Symptoms

Horse apples ... reminds me of a story I was told decades ago (and repeated here in the language of the time - apologies). There was this nutter looking over the wall at St George's (the Morpeth loony bin) when a horse & rider trotted past closely followed by an old bloke with a bucket and shovel. The loony asked the old bloke what he was doing and back came the reply, "I'm collecting this horse manure to put on my rhubarb". The loony replied, "that's odd, we get custard on ours in here". So, what we have here are the seeds of a solution. We should conscript an 'army' of inmates from St George's to follow horses & riders to shovel the sh*te; we could call it Care in the Community. However, that leaves the problem of what to do with all the steamers left by the police horses on matchday at the Toon. Does St George's still function as an Asylum? Or has it been demolished to make way for executive housing? Wayward brats are more risk to us all than a few dog turds; fag ends, crisp packets, hockled-out chewing-gum, smashed alco-pop bottles and so on, and so on, aren't bio-degradable.

Oh Dear, Oh dear, Oh Dear ... shock, horror, scandal! Adolf loved dogs (& fit young men in leather shorts) but, apart from the terrified millions under his heal, countless more millions were violenly opposed to his views. I think we can draw together our current situation with the one I've just outlined. Most of what Monsta® has posted I disagree with (I think that most of 'polite society' would share my view) but I am with him (and have posted support)on two absolutely, and fundamentally, critical issues. Namely, the right of dogs to crap and their turds to be left to add goodness to the environment, but even more important than that ... our support for the Toon. Records will also show that I defended Monsta®'s right to post here when many wanted to ban/censor him for his [add your own adjective here] opinions. I have a solution to sizsell's horse apple problem ... let the dogs gobble it up. My dog has been known to tuck-in to a steaming pile; recycling in it's purest form

I'm with Monsta® on this one. Nature's way is best ...

How clean & tidy it all looks! It's a bit spooky to discover old buildings that I've no memory of, or the disappointment of old haunts flattened for horrible modern replacements. The 'Grassy Knoll' outside the 'old' Council Offices & SS at the top of Front St is unchanged ... happy memories of chucking stink-bombs (bought in Millne's store) from there into the marching bands and crowds on Picnic Day. We'd then leg-it down The Cut (at the back of the Council Offices) being chased by pit-men in their best suites & flat caps ... ah, happy days.

Coincidently, in The Guardian G2 section yesterday there was an article about the new Library of Birmingham and the implications for such a place in the 21st Century. Once you cut-through the 'big city' stuff much of what's left is relevant to the small town library ... might be worth a read at: http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2010/mar/07/future-british-libraries-margaret-hodge Thankfully my own local village library is now a vibrant place and the 'secret weapon' in changing the former moribund place into something of value is an energetic librarian; I suppose it's her imagination and hard work that's made the difference. Extended hours (early & late), weekends (all day Sat & Sun), Mother & Toddler sessions, book groups and readings, visiting authors & poets, up-to-date stock (something also mentioned in the G2 article), kids competitions, book sales, refreshments. Yep, it's got all the other stuff you'd expect, DVDs, CDs, LPs, internet caf, etc. All this gets the punters in and so allows the chiselling local Councillors photo oportunities and therefore snares them into continued support (not their natural condition as they are scum-sucking Tories ... pause to clear the Symptom's throat for a big hockle!) I don't know if the Bedder's boss librarian is cut from similar cloth to my local one but in my humble view that's the type of person needed to lead the struggle to re-vitalise the place.

God Save our Blessed BBC and most of what they do, however ... like many organisations there's clearly money wasting going on. Why did they need to spend £1 billion digging the "deepest hole in the West End" when creating a new basement at Broadcasting House in London's Great Portland St. Oh, and the £70,000 to photograph the builders doing it, and £25,000 for a 2 minute flight over the site by a radio-controlled helicopter (not a big jobby but one of those model things that sad blokes fly). Then there's the £210 million +++ for just building White City 2 (further out West of Central London) with a further £60.9 million to furnish it. Just a couple of examples of needless spending when what they should have done was rationalise their TV Centre/HQ needs and house the lot in one of those cheap, monster warehouse, sheds on some industrial estate out-of-town - all at a fraction of the cost. The Beeb produces great content but is let down by lazy/greedy managers, not the programme makers. It's a bit like the answer to the question about why is military procurement costing such vast amounts (and our troops are still under-resourced) ... it 'cos a bog roll costs thousands. How else can the Officer Class get the finest wines for nowt in the mess. Yep, like all bosses they'll always milk it dry given half-a-chance and the scum-sucking Daily Mail readers will be guided into blaming the workers for excess.

Always a sequence for me: pulse quickening as the train pulled onto the High Level Bridge excitmeent building on the walk up to the bus in the Haymarket lip tremble at right turn onto the A1068 off the 'old' A1 just North of the The Drift Inn at Seaton Burn deep-gulping at the distant sight of the Power Station chimneys bum-clenching at Hartford Bridge wide-eyed wonder past Costain's utter joy at wonder of the Red Lion and Cop Shop ... ... home to Bedders at last!

Oh! I forgot a name for the event. How about: The Look Back in Anger at What the Tories Did to Us Picnic.

Είμαι βέβαιος ότι το Ï€Î¿Î»Ï ÏƒÎºÏ‰Ï„ÏƒÎ­Î¶Î¹ÎºÎ¿ ΠολÏφημος μας που το ΚÏκλωψ θα φÏοντίσει τα ενδιαφέÏοντά μας. For those who didn't read The Greats ... "I am sure that our very own Scottish Polyphemus the Cyclops will look after our interests."

How about ... Venue for the fair: 20 acres Venue for the New Labour speech makers: The Bandstand at the bottom of Bedlington Bank We could even have marching bands making their way down Front Street!

Check out this site for helpful maps - http://www.durham-miner.org.uk/miner/usp.nsf/pws/Durham+Miner+Project+-+About+The+Project The maps (via the miner mapping button in the menu) are useful because you can see current locations then click on the Historical Maps button and then 'mine back' the same location through the decades back to the mid 1800s. Northumberland & Durham coalfields are listed; seems the project was linked to the Durham mining Museum. The project has other stuff of interest ... just check-out the menu Maybe others have posted this info earlier, if so, apologies.

Yep, 3Gs it was Fogan's Yard ... why I'd forgotten the name is beyond me as my favourite Toon striker at the time had a similar surname. Also right again on Jimmy Millne and not Eddie ... what would we do without you and your 'exiles' memory fixes'? I'm sure we used to access the orchard across a derelict yard at Fogan's (usually covered with Rose Bay Willow Herb ... we'd get covered with the 'cotton wool' seeds)... trouble is Google Maps isn't much good for tracing our some of 'old' routes 'cos much has been built over. Cymp ... where can we access a fuller version of your block plan as this would be just-the-job? Another orchard we used to raid was also walled one off Catholic Row ... belonged to the Church; the boss Padre at the time (mid 60s) was a Monk guy with a brown habit who liked a drink (my old man often had a Drambuie or brandy or two with him) ... again, the Brother's name slips through the cracks in my memory. His orchard had pears, apples & plums. Is it still there? My old man used to escort us when we were nippers to that barbers beside Fogon's entrance for a 'short back and sides'; didn't the shop have tiered seating, actually wooden benching, up the back wall for the victims. The shop was usually full of flat-capped pitmen and us boys; the air was usually thick was fag smoke. Ah, happy days! Anybody clarify the local term for nicking apples?

Brian - did you get into your Granny's house through the back. The reason I ask is that you'll remember at the rear of East Riggs were allotments juxtaposed with the back gardens of the houses and through the allotments ran a couple of 'clarty' paths - called The Cut (for our younger viewers all this was where Windsor Court is now ... ah, what would we poor exiles do without Google maps). The Cut linked Front Street to Acorn Avenue. You maybe picked-up The Cut around the back of the Old Hall. There were a number of buildings that had archways leading to courtyards; Dowson's Buildings on Hartford Rd (between Catholic Row and Hartford Cres ... next door to the Sally Army and the Masonic Hall [i think]) had a number of dwellings around the cobbled courtyard with the arch access to Hartford Rd. There was another one on Front St (opposite the 60s Council Offices and next door the Eddie Millne's house) but I can't remember the name; the courtyard backed onto Eddie Millne's walled orchard ... yep, we used to shinny over his wall to nick the apples. I've forgotten what we used to call this activity ... I'm sure it wasn't scrumping - anybody know the correct local term?

Were any 'local schools for local kids' closed?

Well I blame just about everything on Esther Rantzen (Beelzebub's agent on Earth). Most of the ills in this Country (and maybe the World) can be traced directly back to her and her founding Childline and her proselytising of kids' rights. Picture the scene: little Jonny or Mary caught nicking from the old Granny up the street (after giving her a good tuning), parents attempt to punish the nippers (no telly tonight), kids say "Oh no you don't 'cos we'll phone-up Childline and report you for cruelty and/or abuse, scared parents back-off saying "OK, but don't do it again". And so the World goes down the shi*ter

Merl ... I wasn't aware that Northumberland used the American busing model to draw the nippers in from that far & wide but I still want to make the general point about kids being ferried to school. I'd be interested to know how many schools, which drag-in their kids from nearby, shut-up shop; as I hinted we appear to have been made of stronger stuff back then (said with tongue in cheek!). I know that staff will live further away these days and as a result may have problems getting in - generally, many teachers in my school days lived locally so walked to work. Anyway, I think the Woller kids could at least have made an effort ... farmers' kids - tough - huh!

Why can't the kids walk to school ... we had to back in the day! Has everyone gone soft 'cos a bit of snow's fallen? Just watched the Beeb news tonight where they reported on some primary school, in some hill town, which has stayed open whilst all the others closed; picture the scene ... kids at lessons, falling snow seen through the windows, break-time approaching, interviewed Headteacher says the kids can't go out into the playground 'cos of 'elf & safety concerns. No mass snowball fights, no 'scrubbing' the lasses so no fond memories for those kids to look back on when they're older. Yep, I'm sure they'll fondly remember that Maths lesson and the resentment at been kept in and not that great day in the snow. I remember with joy the mass snowball fights us Westridge kids had with Biscop (I don't know if it was called that then ... we just referred to it as 'The Cathers')back in the 60s. Happy days.

I'm with my 'old sparring partner' Monsta on this one. It's wall-to-wall celebs everywhere you look ... cheap & nasty telly (fodder for ITV usually), most of the newspapers, they even infect the so-called serious news programmes. There's even the occasional intrusion into my beloved Guardian ... outrageous! I've got nothing against them as people and yes, they should be welcomed back home, but, but, but, not with a chasing (often invited) pack of paps following in their wake. It always seems to be a cynical manipulation/PR type of event (designed to pander to the needs of the pathetic 'star-struck') when really these celebs should visit their nearest & dearest on the quiet. It's all terribly embarrassing really. Anyway, who is this Janet Middlemarch?

Aye, innocent times! Are there any of those marching bands still around? Every community had them, some even had international fame ... the Pelaw band as featured in Get Carter.

Brilliant! Just to get some sense of scale of the drag-line buckets the Dad of a pal of mine (he was the top spark at the site in the mid to late 60s)took a few of us 'down the hole' in a Land Rover which he parked in the bucket ... there was still plenty of room at each side even after we opened all the car doors wide to get out. The Euclids in the film (tractor/trailer jobbies) I seem to remember were superceded by the mid to late 60s by those yellow American brutes ... but maybe others here have clearer memories. There was a rather interesting 'grave yard' dump for all the old & knackered tackle (including some of the types shown in the film) ... yep, it all went in the hole at the end. The explosives shed (a big red steel box) was never locked! - oh, what fun us lads had on the site. Wasn't the coal screening site at Bebside ... I seem to remember another Bailey bridge going over the road next to Jacky Reed's garage?

Jester - you must resist the attractive temptation of 'taking the law into your own hands'. Don't shout at them, don't chase them, don't touch them, don't restrain them unless you want to invite the '4 o'clock knock' from Plod. A pound to a pinch of dog turd if you do any of the above their feckless parents will report you and you will be prosecuted ... you're an easy target for the forces of law and order. We've all read in the press the outrageous tales of decent folks being criminalised because they felt helpless before the tide of teenage anti-social behaviour. You posted that "St.Benet Biscops say it's out of school hours...not their problem" ... well of course it's their problem; if these little shits can be identified as being pupils there then they are bringing the School's name into disrepute and can/should be disciplined. If the Head doesn't do anything then go over his head to the Chair of Governors and send a copy of the complaint to the Top Bish at the Diocese. Try to get the local press involved ... they loves these type of stories ... and there's nothing more potent than press involvement to oil Plods works (and the School's). Shame them into action! Others here have talked about Asbos (conditions can include 'exclusion zones'), maybe worth instigating but I don't know how. Anyway, I blame it all on Esther Rantzen for founding Childline, that august body dedicated to child protection. Trouble is they also protect the shits from their parents who try to discipline them; how many parents out there have heard the refrain "if you ground me/smack me/hold-back the pocket money/no telly/send me to my room/ I'll call Childline and complain of abuse"? Of course some decent parents run scared whilst the feckless lot couldn't give a monkeys what their brats are up to. Oh dear, I'm morphing from a Guardian reader into something that takes The Daily Mail!

The Field of Screams.

Well, that promise made a few years back must have eventually reached that galaxy far, far away. They came at night but found the barber's shop closed.

Naughty, naughty Ms Hair, what'll Ofsted say about leaving your lesson preparation so late? National Curriculum, Schemes of Work, etc., are supposed to 'button-down' (restrict!) your freedom to do this sort of thing ... you should have had this lesson planned months ago! There's no place to do anything spontaneously.

Well, at least they'll be safe from kiddy fiddling; yep, a decent night's kip at last! I also spoke too soon ... again, my beloved Guardian devoted four pages in the main paper this morning AND 'a special souvenir supplement' (8 PAGES !!!!) ... well you can image the splutterings over my morning croissants and latte. I feel a letter to the Editor is necessary.