By Frank P
Throughout (near as dammit) eight depleted decades of life, all my home addresses have been within spitting distance of the Prime Meridian, though I was forced for reasons of military service in the 1950s – and through professional travel in the 1980s – to spend protracted periods away from home, albeit still spiritually and firmly attached to Blighty in general, and the Prime Meridian in particular.
Born in Cambridgeshire and bred there until I was eighteen years of age, I moved south along The Prime Meridian to London after a stint in the army, mainly served in Austria, then after my Metropolitan homes and adventures, moved first to Berkshire then East Sussex – before slinking back to Greater London and finally settling in retirement in Norfolk, the County of my maternal forebears, where I shall undoubtedly remain, until the ashes of a fairly pointless existence are scattered among the ancient sand dunes of The Wash (recently vandalised by useless and taxpayer-funded monstrosities called ‘wind-turbines’ planted in its mouth – thereby defacing the northern vista), not all that far from 0 degrees longitude.
Until today, I have never contemplated the longitudinal influences upon my existence, though some time ago, after watching a TV documentary about John Flamsteed, John Harrison, et al and their role in the demarcation of these considerations, my curiosity was mildly aroused as I discovered why Greenwich became the benchmark for the Prime Meridian (but not officially, internationally and comprehensively recognised, if I remember correctly, until 1822 following a convention in Washington DC).
After that documentary I did trace, with my gnarled forefinger, on my Collins World Map, the Primary Meridian: north through the non-exotic territories of east Lincolnshire; clipping east Yorkshire just above the Humber; taking to the North Sea and failing to make land again until eventually frozen in the Arctic on its way to the North Pole.
The route south was much more interesting, following a path through Norfolk, Cambridgeshire, Hertfordshire, Greater London, Surrey, Sussex; then taking to the English Channel at Peacehaven (where my second daughter coincidentally once occupied a house within sight of the Meridian obelisk marker on Peacehaven cliffs – see above), making land again near Deauville, France, then en passant through western France, introducing itself to the Iberian Peninsula just after Lourdes; then on through Eastern Spain, dipping its feet in the Mediterranean on the Costa Blanca; swimming across Mussolini’s “Italian Lake” to the very exotic Algeria, then thirsting its way down across the Sahara, en route to Mali, Burkina and Ghana, diving into the South Atlantic near Accra, then taking the exceedingly long sea voyage across the equator – and on to the frozen wastes of Queen Maud Land, headed for the South Pole.
“Who Queen Maud?” I mused at the time, admitting both to my geographical and historical ignorance; but that line of investigation finished up on the back burner, as the memsahib drew my attention to more pressing domestic issues, like “whose turn is it to put the kettle on?”
It was mine – of course! One wonders whether Prince Harry bothered to solve that mystery prior to his current adventure – and if not, why not?
Anyway, why bring this all up again on a chilly sunny morning in North West Norfolk? Well, after watching Murnaghan attempting to salvage the debris that was Ed Balls’s already demolished reputation as an ‘e-con-omist’, following his hysterical response to Chancellor Georgie Porgie’s latest attempt, earlier this week, to shore up the Tories chances of winning the next election with another artful show of smoke and mirrors, I needed a distraction. Thoroughly bored with this obvious and obliging leg-up for Balls, I did, what I often do in such circumstances, and clicked into the American Digest blog; always a source of inspiration, as year-upon-year, Gerard Vanderleun marshals a daily cornucopia of quirky links, skilfully enjoined with his own blunt and sometimes beautiful prose-poetry.
Today’s offering concerned that part of the USA known as Nebraska, part of the ‘dustbowl’. Gerard draws attention to a beautifully illustrated NYT magazine photo essay by Inara Verzemniks, aided by Andrew Moore’s camera, entitled “Life Along the 100th Meridian”.
http://www.nytimes.com/2013/12/08/magazine/life-along-the-100th-meridian.html?_r=1&pagewanted=all&
It’s a poignant story of survival, conservatism and courage. It also emphasises the scope and scale of America, which didn’t really become obvious to me before my frequent travels there in the 1980s to midway through the last decade. My journeys to-and-fro, latitudinally at ground level from sea to shining sea; and longitudinally from the Gulf of Mexico to Lake Erie, and my frequent jet-jaunts up and down and across its magnificent length and breadth, left an impression that makes me forever an Americaphile, regardless of the current antics of its current administration and the sad gullibility of its electorate, a majority of whom now seem unable to comprehend just how much damage is being inflicted on their land and their heritage by its current President.
And, as a Fenman of East Anglia, who during WWII as a child, helping with the crops, witnessed the flatlands drying out in the spring – though the scope and scale is miniscule by comparison , I can empathise with the Nebraskans and understand why they feel as they do about their land one hundred meridians to the west. In my childhood I remember the western gales of early spring depositing the newly sown carrot seeds from the dusty fields into our back garden; hearing the farmers bemoaning their misfortune as they re-sowed and prayed for rain. One wonders whether those gales originated in Nebraska and crossed a hundred Meridians before pissing-off the rich root-cop farmers of Fenland UK (most of whom made a killing from war-time subsidies as food imports were banned).
Please read the essay; I’m sure it will distract you too from the idiocy of our own scaly-backed, jumped-up, never-come-down political ‘elite’ that also seems hell bent on our destruction – and may make some of you a little less ill-disposed towards our friend JJB. Perhaps not … but I’ve given it my best shot, Mr Burns.
Gerard also appends this clip “Nebraska” by Springstein – a bit of a dirge. That could spoil it for you. Only click on it if you’re a fan of Bruce – an unlikely phenomenon on this patch, given his support for the Obamessiah.
Excellent piece, Frank, down to the cinnamon test and the ending, good ending, too, a success at the auction of that year, but Baron wouldn’t bet on future years. Yet, this was what made America so exceptional, so different, so exciting. Rough, unforgiving, often dangerous conditions for living, man and raw nature, what a satisfying life it must have been, polar opposite of ours in comfortable homes, central heating on, the NHS changing a dressing on a bruised finger…..
Thanks Frank, always a pleasure and makes me wonder just how long ago it is now when I first read your brilliant pieces at the other place about some of your times in the Met.
And regarding Ed Balls’ off the wall rant last week, I’ve been wondering if he’d mistakenly taken something other than his usual camomile tea before going into the chamber?
Baron
Alastair Cooke’s thirteen part “America” documentary similarly teased out the essence of American exceptionalism and the gritty legacy of its hinterlands. Get the box set if you missed it, it’s worth the modest cost and effort.
Comedian Rich Hall’s five 90 minute docs on America’s panoramic cultures were also excellent.. Even as a non-American (though I have been awarded honorary citizenship by some of the worthy denizens of some of its major cities) I deeply resent the baleful political vandalism being perpetrated there by the commie thugs pulling Obama’s strings. The counter-culture hegemonic war continues apace and our civilisation is going under. I know you believe that freedom will win, because communism always destroys itself. But I believe that it doesn’t, but in fact just transmogrifies. Just look at the way Mandela is being canonised; I see little difference between him and Mugabe – two communists who merely used different methods to take control. And like all successful revolutionaries they acquire power and privilege for themselves – and the proletariat they ‘represent’ can go fuck themselves. Mugabe did it with arrogance. Mandela did it with mock humility and the gullible have swallowed it, hook, line and sinker. FW deClerk and Pik Botha also sold out their own for a quiet life and a retirement in luxury. Western Leaders have assuaged their guilt-trip by endorsing and embracing Mandela and even Winnie Mandela, one of the most evil bitches ever to emerge on South African soil is also living high on the hog. They say we shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. Mandela will continue to be used from the grave to be the acceptable face of communist revolution. We have a duty to dispel the myth that insidious modus operandi.
I see JJB castigated me for not swallowing the ANC shit and cited Dubya as example of international statesmanship – the first POTUS to welcome Mandela into the Oval Office. Ha! (and there was me batting for him on this blog and pleading for tolerance towards him for his anti-Brit sentiments). 🙂
Read Diana West’s book on the accommodation of communism by almost all US Presidents since Woodrow Wilson – the root cause of many of the problems of this fucked-up planet. Even Ronnie Reagan didn’t augur the upshot of the fall of the Iron Curtain and realise that it was merely a mutation rather than a collapse of communism in the East. I can personally vouch for the fact that almost all ‘racial’ conflict in this country has been incited by agitprop exploiting useful idiots.
The contribution of loony extreme right wing groups has been minimal in comparison.
Irishboy
Thanks – glad you enjoyed it, I get a kick out of pimping the worthy labours of others to an appreciative audience. 🙂
I think Ed B was just high on his own piss and importance – as ever. An obnoxious boggle-eyed douchebag! The DTel continued the attempted rescue today with a piece about him playing classical music on the old joanna.
DMAFF!
Btw just in case any of you didn’t know, Queen Maud was the Daughter of our “Bertie” (King Edward VII). She became Queen of Norway.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maud_of_Wales
This time I asked my other half to make the tea, while I sated my curiosity.
So I’m sure young Harry knew all along that one of his great aunts, several times removed, own that bit of ice and they have Wales in common, too.
And another thing that Baron hasn’t added to his posting above because it seems to have been a waste of time in the past when he did say it.
What a talent you have, Frank, and what use you make of it, ha? Your bit about the Meridian hopping was as good if not better than the NY Times musings. He, the one with the capital H, will punish you for squandering the ability he endowed you with to pen essays on virtually anything.
Wouldn’t your local paper be interested in a weekly column. The Meridian story, your Meridian story, would fit the bill hands down. Come on, give the editor a call. It’s an order.
I was interested to learn that you helped out with the harvest as a boy. I remember in what must have been the last couple of year of the war or shortly thereafter being taken by my mother and some ladies of a relative’s farm to bring lunch to the farmworkers.This must have been in the Halstead/Stambourne area of Essex. A combine harvester was circling a steadily diminishing circle of wheat when we arrived and set out lunch (bottles of Corona) under a tree. Farmworkers stood around the circle with sticks. Rabbits retreating to the centre of the crop would change their mind and make a break for it. Rabbit for dinner.
In those days too, gleaning was still a strong tradition and my home was one of a line which backed on to fields in Galleywood, near Chelmsford. At the end of the harvest, it was like Keats’ Ode to Autumn –
“And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook”…
Does it still go one, I wonder?