as heard on BBC Oxford, boxing-day 2010

It is a study in soundscape, social history, and the multi-layered reality of space. It looks at the many-parted understandings of the road, and land surrounding it, through the eyes and experiences of walkers, singers, motorcyclists, steam-waggoners, and many more.

You can listen to the whole thing on Felix’ website, the Domestic Soundscape.

And here is a clip of our contributions to the show:

Please enjoy. And our thanks to Felix, who is, we should say, one of the best sock-knitters we’ve ever met.

Please press MORE, and read it up.

HURDLES IN A COPPICE WINTER

Hurdles, or wattles, are transportable wooden panels, bound together by the weaving and wrapping of horizontal rods around fixed upright rods (aka ‘sails’). They are a geodesic approximation of a flat surface, a plain constructed of long round poles.

A Hurdle, in its 'natural' environment

We needed hurdles as flooring, as we were unwilling to import to the woods the only viable free alternative, unwanted pallets. While pallets are free and available, they all contain nasty old nails, and our promise to leave the woods with nothing that would not biodegrade, meant no iron-bound pallets.

So hurdles it was. We were backed by extensive tradition, which we were keen to rediscover. Wattle and daub is a historical catchphrase, and indeed formed one of the oldest building methods whose structures still survive. Wattle and daub, loosely, comprises of a hurdle (probably with unsplit rods, for greater longevity) being covered with mud, or clay, or cob, or poo.

Our eventual hurdled floor achievement

This seemed to work for generations of people in Britain, as a cheap, easy, effective form of house-building that used only abundant local materials.

In fact, most of our traditional British industries (going back a distance) were dependent on the woodlands, our greatest land-based resource. This meant that people of these lands once took very seriously the production of suitable materials from the woods. Hurdling, for example, requires lots of straight rods, and so woodland managment needed to provide this resource. By such prompts, or market-demands, was the system of coppicing developed.

Coppicing is a word that is unknown in much of the world. It is the practise of cutting broad-leaf trees at various regular points of their lives, over a wide section of woodland, and then letting them grow back again.

It has created man-shaped woodlands in Britain which, while not ‘ancient’ or strictly ‘natural’, are very old, very diverse, and very productive. It also created woodland-shaped humans, who were disciplined, observant, and diligent custodians of their wooded landscapes.

Most people react strongly against a tree being cut down, and see it as an unnecessarily early end to a beautiful story. But in a non-fiction world, the coppicing of a broadleaf tree ensures its regeneration, that it may remain ever-young.

Hazel, untended by man, will live for around 100 years, until it falls from its own weight, or rots, and in falling opens its base to the assault of microbia, insects, and fungi. But hazel constantly cut down to the stool, will  live for 1000 years+. The same is true of many trees, although the method of regrowth depends on the tree. Elms sucker from the root. Ash grows above ground, from the stump. Conifers, native or otherwise, will not survive being felled.

These days, when our ‘economy’ justifies the importing of timber grown a thousand miles away, as ‘cheaper’ than wood grown a mile away, old coppices in Britain are often left to rot of their own accord. Many woods are now privately owned, and their owners often espouse the belief that non-maintenance is good maintenance. And perhaps it is true, that in time old coppice woods will revert to a more ‘natural’ state; but it is also true that such a woods will be of limited value to builder-man.

Hurdle floor in Ed's mini house

Coppicing, as a regulated cycle, provides materials for industry, as quick-growing small rods, or as longer-cycling of bigger ‘standard’ trees for timber. It also produces fire-wood, and charcoal from the littlest bits, and a good harvest of nuts or fruits (depending on the trees).

But crucially, it also allows wide biodiversity, and a safe refuge for much wildlife. The piles of dead wood that are left in the woods become a valuable habitat. There were buzzards, tawny-owls, hares and woodpeckers in our patch.

And because an area of coppice is worked in rotated sections (coups), there are all stages of growth in a functioning coppice. This ensures a regular dose of direct sunlight onto all parts of the woodland floor, to awaken wild-flower seeds who would not grow in constant darkness, like Foxglove, and to knock back the constant presence of shade-lovers, like Dogs Mercury. And because there is change, within a regular cycle, coppice woodlands allow the presence of what ecologists call a ‘guild’ of plants, meaning groups who are mutually supportive, and can live in conjunction without competing. Primroses, Anenomes, Bluebells and Violets form one such guild, which thrive on coppice floors.

To our neolithic ancestors, the appearance of such wildflowers, especially two or three years after cutting, when the benefits of all that extra photosynthesis have been assimilated, would have given vital medicinal (and some edible) benefits. But these ancestors would doubtless also have delighted in the mostly-aesthetic considerations of the modern eye.

The ancient (and recent) inhabitants of these islands valued local materials in industry and craft, having few other options. Their systems of woodland management would have been painstaking, always keenly observed, with a constant memory and respect for the working traditions that led them there.

They duly learned that trees cut simultaneously over a wide area are more likely to regrow straight, as there is no sideways growth necessary in such an egalitarian competition for light (the only way is up). This was of considerable importance in industry, as regular materials are easier to work than lots of odd shaped and twisty bits. Also, on felling a single tree, many new growths emerge, so there seemed to be an ever-increasing wood to replace what was taken. This was probably pleasing to our projected ancestors, and perhaps we can imagine that such ongoing bounty was taken as a sign of approval, from divine powers, for the good act of coppicing.

Of course, we have mainly out-grown such humility; but then, we’ve also mostly forgotten about coppicing. This island was once entirely wooded, and it is only humans who have altered this. We now enjoy approx 8.4% of England as woods, which to be fair, is an improvement on 200 years ago. But we have also suffered the massive increase of sitka spruce plantations, an Alaskan tree whose fast-growing properties make it the cheapest softwood timber to produce. Today, approx. 30% of trees in England are Sitka. While more trees is always good, such a boom of one species usually occurs at the cost of another, and native woodlands and coppices, whose format and scale are less economically rewarding, are the usual victims.

So Sitka (and other conifers) are usually produced on the site of ancient woodland and coppices, which are grubbed (destroyed) in order to make way for more profitable pine farms. These monocultures of non-native trees are grown with little regard for biodiversity, and they do not coppice, but are cyclically felled and replanted. Much of this is due to the post-war ‘scientific’ forestry techniques championed by the newly formed ‘Forestry Commission’. We’ve heard many tales, from long-term local old-boys, of how local fishing streams became dead, brown and fishless, after the FC felled and sold the broadleaved trees, and replanted with soft pines.

Forestry Commission Stewardship in Action

Today, much of this island’s remaining ancient coppice woodland is overstood, that is, in desperate need of regenerating, if the ancient trees are to live on, and if the culture of sustainable management is to be retained.

On arriving at our winter woodland base, we had coppicing on the mind, and were soon put to work on cutting down the hazel, as low to the ground as possible. In 10-12 years, there should be a woodful of straight, bonny hazel rods, all ready for craft. But for us, there was instead a hodge-podge of twisty, gnarly stuff, with some good straight bits thrown in. This, however, is also a working benefit, as it ensures the woodland coppicer is always looking ahead, and planning for the future, for the houses of his grandchildren and onwards.

A Wattle Woodshed we made, beside the Outdoor Baths of Mellowcroft

Luckily for us there were acres of woods to be coppiced, so our only shortages were in motivation, to hunt down the good straight wood and drag it back to camp.

We tried making hurdles in our first days there, with Rose as a primary instigating experimenter (a role she played very well). But the mystery of how to keep the hurdles from falling apart, on every side, seemed impenetrable, despite books galore on ‘how-to’.

Then into our camp strolled Hopper, who was a friend of the wood owners, and has been making hurdles for most of his life. It was his main career for many years, and he still makes them on order today, although he admitted that there is better trade in willow, which is easier to work.

Hopper listened to our plans, and told us we were crazy, that a hurdle panel floor would take too long, and we should find another way.

But he also told us everything we could need to know, should we decide anyway to pursue our unreasonable and unlikely plan.

We found Hopper’s knowledge to be beyond expert. He is a born teacher, and could explain what he knew in simple and accessible ways.

WE BELIEVE…it is the mark of a true professional, an artisan and an artist, for someone to be willing to openly share the “secrets” of their skills, without thought of recompense or competition. Anyone who refuses to divulge such information, a hoarder of knowledge, is (we surmise) a charlatan, afraid more to reveal their lack of understanding, than of losing their perceived information monopoly.

But we may be wrong on that.

Lee carries one home

So here is Hopper’s guide to Hurdle-making, as we heard it.

A further instructional video, of Hopper teaching us how to split hazel rods, is available HERE.

Please, as ever, ask any questions that you may feel prompted by this post, and its accompanying video. And please feel affected by all arising issues.

We really want you, the person on the other end of the wire, to let us know what you know, about coppicing and hurdling (and unrelated other things too). We compile and release information not only for the outward education, but also to attract further (and alternative) knowledgeable responses. So share your findings, in the vital and wholesome arena of traditional woodland management, and we’ll all have a jolly dialogue.

See you in the good old future.

We look forward.

Hurdled loo hole

Hurdle floor underside

Ayla in a hurdle hangout, beside the bathside

Under the the Elan Aquaduct

Running from the Elan Valley to Birmingham, there is a waterway wrapped in stone.

It is the Victorian built water-piping system, called the Elan Aquaduct, that runs from the Elan reservoirs in Wales, to Birmingham’s Frankley reservoir.

follow

The water takes a day and a half to make its way, and there are no pumping stations to enforce the journey. Instead, the water travels solely by the irrestistible agency of Gravity.

from here it goes

Although there are hills and valleys aplenty between Elan (Cymru) and Frankley (Brum), stubborn Victorian industrial intelligence designed a very slightly downhill journey for the water to follow, for all 73 miles. It goes downhill by a tiny fraction, but it is precise and constant, and so it works.

flow without deviation

Running out the back of our winter woods, a segment of the Elan aquaduct stretched across the mini valley, and disappeared into the opposite hillside.

We found the aquaduct’s arches, where they crossed the river Ithon, were a brilliant place to rest awhile, being a guaranteed shelter from winds and rain. But they also acted as an intense echo chamber, in which the water itself echoed marvellously, and voices would travel and bounce around the curved stone in strange exciting ways.

This was obviously a pretty big thrill for us, this winter. It was nice to get out the woods, sometimes, and get a change of elements.

a swollen river means no under bridge singing

We also liked the idea that there was water flowing constantly above our heads, and before our feet, while we were dry between.

The aquaduct was built 100 years ago, and we doubt whether the capacity to replicate it still exists. We have out-progressed such a simple, enduring technology. Today we have plastic tubes and pumping engines, which are much cheaper, and easy to replace, when they break.

Alder grows from the aquaduct stone

The reservoir is celebrated as a wildlife reserve, and a feat of tremendous engineering heritage. With so much going right for it, it can be easy to forget that this aquaduct, now so fitting a monument to the ambition and achievement of the Victorian Age, was probably a dreadful eyesore, and an environmental catastrophe when it was built. The reservoirs were once, after all, beautiful rich and damp valleys, with schools, memories, bio-diversity, and distinct cultural identity. And now they’re underwater.

Before it was heritage, it was a mess

And the stone aquaduct, which has blended into the landscape, and which we enjoyed so much, was the cause of a massive quarrying industry in the Welsh hills. And an entire railway line was built for the project (since dismantled), to transport labour and materials. There was also a huge wooden village built to house the labour-force, so local woodlands doubtless took the brunt of this demand.

a lot of work

One local story we heard, went like this: the quarries, to provide the aquaduct stonework, were dug and funded by Birmingham City water board, and once the building work was all done, and the water flowing, all the Birmingham people went back home. So the farmers, whose land the quarries sat on, guarded those quarries, and watched, and waited. No-one was willing to presume ownership, or take stone, but nor were they going to let someone else do the same. They watched their little quarries, and waited for water board to get in touch.

The situation stayed like this for a generation. And 50 years later, those farmers and families slowly started using the stone, and took possession of a very good source of quality stone for their tracks and out-buildings.

“But don’t you go wandering round them quarries” we were told. “They don’t like strangers doing that. They’re protective. Probably ‘cos they weren’t theirs to start with…”

a good place for song

When Ginger came to visit us in the woods this winter, we recorded a few songs, and jams, under the stone arches of the Elan Aquaduct. Here they are. Please do not be alarmed by occasional gusts of wind overwhelming our sound-recorder. It all comes right in the end.

water overhead

The Grey Funnel Line

Good Old Way

Grey Funnel Line Jam-it-Up

Lovely Last Note

Sound Check – Something Together

Politicians never did like people prying into their ‘private’ incomes. That seems as true today as ever.

So the window tax was concieved as an alternative.

Winchester cathedral precincts - a wink at the tax laws...

Income Tax was always viewed in this same light. The idea that the government had a right to know how much private income someone earned, was deemed for many years to be an inexcusable invasion of personal liberty.

It was fought, heckled, demonstrated against, and pooh-poohed in the highest courts and the grimiest taverns. As such, income tax was not established until the late 18th century, and was highly controversial for at least a hundred years. Only now is it accepted as unavoidable.

AD 1696 was the year of the Window Tax. It was also the year of suspending habeas corpus (the right of a person not to be imprisoned indefinitely without evidence of having committed a crime). That right was swiftly restored – but has been lost today again, under the terror laws of post 9/11.

Window Tax replaced the Hearth Tax, and was introduced under William III. Its socio-architectural mark can still be seen all over Britain. Its creation was designed to cover the rising costs of British ‘involvement’ in Ireland and Europe. It was a very easy tax to assess, but because the occupier was the payer, this tax gave cause to many windows being bricked up or painted over. Often this un-windowing of properties lasted only until the assessors had passed by, but often also the filled-in windows became a permanent sign of protest against this taxation. Remember, avoiding tax is fine and dandy, a good thing, and only evasion is illegal…

near Lodsworth, the debate raged - airy interior versus higher band taxation?

This tax also gave rise to new levels of ostentation, when the super-rich pumped their new-builds full of windows, to prove they could afford it.

This particular tax lasted until 1851, when it was replaced by another one.

And so the wheel turns, the ropes tighten, while houses become darker.

Remember when water was free?

Neither do we.

the cultual imprint of taxation is visible all over the landscape

Bees are in trouble, with massive declines in their populations. We are losing hives, mainly in agriculature, but also wild hives too.

If you don’t want a rant, don’t read on:

The situation is thus:

Honey bees are in decline, attacked by what scientists are calling a ‘syndrome’ or ‘disorder’. What this means…is that no-one really knows why (in other words, “the cause of this bee problem, is a problem with bees).

We need honey bees. It isn’t just that honey is one of the oldest foodstuffs in the world, the original sweet-treat; and it isn’t just that the wax of the honeycomb provided humans with their original portable light source, the candle. No, above all this, bees are a great and clear reminder of the world’s inherent kindness, of our ability to thrive here, amongst this nature both cruel and forgiving. The bee works for herself, and yet also works for us, in making our plants multiply, and allowing us to share her labour’s fruits, honey.

There’s an Einstein quote that gets wheeled out about now: “when the honey-bees leave the face of the Earth, mankind will follow in 4 years”. No-one is really sure where this quote was made, and it seems a very certain botano-biological statement from a physicist renowned for ‘relativism’. But it’s a good quote, and we should probably run with it.

So why is the bee in such trouble? While walking, we have certainly noticed less bees than ever this year. We’ve asked lots of the people we’ve met what they think is the reason for this great trouble, and how it might be remedied. There are lots of answers for the ‘why’, and sadly fewer for the ‘how-to-fix’.

We suspect all the trouble is caused by…(ready for this)…a combination of factors. Every sundry cause will be agitating and complimenting the next, all in mob together, and as a whole this makes life really difficult, nigh intolerable, for bees.

Firstly blamed is: industrial bee-keeping, and the wholesale theft of bees’ honey. They produce it as a food for themselves, as a resource to keep their hive alive during winter months, when there are far less flowers about. The old method of bee-keeping would leave a portion of the honey for the bees, but now it is all taken. As a replacement, bees are being fed HFCS (High-fructose corn syrup), an intense sweetener that is used in the most violent of fizzy drinks. It is the stuff that allegedly melts human teeth, if left in overnight. It is that which turns flavoured fizzy water into “Super-Pop-a-Rola” and so on. It is the sweetness that takes your breath away, that (allegedly) causes addictive behaviour, and concentration loss, in human children. It is the bad stuff, the refined white nightmare. Some people have the gall to call it ‘bee-food’, but this is like calling offal and ash ‘dog-food’.

Also adding to the plight of the honey bee is the way hives are kept agriculturally, being driven about the land on the backs of trucks. Driving all day is not healthy; this is a generaly acknowledged truth. But our bees are being driven around continuously, and dropped off to work in the middle of vast plains of mono-cultural crops, to pollinate these plants like slaves. So instead of a varied supply of pollen, they have only pea-blossom, or whatever the crop. This is mostly true in the US, where there are fields of a single crop that go for miles and miles in all directions. I’m sure this would also be desired in Britain, but the mono-culturalists’ grand plans are probably held back by all those villages and churches, forests and other pesky disruptions.

The shape of the modern hive is also blamed as a cause of bees’ decline. Bees, keepers say, are circular creatures, their improbable flight being due to vortex-engine-like-air-flows created in and around them as they fly.

magic like this

They are magic, you see. And, left alone, they build themselves homes that reflect this circular magic (the hexagonal honeycomb being a geodesic representation of a circle). But now they are forced to live in cuboid structures, with corners, which really cramps their buzz. This, we are told, does nothing to help the bee thrive.

Another factor is that bees have been hindered by the new wave of pesticides and insecticides that now come built into the plant itself, via clever genetic manipulation. So every time a bee visits a flower, it is taking in a dose of these insect-killing chemicals. But such doses are, the companies responsible say, “sub-lethal” for the bees. It’s more like a minefield, not designed to kill, but to ruin – these chemicals leave bees dizzy, confused, with a weakened sense of direction and co-ordination. This also does not help.

And our experimental agriculture, with its full reliance on petro-chemical fertilizers and toxic herbicides, likewise damages the wild honey bee. The flowers beside a oilseed rape field are all withered, all dead. And much more of this land is given over to monocultural crops than ever before. Of course, we need to feed people, and thus need crops. But our crops need bees, and we have to strike the right balance.

Yet another issue is with a parasitic mite called Varroa. This little fellow latches onto bees, and eats their soul, and can kill a whole hive. We don’t know if this is an ancient illness, or one like myxomatosis, the result of panicking human minds.

Poor old bees. They have got it tough. It reminds us of the militia burning the protestors’ homes and crops, forcing them to leave. Yet with the bees, we warm our hands on these burning homes, and are mystified when the inhabitants won’t play with us.

But without safe habitats and good food, how can any living thing fare?

We think the problem, the syndrome, is rooted in our species’ lack of respect for this creature, and the constant expectation that it shall endlessly provide for humanity, despite our ever decreasing respect for bees. It is not that the great majority of people love the bee any less than before – but that this great majority have very little say in how the affairs of bees are managed. Those who care, and have common sense, are not in charge.

Bee-love, in fact, carries very little political credence. Even our democratic gift, that four-yearly vote, our infrequent and fluttery act of political contribution, our muddling into the mess of image-play and word-power, will not talk of the bees.

Surely this would be an election-winner – “I will save the bees on earth”. Bees are a big issue, but are seen as nothing important, a minor insect problem. The truth is, to remedy this problem would require well-thought-out whole-system solutions, exactly the type of far-thinking clarity that we do not find in government. And why are the far-clear thinkers not politicians? It may be, we have been told, that to be a politician requires the skills of manipulation, treachery, egoism and charade. The most charming liar wins.

Serious topics, like honey bees being on the point of leaving this world for a better one, are far from the minds of men…

It seems to us that long before we were born, there was communication between animals, land and men. We believe that our inherited world saw deals being made, between man and nature, accord and agreements wrangled by wiser humans who knew these entities intimately.

And it seems also like our affairs today are being managed by those who (aim to?) forget, more and more entirely, the nature of such old accords. The solution to the problem of the honey bee would be: to recall this deal with the honey bee, and other creatures: that we shall be good to them, house them well and care for them, and we may in turn enjoy a share of their work.

But we prefer to grab without thanks, and shamelessly demand a constant increase in yields and profits. It is little wonder, then, that the bee’s tolerance for our world is getting thin. Soon they may decide to disappear completely, and we cannot really blame them.

The topic of the bees gets raised periodically in our journey. People know it is happening, and nobody likes it. For if the bees go, we will not have enough food growing for all these people. Our own hive will be decimated. The disappearance of the bees seems like that goal-post we didn’t ever want to meet, and it feels like we’re going to slip soon easily past it, saying: “bugger, I meant to do something about that, didn’t I…”

But if so, then all for the best. People are gearing up already for PBW (post-bee-world), but there are polarized opinions in how the best form of response. Americans, we are told, have developed self-pollinating crops, which would be un-reliant on the bee, but would also be a strand of food wholly owned by a private corporation – finally all food supplies on earth would be controlled, withheld and priced at the whim of a profit-seeking company, unanswerable to any government. This, to us, smells rotten, like ‘factory-fresh eggs’. Can you not hear the whispered warning…‘beware’…?

And the Chinese method for dealing with no-bee agriculture, is to arm millions of people with tiny paint-brushes, and get them out in the fields brushing the pollen between flowers. “The robots are nothing if not versatile”. Perhaps humans can become bees – but we wonder how energy efficient this would be, with each worker consuming lots of fuel, in food and transport and housing. For how long would human bee-ing remain a workable proposition?

So anyway: when you see a bee, say thankyou for its work, maybe sing it a song – for goods’ sake do not be scared of it – and maybe the bees will decide that humanity is worth hanging around for, despite all, and that perhaps we can live together on this planet. We really just need to remember what we, as a species, are here for – to be custodians of this great fine garden, to allow life to thrive, to create, and to love. It’s a really simple thing – but then here we are again, the child-species humanity, pissing in our mother’s mouth, wondering why her patience turns to sorrow and anger.

big bumbler

LINKS:

Chronogram: A Case of Hives by Jonathan King

Peak Energy Blog – Big Gav

New York Times:  Honeybees vanish…byAlexi Barrionuevo

Times Educational Supplement: The Plight of the Honey Bee by Zoë Corbyn

Free Thinking and Free Energy

BEE QUOTES OF NOTE:

“Give and Take…
For to the bee a flower is a fountain of life
And to the flower a bee is a messenger of love
And to both, bee and flower,
the giving and the receiving is a need and an ecstasy.”

(Kahlil Gibran)

“When the bee comes to your house, let her have beer;
you may want to  visit the bee’s house some day.”

(Congolese proverb)

“That which is not good for the beehive cannot be good for the bees.”

(Marcus Aurelius)

“Quite cleary nature did not tell the honeybee to go out and cross-pollinate the vegetation. What nature did was to genetically program the honeybee to go after the honey and inadvertently crosspollinate . . . What nature told humanity (genetically) was, I’m hungry, my kids are hungry; I’m cold, my kids are cold. Go after that food and coat. They cost money–go after the money. They say you have to earn it. OK, I’ll earn it. Buzz, buzz, honey-money bee. No human genes are programmed to say– go make the world work for everybody– only your creative mind can tell you that.”

(Buckminster Fuller)

So where did all the horns go? Who decided that this natural expression of cow-ishness was wrong, and needed to be remedied?

Why do we only find milk cows with horns at farms like Plaw Hatch, near Forest Row?

Well, it’s a type of farming brought in since the 1950′s, with the rise of ‘international markets’ and ‘global economies’ (those grand and inevitable sounding concepts) that followed the Second World War.

Because we tried to make the world smaller, and closer, to stop such wars happening again, we agreed to buy things from countries far far away. This meant that England could buy milk much cheaper from a distant land than the English farmer could provide. This was the result of currency and wealth differences, which could not be helped, without a really radical shake-up (Novus ordo seclorum…?)

So the type of farming that was traditional – it had to change.

Today, therefore, we have a system where today, milk-cows have their horns burned off with a red-hot poker when they are very young. This stops the horns ever growing back.

This sounds brutal, and it is. Farmers are meant to anaethetize, but as one old boy told us, “farmers aren’t doctors, are they? Don’t really know about all that medical stuff. Just got to get the job done quick.”

Bulls are allowed to keep their horns, but these are mostly pure silica, just bone. A cow’s horn, on the other hand, is a thin layer of silica, with lots of nerves and flesh inside.

So why do we burn them off? Well, simply enough, its like chopping off peoples’ hair, and taking their clothes away – it reduces their individuality, and lets you shove loads of them in together in a small space. It lets them be treated more like milk-machines, and less like living creatures. It nullifies their native resistance to such treatment, and disengages their in-built survival instinct.

So what are the disadvantages to such treatment, apart from the idea of mal-treatment? Why react like an over-sensitive liberal on this matter?

Well, cows horns are linked directly to their digestive system. So when you remove the horns, you remove their digestive immunities, and suddenly there is a need to introduce antibiotics.

And once the cows need antibiotics, their milk is full of it, and people start to need these unessential medicines too.

The rise in human antibiotic intake roughly corresponds to the new agricultural practice of horn-removal, but that is not a scientific and historical point of view, but instead our own amateur detective-work.

So the next time you see a milk-farmer, ask them why there are no horns on their cows, and see what they have to say…

And while you’re at it, ask them how long calves get to stay with their mothers after they are born. The mother has carried the calf, and then births it, and we all know how strong the maternal instinct is, right? Well, your typical English farm gives them 24 hours together, before a lifetime apart.

And we call ourselves a nation of animal lovers…

“Well, it beggars my belief, and i just don’t understand why an apple still sells for tenpence. I mean, it’s good food, it’s local, it;s healthy and filling, and yet there’s mars-bars selling for 50, 60 pence, and supermarkets doing a bag of ten apples for a pound. What is that all about? When did apples become so undervalued”

The others all hummed and sighed in regretful agreement at this state of affairs, and ordered more food and drink. We suspect that although they are not capitalizing fully on the mass-markets to which they are exposed, they are doing rather well. Acreage was discussed in its hundreds.

But there is a good point being made. Why are apples treated like they just grow on trees? Why are they judged to be worth so much less than a lethal concoction of packaged sugars?

Perhaps the answer lies with the supermarkets. Perhaps it is with the free-market, or the minimum wage.

Having worked on fruit farms, we have all seen the shocking wastage of fruit each year, and how the mis-shapenm or slightly rough skinned apples are left on the trees. The apples that are too big, and those that are too small, are also left alone. “It’s the size of the machine’s cutters” we were told.

Our farm experience also taught us how the buyer has all the power, and if they decide to pay half the rate, on the basis of one man’s judgement of quality (“oh, they’re just not quite right”) then the farmer recieves for his crop one third of the premium rate.

It’s a tricky business. We don’t want New Zealand apples, as that makes no sense at all, when so many of our own garden are unpicked.

And yet no-one is willing to pay the farmers the same profits they pay Nestle.

What is to be done?

“I hope the public-house or the inn will never cease to be a place in which the solitary traveller my find a fire and someone with whom to talk, but its real significance is lost; it is no longer the institution by which all those who set out on a journey depend, the institution which for centuries has mixed all classes together under one roof. The innkeeper has ceased to depend on the traveller, just as the traveller has ceased to depend on the inn.”

Britain is (two difficult words) known as a Christian nation. But what does this mean? Well, simply enough, it means many of the traditions we have inherited are shaped by references taken, and understandings gathered, from the Bible.

It is hard to write about the Bible. It is, as critics would say, a contested zone. Two of the first and most obvious comments I would make, that: “The bible is a book of books”, and “the bible is a great book” are immediately suspect.

But both statements are arguably accurate: it is a book made of many other books, all stuck together, and it is great, in that it is huge, and epic.

It is full of stories, which are, like the contemporary historical novels, a creative blend of fact and exciting plot. And like modern historical fiction, it offers a view of ‘what-happened’ that overwrites previous ideas, that somehow inhabits the shapes of history, to become authority and memory. The reality-tunnels formed by this book are wide and extensive. Britain is tattooed (some would say ‘blessed’, others ‘scarred’) by references to Biblical stories and characters. In her architecture, her political institutions, her laws and streets, in the names of her children, in her music and song, and in her stories, Britain is a Bible-Land.

So as we walk through a landscape almost built of these ancient stories, it is hardly surprising that we pick up a few on the way. Of course, many versions of the Bible exist, and each carries its own sense of meaning and historical imperative. And, of course, much is almost unreadable, dull and boring, a long series of lists and family-trees, of names endlessly begetting names.

This does not fit well with our stream-lined modern ignorance of ancient cultures, and can become tedious. No, it’s better to look out for the best bits, many of which are written into the life that visibly surrounds us: the setup of law-courts; the Tate and Lyle logo; the oaths of parliament; much film and television; most literature; the shape of your hometown; the laws of tax and commerce; the days of the week, the months of the year. The Bible is everywhere, and is thus worth knowing, on these grounds alone.

Not all of the following quotes are purely biblical; some are sayings/writing from people who’ve devoted their lives to following the teachings they found in the Bible. All are worth hearing, and bearing in mind. That such reflections have become their own traditions, demonstrates their objective value. They have lasted, endured, with what appears to be a sense of their own future, as if they’re passing themselves down until they get to their destination, the right place at the right time, to once again be filled with the divine fire from which they are said to come.

Matthew 17:20 (KJV) (JC lets it be known that it is not the eating habits of a person, but the world they create by their words, that makes them good or bad)

“Do not ye yet understand, that whatsoever entereth in at the mouth goeth into the belly, and is cast out into the draught? But those things which proceed out of the mouth come forth from the heart; and they defile the man. For out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, murders, adulteries, fornications, thefts, false witness, blasphemies: These are the things which defile a man: but to eat with unwashen hands defileth not a man”

Jeremiah 44, 15-19 (KJV) (Jeremiah is telling people not to worship the Great Goddess. They are saying – but we always have done before, and we did alright. This is a crucial moment in the transference of dominance from one idea of religious accuracy, to another)

“Then all the men which knew that their wives had burned incense unto other gods, and all the women that stood by, a great multitude, even all the people that dwelt in the land of Egypt, in Pathros, answered Jeremiah, saying,

As for the word that thou hast spoken unto us in the name of the LORD, we will not hearken unto thee.

But we will certainly do whatsoever thing goeth forth out of our own mouth, to burn incense unto the queen of heaven, and to pour out drink offerings unto her, as we have done, we, and our fathers, our kings, and our princes, in the cities of Judah, and in the streets of Jerusalem: for then had we plenty of victuals, and were well, and saw no evil.

But since we left off to burn incense to the queen of heaven, and to pour out drink offerings unto her, we have wanted all things, and have been consumed by the sword and by the famine.

And when we burned incense to the queen of heaven, and poured out drink offerings unto her, did we make her cakes to worship her, and pour out drink offerings unto her, without our men?”

Matthew 15: 1-11 (NIV) (Jesus is approaches by the law-givers, the gang of uber-religious nasties who want him to commit an error so they can discredit and silence him. With superb information judo, he turns their attack on its head, and plays the crowd marvellously to capitalize on his rare opportunity for debate with these fearsome right-wing theocrats. He shows them up for fools; which is daring and brilliant, for it eventually costs him his life)

“Then some Pharisees and scribes came from Jerusalem to Jesus and said,

“Why do your disciples disregard the tradition of the elders? They don’t wash their hands when they eat.”

But he answered them, “Why do you also disregard the commandment of God because of your tradition?

Because God said, ‘Honor your father and your mother,’ and ‘Whoever curses father or mother must certainly be put to death.’

But you say ‘Whoever tells his father or his mother, “Whatever support you might have received from me has been given to God,”

does not have to honor his father.’ Because of your tradition, then, you have disregarded the authority of God’s word.

You hypocrites! How well did Isaiah prophesy of you when he said,

‘These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me.

Their worship of me is empty, because they teach human rules as doctrines.’”

Then calling out to the crowd, he addressed them, “Listen and understand!

It is not what goes into the mouth that makes a person unclean. It is what comes out of the mouth that makes a person unclean.”

Luke 24 13-53 (NIV) (Jesus plays coyote, baffling and impressing his disciples; between life and death, he plays, and teaches by trickery)

On the same day, two of Jesus’ followers were walking to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem. They were talking with each other about all these things that had taken place. While they were discussing and analyzing what had happened, Jesus himself approached and began to walk with them, but their eyes were prevented from recognizing him.
He asked them, “What are you discussing with each other as you’re walking along?” They stood still and looked gloomy.
The one whose name was Cleopas answered him, “Are you the only visitor to Jerusalem who doesn’t know what happened there in the past few days?”
He asked them, “What things?”
They answered him, “The events involving Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet, mighty in what he said and did before God and all the people, and how our high priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and had him crucified. But we kept hoping that he would be the one to redeem Israel. What is more, this is now the third day since these things occurred. Even some of our women have startled us by what they told us. They were at the tomb early this morning and didn’t find his body there, so they came back and told us that they had seen a vision of angels, who were saying that he was alive. Then some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said. However, they didn’t see him.”
Then Jesus said to them, “O, how foolish you are! How slow you are to believe everything the prophets said! The Messiah had to suffer these things and then enter his glory, didn’t he?” Then, beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he explained to them all the passages of Scripture about himself.
As they came near the village where the two men were headed, Jesus acted as though he were going farther. But they strongly urged him, “Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the daylight is nearly gone.” So he went in to stay with them. While he was at the table with them, he took the bread, blessed it, broke it in pieces, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they knew who he was. And he vanished from them.
Then they asked each other, “Our hearts kept burning within us as he was talking to us on the road and explaining the Scriptures to us, didn’t they?”
They got up right away, went back to Jerusalem, and found the eleven disciples and their companions all together. They kept saying, “The Lord has really risen and has appeared to Simon!” Then the two men began to tell what had happened on the road and how they had recognized him when he broke the bread in pieces.
While they were all talking about this, Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, “Peace be with you.” They were startled and terrified, thinking they were seeing a ghost. But Jesus said to them, “What’s frightening you? And why are you doubting? Look at my hands and my feet, because it’s really me. Touch me and look at me, because a ghost doesn’t have flesh and bones as you see that I have.”
After he had said this, he showed them his hands and his feet. Even though they were still skeptical due to their joy and astonishment, Jesus asked them, “Do you have anything here to eat?”
They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate it in their presence. Then he said to them, “These are the words that I spoke to you while I was still with you—that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the Prophets, and the Psalms had to be fulfilled.”
Then he opened their minds so that they might understand the Scriptures. He said to them, “This is how it is written: the Messiah was to suffer and rise from the dead on the third day, and then repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all the nations, beginning at Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things. I am sending to you what my Father promised, so stay here in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high.”
Later, he led them out as far as Bethany, lifted up his hands, and blessed them. While he was blessing them, he left them and was taken up to heaven. They worshiped him and returned to Jerusalem filled with great joy. They were continually in the temple, blessing God.

Matthew 10:9-14 (Jesus telling his disciples how to live in perpetual pilgrimage)
Don’t take any gold, silver, or copper in your moneybags, nor a travelling bag for the trip, or an extra shirt, or sandals, or a walking stick, because a worker deserves his food.
“Whatever town or village you enter, find out who is receptive in it and stay there until you leave. As you enter the house, greet its occupants. If the household is receptive, let your blessing of peace come on it. But if it isn’t receptive, let your blessing of peace return to you. If no one welcomes you or listens to your words, as you leave that house or town, shake its dust off your feet.

Matt 10:16 (A classic quote)

“See, I am sending you out like sheep among wolves. So be as cunning as serpents and as innocent as doves.”

Acts 19:27 (Paul’s preaches an end to the tradition of goddess worship)

“the temple of the great goddess Diana should be despised, and her magnificence should be destroyed, whom all Asia and the world worshippeth.”

Deuteronomy XIII, 12-16 (How the Old Testament God says we should treat those who worship other Gods. How their memory should be purged)

‘If thou shalt hear say in one of thy cities, which the LORD thy God hath given thee to dwell there, saying…Let us go and serve other gods, which ye have not known;  Then shalt thou enquire, and make search, and ask diligently; and behold, if it be truth, and the thing is certain, that such abomination is wrought among you;  Thou shalt surely smite the inhabitants of that city with the edge of the sword, destroying it utterly, and all that is therein, and the cattle thereof, with the edge of the sword.  And thou shalt gather all the spoil of it into the midst of the street thereof, and shalt burn with fire the city, and all the spoil thereof every whit, for the LORD thy God: and it shall be an heap for ever; it shall not be built again.’

St Augustine of Hippo

da mihi castitatem et continentiam, sed noli modo
(Grant me chastity and self-restraint, but not yet)

Sir Thomas More

“It is certain that God wishes to be worshipped in particular places.”

Kairos and Conversion by anon. third world Christian)

“Another characteristic of right-wing religion is that it takes some of the valid distinctions made by Christianity i.e. between body and soul, material and spiritual, this world and the next, politics and religion, the profane and the sacred, society and the individual, and turns them into antagonistic dualisms. It creates polarisation and antagonism between the body and the soul, the material and the spiritual. Right wing Christianity reduces salvation to that of the soul only.

This leads to an other-worldly interpretation of the Bible. Everything in the Bible that refers to material possessions, wealth and poverty, oppression and liberation, is distorted and made to refer only to other-worldly and individualistic concerns. This spiritualistic interpretation of the Bible is reductionist.”

Half the country had recently died in the Black Death, and the remnant were overworked and overtaxed, without access to courts or justice. A hated poll tax had been declared, to pay for the English army’s manoeuvrings abroad. The rebellion was an act that struck against enforced subservience, a struggle toward freedom. The rebels were not thieves, and all valuables found by the mob were destroyed.  A man found with concealed loot, a silver chalice, was thrown in the river Medway as a lesson to others.

Watt Tyler, the famous rebel leader, met the child-king Richard II in London. Tyler was promised redress to the many wrongs that had sparked the revolt. But promises were reneged, and the Mayor of London stabbed Tyler through the neck. The City of London’s heraldic Arms today show the emblem of a red dagger, in memory of this deed.

Declaring himself the natural leader of rebels, dispersing their intent and sending them home, young King Richard had almost fifteen hundred rebels hanged over the next year.

Chaucer was at this time the customs controller for London, living in lavish apartments above the gates through which the angry mobs entered the city.  His Canterbury Tales were written a few brief years after this event, but he didn’t mention it.

So we say the Canterbury Tales was an act of ‘Stalinist’ airbrushing, a rewriting and disappearing of protest. Chaucer never even graced the story with a proper beginning (it starts in a pub in London), nor an ending (the pilgrims never arrive in Canterbury). Despite all this, Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales is today often quoted as a unique authority on the ‘reality’ of Medieval English pilgrimage.

That’s the problem with beautiful language. It hides, like paint and perfume, all kinds of stinking realities.