Ertblog

The Queen in Ireland - friends again

This week's visit to Ireland by Queen Elizabeth II was remarkable. It was the first visit by a British monarch to the republic since Irish independence. It marked the transformation in relationships in these islands since the peace process started in the 1990s. But above all, it was a triumph for the Queen - and for another remarkable woman, Ireland's president, Mary McAleese. 

Symbols matter in British-Irish relations, and the Queen played on this to huge effect. She wore Ireland's colour, green, when she arrived on Tuesday. She spoke in Irish at a banquet at Dublin castle (once the heart of British rule in Ireland). And Britain's queen bowed her head in respect to the garden of remembrance to Ireland's freedom fighters. 

By most accounts, Ireland was impressed. That shouldn't be a surprise: relations between Britain and Ireland are as good as they've ever been. We live together, work together and no longer fear republican or loyalist bombs. The people of these islands have been quicker than the politicians to embrace each other. True, Sinn Féin and the DUP have gained ascendancy over more moderate rivals in the north. But they're also in government together - an idea as unthinkable even 10 years ago as the Queen's visit to the republic. 

Sinn Féin was opposed to the Queen's visit - hardly a surprise, as the party relies on antipathy to Britain. Its president, Gerry Adams, insisted in defying accuracy by calling Elizabeth II 'England's Queen'. (There's no such thing as a 'queen of England'.) But the success of the visit put Adams on the back foot. Comically, he told a BBC interviewer that "I'm not a monarchist, in fact I'm a republican". Good of him to solve that mystery... 

The Queen's visit prompts us to ponder the complicated relationship between the various countries in Great Britain and Ireland. In school in Wales in the 1970s, as the Troubles were killing thousands of innocent people on both sides of the Irish Sea, I studied the failure of 19th century British Liberal Governments to give 'home rule' to Ireland. I was convinced that the story of Britain and Ireland would have been very different had the English establishment not stupidly blocked home rule in 1886 and after. By the time a home rule act was passed by the British parliament in 1914, the combination of a treasonous rebellion by Ulster's unionists and the great war killed any chance of a sensible compromise. Fast forward to the present, and home rule (or devolution as it's now called) is established in Great Britain. No one knows if it will lead to the break up of Britain. I doubt it - but at least change is now through the ballot box rather than the bullet and bomb. 

A final thought. The Queen who visited the republic this week isn't just Britain's Queen. She's Queen of Canada, Australia, New Zealand and 13 other territories. It's an extraordinary legacy of the past that Britain's head of state performs the same role for so many other countries. Ireland understandably decided in 1949 that it wanted its own head of state. Its most recent presidents, Mary Robinson and Mary McAleese, have been hugely popular and successful role models for a republican system, unlike Ireland's recent taoisigh (prime ministers). But Queen Elizabeth this week reminded us that constitutional monarchs can also achieve remarkable things.

 

Census memories

Above: my grandmother. She appeared in nine UK censuses, starting in 1901

We completed the 2011 UK census online last night. It felt odd but good to be taking part in this ancient ritual in such a modern way. 

I've seen a lot of criticism of the census in the media. The usual civil liberties crowd have condemned the amount of personal information required. I can't see what the fuss is about: how can government plan for future services if it doesn't know anything about us? 

The Office of National Statistics is obviously still coming to terms with online services. When we filled in the section about our two year old son, it asked for his marital status, and queried whether he looked after family members! (More sensibly, it didn't ask for employment details.)

For me, the census is a significant, even moving event. Almost 20 years ago, my grandmother appeared in her last census, the day before her 100th birthday on 22 April 1991. She was born 17 days after the 1891 edition, and first appears in the 1901 census for Cardiff, Glamorgan as Gwendoline Dymond, aged 9 years old. She would have taken part in 10 censuses had 1941's not been cancelled because of the second world war. It's very moving to be able to look her up in the 1901 census, which took place less than three months after Queen Victoria died, and two years before the first aeroplane flew. 

Surprisingly, I have vivid memories of my first census in 1971. This is purely because my mother volunteered to help. She collected the forms in Whitton, Middlesex, and made sure people had returned their forms. (She complained that one nasty man was very aggressive.) But the main reason I remember the 1971 count was that it gave me time with my first love, Helen! I may have only been seven (Helen was about 18 months older), but I stayed the night at Helen's house while Mum was on census work; in return, Mum looked after Helen while her mother was on census duty. We moved back to Wales shortly after, but I still remember the special time Helen and I spent together thanks to that long-ago census!  

Supporting the ferry to Skye

I've never been to the Isle of Skye in Scotland. The nearest I've come is the gorgeous road along Loch Linnhe (above) on my unforgettable Land's End to John O'Groats bike ride in 2002. So my decision this week to make a donation to support the ferry from Glenelg to Skye was unexpected.

I was prompted entirely by a tweet by Christopher Main (@RestlessNative2), retweeted by Nicky Campbell, showing photos of a man driving the same car onto the ferry in 1936 and 1992. You can see the two shots on the Glenelg Skye Ferry Blog. The ferries to Skye were threatened by the opening of the bridge to the island in 1995. (The bridge was controversial as it was funded by a Private Finance Initiative that imposed outrageous tolls. Devolution meant Scotland was able to buy the bridge and abolish the tolls.) The Glenelg crossing is unique, as it's a 'turntable' ferry, run and supported by the local community. 

Ferries are special, especially when they cross small estuaries and sounds. I love cycling onto cross channel ferries (though it's over 10 years since I did this), and have long found the idea of island hopping by ferry very appealing. So I hope the Glenelg to Skye ferry lasts for many years. 

 

 

The tide is high in Richmond

There's something magical about the rise and fall of the tide - especially on an urban river. It shows that nature still exerts a power over us. And it can catch people out. 

Today, I turned left rather than right out of the office car park in Richmond, Surrey. Within seconds, I realised that I'd have to think again. The tidal river Thames had reclaimed Water Lane, blocking the route round to Richmond Green from the waterfront. I couldn't resist getting out of the car to take this photo, especially as the sun was shining - a rare event in January 2011.

Richmond has long been one of my favourite places. I got to know the place in the late Sixties when we lived in nearby Whitton. (We regularly saw drivers in tears as they returned to find their parked cars under water after the tide came in.) Twenty years later, I spent a lot of time here when I moved back to London from Wales. And now I'm lucky enough to work in an office on the waterfront.  

In praise of the UK Identity & Passport Service

It's become unfashionable to praise Britain's public services. So it's a pleasure to celebrate the truly outstanding service I received from the Identity & Passport Service last week.

My passport was about to expire. I needed to get a replacement in time for a business trip at the beginning of February. But I couldn't find the old passport anywhere.

I called the Identity & Passport Service. I was told they were running a trial under which I could report the loss there and then over the phone, saving the bother of filling in an extra form. When I asked for an appointment at the London passport office, I was given exactly the time I asked for. The appointment took place bang on time. And my passport arrived less than two days later - well within the seven days promised.

i'm sure that January is a quiet time for passport applications, but this was outstanding public service, and an example for any organisation, public or private. Sadly, the coalition government's savage cuts are likely to mean that things can only get worse. 

In praise of the gritters

We're enjoying or enduring our harshest winter since 1982, and the critics are having a field day. Why can't Britain cope with a bit of snow? Why do our continental cousins do things so much better? Why didn't our councils grit the roads? 

It's easy to cheer the critics. But life isn't so simple. Few of us have any idea of how challenging it is to beat the weather. We don't know what it takes to keep roads, rails and runways clear. And we can't even tell if a road has been gritted. Our neighbour complained that a local side road hadn't been treated - but we thought it had. 

The photo above shows Buckinghamshire County Council workers treating a steep hill and replenishing a roadside grit bin in Chalfont St Giles. These workers will have been out in all hours, helping us keep moving. They earn a pittance, yet their reward will have been abuse from regulars in their local pub about their failure to clear every minor road. 

We should be praising them.

Britain makes joking a crime - official

Can you imagine a country in which telling a joke could give you a criminal record? Welcome to Britain, 2011. 

I've always been sceptical about warnings from civil liberties campaigners that Britain is fast becoming a police state. But I was wrong. We're fast losing our sense of humour and our love of essential freedoms. Government and the criminal justice system seem hell bent on using the terrorist threat to sweep away the freedoms and tolerance that once set us apart. 

So it should have come as no surprise that a foolish joke by a 27 year old man should have resulted in his conviction, and the failure of his subsequent appeal. Paul Chambers, frustrated by the closure of an airport near Doncaster, sent the following message on Twitter "Crap! Robin Hood airport is closed. You've got a week and a bit to get your shit together otherwise I'm blowing the airport sky high!!" He was held in custody for seven hours in a police cell, which should have been plenty of time for the authorities to realise this was a stupid joke not a terrorist threat. Yet mindless prosecutors still decided to waste public money taking him to court. Worse still, a judge called Jacqueline Davies upheld the conviction, as The Guardian reports, bizarrely claiming "Any ordinary person reading [the tweet] would ... be alarmed." Any ordinary, out-of-touch, foolish judge maybe, but few other people. More sinister still, the Crown Prosecution Service deliberately prosecuted Chambers under legislation against nuisance calls rather than laws against hoax bomb threats because they required less evidence of intent. 

Any sensible person would have recognised that joking about blowing up an airport was foolish and in bad taste. I suspect Chambers quietly wishes he'd acted more wisely. But that's no reason why he should end up with a criminal record, a £1,000 fine and lose his job. Stephen Fry has offered to pay the fine. Let's hope the backlash against this stupidity makes us more vigilant in the defence of traditional British freedoms.  

Isn't it ironic that the airport at the centre of the storm is named after an outlaw? Looks like the authorities were determined to create another folk hero...

All the Queen's counties: why the Royal Mail can't scrap our identity

Saturday's Guardian carried a feature by the excellent David McKie warning readers that the Royal Mail planned to delete county names from postal addresses. Royal Mail thinks postcodes are enough, McKie reported.

The feature included pleas from worthies such as Margaret Drabble, Sue Townsend, Jeanette Winterson and Howard Jacobson condemning the move. 

I'd not heard of this fiendish plan before. But a moment's thought suggests it could never succeed. When I lived in Teddington in the late 1980s I included Middlesex in my address, even though that county disappeared in 1965 (not 1974 as McKie writes). In Wales, we still regarded Pembrokeshire as a living county after it had been replaced in local government by Dyfed. (And some people still write Dyfed on envelopes after the 'new' county was abolished just a couple of decades later.) 

In short, the Royal Mail will have almost no influence over how people write their addresses. 

I offer David McKie a better subject for a campaign. Stop politicians messing with our country's geography. The endless reorganisations of local government boundaries have wasted millions of pounds and caused endless confusion.

In praise of Cumbria

Like everyone in Britain, I was appalled by the news of yesterday's gun massacre in Cumbria. Such a tragedy would have been hard to take anywhere. But Cumbria? This peaceful, largely rural county is the last place on earth you'd imagine as the scene of a massacre. But life isn't as logical as that. Britain's most notorious massacres - Hungerford, Dunblane and now West Cumbria - have all taken place in largely tranquil spots.

My old university friend, Dr Nigel Calvert of NHS Cumbria, was widely quoted in the media. As Nigel said, Cumbria has had a traumatic seven months. Yesterday's massacre came after last week's awful school coach crash and November's devastating floods. 

I got to know Cumbria in 2002 when I cycled through the county on my Land's End to John O'Groats bike ride. I fell in love with this beautiful part of the country. It's a tough place to cycle - all those hills! - but the people and the scenery provide an ample reward for all that effort. I entered the county after a breathtaking (in every sense) ride from Dent in Yorkshire to Kirkby Stephen via Garsdale Head and Aisgill. We camped just outside Kirkby Stephen and enjoyed a very special dinner at the pub in Nateby, walking back in the gently fading light of a June evening. The next day, the landlord of a pub just outside Carlisle made a very generous donation to the charity I was cycling in aid of - even though it was based in Wales. I left Cumbria with a very warm feeling towards this wonderful county - a feeling that grew when I returned the following year for a cycling weekend in Alstonn. (Cycling up Hartside was a tough challenge, but worth it for the glorious swoop back down to Alston!) 

I'll be thinking of Cumbria in the coming days. 

In praise of Chalfont St Giles' community library

 

We love reading and books. We were both brought up to love visits to the library - in my case, the grand old Cardiff central library in The Hayes. 

So we were horrified a few years ago when Buckinghamshire County Council made the crass decision to close the library in our village, Chalfont St Giles. But happily the village refused to accept the loss of this vital service. Good people like Tony Hoare put in long hours to save it as a community library. Tony explained how the village saved the library on BBC 1's One show last Monday. 

We have made a very modest financial contribution as friends of the library and have really appreciated this initiative since Owen was born in 2008. He can take out 15 books at a time, and is currently enjoying Man on the Moon, a vivid story about a man called Bob who goes to work on the Moon every day. The book lending service is supplemented by book readings and other events. 

Above: Owen loves his library

We hope the library continues to flourish. But it's a huge shame that our local council - which should be nurturing reading in its communities - sought to destroy this vital service. Less well off communities may not have been able to save their libraries. Books and libraries may seem old fashioned in the internet age, but nothing is quite as magical as a wonderful book.