Christmas Past

I sit writing this listening to classical Christmas carols and music, reminding me of how my Christmases of childhood were, full of music and carols.

Music was important to my Mom and to her family. There was piano both at home, at my maternal Grandparents and also my Uncle's homes. Mom could be heard making her preparations singing at the full throttle of her glorious soprano voice, either singing for the sheer joy of it or practicing for choral concerts or carol services, as there was always a choir that she belonged to. A consequence is that there are very few carols and Christmas songs that I do not know all the words to! Mr Bennett, the Head Teacher at Redhouse Junior School can take some credit too. Wednesday mornings at school were hymn practice and Mr Bennett appeared to enjoy banging the keys for all they worth, from one end of the keyboard to the other, singing with gusto the hymns and carols that he was teaching us.

For a few Christmases in succession my siblings and I along with Mom, Dad, my Uncle and Aunt and some of their friends, went around Council run elderly people's homes to sing a few carols. Some were in old Victorian houses and some purpose built homes where we would stand in the stair wells with all the doors open so every resident could hear from ground to top floors. On the whole I think these visits proved popular with the residents apart from the year when our visit coincided with the final episode ever of Upstairs Downstairs and I would leave having had my head flattened from the pats on the head I received.

As Christmas day approached my Grandmother would go into baking overdrive and a frenzy of activity could be joined in her kitchen making cakes and mince pies, she always encouraged us to join in and help, a direct opposite of my Mother who preferred to do these things on her own. Mind Mom had a tiny kitchen, not enough room to swing a cat as she often told us whilst Nan's kitchen had a table and chairs, although on reflection, it too was small. I can still taste Nan's pastry now, such a light touch she had. Her mince pies were to die for and I recall sneaking into her walk in pantry, quietly opening one of the tins and then devouring a mince pie in one.You couldn't do that too often though as she would notice!

I now know that my Mom used to wind the clock forward once I had learned to tell the time, so that there was no argument over bedtimes. The clock said seven and therefore you went to bed. Goodness knows how early we were actually put to bed on Christmas Eve in order to allow her some peace, quiet and valuable adult time!

I never ever found where Mom hid the presents prior to Christmas Day however, I suspect I didn't look because Mom was the most convincing story teller ever. When we saw the odd present that had been purchased she told us that it had to be put out on the roof for Father Christmas to collect prior to Christmas Eve. Apparently he had a special airplane specifically for the purpose and took all the presents to the North Pole where he held them with the other presents and of course if we didn't behave and we ended up on the naughty list, those presents would not be delivered on the special night.

Christmas morning was a wonder and a delight. Despite the fact that I was one of the naughtiest children ever, Father Christmas always came up trumps and made the journey to my bedroom. I think that he knew that in my heart I wanted to be good but just found being good extremely difficult. Our presents were delivered in sacks (pillow cases) and left at the end of our beds, with larger presents being placed downstairs. Despite my exuberance and innate mischievousness I would never under any circumstances start opening my presents from the sacks until I had been told that I could. The consequences were to severe to risk! I still think it may have been a 6am start for Mom and Dad though! I would lie in my bed, shuffling down towards the bottom and feeling with my toes for that sack of delights, unable to return to sleep, whilst the smell of the turkey roasting over a very low heat overnight drifted upstairs from the kitchen, making my stomach ache for the delights of the feast to come.

My Grandfather would have been busy in the weeks before Christmas renovating and painting larger presents such as prams, pushchairs, miniature wheelie shopping trolleys and one year a bicycle, that were all purchased second hand and making them look brand new. The discovery that this was done came many years later. I had no idea that some of my presents were not brand new. It didn't matter, I was always so delighted with everything that I had.

Presents that still stick in my mind 50 years later. The poncho that Auntie Edna had crotched at the time when ponchos were the height of fashion. Sindy doll and accessories and in later years the clothes that my Auntie Val made and knitted for them. Fuzzy felt, I loved those. My first bicycle - freedom! The Tiny Tears my sister got one year, I was so jealous! Felt tip pens, the height of sophistication. Spirograph, oh my, I spent months trying to reproduce the patterns and never really succeeded.

Once the sacks of presents had been opened it was downstairs to open the 'big stuff' but we waited whilst Mom made up the coal fire in the living room. All morning we would be playing with our new toys whilst Mom got on with Christmas dinner. Dad would drive over to my Grandparents mid morning to pick them up and then he and Grandad would disappear to the pub/club at noon for a pint or two. Mom and Nan would put the finishing touches to the dinner and then the feast would be on. Like everyone my Mom made the best Christmas dinner ever!

Everyone would be dressed in their 'best clothes'. Me and my sister would have a brand new dress to put on and my brother I recall would have new trousers, a shirt and dicky bow tie. Mom would be totally glamorous, nails and hair done, make up supreme and of course, a new dress, whilst Nan who never wore make up would have had her hair done the night before by Mom. The men would all be in suits, wearing ties which, as the day progressed, gradually loosened.

We would have to be quiet whilst the Queen did her speech at 3pm, then time for the Christmas Day film and then before you know it, Mom and Nan would be loading the table with yet more food for our Christmas tea.

Boxing Day we would go to my Grandparents house or one of my Uncle's homes. I enjoyed Boxing Day almost as much as Christmas Day, cold turkey, pickles, chocolate, cakes, pies, songs around the piano, board games. No doubt there were upsets, squabbles and arguments but fortunately I don't remember them.

Every time I listen to carols, I hear my Mom singing. She loved Christmas and as a Christian it meant a lot to her, the celebration of the birth of her Saviour. I hear her singing and I remember. I miss her so very much at this time of the year and I also miss all those who are no longer here; my Grandparents, a huge swathe of Great Aunties and Uncles who were always there on the fringes, well except Auntie Doris who could never be sidelined! As long as I live all these wonderful people will be remembered and not just at Christmas.

Me and Mom, Christmas c.2003

Aldridge to Sivry; the long road

The Grave of James Frost from Aldridge, in Sivry, Belgium

There are days in your life when you make memories that you know will last for the rest of your life. Such a day for me and for Aiden, happened on Sunday 2 December 2018.

The story of that day starts over a hundred and twenty years before when James Frost was born in Aldridge. I wrote about him here. His life ended when he was mortally wounded on the outskirts of a tiny village in Belgium called Sivry. I now know that James wasn't the last casualty of the carnage of WW1. Although he was mortally wounded just a few minutes before the Armistice on 11th November 1918 he didn't die until a few hours later, having been taken into Sivry and cared for by the villagers there until he breathed his last.

Sivry was the most eastern point on the Western Front that the Commonwealth and Allied armies reached by the Armistice. On the edge of the village are Martinsart Woods. Here, after WW1 stood a gun, a memorial, that was a gift from British Brigadier General Guy Charles Williams to the village. The gun had been captured by 'C' Company, 9th Battalion Manchester Regiment at dawn on 18th December 1918. Unfortunately when the Germans once again invaded during WW2 they took the gun, so it was replaced after the war by a military museum in Belgium, where it stood until it was stolen in 2009! 

Sivry laid to waste

Sivry had suffered terribly when it was invaded by the Germans on 25/26 August 1914. The village was set ablaze, virtually destroyed and eleven innocent civilians were executed. You can imagine how the villagers felt when four years later four companies, A, B. C and D of the 9th Battalion Manchester Regiment made their way to, into and eventually away from Sivry. Liberation!

The villagers wanted to build a memorial where the gun had once stood to explain what had happened at the beginning and end of WW1. James Frost, my Father's first cousin was the only British soldier to die in Sivry and so part of the memorial was to commemorate him and his comrades of the 9th Battalion Manchester Regiment. A web of emails was sent out and eventually through a distant relative Martin Gilbert, contact was made with me. This is why we happened to be in Sivry.

In the kitchen

Bernard Counen is a wonderful man. He has carried out all the research that enabled the story to be told and he has been meticulous in that research and in telling the story. So it was on Sunday morning, Aiden and I found ourselves sitting in the kitchen of Bernard's lovely 17th century house right opposite the church in the centre of Sivry, with Bernard, his beautiful wife and the delightful Louise who acted as a translator for us all. She had to work very hard! We were received as old friends and made to feel so very welcome. Coffee, pink champagne and an extremely tasty tarte, hand made by Mme Counan were all consumed as we chatted amiably about Bernard's research, WW1, the village, politics, Brexit and of course James. 

The grave of James Frost

We then went to visit and pay our respects at the grave of James. The cemetery is a municipal one and is kept in a beautiful condition by the local people. There are no weeds, no rubbish. We could learn a lot from the villagers of Sivry. There near the centre lies James. A solitary CWGC grave lying very, many miles from any other such grave and even further from Aldridge. 

I laid our wreath, to lie next to one laid a couple of weeks ago by one of James's nieces, planted a cross sent by  Aldridge local historian Sue Satterthwaite (who has placed many crosses over the years on the graves of men from Aldridge who lie at rest far from home) and also planted two of the red poppies, which so recently had been part of the Field of Remembrance in Poppy Road, so that James had a little bit of home right next to him. It was emotional for me, honouring this young man, my kin, who had died so very far from home in the last minutes of WW1, a sacrifice too far perhaps?  His memory has been kept alive by the villagers of Sivry all these years and I give grateful thanks to them and to Bernard for looking after him and telling his story.

The crossroads were James was mortallly wounded

We then made our way out of the village to a crossroads. It was on this spot  that James had received his fatal injuries. A little way down the road is the Martinsart Memorial and through the middle of the road runs a line. To one side going back towards where James was injured is where the British and Commonwealth forces in the form of the 9th Battalion Manchester Regiment, had reached on their final push. To the other and dipping down before rising on a long climb to a summit, is where the Germans were defending their positions and from where the shells and bullets were fired just minutes before the Armistice.

The Line and The Martinsart Memorial

I stood at that line for a while, looking left and right, imagining what had been happening on 11/11/1918. The noise, the pain and finally for those who survived the blessed relief at the Armistice just a very short while later.

We looked at the memorial, the panels that explain the full story and reflected on events then and since then. I thought about those young men of the 9th Battalion Manchester Regiment in the last throes of the final battle before the Armistice. I thought about the villagers of Sivry who had suffered so much pain and heartache when their village was all but destroyed when invaded in 1914 and of the eleven who were brutally executed for no reason whatsoever and I thought about James. James was a village boy and it gave me some comfort that although his end was violent and so terribly unnecessary in its timing, that he lies so far from home, he is at rest in a small village not unlike the one he came from, cared for and respected by the generations that followed and not forgotten.

And once again I thought of war and its dreadful futility, waste and the suffering it brings to all involved and especially The Great War, a war that started because of quarrels and alliances between families and governments, not unlike the playground squabbles we encounter as children, that got terribly out of hand. 17 million people died in The Great War. James and those eleven villagers were part of that horrifying number.

The day was a good one despite being tinged with the sadness of the past. Good because we experienced such a warm welcome and made new friends. We shall return.

If ever you are in the south of Belgium I urge you to visit the Sivry-Rance area. It is a pretty one, undulating hills, pretty villages, lots of farms. It's not unlike England. The people of the area are friendly and welcoming. And if you do go, stop at the roadside of the Martinsart Memorial, think about the locals and their suffering during WW1 and perhaps pop by the cemetery and lay a poppy next to James.

What Price a Life?

What price or cost do you put on a life?

Is it worth for example a free fortnightly brown bin collection?
Or perhaps council recycling centres being open 7 days a week at all sites?
Or free waste bulky item collections available to all residents?
Maybe free skips placed in strategic places throughout a borough?
Is a life worth a £10K pay rise to the council's chief executive, making their salary larger than the Prime Minister's for running a borough rather than a country?
Is a life worth a proposed increase in Councillors pay?
Is a life worth a proposed £2.9 million investment in council IT systems?
Or maybe you think a life is worth the cost that the council contributes towards Remembrance Day parades?

These examples are all paid for by Walsall Council via your council tax and government grants or are part of expenditure that has been agreed to be spent in the very near future.

I could go on but enough of examples of how life can be costed at a local council level, let's cut to the nitty gritty. In October the Cabinet of Walsall Council agreed to axe the Adult Community Alarm System. Apparently it is not fit for purpose. In this case read, it needs financial investment because the IT systems that it runs on are a little outdated plus apparently it costs too much to run.

What cost a life?

IF YOU ARE JUST LOOKING TO SIGN THE PETITION PLEASE CLICK HERE

The decision was taken after so called consultation with service users and those with an interest in the service who more or less wholeheartedly said they wanted the system to remain in place and be run by the Council. Most people are very happy with the service and don't notice that it is not, so it said by leaders, fit for purpose.

Adults of all ages use the service from young disabled adults to elderly adults. They all use it for the same reason; to help maintain some sort of independence whilst remaining in their own homes. Some of these adults are entitled to claim PIP or Attendance Allowance, an acknowledgment by central government that when you are disabled and/or elderly and infirm, you have increased living costs due to your disabilities. The allowances are not generous but they do help to pay for carers, transport and so on. There is no spare capacity with this money. Consider the costs of employing carers for example.

The alarm system allows for an adult who has it, to be able to push a button on a pendant worn around the neck if they have fallen or need help. The system also is connected to smoke alarms and the fire service is automatically notified if smoke is detected. Some users also have a key safe installed outside their properties so that key holders can gain easy access to the property if something awful has happened to the system user.

These are the lives. People with disabilities who wish to remain independent and by doing so save the social care and NHS millions of pounds by doing so. It isn't just the cost of providing an alarm system that should be taken into account by local councils but the whole process and what services would be affected by its abolition.

My own Father uses the service. It gives me peace of mind knowing that if he falls or has another health problem whilst I am not there, help will soon be at hand via that little button.

A few weeks ago Amy Jarvis started a petition to ask the council to reconsider what was then still a proposal to abolish the personal alarms system in  Walsall. I asked Amy why she had done this. These are her words:

"I started this petition against the cutting alarm systems based on my own experiences. My husband has primary progressive multiple sclerosis, fibromyalgia, self dislocations and rheumatoid arthritis. He is only 38. I am his carer. On 4th October,  they installed his alarm. Three weeks later I found out through the news, that the alarm system was being cut.

The alarm system doesn't just benefit my husband. It benefits me too. It means I can go out with our kids for a while, and not worry that he has fallen and injured himself, and is laying on the floor, alone.

I knew something had to be done, but didn't know what. So I started the online petition. The response to it was overwhelming, so I have since decided to collect physical signatures as well, gather stories from people who this cut will impact, and organize demonstrations and protests. Thankfully, since the online petition has reached 1500 signatures, the council now has to hold a public debate in the new year."

You can find Amy's petition HERE More signatures are needed. You will note from the wording that I reproduce below, is not political. No parties are named. Amy merely asks the Council to reconsider. There was no political prompting from a party behind her decision to start it, just her own difficult circumstances as outlined above. Amy went to the Social Services Scrutiny Committee meeting last night in an attempt to change minds. Unfortunately when it came to the vote, the councillors there did make it political by voting only per party lines.

So I ask again, what price a life? If you consider a life is worth more than some if not all the examples I gave at the start of this post then please sign the petition, please support Amy when her petition is debated at full council in January and please consider how you cast your vote in the local elections to be held in May. Let's send a strong message to our local politicians about what we consider is the price of a life.

This is the wording of the petition:

"On Wednesday 24th October, Walsall Metropolitan Borough Council, decided to scrap an alarm system that is a lifeline for many disabled adults, and elderly people across the borough. The alarm is designed to worn round the neck or wrist, and is pressed if the service user needs immediate assistance due to a fall, or similar situation. The contact centre then attempts to contact the service user, and if the service user doesn't respond, they call the listed emergency contact. This service costs the council approximately £1.3 million per year.

The service is currently used by 7000 people within the borough, both elderly and disabled. It is literally a lifeline for those who use it, not only enabling them to get emergency help, but also for their carers, who are able to take short breaks away from the home without worry of their loved one being left on the floor.

Despite spending £3 million pounds to upgrade their IT systems, it has been deemed that £1.3 million on a LIFE SAVING SYSTEM, is not 'viable'.

'The service is no longer fit for service without significant investment that the council does not have.' Councillor Rose Martin.

 In addition, there have been further cuts to adult social care within the borough. 29th September 2017 saw the permanent closure of the Independent Living Centre. The ILC offered support in terms of mobility scooter rental, aids and adaptations, occupational therapy assessments, blue badge assessments, as well as sign posting to support for benefits advice, and health and social care support. 

Early 2018 saw the closure of the Welfare Rights Team. This service offered the vulnerable and disabled, the chance to receive expert advice and support with applications for benefits and grants to improve the quality of life for those who were in need. The Welfare Rights Team now only offers a skeletal service.

 Overall, those requesting help and support from adult social services, are often being left months and months without access to services that are desparately needs, and essential for long term quality of life for the elderly and disabled. Services being cut, budgets being cut, teams being stripped to the bare minimum, are all causing extreme distress to users who need access to help and support in able to have any form of quality of life.

 We, the undersigned, hereby request Walsall Metropolitan Borough Council stop cutting essential services that are needed for quality of life in vulnerable adults."

Please sign the petition HERE

Aldridge 11 11 2018 - One hundred years on

Residents of Station Road, organisers of The Poppy Project 2018 about to set off to walk Poppy Road

Walking Station Road

Red Lion

Commemoration Crosses

Not forgetting this...

Beginning to assemble

Heading the parade

The Parade

Standard bearers

Fly past from Emirates?

You are welcome to use my photographs but please acknowledge either the blog or me. Thank you

Another Aldridge Man Who Died During World War One

This handsome looking young man is my Great Uncle Bill. He is another man from Aldridge and from my family, who did not make it home from the killing fields of World War 1.

William (Bill) Plant was born in the late spring of  1895 at 12 Rollingmill Street, Pleck, Walsall and baptised just up the canal towpath at St Andrew's Church, Birchills, Walsall. Mom was Rose, nee Turner an indomitable woman who gave birth to 15  children including my maternal Grandmother, by her husband George Plant. George was the son of Thomas an industrious man who worked hard all his life as poulterer and greengrocer, pub landlord and farmer but who wasn't beyond poaching from the estate of Sir Robert Peel! George was industrious too, well you needed to be with all those children to clothe and feed and his final work was as a haulier in Aldridge.

The family moved to Green Lane, Aldridge whilst William was still toddling and he and his siblings knew the village well. They knew the orchards ripe for apple scrumping, the fields where the best mushrooms could be picked and where to hang around to earn a penny or two for fetching and carrying. The family moved again to a small cottage on the Walsall Road, it's still there, standing behind the cottage right next to the old mile marker just by the junction to Paddock Lane. The house shared a water pump with surrounding cottages in the yard, there was no running water indoors but there was a decent sized range where Rose kept a pot of her famous broth bubbling away. My Dad remembers it all very well.

By 1911 and 15 years old William was earning money as a carter haulier as was his younger brother Frank, just 13. This would have been today's equivalent of a white van man but with a horse and cart, ferrying goods and people about the area as required.

It is not known precisely when William enlisted in the 2nd Battalion South Staffordshire Regiment, a regular army battalion but it was done in Walsall and I would suggest it was just prior to WW1 breaking out as he was disembarking in France on 12 August 1914. It appears however, that William became ill not long after arriving in France as there is a report in The Walsall Advertiser on Saturday 10 October 1914 that reads:

"Private William Plant, of Aldridge, has been home from his regiment, the 2nd South Staffs, stricken with fever but has now returned"

The 2nd Battalion were active on the Western Front right from the start and were involved in trench warfare, advances, diversionary tactics and attacks. It must have been a truly horrendous experience for a young man used to life in a village, who perhaps had joined for adventure and experience, to find himself knee deep and more, in mud on a regular basis,  never being dry, vermin at every point and actively fighting on a regular basis, seeing friends and comrades being injured and dying in horrific circumstances. All that noise, blood, guts and gore. He must have witnessed scenes no young man of 18/19 should have to, nor any person of any age should for that matter.

Dawn of 10 March 1915 arrived. William's battalion were to be involved in an attack on the enemy positions just north east of Givenchy. Artillery bombardment began at 7.30 am with the infantry advancing in three columns against the enemy's trenches half an hour later. The war diaries for that day make for distressing reading. The Infantry were mown down in crossfire, with two particular enemy machine gunners taking down many men. Further artillery bombardments took place as did further advances and many acts of bravery were witnessed. The attack continued throughout the day. Three Officers lost their lives, two were wounded and one was listed as missing. For the infantry, 24 lost their lives, 74 were wounded and 33 were listed as missing. William Plant was one of the Infantry that lost his life that day, just 19 years old.

The Walsall Observer reported William's death on 3 April 1915.

"Official intimation has been received by Mr George Plant, haulier of Walsall Road, Aldridge, stating that his son, Private William Plant (19) was killed in action while serving with the 2nd South Staffords during the Givenchy fighting on March 10. He joined the army about four years ago and out in the firing line has been in charge of a machine gun. Two brothers - George (28) and Frank (17) are serving with the Royal Field Artillery."

I think George was distressed and could not recall the passage of time correctly, as William could not have served for four years, he would have been far too young to have signed up at the tender age of 15.

William had made a will in favour of his parents and they jointly shared the £9 12s 6d he was owed by the Army and paid in July 1915 plus the war gratuity of £5 paid in May 1919. William was awarded the British War Medal and a Victory Medal despite having been dead for over three years when the Armistice came into being.

He is buried at Guards Cemetery Windy Corner Cuinchy. Cuinchy is a village about 7kms east of the town of Bethune and N41 which runs between Bethune and La Basse. About 1km north of the village are crossroads known as Windy Corner. The cemetery is a little west of these crossroads. This is where a house was used as a battalion headquarters and dressing station.

Rose was devastated by the death of William. She remembered him with fondness to her dying day on 10 November 1950,  as my Dad can testify. For several years after William's death she placed memorials in The Walsall Observer on the anniversary of his death. This is the one from March 11 1916:

"In loving memory of my dear son Private William Plant, 2nd South Staffs Regiment, who was killed in action on March 10 1915. Fondly remembered by his Mother."

Fondly remembered by his Mother and never forgotten by those in the family that came after.