaths of elderly aunties and uncles by never being part of the conversation. There were no funerals to attend, children weren’t part of that, people just ceased to be there. Now and then when someone who had been well loved died I saw my Grandfather shed tears but never my Mother or Grandmother. It was all about not showing the children how upsetting death was and so I grew up not knowing anything about real grief.

Of course as the child of a God fearing family I became acquainted with the afterlife in the forms of a floaty, high above the clouds heaven, where everyone was happy and smiling and contented and of the stark alternative of the fire and brimstone with added torturous pain forever through eternity, of hell, through regular attendance at Sunday School but these were abstract concepts to the child and never really spoken about except when I had been a particularly naughty child (and I was frequently) and was told that if I carried on as I had been doing then I would end up in hell. So what I thought, I'm going to live forever.

My first real encounter with the finality of death was the demise of the family pet guinea pig, who one day whilst eating his weetabix at the table suddenly fell sideways and ended up on the floor doing a little guinea pig fit. He was taken to the vets and never came home and so death and death by special drugs only available to animals entered my life experience. I cried and missed little Titch for a while.

When my Grandfather died when I was 15 his death hit me like a pole-axe. I could not imagine a world where he wasn't there, could not countenance a life where he wasn't around giving me hugs, supporting me, encouraging me and loving me. His funeral was the first I ever attended and in retrospect I can see that it was a good funeral to attend for a first. Lots of people there, a Vicar who said some pretty astonishing things that have stayed with me to this day even though he had never met my wonderful Grandfather. Grief was not hidden this time. I saw how his death affected my family and relations; their tears and tantrums; nothing was hidden. I stayed with my Grandmother for over a week after his death and we grew close. She talked about her childhood and about her life with my Grandfather and I learned. It was those days with her that I treasure and that set me on a life long hunt for my pesky ancestors, some of whom prove most elusive after 30 odd years.

A few days after Granddad died, Elvis was discovered on his lavatory no longer of this planet and I was annoyed by what I thought was a so-called faux grief displayed by fans. I remember thinking that these people on my TV screen obviously had no idea what it was to lose through death a magnificent and wonderful man like my Grandfather, who was real and known whereas Elvis, well he was just a bloated, self obsessed, self indulgent has been as far as I was concerned.

Life did go one despite what my feelings were on the day my Grandfather died and in continuing I attended many more funerals including peers who died far too young and children who died in cruel ways. I witnessed grief in many forms and not just caused through death but from the breakdown of precious relationships. Death is not the only form of loss.

Since 21^st March I have discovered new levels of grieving. It is a myriad of emotions and a roller coaster ride endured because I'm not sure where or when I get off if indeed ending the rise is an option. It’s not just that you miss someone, it is the realisation that although you always meant to, you never did get around to telling your loved one just how much they meant to you on a day to day basis. We all do it. We love our family and friends even worship the ground they walk upon but we let every day life get in the way, small insignificant things cloud the one true and most important reality of how much we do care and so we forget to let them know. Then comes the guilt, it is a heavy burden even if in more lucid moments we acknowledge that guilt is not an appropriate feeling because there should be none; we did our best and the person whom you loved knew that even if they didn't acknowledge it during life.

There has been laughter as well as the tears, remembering the good times, the ways in which my Mother made me laugh, cared for me, the little things she did that made the world a much better place, the way she loved me and all of her family. Oh but I miss her so. I go down to see Dad most days and his grief has been rather more intensive than my own because they were together for nearly 54 years and I have my children to look after whilst he now has nothing. Little has been moved or changed since Mom died because that is the way he wants it but I find this crippling. Every day I have to face her coats hanging in the hall, still with traces of her perfume lingering upon them. Her shoes, her bag, her paperwork, her toiletries, her perfumes and make up, her clothes; everything as it was the day she died, awaiting her return, a return that will never happen. I would love to talk with Dad about Mom, memories shared but he’s not ready to do that and so I cannot move on with my own grief.

I'm not ready to philosophise on all of this but I do know that when someone dies we don’t talk about them enough. It seems that people go to great lengths to avoid talking about the person no longer there. Why does this happen? If we talked more and shared memories wouldn't that help us all deal with a loss that is all encompassing and so very difficult to deal with?

I don’t share my Mother’s deep Christian faith but as it meant so much to her I like to think of her, in her own room in God’s house, surrounded by all the things she enjoyed and loved so much in life, laughing and enjoying and being free from pain.

An Open letter to Ken MacLeod

You may be wondering who Ken is. Meet him here.

Dear Ken,

I see from your photograph in the Birmingham Mail that you appear to have a disability; a physical disability, open for all to see. Maybe because people see your difference to an able bodied person they treat you a little more kindly, open doors for you, take a little more time to listen to you and your needs, give you a little respect.

I would like you for just a short while to imagine that your disability is hidden and what that might be like. It's inside. It's real enough but people cannot see it. Imagine that your mind and brain are all there but the wiring got a little muddled and so sometimes you don't understand what is happening around you. Perfectly normal day to day situations can be a challenge because communication is sometimes a little difficult or even very difficult. You don't understand something or get scared of a hostile reaction or something that really doesn't scare anyone who doesn't have your difference and so you become frustrated and because perhaps you're young, people around you make judgements about you as a person and your behaviour and when adding up that two plus two make a sum that is not four. Assumptions are made about you. Incorrect assumptions. You are judged. No jury of your peers, no understanding and no desire for understanding. Can you do that Ken? Can you put aside your own personal prejudices for a little while and put yourself into the shoes of a young person, with a hidden disability? If you can then you're in a pretty scary and judgemental world.

Autistic spectrum disorders are very misunderstood. As a mother of a child who is on the spectrum I sometimes find it very difficult to understand my child but the difference between you and me is that I try to understand and I do put myself in their shoes in an attempt to make some sense of what is happening and what is needed. These children and young people are not delinquents. I could go into massive detail about what it is like to watch your child come home from school day after day, year after year bullied to becoming a complete wreck, just because they are different, tell you how bad provision is for such children let alone that when they become young adults provision becomes virtually non-existent but I will not. All I ask is that you reconsider your comment...

"things they wanted to do there weren't right for the area"

Is Streetly an Autistic free zone? Are there no young people there that suffer from this hidden disability? I suggest that there are but that you have blinkers on and refuse to see anything other than your own prejudices. Knowing a person young or old with Autism is an amazing experience. They see things differently to an non-Autistic person and with that can bring joy at embracing an alternative view of the world. I issue and invitation to you and your supporters. Come and meet with us or perhaps with a group that helps such children and young adults. Come with an open mind and an open attitude. You may be surprised at what you discover about this world and about yourself.

Welcome to the Big Society!

Linda

And for those who do want to learn a little more here is a useful place to start.....

To The Manor Born

Back in July 2011 I blogged the following about The Manor House Youth Club in Aldridge. Seems they've gone and pulled the rug from under the young people of Aldridge and surrounding areas. The Manor will close on 31st August. Seems the six councillors of Aldridge don't know an awful lot about this. Why not? Whose interests do they represent? Why has there been no consultation as promised and why are the people of Aldridge the last to know about this?


We are all in this together. Well unless you're young, old, infirm, disabled, unwell or perhaps a single parent, then you have to shoulder a little more because after all it was the greed of such groups that caused the mess the country is apparently in right now. Taking on that little extra hurts and it seems that government be it local or national is taking the lead sadistic role with pleasure but then that's what sadists do.

I've blogged before about inclusion and provision for young people and also a little about my utopian pipe dreams of how local life can be made a little better for all by concentrating resources in a positive and pointed way towards our young people. They are as the cliché goes, our future. Love 'em or loathe 'em it's the young people of today who are going to be taking care of us in the years to come, so you would think we would like to make sure that they get a good start, learn some decent values and have a little fun along the way in order to develop into the well rounded adults that we want caring for us old dodderers.

I learned my life skills from a variety of sources including in my teenage years, The Manor House Youth Club in Aldridge. I learned about mixing with others who didn't go to my school, didn't come from my estate, didn't share my religion, race or sexual orientation, or my taste in music or TV viewing. There were never any arguments about what channel the TV should be on when Charlie's Angels was on and I recall the collective experience, joyful though we were not Scousers, of seeing Liverpool beat Borussia Monchengladbach in 1977 but those times apart, selection of the right channel required careful bargaining and negotiating skills. This was true of getting on pool tables or table football or even selection of records on the old juke box in the coffee lounge. Oh what innocent times, well except Friday nights and the disco when it seemed to me that every teenager in Aldridge was indulging in a snogfest except me! Well I suppose even that has to be learned. The point is that The Manor provided a safe environment for me and all the other young people in the area, under the supervision of some pretty excellent Youth Leaders to be ourselves and to endure the pains, trials, tribulations and angst of the teenage years.

When I arrived back in Aldridge after a long exile in London I was pleased to discover that The Manor was still there and still functioning in pretty much the same way as it had when I was a spotty teenager albeit with a beautifully equipped music room and much better facilities in general than the 1970s. My son has spent many happy hours there, indeed he even did his Year 10 work experience there under the wonderful supervision of a very dedicated Youth Worker by the name of Matt Gough, sadly for the young people of Aldridge now working elsewhere. My daughter is now of an age when she can enjoy the delights of a vibrant youth centre. Unfortunately it looks as though the experience is to be ripped away from her in the name of budget deficit sadists.

Back on 6th April Walsall Council announced it plans to sell Aldridge Manor House. My immediate thought was what is going to happen to the youth provision? I spent the next couple of weeks tweeting @Walsall Council to no avail and so on 10th May I submitted a Freedom of Information Request to the council and asked 'Once the sale is agreed and goes ahead, will the Youth Club held at the Manor House be closed or will it be relocated to other premises in Aldridge?' The response was a very long time in arriving considering all it consisted of was one devastating sentence

'I can confirm that any decisions in the future relating to the Youth Club will be subject to consultation with all interested parties and will include efforts to relocate the service.'

So there we have it. There are to be consultations on the future of Aldridge Manor House Youth Service...when? Has the decision to withdraw youth provision in Aldridge already been made behind closed doors where the walls had no ears? And these 'efforts', what will they consist of? I've been racking my brains to try and come up with a set of suitable premises in Aldridge that could be converted (no doubt at some considerable cost thereby rendering such a plan non-viable in the financially penny pinching climate of the moment) for our young people and I cannot think of any. How concerted will such 'efforts' be or, forgive me for being cynical I've lived a while after all, is this it? The end of something so valuable for all our futures and all because some are more in it together than others?

Another cynical thought. Aldridge Manor House is a Grade 2 listed building. Who would want to buy such a building, standing as it does in the very heart of a conservation area in Aldridge with the sort of restrictions that such buildings bring with regard to usage? I fear the heat of the flames that will inevitably follow after years of neglect and dereliction. It appears after all to be a Borough Wide Sport here in Walsall, available to all as long as they have patience, money and a steadfast belief that local authorities and local communities are to be ignored at all costs

Will any of the six councillors for Aldridge North and South make a stand for the young people of Aldridge and pledge support for ensuring that youth provision for the area remains in place or will they continue to play follow the leader?