Fleeting

Let's not have a sniffle, let's have a bloody-good cry
And always remember: The longer you live
The sooner you'll bloody-well die...

To King's Lynn for a funeral, at very nearly 90 years of age Fred Juby, Margot's old dad, just died while reading an Ian Rankin novel so he didn't miss much ... The service was a strange thing, though quite common these days, I'm told: a non religious event that nevertheless kept to the forms and structures of a religious service. So instead of hymns we had Glenn Miller's foot-tapping In the Mood, John Lennon's Imagine, instead of a prayer a poem (of excruciating banality) instead of a priest a 'humanist' person reading an obituary. I suppose we should mark these passages from life in some way but give me a good old burial in the deep clay complete, if need be, with "Man, that is born of a woman, hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery...He cometh up and is cut down like a flower ..." or better still just feed me to the crows rather than being shuffled off behind a purple curtain while Bud Flanagan sings the Dad's Army theme tune.

So any way it was a good day especially as it wasn't my funeral and we got this grand old double rainbow stretching right across the town.

The Railway

This pub  in Cottingham has been closed since January and was only open for a few weeks over Xmas before that, the seasonal decorations are still up... Basically it's on its uppers and whoever owns it has decided enough is enough and has put in plans to erect "10 dwellings with associated access, parking, landscaping and infrastructure following demolition of hotel". You last saw this place way back in 2012 when it was positively blooming.

As he lived he died ...

"A handsome monument has been erected, by the congregation, in St Mary's church Hull, to the memory of the Rev. John Scott. It is in white marble, and built in the wall to the left of the organ. In the centre is a bold basso-relievo likeness of the deceased, encircled by palm branches; the likeness is exceedingly striking, although the only guide the sculptor had was a black profile, a small pencil drawing, and the suggestions of the friends of the deceased. The accessories are a crown of glory, unfolded by the removal of drapery, a book opened, and the communion vessels. Underneath is written the following inscription: "In memory of the Rev. John Scott, M.A. eighteen years minister of this parish, who died October 16,1834, aged 47 years, and is interred within the communion rails. His high endowments were devoted to the great object of making full proof of his ministry. 'Mighty in the Scriptures,' he declared ' the whole council of God' with singular judgment, energy, and simplicity. As he preached he lived— and as he lived he died. To perpetuate the remembrance of the fervent piety of their pastor and friend, an affectionate congregation have erected this monument." The sculptor is Mr. T. Loft, of London, a native of Hull.—The Committee for furthering the Subscriptions on behalf of the family of the Rev. Thomas Scott, the Commentator on the Scriptures, and father of the above, announced in July last, that the amount then received was somewhat less than 2800l. "This sum, though considerable in itself, will yet be admitted to be very inadequate to benefit no less than fifteen young persons, (the grand-children) more or less unprovided for."

                       Extract from The Gentleman's Magazine and Historical Chronicle, 1835, Volume 158

It's nice to have someone write your stuff for you nearly two hundred years before you need it but then you find they've gotten his age wrong, he was 57 not 47, it seems journos can never be trusted. Also Johnny Scott may have been "mighty in the scriptures" but to leave fifteen children "more or less unprovided for" strikes me as being a tad too reliant on the Almighty not suffering the soul of the righteous to famish.

The weekend in black and white is here.

The Jube

Jube, Domine, benedicere

The church of St Mary on Lowgate has featured a few times in this electronic mishmash. I thought I'd posted stuff from inside but maybe it's hiding somewhere I can't find it. Here's the rood screen or jube which separates the paying customers and general riff-raff in the mosh pit or nave from the holy end with the brass and stuff. It supposedly adds to the mystery of what is little more than a two thousand year old confidence trick. This looks pretty old but in fact is from 1912 by one Temple Lushington Moore (you just don't get  names like that any more) as the craze for renovating old English churches was drawing to a close, the Great War would finish off that madness completely. The above is just a detail; it's really quite thing ...

A is for Crow

Μεζεδοπωλείο

The Greek is on Princes Avenue. This place used to be a fish and chip restaurant for a short while a couple of years ago ...

and before that it was probably the best off licence in the world ...

and there was no before that as far as I am concerned.

(That's three pictures I've finally found a use for.)

Hull Moon

The Church of England having long ago given up being in the god-bothering trade is now trying to pull in the paying punters with silly stunts. So Rochester Cathedral had a mini golf course installed while Norwich erected a helter-skelter slide with the aim of seeing the place differently. I mentioned a few days ago that this place, Holy Trinity, was hosting a Michelangelo exhibition; this follows on from last year's giant inflated model of the moon suspended in the nave. I believe they also have a real ale festival and a gin festival as well though not at the same time.

Meanwhile God does not play dice but is unbeatable at whiff-whaff...

The Old Police Court

"In the criminal justice system, the people are represented by two separate yet equally important groups. The police who investigate crime and the district attorneys who prosecute the offenders. These are their stories."

You've no doubt heard the spiel at the beginning of Law and Order (if not  then you've had a lucky life). However it wasn't always the case in this country (that is to say England and Wales, Scotland has its own way of doing law and don't even ask about Northern Ireland)  that the police and the prosecutors were separated so neatly. Up until the mid 1980s police officers could and would prosecute offenders in certain cases. Officially they were acting as private citizens in court but in reality the same officer could investigate an offence, arrest a suspect and then prosecute the case, no doubt they would have been judge and jury as well if they could. Clearly this was unsatisfactory and prone to corruption of process. I give this little  history lesson to explain how the Guildhall comes to have an entrance marked Police Court. Nowadays we have an independent Crown Prosecution Service and Magistrates courts and everything is all just tickety-boo, well that is their story. 

The fat putti, the medusa head, the teeny George and Dragon, and the freemasonry handshake (!!) I leave to your imagination. They show signs of having been damaged at some time and stuck back together; the Guildhall was hit by bombs during the last war so maybe that explains this. The entrance is down the street from the equally well adorned Crown Court entrance I showed some while back and now serves the Coroner's Court.

The weekend in black and white is here.

Small & Red

Claims to be the smallest bar in this small town and who is going to argue? I think it could also be the reddest one as well. As I recall this place used to be a solicitor's office until a few years back. Manor Street is the place to seek out this delight and if it's full you can always go to the one on the corner...

"Well, here's another nice mess you've gotten me into."

Verdant, crumbling and in need of repair

Queen's Gardens pond looking really quite nice in the early September sunshine, almost picture postcard perfect, the only fly in the ointment being the big white streak of stupid imposed on the good folk of this town by the tasteless town council. Just don't look behind you as the walls are fenced off (well supposedly fenced off) and in danger of collapse and officially in need of urgent repair.

A Sunday Morning Stroll

"...it's oh so nice to just wander
But it's so much nicer, 

yes it's oh so nice, to wander back"

On this bright and not very warm Sunday morning, while gentlemen in  England were abed, I set off down Hotham Road North

carried on down this grassy path

over this tastefully decorated footbridge

down Priory Drive, a quiet back street filled with the chirping of sparrows

trudged along the soul destroying Hotham Road South

walked down Wold Road

passed this young crow sitting on a fence

and arrived at my destination ... Ta daa

well yeah erm underwhelming doesn't begin to tell it ... "Worth seeing, yes; but not worth going to see" was Dr Johnson's opinion of the Giant's Causeway, this gravity defying rubble is not even worth seeing. This is all that remains of Haltemprice Priory farmhouse built in the early 16th century or thereabouts. It said that some of the building uses stone from Haltemprice Priory which if HenryVIII hadn't dissolved the whole lot would have gone into receivership or the medieval equivalent. The site of the priory is a scheduled monument though there is nothing to see but a huge security fence.  As you can see it's a lot of a wreck and despite being Grade2 listed it is on that list of buildings at risk.

The whole walk was about a little bit over two miles to this place and was proof of that old saying that "to travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive". Better still though is the coming back and putting your feet up.

Never heard of him

John Enderby Jackson was apparently someone of note (or notes even) and has a small plaque in Queen's Gardens which I came across today. I won't sit here and pretend I know who he was or what he did but I will link to something that Google popped up so you can amaze your friends with your knowledge of the arcane ways of musical band competitions and the history there of. Here's the little link.

King George's Field

"To promote and to assist in the establishment throughout the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland of playing fields for the use and enjoyment of the people."

When George V died in 1936 some folk wanted to have a memorial that was a bit more useful than yet another statue and came up with the fine idea of recreation fields. The entrance to each field (and there are 471 of them dotted around the UK ) has to have these "heraldic panels or other appropriate tablet medallion or inscription commemorative of His Late Majesty". I read they were supposed to be in carved stone or cast in metal but these seem to be shall we say concrete castings and a little the worse for wear. Never mind, we struggle on. (Something else I discovered in reading about this is that in Scotland they too have a lion and a unicorn but the unicorn, which after all  represents Scotland in this heraldic nonsense, is on the left post and has a crown. I find this differentiation somehow quite petty and pleasing at the same time.)

This particular field is between Cottingham Road and Inglemire Lane close by the University and I have, over the past thirty odd years, walked by thousands of times without entering. That is until yesterday when we went to have a little look see. It is down a neat tree lined lane and is just a big playing field with a few swings and things. But plenty of folk were using it either walking the dog, mucking about or kicking a ball and that's the main thing I guess. I just wonder if anybody remembers poor old Georgey.

Fifty five days to Hallowe'en

I bring news of pumpkins. Pumpkins, correct me if I'm wrong, are supposed to sphericalish and, well, orange. Hmm. The one above seems to think it is some kind of stumpy marrow or obese courgette. T'other one, for there are, despite many flowers, just two fruit, has decided to appear four foot up an ivy clad wall and thus needs some support. It's the right shape just a bit too yellow for my liking. Maybe by the end of October it, and so many other things, will ripen nicely.

Just don't drop it

What's this? Some kind of fair ground attraction at the back of Staples, a place well known for attractions of an all together different sort? No, not even close.

Back in April I mentioned that work had started on building a footbridge across Castle Street. Well in the past few days in this car park just a few yards down the road this has spring  up. Yes, it looks like the long awaited bridge just needs lifting up and putting in the right place and we should be good to trot. But quite how you lift a girt heavy and wide load like this and place it with pinpoint accuracy on its supports is thankfully not my concern. Let's just hope they don't drop it.

The Weekend in Black and White is here.

The Gnomes of Kingswood

The red theme continues until I get sick and tired of it which will be about now.
Here's Asda's idea of garden ornamentation, a thirty quid gnome. Erm thanks but no thanks.


You can thank Margot for this picture.

Red

This month's red theme continues with this company's door on Tower Street.

Red Light District

Picture by Margot K Juby

September's theme day for City Daily Photo is here.

Simply add water

The river Hull in these parts is basically an extension of the North Sea and as such is subject to the same tidal ups and downs. Which means if you don't much like being stuck on the the muddy banks then wait a while and a soothing, reflective brown influx will gently lift you up. 

Weekend Reflections are here.

A Devilish Plot

... and so it came to pass the news that they had dreaded... Parliament to be prorogued! It's a coup, I tell you, a very British coupe (sic). A devilish plot to undermine the Will of the People. The people being a small portion of those who were in a minority three years ago and have filibustered and conspired to thwart the decision by the majority to leave the corrupt European Union. MPs simply must have time to debate this issue, three years not being enough seemingly. It's unconstitutional, though the Queen signed off on it and it should happen, and indeed has happened regularly for three centuries, to each and every Parliament . 

I think I have never seen so much stupidity parading itself in righteous indignation. So many public figures making total fools of themselves. So many empty threats to do this, to do that. I don't know what you can make of MPs who threaten lock themselves into the chamber of the House of Commons after prorogation and refuse to leave. Suit yourselves, mate, it still not a sitting Parliament. 

Opposition party elements have met to decide who amongst them should be the next Prime Minister after a vote of no confidence (which they haven't won yet, nor yet put down a motion Parliament being still in summer recess). Will they chose the leader of the opposition? Here's a man who has promised on becoming PM to only be there a while, "Make me "temporary" PM", he pleaded, like anybody believes that or anyone with a brain would put that mad man in charge of a sweet shop never mind a country. Or perhaps it will be the ancient right honourable member for Nottingham, the Father of the House, a man known for wearing suede shoes and boozing and playing jazz records, which makes him eminently suitable for the job. This conspiracy or coup, as you might very well say, against the will of the majority is of course, they say, to uphold the will of Parliament. (and there in lies the rub, for this Parliament is the problem, it has failed to carry out the will of the majority).

The Speaker of the House of Commons, a man who by tradition has "neither eyes to see nor tongue to speak" has spoken in a most unconstitutional way and demonstrated once again his bias and his unfitness for the role. 

There's a petition (isn't there is always a sodding petition?) to stop the whole thing. A petition to be put before Parliament, which will , of course, be prorogued ... The local paper headlines that "thousands" have signed it from this region, the truthful headline would read that hundreds of thousands haven't signed it. But truth sells no papers nor is it yet click bait.

Others who imagine themselves to be leaders of some left wing insurgency (bless them for they know not what they do) are claiming mass demonstrations up and down the country to "stop the coup" ... erm two men and their granny and perhaps a dog (the dog voted leave but now has no choice) outside a town hall in Manchester or Birmingham is hardly an insurgency. It's just, well, pathetic. 

Indeed the whole Remain thing is just a pathetic display of petulance by those who feel themselves entitled to have things their own way. They are a bunch spoilt middle class brats, some with the funds to have their day in court where they will find no solace (the government has broken no law other than the one that says no government shall do what it says it will do;  for that is truly unheard of). 

And so a madness has befallen the losers and apoplexy has struck all the right people. It is both an unpleasant and yet delightful spectacle watching the headless chickens run hither and yon. The devil must be having a good old laugh, I know I am.

Butter and Eggs

This is common toadflax (Linaria vulgaris) growing by the side of a busy road. It's by no  means a rare plant and is a favourite of bees who need to be fairly strong to get at the nectar hidden in the snapdragon like flower. The plant has many names relating to the colour , butter and eggs as I've indicated but also bread and butter, butter haycocks and yellow rod. Other names seem to be local folk making stuff up to please themselves so here's a small sample of alternative names: brideweed , rabbit flower, bunny mouth (?) and calf's snout (??). My favourite though, among the many names, has to be dead men's bones which might possibly relate to the practice of using the plant medicinally, who knows?

Leni Riefenstahl without the uniforms

I took this a few days ago by accident almost as the camera was playing tricks and I needed to see if it was working properly. So anyhow I notice that this annual shindig, the Freedom Festival,  that started as a one-off one-day thing a few years ago has now grown and grown and grown an awful size to a five day "celebration of arts, community and humanity". Do any of these need celebrating? I think not, arts should be suppressed and certainly not state sponsored (not a penny), community is a word used by crooks to get elected and humanity couldn't give a monkey's for Hull or its stupid festival. Should the taxpayer be coughing up for this? I am certain not. Nevertheless the grasping arty types, filled with a sense of their own entitlement, demanding (because hell they're celebrating art innit? and the community whatsit called? and the humanity thing yeah, oh the humanity!) and getting their grants from the numpty Hull City Council and other agencies filled with taxpayers hard earned money. The event is, of course, a load of phoney baloney batshit! It's five nights of torch lit parades (think Leni Riefenstahl without the uniforms or the stage direction) and clowning around likely to appeal to the community and humanity innit.

Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

Four years ago Humberside Police were given the worst possible efficiency rating and were condemned as inadequate. Public confidence in the force was the lowest in the country. Last year it was reported that the same force had failed to record thousands of crimes every year. (Let's just forget about this, shall we, nothing to see here, move along now ...) The new PM has promised 20,000 new officers for the country so no doubt there'll be even more sitting at the nearby Costa coffee hut on Clough Road just opposite the inordinately expensive new headquarters, looking menacing at anyone who gives them more than a casual glance.

You only live once

So you're 18 years old, you've attained the maturity that comes with adulthood (Hah!); you've passed your A levels (or maybe not ) and now you are wondering where to spend your thousands of pounds of student loan debt. And so you ponder the standard of your future education, the standard of your lecturers, what degree you are going to take, the amenities of the town, the accommodation and all the other petty considerations but having done all that what is going to sway it for you to come to the city of culture? Could it really be that monthly gym membership is cheaper than London? Gosh! well that clinches it then ... 

Given the choice, at 18 years of age, between three years in Hull or three in the Big Smoke (or indeed any other proper sized big city in the UK) paid for by a debt I most likely will never have to pay off  I would be on the train out of here quicker than you could spit ... and you can stuff your gym membership! Hull is all very nice in parts and no bad place to live but London it is not and it does not come close. I don't want to say this is no town for bright young people but it doesn't have anywhere near the offerings of big cities. Small town Hull will still be there and the cheaper gyms, should you ever want them, when the bright lights pall ...

There's a pink one ...

                      ...and a green one
And a blue one and a yellow one

Coltman Street's Victorian villas have had a new coat of paint and were looking a bit special and not at all ticky-tacky though they do have a touch of sameness about them.
Note to avoid parking on a double-yellow line (an offence punishable by excommunication and forfeiture of  all lands and titles) it is considered perfectly OK to park your white van on the pavement.

A touch of the Dorics

I know it's difficult to believe but ... in the mid-1850s your well-to-do Hull folk were building their desirable residences on Coltman Street and whoever had this Victorian town house built clearly wanted to distinguish their little palace from the hoi-polloi of the hovels of the hinterland of Hessle Road with a little touch of classical elegance. The house like most of the street is now a HMO ( House of Multiple Occupancy; a delightful abbreviation for stuffing as many tenants in as the law will allow ) and comes with al fresco seating ... very classy!

I find upon a modest amount of research that the building was once a social club in the 1930s and also that it is Grade 2 listed and was designed by Benjamin Musgrave of Hull and built c1854. I told you it was classy.